Valium not included.

It’s been a little while since I updated the void that is the internet about the goings on in my life. Generally, I assume the only people who are even a little curious are probably my parents, close friends, and maybe the boyfriend. Although, to be honest, he hears enough about my daily concerns that he’s likely sick of me. I can be a handful, or an earful, I suppose would be more accurate.

Two pretty big developments: I switched jobs and bought a house. Over a month has passed, and I’m feeling great about both, but let me tell you, I do not advise doing those two things at the same time. Apparently, changing jobs and buying a home are independently two of the most stressful life events one can go through. I have to do everything over the top though, so you know, I doubled up. Next time I’ll toss in planning a wedding to up the fun level. (hint hint, boyfriend. Just kidding. Or am I…?)

home sweet home

I am loving having a home to call my own, even though the home buying process was a HUGE pain. I hope to not have to deal with another mortgage company for a very long time. Or, next time I do, I hope we’ve developed technology like Gattaca so I can just drop a strand of hair off instead of filling out endless paper work.

Also, the new job is wonderful. I am consistently busy, and I find the work very interesting. Best part? One of the attorneys is fantastic; I think I have a bit of a work crush. She is good at her job, ambitious, and one of her goals is to push other female attorneys forward. She recognizes that we are outnumbered and work in a traditionally old-boys-club field, so she makes it her business to help newer women succeed. In short, she’s the type of professional I hope to be.

The biggest challenge I am facing now is balancing everything. I have longer days now with the new job, so I’m rather tuckered when I get home. But then, there are all sorts of projects to do on the house. For example, the house is raised, which, great for my flood insurance, but it’s fairly inconvenient since the pup easily Houdinis her way out of the back yard. So, we’re replacing a lot of the lattice work around the base to try to keep her in and avoid awkward neighbor encounters. The boyfriend, being his industrious self, just finished wiring the shed so it’s all set as a work shop with lights and ventilation, and power for his tools. Next up? Undecided. I have a few projects in mind, which for now I have really only worked on in the sense of browsing Pinterest from the couch.

Which sounds like the best bet to y’all, keeping in mind that it’s summer (read: hot as balls) and that my budget is limited? Like, really limited.

Let’s Talk About Sex.

This will not be a Cosmo-esque post; there will not be “101 surprising things to try with your man in bed.” This will be more of a shame-on-you-for-being-willfully-obstinate post about the Louisiana Legislature. This week, there were two bills up regarding sex education. Currently, Louisiana advocates teaching abstinence-only sex ed, because you know, sex is only for hetero married couples for purposes of procreation. The state allows schools to teach sex ed beginning in seventh grade, but it is optional.

In what is sure to be a shocking twist, Louisiana is in the top 10 of states for teen pregnancy rates, had the third highest rate of chlamydia, the second highest rate of gonorrhea, and the highest rate of primary AND secondary syphilis infections. DHH Also unsurprising, Louisiana earned the “Most Pro-Life State” spot, based on the restrictions it’s placed on abortion services. In sum, although STIs are running rampant, we don’t want schools teaching kids about safe sex, and when they do get pregnant, we certainly don’t want them to have the option to terminate. All on the same page?

I was pleased to hear that a version of Erin’s Law passed in the House this week. That bill mandates that schools teach students what constitutes sexual abuse and sexual assault, hopefully enabling children to report their abuse and receive support. Yay legislators! That is a positive step! But then, naturally, the other shoe dropped when today a bill requiring age appropriate sex ed was killed in committee by a 3-10 margin. The biggest argument against HB 369 is that it is not the job of the schools to educate children about sex, but rather, that of the parents. No offense, but if that’s the case, Louisiana parents are doing a shitty job. Time to outsource.

The more troubling aspect of that argument is that parents should be doing the educating because sex is inextricably linked with morals and religion traditionally imparted by the family.

