I know what you're thinking. (Okay, so I actually don't. I haven't been diagnosed with any mind-reading powers... yet.) BUT I can formulate a pretty solid guess:
New Underwear? What is this about?
So here I am, ever your servant, to satiate your curiosity. Below, my friend, you'll find the story behind my New Underwear. (This is probably the part where Shakira starts playing in the back of your mind. "Underneath [her] clothes, there's an endless story..." And, if it wasn't there before: you're welcome!)
It all began in the summer of 2011. I had graduated from college and was doing what all of the cool (read: broke) kids were doing, living with my parents. I had a job that allowed me to scrape by and no friends to speak of. Unless the dog counts... though, come to think of it, she only liked me when my mom was out of town. Which was OFTEN. Sometime in my four years at school my parents' social life took off and they found themselves traveling on the reg. This was one of those times.
I laid there on my bed, staring up at the ceiling with the Gilmore Girls boxed set droning in the background on my 15" TV*, and I found myself wondering, "how did I get HERE?" This wasn't the dream. Nothing I was experiencing was what you spend your childhood imagining your post-grad life will be like. No salaried job. No downtown apartment. No jam-packed social life. No prospects for marriage. (What? You know you thought that as a kid.) There was only one word to describe what I was feeling: unsuccessful.
But I WAS successful. I had graduated college... in four years and with a solid GPA, to boot! I had a job (though not a great one) and I was (slowly) putting money into my savings account. I was successful. And I was going to prove it to myself.
What happened in the next moments will always be shrouded in the mystery of how my mind works, but within seconds I knew what I had to do. I jumped off of the bed, ran (I mean... it's maybe 10 steps away... but I got there quickly) to my closet and grabbed my underwear drawer, walked over to the trashcan and turned it bottoms up. SEE YA, old underwear. Good-bye, cotton! Farewell, cheesy prints! You are no longer welcome in my life.
I grabbed my wallet and headed for the door with a sense of purpose I hadn't experienced since the 24 hours leading up to my senior project final review. I busted into the underwear store (shoutout to Soma... I welcome endorsements!) with a sense of vengeance... and a checklist, too! If it was not lacy, sexy and sophisticated I was not buying it. I returned home with a shopping bag full of beautiful new undergarments and an incredible new outlook on life to go with it. Because, if you didn't know, it's hugely empowering to know that you are wearing a really great pair of underwear. And the best part? It's a secret just for you!
Armed with my new underwear, it was like a fog had been lifted. I applied for (and got) a new job, moved a few states over into an apartment of my own and, best of all, embraced the fact that I am a successful person! I just may not have it all together, all of the time. But that wouldn't be very exciting, now would it?
The things written here are the broken, ridiculous, hilarious and relatable tales of life as a post-grad. Everything you read here is based in fact, although some minor embellishment may occur.
This is my story.
*I now have a 40" TV... and, as a result, less money in my savings account.