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17 Again

17 Again

Receiving a scholarship to go to an international high school in Costa Rica is one of my proudest achievements. I feel the need to bring it up often to let the belittling assholes of DC know that they should step down because I’m an accomplished motherfucker too. Although I sugarcoat my time there to other people, I had a fair amount of struggle (most of which I created myself). The second year I was there, I probably cried at least once a day. I was sad because the boy I was in love with didn’t want to be with me. I stressed about getting in to college and more importantly, paying for it. And like any teenager, I felt like NO ONE UNDERSTOOD ME.

But my time at UWC was probably the best thing that could have happened to me. I kept a journal throughout my time in Costa Rica, which I found a while back at my parents’ house. I also had a burn book, but that’s a different story. Several of my friends would read my journal at school because they thought it was funny. This eventually morphed into this blog and here we are today. Despite how embarrassing it is, I decided to share my first entry complete with comments from my modern-day self. I was a little bitch to say the least.

UWCFirstJournalEntryTo sum things up, I miss being 17 because I had:

-less body hair

-less gray hair

-less responsibility

 

But I don’t miss anything else. Goodbye, 2006.

Pocahontas Wave

Final Memoir Assignment: Acceptance to UWC

Final Memoir Assignment: Acceptance to UWC

I took a class for fun this summer called Memoir and Journal Writing. After spending a year going through a professional metamorphosis (also called hating my job), I realized that I wanted to pursue writing in my future career endeavors. This little side project that started as my study abroad blog has become a good creative outlet for me as well as a way to spread humor and my modeling portfolio to the world. Hence, I thought this class would be a perfect fit.

The class size started at five and dwindled to four, but I still received a lot of feedback and insider knowledge from my teacher and classmates. The final project was a 200-1000 word memoir piece that was meant to demonstrate our understanding of the skills we had developed throughout the 10-week course. I chose to write about my application and acceptance to the United World College Costa Rica because I had never written about it before and (mostly) because I didn’t feel comfortable reading my blog aloud in front of my classmates and 70-year-old teacher. After some terrible drafts and a few sleepless nights, I finally churned out something decent, at least in my opinion. Any feedback appreciated.

Blessings,

Peter Mustafa

 

First Envelope

It was actually more of a brochure and was waiting for me when I got home one day my junior year. I was used to receiving endless flyers from small liberal arts colleges throughout the Midwest attempting to recruit me. The first one stroked my ego; the fiftieth made me realize that these were mass mailings. This one stuck out to me though.

“It’s called a United World College. If you’re accepted, you get a scholarship to go to high school abroad for two years. Doesn’t it sound cool?”I wanted my mom to share in my excitement because this program appeared to answer all of my teenage-angst-filled prayers. It was a chance to leave Nebraska and get away from my classmates who had nothing better to do than spread endless gossip and cultivate artificial friendships like they saw on TV shows.

“That’s nice.” She sounded indifferent at best. I could picture her twirling her hair in her hotel room on the other side of the phone. I had made several previous escape attempts, trying to transfer to another high school and even looking at homeschool options. My mom’s nonplussed tone gave the impression that she thought this was just another of my far-fetched plans that would never come to fruition.

Second Envelope

“You know this is a long shot.” It was a statement, not a question. Carol Ann Jones. My mom endorsed my United World College application as instructed and promised to drop it off at the post office that day. Not one to usually leave things until the last minute, I had struggled to find the confidence to apply for such a selective program. Did I even have a chance? Although I received the initial letter to apply months earlier, I had only finished writing my personal statement the night before and was worried that I would miss the January deadline. That or that my mom would “accidentally” toss it in a trashcan and not the mailbox.

Third Envelope

The envelope with the UWC letterhead was perfectly flat and paper thin, literally. There was a single piece of paper neatly folded inside of it. Although I had yet to apply to college, I knew the rule: fat envelopes good, skinny ones bad. This made rejection letters easy to read, even easier to rip up. However, this skinny envelope offered me an interview in Kansas City. As I read it aloud after dinner, my family’s blank faces mirrored my own. None of us knew how to react. “Guess you won’t be coming to Tampa with us that weekend.” My stepdad’s matter-of-fact reply gave me permission to skip the already booked family vacation and boosted my confidence. Maybe I had a shot at this after all.

Fourth Envelope

Another standard, white one. Was it rejection for real this time? My mom flashed the envelope at me as she came in with that Saturday’s mail. I had been unimpressed with my interview performance in Kansas City a few weeks earlier. A family friend volunteered to drive me as long as we got to stop at Wendy’s for lunch. I was interviewed by two UWC alumni and a member of the national selection committee at a hotel close to the airport. As a self-obsessed teenager, I usually could not stop talking about myself. But, I struggled to speak in complete sentences during the interview and felt I had left a mediocre impression on the selection committee.

