So I had this idea for a book-turned-movie (or Lifetime movie preferably not starring LiLo) called, “So You’re 22.” I thought it was such an earth-shattering idea that I chose to keep it to myself in fear of intellectual thieves. You know that small start-up company, Facebook? Yeah, my idea.
I graduated from college in May and since then, when people ask what I’m doing now, I say, “I graduated from college in May.” Those conversations have resulted in false sympathy and have surprisingly not resulted in numerous job offers. Thusly, I am a waitress on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, and an unpaid intern on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I’m a New York Giants fan on Sundays – most of the time.
More about me, I’m 22, single, and I live in New York City’s lower East Side with two boys. It’s Christmas Eve and I’m flipping between a Sex and the City marathon and Sportscenter while reading Cosmo and drinking a beer. This blog is no homage to Miss Carrie Bradshaw, however, I want this to eventually act as a blueprint for a book, cheap television show, or even a newspaper column (if newspapers exist by the time I’m a success story). I want people in my situation to have something besides Taylor Swift’s song, “22” to relate to in this time of confounding misery and terrible fun.