“As a parent, we have parental rights, okay? And you know what? As a parent, I choose to teach my children about sex education the way I want to,” Representative Barry Ivey (R) replied, adding, “It’s my house. These are my rules, and you’ll follow them.”

“You’re saying that you’re going to legislate your personal morality on the general population? There is more to know than just ‘no’,” Autumn Fawn Gandolfi, a medical counselor with the Houma Tribal Nation responded. She added, “Sir, it’s not about responsibility. At this point, it’s about neglect.” WRKF News

Gandolfi is right on here; I am all about parents teaching their kids in the manner that they choose, but the reality is, that’s the method we have now, and it clearly isn’t working. Moreover, just because one family believes that sex before marriage will cause your penis to fall off and you to rot in the eternal hell fires doesn’t mean that the rest of the population should be at a higher risk for STIs. (Insert any comparison to anti-vaccination nut jobs here. Yes, I called them nut jobs) The more we educate the population on safe sex, contraception methods, and healthy sexual relationships, the more prepared a person will be when he or she decides to have sex. I mean, lets face it, teenagers have some blatantly incorrect conceptions regarding sex:

• you can’t get pregnant if you have sex on your period;
• or if the woman is on top;
• you can’t get STIs through oral sex;
• condoms protect you from all STIs;
• etc., etc., ad nauseum

Not to mention, the bill specifically includes a provision that parents may exclude their child from the school’s sex education curriculum. Pardon me, but come the fuck on. The main objection is that that sex ed should be taught by parents, and the bill gives parents the right to say, “No, I want to be in charge of educating my child.” I fail to see the problem here. Oh, I should mention that this is the third straight year a sex ed bill has been shot down.

I was lucky enough to be raised in a household that encouraged frank communication and acceptance about sex. If I asked a question, it was answered with biologically correct information, and I always felt free to ask follow ups. When I did decide I was ready to have sex, the only comments from my mother were that I would start my annual check ups to be tested, I should practice safe sex, and that even though I’d said yes once, I was still always allowed to say no.

Not everyone gets this level of support. These days, a teenager’s primary education regarding sex is a mix of snippets she’s heard from her friends, things he’s seen or heard in the media, and hopefully some bits of truth from her parents or educators. Using this model, Louisiana has achieved high levels of teen pregnancies and STIs, not something of which we should be proud. I think the real question parents and legislators should be asking is, “Do we want to implement a sex ed “safety net” in public schools to teach the students not being talked to at home, or do we want them to learn from movies, television, and music?” The answer should be pretty clear.

Social Media Judgment

A couple of hours ago, I apologized to Biff for sending two SnapChats within a short time frame. Like, within 5 minutes. Fine. 2 minutes. They were different, and if anyone should want to see my lovely face, it should be him. So why did I feel the need to apologize? Because I have these adopted “rules” about social media that prohibit excessive posting, and definitely repetitive selfies. These rules are completely arbitrary though, and most likely were imprinted on my subconscious via articles like this one from HuffPo or this one from Buzzfeed. There are endless articles about what one should and should not post on social media, tagging etiquette, etc. Everyone has different annoyances.

For instance, in the past couple of days, I’ve been updated not less than 3 times about the bodily functions of some of my friends’ children. I really could not care any less. Your child’s potty training is of no consequence to me; I don’t find it interesting in the least, and I probably rolled my eyes at you for posting such a mundane update. But, the thing is, it’s clearly important to you, my friend. My burgeoning relationship with wine and my couch is likely just as boring to you. I am certain I have friends who are completely fed up with hearing about festivals in New Orleans, or the trials and tribulations of my chosen profession in the legal field. 

Here’s the thing: social media sites encourage active participation. In addition to posting status updates and photos, you get to choose what you see in your newsfeed, timeline, etc. On Twitter, I follow users I find humorous, or informative, or generally enjoyable. On Instagram, I choose to follow people whose pictures have some meaning to me or are just generally gorgeous; my friends from back home that I rarely see, a few people who live much more adventurous lives than I do, and a some artists that I admire. On Facebook, I hide from my newsfeed people who post endless political rants, or real time update every detail of their lunch hour, or inundate my screen with baby pictures. Those are just my personal preferences.