As I nervously reached out for the letter, my mom quickly jerked the letter away and began tearing the flap open, smiling. My face flushed. Carol Ann knew that I hated being put on the spot but felt it was a requirement as my mom to embarrass me as much as possible.

“Dear Mr. Peter Jones.” She began reading to my entire family in the living room.

Oh no. I wanted to open this in my room by myself. I needed to process the decision alone and not risk showing any sign of disappointment. I was 17 and still hadn’t completely grown out of crying in rough situations.

“Congratulations on being accepted as a Davis Scholar to the United World College Costa Rica.” She read the words, but I was still fixated on the fact that my mom had opened and read my mail. Rather than shouting with joy or even cracking a smile, I snatched the envelope out of my mom’s hands and retreated to the basement. As I read and reread the words, I began to realize how much this one acceptance letter would affect me. While my Nebraska classmates would be gearing up for community college and teen pregnancy, I was going to finish high school in Costa Rica. I picked up the cordless phone and dialed my best friend Angela to share the news with her.

Miami Meth Cooks

Miami Meth Cooks

It seems like yesterday that I went to Puerto Rico and couldn’t find anyone to go with me. A little more than a week ago, I went to Miami with three  friends that I’ve made since being in DC. Yay to having friends in real life. I really needed to get out of the cold and the beach seemed like the best place to go.

We left on a snowy Saturday. I was nervous that our flight would be cancelled but we only spent an hour sitting on the tarmac waiting for the flight crew to decide what was what. But alas, we were finally on our way to blue skies, white sand beaches, and 80 degree weather. Momma needed to get some color on these cheeks!

After landing and instantly changing into warm weather clothes, we made our way to the apartment we had found on Airbnb. It was a two bedroom – the master room for my friends Luci and Rowan (because they’re dating) and the other room with two single beds for my friend Chelsea and me (because we’re not dating). Chelsea and I had decided that if either of us brought someone home (for extracurricular activity), they would have to sleep on the couch. I thought this wouldn’t be a necessary arrangement, but I was incorrect.

We went to a restaurant with a view of the beach for a late lunch, where I drank a mojito the size of my upper body. That helped me overcome my body consciousness on the beach that day. I have been working out a lot more lately (thanks for asking) but I am nowhere close to the beautiful people of Miami who apparently have no day jobs and just bask in the sun all day.

Before our trip, I had googled gay shit to do in Miami. Although no one else in our group was gay, I figured I could explore on my own if necessary. I found a restaurant that does drag brunch on the weekends and thought it could be fun. I suggested it kind of off hand, but everyone in the group was on board. Chelsea had to go somewhere else, but Rowan, Luci, and I went to The Palace  on Sunday  morning – their motto is “Every queen needs a palace” (YAAAS).  We showed up and the hostess babbled some incoherent nonsense before telling us that because we didn’t have a reservation, we’d have to sit at a bar/railing thing. “Getting railed” as LaDonna the hostess called it was actually one of the best things that could have happened on this trip.

Slowly, the place filled up, which of course made me nervous. Being around a big group of gays simultaneously excites and scares me. I like feeling comfortable and looking at attractive boys but I also feel extremely judged. This guy-girl couple eventually joined us at the bar/rail. I tried to be social and said “Did you guys ‘get railed’ too?” to which the guy responded, “I NEED to get railed.” My initial reaction was that he belonged to the slutty gay category, those that just love dick and talk about it nonstop. Obviously, sex is a part of gay life, but there’s so much more to it in my opinion, so being obsessed with sex is just exhausting for me. Needless to say, I wasn’t happy that LaDonna had sat us next to each other.

But, it was fun regardless. I drank a million mimosas and saw some drag queens throw down. The restaurant faces Ocean Drive and the beach, which is a beautiful view, but those queens…shit! They stopped traffic. They walked in the street, danced on cars driving by, did the splits in the middle of the road. Lordt! It was a spiritual experience for me that Sunday. I kept overhearing slutty boy next to me talk about dicks and getting action and flirt with the waiter, who had made it clear he was straight. I kept rolling my eyes to myself.

At some point though, things changed between us. Maybe it was the alcohol but we started flirting casually. It couldn’t hurt, I thought. I found out this guy was from Ohio and worked on boats in Fort Lauderdale. He and his friend had come to Miami to see a concert the night before but had gotten thrown out because his friend (the girl sitting next to him) was too drunk. His dad is a pastor and his real name is Dallas (gross) but he goes by his middle name Steffan/Steve. After brunch, we split up but exchanged numbers and a little peck on the lips.

My DC posse and I headed to the beach for the day. When talking afterwards, Luci suggested that Steve looks like Jesse Pinkman from “Breaking Bad”. We all agreed and the nickname stuck. I texted “Jesse” after leaving but only half expected a response. He was a slutty gay, remember? But we exchanged messages throughout the day and I invited him to hang out with us later that night. These are some of our sappy messages:

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For the record, all I want in a relationship is someone that will cuddle the shit out of me. Is that too much to ask??

