Was chatting with my friend about premarital sex just now on Facebook and accidentally hit ‘print’ and printed it to the communal office printer.
— one of Malia’s college roommates
— one of Malia’s college roommates
The time has come, the walrus said, for Malia to make a blog concerning her “love life” (aka the worst term ever stop asking her questions about). It’s more like a place for her to talk about her lack thereof, and it was a great excuse for a pun:
gin + platonic
Anyway, check it out. And follow away! Above is a photo related to my first post, where I went on a live-streamed blind date that 100 people watched.
When the office building across the street uses Post-It notes to write “B.I.G. OR 2PAC” in its windows and your office quickly responds “THUG LIFE” and then they don’t do anything in return, it kind of feels like when you go on an OkCupid date you thought was good and then the person never texts you again. If you know what I mean.
Guess I work at Rom-Comedy Central now, eh? Also: notice the tape dispenser in hand. Super thug.
Yep. Just found the hidden security camera in my office room. #sneakedapeek #embarrassing
That time you lived so far away from work that you had to get ready for going out in your office. Patiently waited until everyone left and then undressed. Prayed that no one looked up at the large windows you couldn’t close! #bigcitylife #working&attemptingasociallifeishard
My friend just described my current feelings as a combination of “January” and “being 25.”
To open: I’m sorry.
I apologize (and also on behalf of us pgl girls) at how little we’ve posted this past year. 2013 was the year of falling off the boat. Don’t worry. You probably haven’t missed me/us very much, but I miss me. I miss writing and blogging. People keep endorsing me for my “blogging” skills on LinkedIn, and I think — what blogging skills?? When was the last time I blogged? Or wrote an article? Real talk:
You graduate. You move to a big city like New York and you tell yourself, and your parents, and your college advisors, that you will go and get a job that you like or a job that pays the bills and then in your spare time, you’ll work on the thing that you really moved to the city to do. I don’t know what you imagine — that you’ll have more time in your day than Beyonce? That once you leave work at 7 or 8 p.m. (or 10 p.m., in my case), you’ll have another 15 hours worth of energy to write about your feelings and your fabulous life, to get drinks with friends, to go to the gym and grocery shop? You don’t. There isn’t that time. You leave work, you get drinks or you don’t, MAYBE you go to the gym once a month, then — as BuzzFeed lists about “20 Things You Do in Your 20s” so endearingly love to remind you — you’ll put on your yoga pants and watch Netflix. Yoga pants (or glass of vino) + Netflix (“Girls,” “Breaking Bad,” your pick). [Comfortable item] + [TV show to binge-watch]. That seems to be the postgrad formula. Thanks, Internet. Thanks, real life. Why are we settling into this? Why are we accepting this formula?
I don’t know, but it’s happening. A slow recession. I give major props to the people who leave work, head to an improv class, a writer’s workshop, a spin class, whatever it is they’re doing that I’m not. Because not doing it…well, it’s shitty. I know I could say it’s a side effect of city living, of growing older, but it’s also me, and this huge cloud of ambivalence that floats above my head at all times.
So, it’s a new year. And I failed in the last year to entertain or at least to be honest. I stopped checking pgl to see if my friends had posted from their faraway places. I got complacent. I’m sorry for that. How to get out of the mess? We’re turning 25 this year (Tas is already). 30 is not taking its time. I should…go date. Go travel. Go to shows. Go actually write the essay I’ve been working on that sounds a touch like this post. Angst, angst, angst.
On a brighter note, I booked tickets to visit Tas in Istanbul in May, right in time for my 25th birthday. That’s a start, right?