The problem I have with the many “Most Annoying _____ User” articles is that it paints the reader as the victim. Yes, there are many people on various sites that I find boring, or irritating, or down right infuriating. But it’s not like they’ve moved into my house and are screaming at me through a bullhorn whilst next to me on the couch. With a click of the mouse, I can edit my newsfeed/timeline/etc. so that my delicate sensibilities are exposed only to what I want to see. The whole world does not have to bow down to what I consider social media appropriate. You enjoy endless quizzes and sharing with the world that your sandwich soulmate is the caprese? Good for you. My newsfeed, on the other hand, is my domain, and you’ll likely be hidden so that I can focus on updates I find to be humorous and original. No offense intended. 

TL;DR? Stop whining about what people post and adjust your damn settings. 

Job Applications

I am thankfully not on the hunt, but a great many poor souls certainly are. Not sure if y’all are aware, but the job market out there is for shit. I think one of the most frustrating things is the sheer volume of applications necessary to even get one call or interview. It’s a numbers game, to be sure, and on paper, most people sound pretty damn similar. How in the name of whatever diety you worship is one supposed to stand out?!

 

I had a partner tell me that every member of our firm regularly gets résumés from lawyer hopefuls. When the applicants don’t hear back, they call. And then, when they’re told that we are not hiring, they ask if they can come work as an unpaid intern. FOR FREE. That is plain insanity. How do they expect to be able to pay for the gas to drive down? Or the parking? Or the dry cleaning? Essentially, you’d be paying to work. Seems a little backwards. 

 

Anyhow, my lovely sister is applying for internships, thankfully not in the legal field, and was looking for advice on cover letters. Now, I think cover letters are nonsense, because honestly, everyone writes the same BS. Recap your education and work history a bit, talk about how you’re personable and a team player, and definitely tell the reader you’re hands down the best candidate for the job. I gave her an example or two of some that I’d sent, but here’s what I feel like my cover letters should have said:

 

Dear Person From Whom I Hope to Receive Large Paychecks:

     This is a mostly copied and pasted form, because I have sent out so many of these God forsaken letters that I cannot be bothered to come up with something inventive or tailored specifically to your business. No offense. Please still pay me.

     I am really proficient at shopping online, perusing ridiculous tumblrs and blogs, and listening to Pandora, all whilst drinking copious amounts of coffee, which I assume you will be providing for free. Employment perk! Additionally, I am fully capable of doing all of these things while looking like I am thoroughly swamped with work, so you can rest assured that no one will ever know the full extent of my slacking. I am pleasant once I’ve had my aforementioned free coffee, and provided you don’t mind me disappearing for an hour or two to nap in the afternoon. Come to think of it, it would be in all of our best interests if we just called it a day around 3 pm. Let’s be honest, I’m just counting down until I can leave anyway.

     I have attached some documents that list my degrees, experience, and accomplishments in a manner specifically designed to give you an over-inflated opinion of my value as an employee. Focus on those and kindly disregard my transcript. I was too busy partying to focus on law school, but don’t worry, I got that all out of my system. Mostly. Thanks for your time, and don’t forget, big paychecks!

XOXO,

Meghan

 

Anyone know of suitable positions?!

Resolute.

I’ve never been one for New Year’s resolutions. I think I might just hate anything with intense societal pressure. I hate that Valentine’s Day is supposed to be super romantic, that NYE is supposed to be “the best night ever,” and that come January 1 we’re all supposed to make some big positive life change that will make the new year AMAZING. If you feel like making a change in your life, by all means do it, but don’t just do it because it’s the thing to do. Full disclosure: my dislike could also stem from the fact that whenever I have made some sweeping resolution, I’ve failed miserably at following through. I don’t enjoy failure.