We were eating guacamole on the beach that night when I decided to call Jesse to tell him where to meet us. I left my friends and shoes because I figured I’d be back in two minutes. I found Steve/Jesse and started walking with him back to my friends. But he had other plans. We sat down by the grassy part of the beach and made out for a good thirty minutes or so. This is when he told me I smelled like Chipotle (dat guacamole). I thought about feeling self-conscious, but then I didn’t. He seemed cracked out on something (meth, maybe) so I didn’t want to go too far and plus, we were on the beach. I don’t want to get arrested or get sand up my ass! We finally decided to head back to our apartment and meet up with my friends, who had taken my shoes with them. I think I looked like a homeless gay prostitute walking barefoot through the streets of South Beach holding hands with a boy in the dark. It was one of the most romantic moments of my life though.

What were my friends going to think of me? I was a little worried not that they’d judge me but that they’d be uncomfortable having a stranger stay the night with us. They didn’t act weird at all though, which I was really happy about. I decided to take a shower alone but Jesse obviously couldn’t entertain himself for long. I’ll skip the nitty gritty and just give you this PSA: Don’t get Head and Shoulders shampoo on/into your penis. I shall give no details.

So, Jesse hung out with us that night. He actually turned out to be everyone’s favorite person. We played some drinking games like “Never Have I Ever” where we learned that he semi-lost his virginity to a girl when he was 21. He also warned us that having butt sex without a condom can lead to “poop dick.” Words of wisdom, y’all. Words of wisdom. Here are some pics of us fan-girling with our Aaron Paul look-alike. I thought about selling them to the Paparazzi.

I made him say “Gatorade me, bitch”
With a celebrity

Eventually, drunk friend from brunch Lauren joined us. She was, you guessed it, obliterated out of her mind. Her bra was full out of her shirt, her sunglasses were embedded in her hair, and her feet were covered in black shit. Where had that girl been all day???

It was a very fun night and I’m glad that I got to meet new people and have someone cuddle the shit out of me. Despite prior planning, Jesse and I slept in the super uncomfortable twin bed from IKEA while Chelsea slept in the other twin bed three feet away. I was just planning to sleep so I didn’t mind Chelsea being so close to us until Jesse started loudly whispering things like “Just touch it, babe.” Then I realized we should have slept on the couch.

The next morning, the three members of our bedroom crew went to breakfast together. It was cute. Then, sadly, Jesse had to return to Fort Lauderdale to live his mysterious life “working on boats” that I never fully comprehended. I always like the guys I meet on vacation, probably because there are no expectations about where things will go. I wish Dallas Steffan “Steve” a.k.a. Jesse lived closer to me so that we could date and cuddle the shit out of each other more often, but the universe has other plans for us apparently. However, he’ll always live on in my memory as the boy who taught me about “poop dick.” R.I.P. from my life, Steve. I’ll always think about you when I watch BB.

Soulmates

And the rest of our trip was fun. The end.

Body Complaining

Body Complaining

The body can be a beautiful thing. Besides having the capacity to be beautiful on the exterior, it also can be incredibly resilient in fighting infections, recovering from ailments, and adapting to new changes.

The body can also be gross as fuck. For example, my body has grossed me out NUMEROUS times in the past. I know that I’m getting older but damn, some of the stuff that has happened to me over the years really makes me think that God has a sense of humor. Here is a list of some of these less ideal occurrences:

1. Pimples anywhere besides of my face – I get that acne is a right of passage for many adolescents. Hormones, oily skin, blackheads, etc. But eventually, it needs to stop. Wet dreams do so why can’t acne? Recently, I have found pimples on my shin, inner thigh, and the surprisingly unsurprising ass pimple. It’s always right on the part of your butt where you sit too.

Every summer

2. I once had boogers coming out of my eyes – I got sick and I guess I touched my eyes after rubbing my nose. So, I’ll take the blame for that one.

3. Gray pubic hairs – I have two. You would think that they blend in with their brothers. They don’t. Therefore, sexy times must always occur in the dark.

4. Hair on my nose – No, not in my nose, on it. Have to tweeze that once or twice a week. The only other person that I’ve seen with this is a Turkish shop assistant.

5. Bald patch in my chest hair – No one claims to see it but I trim my chest hair when I bare it in public so that it looks even. I used to use this medicine for my chest acne and I guess it just Chernobyl-ed the shit out of that patch of skin. I should have used it on my ass too.

6. Male yeast infection – Most guys who get this usually get it from having sex with a yeasty girl. I can assure you this did not happen. I just wanted to wear cute tight underwear and work out to get in shape. This led to a six-month long series of red patches all over my junk, including one that looked like South America.

