Three weeks into 2012 and so far, so gravy. I even get to go to Canada on Monday for work.
YES! THAT’S RIGHT. CANADA. Excuse me while I go vomit rainbows and sparkles.
lest we forget
The previous post also applies to friendship. Having been put through hell for the past almost three years – especially the last one – I’ve learned a lot. It’s so cliche to say that you know who your real friends are when the shit hits the fan, but it’s true. I spent the best part of a year crying at least once every day: at my desk, in the bathroom, on the subway, in the shower, on the beach, in Starbucks when they forgot my order… The list goes on. What’s even more sad than that is how alone I felt during most of it. I’m not in the habit of asking for help either so a lot of the blame lies with myself but at the same time, everyone close to me knew what I was going through and the worst part is that more often than not I was being a better friend to them than they were to me (save for the sanctity of a few who listened to me rant and rave about the same things over and over). It sucks because I’m always there when a friend needs me, whether it’s accompanying someone to a party where she doesn’t know anybody, going out on a mad one to help someone else get over a break up, or lending a sympathetic ear when someone needs a soundboard. Yet when I need someone to help take my mind off whatever is going on, everyone is either busy or wants to do something completely opposite to what I had in mind. And of course whenever I’m honest and say I can’t do x or go to y, I’m being a shit friend. This is my problem. I put so much effort in to everything that expectations keep getting higher and higher and no one appreciates what I do do. I’ve already learned this is the case in other aspects of my life but when it comes to friendships, it’s a little harder to say “Right, fuck you. I’m off to create some opportunities for myself.” My guilty conscience will not allow it. I’m not saying that I associate with a load of crap fake people – I’m actually lucky to have so many awesome people in my life – but it would be nice to feel appreciated every once in a while.
all the small things
It’s funny how something as small as lunch can draw a line in the sand between two jobs.
After a month of interviews and applications, I started a new position at a new company two weeks ago. On paper alone it looked like the best opportunity I’ve been offered since I graduated three years ago, and certainly since I’ve come to New York: salary and benefits, aka the Holy Grail.
(Health insurance never really bothered me until this past summer when a couple of tests at the doc’s cost me almost $2000. It wasn’t available to me at my job at the time and sadly my wages didn’t allow for yet another monthly expense. And I figured I didn’t really need it and could get by on over-the-counter meds if I happened to get sick. How wrong I was… But that’s beside the point.)
Within hours of being shown to my new desk, this job had trumped everything that came before, and while a brand new iMac sweetened the already-sweet deal, this isn’t based on money alone: the publishers, advertising execs, and various editors all came over and introduced themselves, actually taking the time to ask me about myself and explain their positions as opposed to the limp handshake and fake smile I was used to. On day two, my new bosses took me out to lunch at Gemma’s. Less than a week later the owner stopped by and treated the whole office to lunch at Peels.
This might seem like a tiny, insignificant thing but the last boss to buy me anything more than a coffee was Mika, from my first internship in the city, who brought her other intern and I to Chinatown for dumplings one day.
(I’ve been here since Feb ’09 and have interned/worked at three magazines since Mika. You do the math.)
Obviously I don’t expect everyone to feed their interns (Mika ran her t-shirt business from home) or employees but when you work closely with someone for a long time, I think it’s nice to show your appreciation for all that they do, be it coffee or a meal. It’s such a small gesture yet can mean so much.
Why I Hate My Roommate: Part 2
- the only time I am known to slam doors is when I’m really pissed off about something, or 16-years-old. Going by the fact that you slam every door that finds its way in your path of destruction, you’re either extremely angry all the time, or we live in Neverland.
- hey, did you hear? There’s this amazing site called Pandora that lets you listen to music all day for free! Yes, internet radio! So when you’re sitting in the dining room on your computer, you don’t need to leave the TV in the living room on and tuned to the Soft Rock channel! We can totally save some money on our Con Ed bill now! High five!
- we are all adults. Sometimes when adults go out to bars, they get a little drunk and bring someone home. It happens. All your roommates ask is that you try to keep the moans to a minimum, especially given the paper thin walls and the fact that one of their brothers is staying on the couch. Are we still in college? Aren’t you almost 40?
- maybe I’m crazy but I quite like not having to set an early alarm on weekends. It’s nice to sleep in after a week of 6.45am starts, especially if drinks were involved on Friday night. What’s not nice is waking to the sounds of your nails-on-a-chalkboard voice talking about the score in some ladies gaelic football match back in Cork, and how you’re “on d’way ta get d’hair done far t’night”. Can you have that phone conversation in your room as opposed to right outside my door? Would that be OK? Or is the reception better here? Fuck you.
- IF THE GARBAGE STARTS TO SMELL, TAKE IT OUT. I DON’T CARE IF THE BAG ISN’T FULL YET. I HATE YOU.