In light of the above, I have decided not to make any real concrete resolutions. As Biff frequently tells me, happiness is all about managing expectations. Instead, I’m going to aspire toward a general idea: consistency.

I do lots of things; I’m a dabbler. As may be evident from the frequency of my blog posts, however, I don’t do all of these things with any sort of regularity. I’m rather easily distracted. For instance, I know that housework should be done before the dog hair and laundry reach disaster levels. And I know that it would be easier to maintain cleanliness by doing smaller chores frequently rather than large scale cleaning operations sporadically. In spite of this, I currently have a mountain of laundry I’ve yet to scale sitting at the foot of my bed.

The thing is, I like to be a little spontaneous. I like to get home from work and decide on a lark that I’m going to a movie, or to the Fly, or to have someone over to chat and drink wine. So, rather than jump right on the laundry, I choose fun. Sue me. What I am realizing though, is putting things off in favor of immediate fun is actually an impediment to spontaneity. When my house is a mess, I can’t have people over at the drop of a hat. If my laundry isn’t done, I can’t throw together a bag for a quick weekend trip. Procrastinating on grocery shopping means I don’t have snacks for an impromptu Netflix binge.

I don’t have any one resolution per se. I won’t lie and say I’m going to work out and get in shape, or eat better, or drink less, or even be less stressed. My job is stressful and I like food and wine. I will do all the things I normally do, but I will try to do them consistently.

Kind of sounds just like being an adult. Gross.

Sweetheart

I’ve been learning many new things about myself these days. Obviously one of them is that I am terrible at maintaining a blog. Another? I both thoroughly enjoy and am awful at chess. Seriously, I’m on Chess Time as ShumakAttack if you feel like a match. You’ll likely win. Ego boost for you! And another? I may be turning into the type of feminist that will quite quickly and publicly shut a person down and embarrass him, and be proud about it.

Why do the “delicate” sponges have to be pink?

This is really not that surprising a development I guess; see, e.g. my prior post on the NFL. I don’t think my friends would be shocked in the least to watch me call someone out on being an ass. It’s only surprising to me because I long harbored a serious misconception of what it meant to be a feminist. For me, “feminism” brought up images of bra burning, anger, yelling, and generally unpleasant types of women. Also, women who didn’t like traditionally “girly” things like makeup, perfume, romantic comedies, cooking, etc. I love all of those things. And my bras. The more time I spend living on my own though, and outside the shelter of a higher education bubble, I understand how wrong I was. Anger is warranted. Some yelling, too.  Zooey Deschanel got a lot of publicity for an interview in Glamour early this year where she asked

“We can’t be feminine and be feminists and be successful? I want to be a fucking feminist and wear a fucking Peter Pan collar. So fucking what?”

I’m with you, Zooey. Feminism, as I currently understand it, is simply the belief that we shouldn’t allow people to get away with sexist shit. No dress code specified.

Here are two recent examples of sexism I’ve experienced: First, seasoned professionals in my field referring to their assistants as “their girl.” What is this, Mad Men? Should she run down and grab some ice for your scotch? Second, someone practically begged my bf (hereinafter “Biff”) for his card while telling him he would look out for business opportunities, saying he loved to help out young people. When I offered mine? I was told I needed to put on my big girl panties and hustle business myself. In neither of these situations did I jump in and let loose the rant I wish I would have. Sadly, I worry that doing so would be a detriment to my career, in which I have invested a lot of time and money.

Here’s an interaction with a better outcome: over drinks at a young professional event, someone sits down and starts talking to Biff and me; we’ll call him Chad because it is apparently the douchiest name ever. Chad proceeds to talk about all of his mad skills and money and then apparently wants to make a joke, but is concerned about my delicate sensibilities. Chad looks at Biff and asks, “Is she ok with raunchy jokes?” Biff gives me an “I’m so sorry” look, and says, “Yeah, she’s fine…” Because I have disliked Chad from the moment he opened his mouth, I feel free to chime in with “She is right here, and fully capable of telling you that she is fine with raunch.” Chad looked taken aback; Biff laughed. You would think this was enough to put Chad on notice that I would not be brooking any condescension, but alas, you would be wrong.