 

Despite all of these imperfections, I still appreciate my body a lot. I mean, how could I have survived so many drunken shenanigans and still look this good every morning?  Okay, not EVERY morning.

However, I do think a lot of these do crush my dreams of ever becoming a model. The number one reason I won’t be a supermodel though is my body and once again, that’s a little bit my fault. But who wants a pimply ass to walk down the runway? No one.

So Dove, please include me in your next Body Beautiful campaign. You have all shapes, sizes, and colors so why not add some gray pubes? TY

Birthday. No Sex.

Birthday. No Sex.

I really hate my birthday. It’s not something I look forward to. Every year’s the same. I’m still single and still not famous, just another year older. But, although I try to avoid it, it keeps happening. So, I suck it up and usually find some way to celebrate with friends. It’s pretty much impossible to coordinate all of my DC friends’ schedules, so being the goober I am, I made an online survey for my closest friends to fill out to decide whether I should have a party at all and if so, when. I got a kick out of some of their responses.

What is your favorite type of alcohol?

  • Vodka or rum

  • I want to drink all of the alcohols with you but I will be on a plane to koala land!

  • Tequila, gin, whiskey, rum. Just NOT VODKA. (You kno dis.)

  • Rum pumpumpumpumm. Also cider.

  • All of the above

  • Bourbon

  • Champagne!

  • vodka!

  • Doesn’t matter, cheaper/trashier the better

  • gin and tonics!

  • Tie between vodka and gin. But really I’ll drink anything 🙂

What kind of snacks do you want?

  • Dip baby!

  • Pickles are always a hit. You can also use the juice for shots!

  • Pizza?

  • All the snacks. Except for hummus and shit like triscuits.

  • Cookies and goldfish (live ones) Jk

  • Chocolate

  • I’m not picky

  • Whatever you have for me

  • dont care

  • Diabetes inducing

  • BIRTHDAY CAKE

  • Cheese and crackers, potato chips, hummus, any of the above.

  • Bourbon

Do you want to have a good time or are you going to be a lame ho?

Good time: 12 people (92.31% of respondents)

Lame Ho: 5 people (38.46% of respondents)

What should the theme of my party be?

  • ANTM

  • Mammals & grandmas

  • … Gay… Stuff? Idk, Heather. I’m not good at themed stuff. Although if you provided me with an excuse to wear heels that would be p cool.

  • Cats.

  • Celebrate Peter time?

  • Sex. No babies.

  • Chelsea’s sad she can’t be there

  • Let me think on this

  • Diva Day–everyone dress up as their favorite Diva! Wish i could come 🙁 I will be out of town–leaving Dec. 11th. buttt have so much fun!

  • Celebrity mugshots or the whole party is the rupaul challenge where they’re celebrities

  • ANTM, and you are TYRA.

  • “Congress Can’t Shut Us Down”

  • good times with lame hoes

If you read my last blog post, you know that I went to Oklahoma for a weekend trip and lost a few good friends during my travels. I came back the week before my birthday and wasn’t feeling too excited about throwing this party that I had already made a Facebook event for. But you only turn 17 once, so I figured that I should follow through and make the best of things. Over twenty people came to a party put on ONLY BY ME and no one was a dick, which warmed my heart a million times.

The turnout to my birthday party as well as the presents and special messages I received on my birthday really blew me away. I value true friends a lot, so I get really upset when one of my friendships seems to crumble like it did in Oklahoma. However, my birthday made me realize that there are some people that truly care about me, and those are the people I need to surround myself with. Advice: Don’t fixate on asses that just waste your time and emotions.

Sappy conclusion:

I care about people in my life a great deal and am fortunate to have made so many happy memories with them. They all inspire me to be a better person and keep chugging along when things get tough. A big thank you to everyone that has played a part in my life so far and sent me a shout out on my birthday (even if it was a simple FB wall post). I hope that your life is filled with love, happiness, and cats. May the spirit of Oprah bless you and your loved ones during this holiday season and lead us all to success and (in my case) fame.

Blessings,

Pita Mustafa

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Oklahomos

Oklahomos

This past weekend I went back to my old stomping ground of Norman, Oklahoma. Although I hated going to college there at first, I grew to like the town and made a lot of close friends and happy memories that I hold dear in my heart. I hadn’t been back since the summer after graduating, which was actually one of the most fun times I can remember. When I wasn’t working, I spent all my free time hanging out. And because I didn’t have any classes to worry about, I could actually loosen up and have a good time. I even started seeing a guy that I REALLY liked.

