[By "we", I mean "I". But whatever.]
Things that are fun on the Internet:
Rich kids of Instagram. Duh. #getonmylevel (or really, anything making fun of Instagram) But seriously, who knew there were Louis Vuitton versions of guns of all things? Not this girl.
Thought Catalog because they are sarcastic and sappy at the same time. And that, my friends, is kind of hard to do.
And then, there’s this, which is not so much fun as it is true and honest:
I should acknowledge something that my friends and family don’t know. It was something I didn’t even know was true about myself until I sat down to write this story: I have a fantasy that someday, I’ll meet a man who is good with money and also wants to be with me. It is so weird to say that out loud, but when I was writing this and scanning my brain for a conclusion to my weighty money problem, I found this solution floating around my head. And I suddenly realized it’s what I have been waiting to happen all of my adult life, instead of just taking charge and getting a “real” job, and having a realistic relationship with money.
This comes from an article on xoJane.com titled, “I’m 32 and my family bankrolls my lifestyle”; which, I’ll be honest, has a this-is-Lisa ring to it. Except, that this was actually true just one year ago and isn’t true anymore. Sort of. (Small disclosure: my phone bill is a $20 something dollar add-on to a family plan.)
I have good reasons and all that, and the past few years were spent in college, so I get a free pass for those. Thanks.
Honestly, though, I have to admit I agree with Bree when she wrote that her solution was to marry a man who was good with money. Ahem. Oops. That was my plan, too. Until
a few years ago recently, I decided to just sort of be oblivious and hope for the best and accept the parental bailout that was inevitable. And then I got my shit together.
Or, as some would say, fate sort of dropped a good job in my lap. Or, more accurately, fate and 12+ years of experience on Excel spreadsheets (not the most glamorous skill, I know) landed me in my current position (which shall-not-be-named) in this biotech company (which also shall-not-be-named, because it’s YOU, the Internet and you’re full of trolls and psychos who are actually normal people but super bitchy when you’re angry and think no one knows who you are. The gig is up–we all know who you are. Duh. IP address, genius.).
So, instead of finding a man, I found a job. Not your average English major job, thank god. But a job that allows me to stop thinking stupid shit like I used to think and get it together, man. On my own. Without mom or dad or the bf.