After more conversation involving endless mention of his business acumen and boats, I got a word in edgewise. I was mid sentence when Chad interrupted me by calling me “sweetheart” in a tone that clearly suggested I didn’t have any idea what my pretty little mouth was talking about. He did not get to finish his thought, because I nicely told him if he called me sweetheart again, he would be cleaning my pinot noir from his face. Again, Chad looked taken aback; Biff laughed. Thank goodness Biff appreciates the fact that I am not one to hold my tongue.

The South has all sorts of ingrained gender issues, some of which are more innocuous than others. Men always allow women to enter and exit the elevators first. Always. Even when the women are all in the back of the elevator and it is horribly inconvenient and would just be faster for the men to exit first. (I almost typed “get off first”, but then I laughed) It’s seen as polite. Pet names are common; I get “Honey,” “Baby,” “Sweetie,” and “Darlin'” fairly regularly, but I get them from both men and women. On the other hand, sometimes I have a night with someone like Chad whose “Southern Gentleman” persona is not only annoying, but also offensive. Heads up: being a gentleman involves treating a woman like she is in fact a person. 

So yeah, I will continue to wear dresses, lipstick, heels, and spend too much time on my hair. I will cook, and bake, and and watch Bridget Jones’ Diary because I have a crush on Mark Darcy. I will also remind anyone who treats me inferiorly that I have strong opinions, two degrees, am a licensed attorney, and that I’m not always sweet. Well, almost anyone, which really goes to show that we have a ways to go. 

Life is Hard.

As in difficult. Get your minds out of the gutter. To be specific, I am learning just how difficult it is to buy a home at the moment. A little background: I used to live in what I not so affectionately called “the hobbit hole. ” It was tiny and dark, had mauve carpeting, moldy window air conditioning units, and plants were beginning to grow up through the edges of the floor boards. Upsides? It had a fenced backyard that was nice for the pup and it was cheap. Downside? I hated that damn place. So, I did what anyone would do and moved to a nicer apartment in a cooler part of town. Hardwood floors, high ceilings, central air, and a covered porch on which I can sit and sip tea when I want to feel super southern, or wine when I want to channel my 20-something female status.

Except, naturally, nothing is that simple. I’ve lived there for 6 months and had issues with the air conditioning for about 2 of those. I don’t know if you’ve ever experienced a summer in New Orleans, but lack of AC is kind of a problem. Most recently, my shower has stopped working. Well, water still comes out of the shower head, but just in a tiny ineffectual trickle that makes it impossible to wash my hair. Again, this is a problem. As a friend of mine noted, there is no quick way to take a bath, so my mornings have been a little more rushed. On top of it all, unlike my old place, this one is not cheap.

So, I came up with this awesome idea for a living arrangement. If I buy a double (for those of you not familiar, it’s a kind of duplex down here) I can rent out the second side and cover most of my mortgage note. Meaning, aside from the pesky logistics of dealing with collected rent as income, I could live essentially rent-free for the first time since I left home. 10 years ago. Oh my goodness. I feel old. One problem. Apparently financing a house is not easy. There are endless forms, I have no idea what I am expected to pay for versus what the seller should cover, and in spite of taking more than one class about contracts, I still feel like they’re all confusingly verbose.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying going over $100K into debt should be simple. I think it’s just plain responsible on everyone’s behalf to question the level of debt and future ability to make payments. Funny thing though, I did borrow over $100K once, and no one batted an eye over  whether I’d be able to pay it back. That’s right, I’m looking at you Fed Loans. I have blocked out most things related to law school, but I definitely do not recall the FAFSA being even a fraction as difficult to complete as the home loan process. And you know what, my student loan payments are kind of a bitch.