Right as I was hitting my stride that summer, I found out that I had been offered an internship with the UN in Armenia. I had been waiting for news like this for a while, but when it finally happened, I was hesitant to accept it because I didn’t want to leave everything behind and be so far away. I got the email one morning when I was lying in bed with this boy. It was a little awkward to share the news with him because I knew that my good fortune would mean the end of our short relationship. Even after my internship, I probably wouldn’t move back to Norman. And he showed no sign of leaving, so distance seemed to be the factor that would ultimately end what we had. However, we continued seeing each other until I left and didn’t really break things off.  He even said he’d wait for me.

I think that if I had still been in Norman, things would have turned out differently. But, despite trying to use Facebook and email, he eventually gave up talking to me after I had left. (I seem to attract boys who like to stop talking to me after stringing me along). It was harder for me because I was alone in Armenia and hated my internship, the country, and how I couldn’t find a paid job. I knew he was still hanging out with our old friend group because I saw pictures. It was sad seeing that everyone had moved on, but I knew that my friends still cared about me (or so I thought).

I came back to the U.S. in January and immediately starting working and living in Washington, DC. It had already been six months since leaving Norman, but I still missed my friends and wanted to go back to visit at some point. I was confident that everyone would be happy to see me, even this boy despite the fact that we had moved in different directions.

This past weekend was my long-awaited homecoming. I had only told a few friends that I was coming because I figured they’d let everyone know and I also love a little element of surprise. I was nervous about what was going to happen with this boy! Would he still think I’m attractive? Would he be nice to me? I spent most of the week preparing myself to tell him that I have a rash on my junk (not an STD) so sex would be a no-go but other stuff would be ok. I knew he was still hanging out with my best guy friend. I saw their pics on Facebook. But they’re just good friends, right?

WRONG. VERY WRONG.

As soon as I got in my friend Selina’s car at the airport, I found out that they’ve been dating for months and are pretty serious. They even live together in the same room. Ouch! That hurt. Oddly enough, this isn’t the first time this has happened to me. While I was studying abroad in Turkey, I found out through Facebook that my ex-boyfriend and best friend were dating. I was hurt not that they were together, but that neither of them felt the need to tell me. Isn’t that friend etiquette? Ask your friend before you go out with his ex? Nope, Oklahoma gays have proved to me that there is no code of conduct and that hos always come before bros. I mean, even before I left for Armenia, we all talked about this scenario happening again. And I made it known that it wouldn’t be the end of the world if they got together, but please please have some consideration and tell me so that I don’t look like a fucking dumbshit.

But there I was on my first night back in Oklahoma, and I already wanted to turn around and go back home. If these guys didn’t have the decency to tell me that they’d been dating probably ever since I left a year and a half ago, were they really people I cared to associate with anymore? I figured that I’d see them at some point during the weekend and that they’d want to see me. I even brought them presents. I just wanted to first state that my feelings were hurt but that I didn’t have a problem with them being together (even though inside I did. I’m taller and better looking than my friend so why the step down?) I thought once we moved past that, things could be ok and we’d just hang out and have a good time.

WRONG AGAIN

I only saw my “friend” once at a bar with a bunch of other people. (The boy hid from me the entire weekend.) It wasn’t really the best time to talk so I didn’t bring up anything substantial. We were just hanging out in a group, but then I would have a thought cross my mind like “You lost your virginity to my ex” or “I wrote you a fucking poem when I was in Armenia and this is what I get?!” After that encounter and some consulting with my friends, I decided to ask to have a talk the next day. He ignored my texts and made FB statuses and tweets like “idgaf” and “frankly u can ess my dee.”  Who could he be referencing?… APPARENTLY IT WAS ME!!!

Selina hinted a couple times that this friend had some major baggage that he now felt toward me. I don’t know the exact details (because no one can communicate) but apparently, he is completely fine not having any sort of relationship with me. Really? Look through your friend group in Norman and realize how many of your friends you met THROUGH ME including your current boyfriend. I wish I could give all the examples of things that we did that exemplify how close we were, but it’s kind of useless now. Although I know I shouldn’t fixate on the loss of friendship because I am a sexy young professional in DC and they are college dropouts working minimum wage jobs in Oklahoma, I do feel like a loser. I mean they have someone to cuddle with every night. They share cats. They’re even going to California together. And I come home every night alone to write on my blog and brainstorm ways to get my own TV show. I mean, financially I’m way better off, but emotionally, I’m empty.

This experience has also caused me a lot of trauma because these weren’t just average friends. I loved one with all my heart and I cared a lot about the other as a friend and as more. The lack of any sort of compassion for the situation I was in this weekend really threw me. I felt bullied by my friend, who now claims that I was a shitty person to him throughout our friendship. Do all my friends think the same thing? Do I have any friends? Does anyone love me? Does Oprah still love me? I’m a big mess right now. So, if you’re reading this, feel free to let me know if we’re still friends or if I should delete you from FB too. Also, hugs are appreciated.