I remember exit counseling, when the financial aid office made it mandatory to come in and have my soul crushed while they explained exactly how much I was going to have to pay each month. What I don’t remember is a detailed breakdown at the very beginning and a realistic explanation of the state of the job market. Maybe I ignored it, maybe I was naive, but the home loan process has given me much more pause than taking out exorbitant amounts of money for a degree in an already flooded field ever did.

Long story short: buying a house is difficult, and taking out student loans should be too, because debt blows.

I think it’s time for wine on my porch.

Football is Sexist

And I don’t just mean in the obvious way in that women can’t play in the NFL. Now, it could be that I am still on my documentary kick and I watched “Miss Representation,” but I found myself rather annoyed while listening to the announcers yesterday. During the Saints-Texans game, (Who Dat!), the commentators were comparing Power Rankings in each division. When they came to the NFC South, someone declared “This is a MAN’s division.” Emphasis on man.

As each division is comprised solely of players who possess male genitalia, I can only assume he was not referring to the chromosomal make up of the division. Rather, he meant that the NFC South is a very strong and competitive division. I don’t disagree. But, I take issue with his descriptor. Going with his phrasing, what would we consider a weak division, like the AFC West? A woman’s division? 

Don’t get me wrong, I love football. I play fantasy. I go to games. I have an irrational hatred of anyone that played for USC, and a blind love for all of those that came out of Oregon. But why are there pink items for any team? If any one of the 32 professional football teams has pink as a color, I seem to have missed it. Also, this whole nonsensical clear bag thing is incredibly annoying. Who takes bags with them to games? Women. You know why? We generally have more crap and fewer pockets. 

I understand that the whole sport is built on an excess of testosterone that makes players want to knock the other side on it’s literal ass, but NFL, stop alienating your female fans. We exist. As you may have noticed above, I even understand how divisions work and what power rankings are. If you mean strong or competitive or fierce, say so. Don’t undercut my sex by only equating those qualities with men. I can guarantee you, you’re wrong. 

As a complete aside, I was too busy watching Breaking Bad (OMG, am I right?!) last night to catch the VMAs, so I just caught up. The difference in crowd reaction to whatever the hell Miley Cyrus was doing and Justin Timberlake/*NSYNC’s performance says it all. Miley, take note, that is what pop stars look like. And please put your tongue back in your damn mouth. 

Things That Make Me Happy

I have been on a bit of a Debbie Downer Documentary kick lately. There is a really wonderfully insightful local one called “Shell Shocked“, I just watched “The House I Live In” on Netflix, and am in the middle of “Detropia.” I was going to watch some of the food related options, like “Forks Over Knives,” but I thought they might make me feel bad about my love for movie theatre nachos with extra jalapenos.

“Shell Shocked” looks at the violence in New Orleans through testimony from young people within the city, and also talks to law enforcement and community leaders about ideas to stop the killing. It’s horribly sad, but a great effort to really effect some change. “The House I Live” in is all about the failed war on drugs and the true implications of overly punitive and unfair laws. “Detropia” is about the collapse of Detroit. I pick really uplifting films.

Anyhow, since my recent documentary binge has pretty much convinced me that the world is all doom and gloom and we’re basically screwed, I thought I should take stock of things I enjoy so that I don’t hole up with ice cream to wallow.

One, thunderstorms. Not when I’m outside, naturally, but there is something so fantastic about sitting and watching the lightning crack across the sky, hearing the loud rumble, and smelling the rain as it pours down. Love it.

Two, leisurely breakfast. Usually I gulp down coffee and maybe shove a granola bar in my mouth, but on the weekends, I can take the time to sit down to a big plate of breakfast and sip three cups of coffee without ever burning my mouth. Today it was huevos rancheros, a pupusa, and fried plantains from La Macarena, and it was delicious.