TL DR:

I went back to Oklahoma to hang out with my friends who I thought were still my friends. It turns out my ex-love interest and (now ex) best friend are dating and living the perfect life of poverty with their fucking cats. Neither of them and none of my friends felt the need to tell me. This isn’t the first time this has happened to me. And I guess that I was a terrible friend because my ex bestie thinks I treated him badly and wants nothing to do with me. I want to call him something creative, vulgar, degrading, hurtful, and insulting but I can’t because in my head, he’s still a friend. But, somewhere between last summer and now, he drank some Kool-Aid that completely tarnished his opinion of me. Now, I’m confused about everyone and everything in life.

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Eight Types of People Who Want Me to Feel Sorry for Them (But I Don’t)

Eight Types of People Who Want Me to Feel Sorry for Them (But I Don’t)

It seems that everyone’s a martyr these days. I’m so busy. I’m so tired. I’m so single. Please let me rant about my complicated lifestyle that I have chosen for myself. Although I have been accused of “playing the victim” several times in life, it’s a dirty habit I’m trying to kick. If you want to feel sorry for yourself, fine. That’s a personal choice and I don’t think it will really get you anywhere. If you want me to feel sorry for you, you best look somewhere else. Because I got no time for dat.

1. Bikers- I get it. You want to stay active and save money by biking to work. You’re also environmentally conscious and can get to places way quicker than I can walking. But, when you complain about how people don’t know how to drive and they threaten your safety, I usually side with the dumbass drivers. Bikers, please create some sort of national assembly where you can solidify the rules that you abide by and disperse these rules to all cyclists around the country and world. Do you ride on the sidewalk? Do you wear a helmet at all times? Do you stop at stop signs and stoplights like everyone else? My problem with you guys is that you’re all over the place. When I walk around the city, I often feel endangered by YOU. Wait for me while I cross the crosswalk when I have the right of way and maybe I’ll have some more compassion for your cause.

2. Vegetarians/Vegans- There was this one vegetarian girl at my high school and I thought she could be such a bitch about her dietary choice. “We can’t go to this restaurant because I can’t eat anything.” “The school cafeteria needs to offer more vegetarian options for me.” Me, me, me. Did you give up meat to help the animals or yourself? I was a semi-strict vegetarian for a couple of years in college. I say “semi” because I never wanted my being a vegetarian to cause a scene. When my friend’s mom learned that I was a vegetarian, she asked if I eat Spam. My own grandma made lasagna with meat because she didn’t really understand vegetarianism. At those points, it was just easier for me to just suck it up and eat what’s put in front of me. The animal’s already dead and nobody wants to listen to a lecture from me about ethical and sustainable meat products. I’m not saying to eat things that don’t comply with your diet, I’m just saying stop whining about it. Go eat some non-dairy, non-soy, vegan humble pie.

3. Everyone in Grad School- As a young professional a few years out of college, I often come into contact with people in grad school or people applying for grad school. I don’t really understand the fascination with it, because I just spent four years getting a degree that I’d actually like to use. But everyone’s entitled to follow his/her own course in life, and for some that means pledging your first-born child as collateral so you take out MORE student loans and write your dissertation (along with everyone else) on ending the Israel-Palestine conflict. I know you think that your status as a published author in the university’s journal will have the UN hunting you down, but sadly, a higher degree doesn’t guarantee a job. See below:

Why Attending Law School Is The Worst Career Decision You’ll Ever Make

8 months out, no job… I guess my Ivy League Master’s Degree was a waste of money

So, I know you love talking down to me about how your schedule is just ridiculously busy and how I can’t understand what you’re going through because I ONLY work 40 hours a week, but don’t try to get me to feel sorry for you. We both had options after graduation. I (unintentionally) chose to get a job where I do nothing and get paid too much money. You chose to have a negative bank account and read lots of books with boring covers. Let’s just agree that our lives went in different directions, but neither is easier, better, or more beneficial to the starving people in Africa.

4. People who work in Nonprofits- So you went from being a martyr in grad school to a martyr in a nonprofit. And you don’t understand why you’re only making $30,000 a year when that’s how much you took out annually for tuition alone in grad school. I’m sure you are benefiting homeless youth with diabetes or seeing eye dogs for seeing eye dogs. But if you want to be able to afford expensive fair trade coffee made my Rwandan orphans or wear a designer gown to your charity organization’s annual gala, you should have thought a little more about your salary requirements when you were applying for jobs.

5. People who aren’t in relationships but want to be- Don’t get me wrong, I’m as untouched as a toilet seat with pee on it, but we have to use our singleness as an asset and not mope around. While couples are wasting all of their money on fancy anniversary dinners and birth control, we can eat our storebrand mac and cheese directly from the pot with a wooden spoon and have no one judge us. We don’t have to worry about anyone awkwardly breathing in our ear while snuggling after sex or holding anyone’s clammy hand during a movie. So, let’s not bore our single friends with stories about how we can’t get a date and how we know at age 24 that we are going to be alone forever. One, you’re preaching to the choir, and two, desperation leads to cat ladies.