Three, the Internet. I know, I know, there’s plenty that’s awful online, but how much fun is it to go on a YouTube spree of all of your old favorite songs, or lose yourself in a Buzzfeed black hole, or spend an hour laughing at ridiculous gifs? Like this one.

Four, freshly painted nails. I get trapped in Sephora and Walgreen’s every time I go just staring at new colors. Yesterday, my toes were bright pink and fingers were mint green. At this moment, both are bright, royal blue. I have a fantastic marigold I’m itching to try next. My makeup and jewelry are never very crazy, but my nails? Game on.

Five, random road trips. I would volunteer for all the depositions in random locations throughout the gulf coast at work if I could just for the drive. See new places, go on a mini adventure, and have a sing along in the car? Yes please. Plus, road trip snacks are delightful.

These are just a few of the things that make me happy. I could go on and on, but you’d all get bored because the list would probably focus on food and…well, probably more food. Feel free to share your favorite things too, especially if I can co-opt them. I’m selfish like that.

Back. And better than ever.

Or really, about the same. Still a lawyer. Still have the dog and cat. Still love wine and takeout on my couch. Still a huge leftie in a red state. Pretty much business as usual.

So, I pulled an Irish goodbye from this blog about 9 months ago. I have no good reason. I didn’t suddenly get crazy busy at work. Didn’t have to spend that time gestating a tiny human. Haven’t been overwhelmed starting my own company; although, to be fair, I regularly brainstorm business plans that would let me work from a coffee shop and jet around the world. Any venture capitalists out there, lets have lunch. On you.

I have found myself lately oddly nostalgic and more than a little restless. I got to visit some friends in the Bay Area recently, and I was surprised how excited I was to be back. I loved seeing the hills again. The fog. Mt. Diablo. Flying into the city and seeing the bridges and ports. The mothball fleet as you drive into Benicia. Benicia itself, which is still quaint and familiar even after almost 10 years away. I have never truly felt like I missed California.  Certain aspects, sure, like good Chinese food and summers without 98% humidity, but not the place itself. So, yeah, the nostalgia caught me off-guard.

And then there’s the feeling restless. I’m lucky to have my job. I love living in New Orleans. I’m not itching to run off and relocate halfway around the world to change careers. Diane Lane is fantastic and all, but come on. I don’t have the money for a plane ticket, let alone a villa. I just…I don’t know. I’m antsy, for nothing in particular.

The Internet informs me that I may be experiencing a Quarter Life Crisis. First, I’d like to point out that if I’m at quarter life, I am going to live to be 108, and that will be awesome. Second, why the word crisis? Crisis makes me think of a natural disaster, or the Great Depression, or Anthony Wiener’s political career. No, my situation is not a crisis.

I believe it is more aptly called Post Grad Discomfort. Or Young Adult Aimlessness. The pre-degree period has easy to set and accomplish goals. Get through midterms. Finish your major requirements. Get your undergrad degree. Finish applications to a grad program. Make it through said grad program while consistently intoxicated. Find your first job in your new field. They are built in goals. But after? Well, now you’re actually supposed to think about and decide what you want. All on your own.

Do I want to work my ass off at my firm and become the youngest and most pop-culture knowledgeable partner ever? Do I want to stick it out for a while and then find something in public interest? Do I want to blow this popsicle stand and do something like teach? Or fly helicopters? Or open a bar? What are the timelines for any of those? And how would I even go about switching if I wanted to? I’ve got bills, and loans, and shoes to buy.

I’m fortunate to have gotten to where I am these days. I have two degrees, and had a lot of fun while getting them. But how I feel now reminds me of one of the last few episodes of Weeds; when, while discussing a sushi restaurant with only one menu option, someone says “Too many choices, it makes people miserable.” I suppose though, too many options is way better than too few. That would be like seeing the whole cereal aisle, and only being able to Grapenuts. Yuck.