6. Unpaid Interns- Landing an internship while still in school can be a really big accomplishment. The process is often competitive so congrats on being chosen. However, once you start interning, you have to realize that you’re at the bottom of the totem pole. Even the janitor gets paid more than you. I know that live tweeting what everyone eats for lunch and sorting the mail is super stressful, but no one else really wants to hear about it. Go write your independent research paper that no one is ever going to read or ask some more Capitol Hill staffers for their email addresses.

7. Introverts- If you think that being an introvert means non-stop social media posting about how you’re an introvert, I’m no behavioral psychologist, but I can spew out a few fancy words about you and none of them will be “introvert”.

8. Stereotypical Sorority Girls- You have Beta Bro Brunch, Theta Theatrics, and an Intro to Communications pop quiz all in one week? How are you going to survive?! No one has ever taken on so much responsibility as you. I mean, you’re stunting coordinator for the chapter’s dance at Homecoming where you’ll get imaginary points that will go toward winning an imaginary prize AND you had to walk a dog for 35 minutes to get community services hours. These skills are going to get you places someday. (Not really)

In conclusion, it’s ok to vent about your life’s obstacles, but most of the time you have no one to blame but yourself. Stop complaining and stop inviting me to your pity party. Invite me to a real social event…please.

(Under)Cover Letter

(Under)Cover Letter

Inspired by Jenny Kutner’s blog entry titled “The cover letter I would submit if honesty and self-deprecation were conducive to employment” and because I love to reminisce about how counterintuitive and miserable the post-graduation job search was, I decided to write my own honest cover letter. Of course, the real cover letter I use took me about 15 minutes to write and format, so I won’t be sharing that secret with anybody. But here is what I really want to send to employers:

Dear Sir or Madam,

I strongly hope that you have managed to open this Word document. If you cannot open it, kindly pull your head out of your ass, which is stuck in 2003, and download Microsoft Office 2010. Please note that this is a prewritten cover letter that I use for pretty much all of the jobs I apply for. All that I do is change the organization and position title. For the jobs that I really like, I put them on a list of “Immediate Jobs to Apply For!!!” and mentally formulate how awesome and personal my cover letter for those jobs will be. I then somehow manage to avoid ever completing this task and most of the postings expire before I can submit my application. So, I’m stuck applying for positions like this one. Are you even reading this? I doubt you are.

I strongly believe that I am qualified for this entry-level position that somehow pertains to international relations because I am alive and have at least two brain cells. When reading the listing for this job, I understood that “Office Manager” means “Everyone’s bitch that no one wants to hang out with after work” and that “Program/Administrative/any sort of Assistant or Associate” implies that I will be held accountable for my superior’s lack of competence. So, let’s stop beating around the bush. This position would insult the four years I spent getting two college degrees with an almost 4.0 GPA. It will include filing, using assorted office equipment that never functions, and browsing the internet for cat gifs. (Real talk: Sometimes when websites say NSFW, I still follow the link and that’s not going to change. Real Real Talk: I constantly search for symptoms of STDs on work computers too so if that’s a problem…I don’t care.)

If you look at my resume, which you won’t until you interview me (an unlikely event), I have many professional experiences that have given me the skills necessary for this organization. By that, I mean I had seven un-fucking-paid internships that gave me nothing but a jaded outlook on life and a depleted bank account. My strengths include foreign languages, organization, and intercultural dialogue. I am quite aware that none of these will be required on the job. America just forces everyone else to speak English, people with Master’s degrees can’t read an Excel spreadsheet, and foreigners aren’t people, but giving them money does help us sleep at night.

Thank you very much for your consideration for the position of [insert position] with [insert organization]. I admire the work of this organization and feel that I would be an excellent member of this team. If you find yourself desperate to find someone to fill this position because you’ve put off the hiring process for months and your entire HR department has a degree in uselessness, feel free to contact me to discuss this position further. I’m sure that I will be able to accommodate your call in my busy schedule of applying for America’s Next Top Model and doing the daily crossword.

Respectfully yours,

Pita

Puerto Rico Suave

Puerto Rico Suave

This one time I went to Puerto Rico for Labor Day weekend. Even though I didn’t know anyone there, I went by myself. I bought my ticket when I was in a get-me-out-of-DC rut during the summer. The flight times and ticket price worked perfectly and I wouldn’t have to ask off any time from my job. I initially assumed that I could find someone to go with me. That was in July. Flash forward to the end of August and I realized that all the people I could bear traveling with are either “poor” by their standards or flaky (or just don’t want to travel with me).  So, I boarded my flight to San Juan with a dream, a cardigan, and a prayer that this tropical vacation wouldn’t be a waste of my time.

After my oh-so-typical anxiety attack about flying, I arrived in San Juan at 1:30 in the morning. I finally reached the hostel I had booked online and was shown to my room. It was pretty small with two sets of bunkbeds complete with two sets of pale European asscheeks staring right at me. These were to be my roommates. After flying for hours, this wasn’t exactly the most welcoming sight, but I crawled on top (to the top bunk, I mean) and prayed for good beach weather.

I woke up the next morning determined to have a good time. It’s really easy to feel lonely when you plan a vacay by yourself but I knew I had to suck it up. I first went to the beach to get my tan on. In the afternoon, I went to old part of San Juan where there are forts and colonial buildings, etc. Very pretty. I came back to my hostel worried that I would spend the night reading my book alone. But, while walking back, I ran into some of the people working at my hostel. They invited me to go out that night, which was super exciting. Friends! Here are some of the highlights of the night:

1. I went to a bar where the only drinks came out of slushie machines.

2. I found out all of the guys working at my hostel were gay.

3. Someone twerked me. This means he jiggled my asscheek for me. Afterwards, I thanked him.

4. I heard a girl say that she is SO high that her weave smells like weed.

It was a really fun night. I met people from all over and didn’t feel so lonely. The next morning, I was invited with some of my new friends to go to the rainforest (casual Puerto Rican hangout). After some extensive planning and cancelling and planning and cancelling, we finally got on our way. Our driver was a bipolar Puerto Rican (via New York) lesbian who enjoyed smoking pot with all the windows up while driving. Jesus helped us get to the rainforest in one piece. There, we relaxed and splashed around in the river (again casual). 

That night, already my last night in PR, I was introduced to the San Juan gay scene. This is a big deal for Puerto Rico. I mean it’s Ricky Martin’s motherland! Again, it was a great night. I saw some drag queens, some thongs, some male strippers…everything I expected and more. Someone even hollered at me from their car but eventually turned me down because I had an early flight the next morning. Bummer. He probably would have lasted 30 seconds.

 I came back to the hostel pleasantly drunk and passed out on a couch in the common room. The hostel manager was asleep on the other couch when I lost consciousness. I work up the next morning to pee, stood up too quickly, and passed out in the bathroom. I hit my head on the sink and got this nice little souvenir:

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Pause. Look at that beautiful green eye one more time. Now, continue reading.

I didn’t have time to inspect my gash so I ran through the streets of San Juan looking for a taxi with a wad of toilet paper held to my forehead. I eventually made it the airport, where the paramedics bandaged me up. I talked to them completely in Spanish, gracias! They sent me on my flight and I got four stitches right when I got back to DC. All in all, I had a great trip but wish that I hadn’t been such a clumsy lush. After a brief freak out, I am now 95% sure that the hostel manager didn’t take advantage of me while I was passed out. 5% of me still has my doubts.

S Club 7 Things Going on in My Life

S Club 7 Things Going on in My Life

I haven’t written a blog post since April!!!

The only excuse I have is that nothing super interesting has been happening to me or at least nothing worthy of a blog post. Also, I usually post lots of bitchy things so my blog absence just means that I have no bitchin’ to do. False! The main thing I want to post about is super secret because I can’t write about it until August when I move out of my house. (Secret: it’s about my roommate who I don’t get along with. AT ALL.)

But I digress. I will make this a recap of the major and minor happenings in my life that are currently blog-appropriate.

1. It is 91,000 damn degrees in DC! Don’t believe me? Watch this video. I have no clue where this woman is located but I would bet money that it is within a five mile radius of me.

2. Heat=sweat=rashes=Josie Gross-y. The Lord has blessed me with the world’s worst rash on my genitalia region this summer.  It was so bad that I’m now on oral antifungal medicine. Again: ORAL. ANTIFUNGAL. God wanted to ensure that I would never get laid by giving me a physical rash and a mental complex that I have more STDs than the grown-up Mickey Mouse Club.

3. Work is blah but it’s become the perfect time to pay my credit card bill, buy plane tickets, and read a book. Keep that paycheck coming!

4. I got my wisdom teeth out. Now there’s plenty of room in my mouth. To all the Jew boys over 5’10”:

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5. Going to Peru next month to see my future roommate Cindy Sue, ride some llamas, and eat some guinea pig.

6. I bought a plane ticket to Puerto Rico for Labor Day even though I currently have no one to go with. I may or may not have selected PR because Sabrina from “Breaking Amish” visited her family there.

7. I’m obsessed with “We Can’t Stop” by Miley Cyrus. If you’re wondering what to get me for Christmas, my birthday, or Kwanzaa, I suggest a jumbo pack of Twerk soup:

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Well, that’s it for me for now. Be sure to catch my future post entitled “True Life: I live with a princess.” Be blessed and dressed to impress.