| NotRihanna | your favorite misanthrope

Develop An Addiction Or Two: Whether you smoke yourself into a cancerous state, depend on pills, weed or alcohol to get you through the day or a party; be sure to consume these toxins habitually. This will help you fit in and dull your senses when having to deal with real human interaction. Better yet, try to mix pills and alcohol; this will make you and the people around you more interesting.

Eat Like Shit: Make the cheesesteak, coffee and the Tasty Cake staples in your diet. I hear they taste better after a night of binge drinking.

Dance: Dance because this will truly be your only form of exercise, other than promiscuous drunken sex.

Consume: When you’re not binge drinking or coked out until 5am, shop. Get your pre-cardiac arrest ass down to Walnut Street and buy the first thing you see in the windows at American Apparel, Urban Outfitters and H&M. Continue to feed “the man” and stay broke. Remember buy the first things you see, right in the front of the store, because other people will have these things and that will help you fit in. Buy that knockoff Pendleton flannel. What the fuck is a Pendleton anyway? Remember: FIT IN!! Purchase those leggings that everyone will be wearing at this month’s Making Time, you can pretend you like each other because you have something in common; leggings. Or grab that see-through lace shirt from American Apparel, everyone has it! Get it before they run out and have to restock and you have to wait an extra week to clone yourself. Plus, all the F class “celebrities” in Philadelphia will be wearing it in their magazine feature spread at the beginning of next month. This will make you look cool.

Pretend To Know Important People: This is key in making people in Philadelphia think you have value. Know someone who knows some rapper’s wife. Appear in pictures with that third party person or even the “celebrity” themselves. Get into a low budget music video. Befriend someone who once appeared in a video with an out of work rapper from the early 90’s. And if you can’t be real friends, find them on Instagram, Facebook or Twitter. “Like” their photos, tweet at them: “Just saw @(insert drug addicted/living with parent artist here) kill it onstage. You are truly amazing and inspiring. Loved your Urban flannel btw. I have the same one we both paid $80 for it!!! Owww Oww.” Also, attend press conferences (if you’re not too hung over from last night’s weekly rager) for big events in Philadelphia. Try to give a pound to the most famous artist there. Pretend you’re very friendly with him or her, but secretly stir with jealousy behind his or her back.

Live With Your Parents: In the basement for good measure.

Throw Parties: And Tweet/Facebook/Instagram about them as much as possible. This will make people think you contribute something to the city and are cool. Eventually, someone will try to appear in a picture with you!

Become a DJ, party promoter, model or even a rapper: Tweet and update your facebook status about how you’re on your grind and how difficult it is to live “this life” from the kitchen of whatever restaurant you actually have to work at to pay your bills. Offer advice to others that truly believe you’re someone, publicly. Tweet at them; bestow your great knowledge and power on them.

Be promiscuous: Because who cares about self-respect these days anymore? Again, make sure it appears on Facebook/Twitter via pictures and cute little comments on each other’s pages, so when it ends as soon as it began, you and others will have a point of reference as to how many people you’ve slept with. Plus, this will give you and others something to talk about at parties and you’ll have something in common with other people; they’ve slept with the same person. You can even take it a step further and befriend the other vagina’s that have been slayed by the same penis! If nothing more, you’ll have more facebook pictures and friends because of the short-lived experience.

Don’t get a real job or try for an entry level position: Because you didn’t invest in your future anyway and you’ll probably die from your addiction (See “Develop An Addiction or Two”), most likely you can get an entry level position somewhere, part time. This way you’ll make just enough money to shop on Walnut (reference “Consume”), still have time to party and enough money to buy yourself drinks.

Or just sell drugs and run a blog/clothing line.

Never Leave: Rinse & Repeat

The fantasy is over. Someone is not going to pick you up off your face if you fall financially. There is no cute little credit card with your parent’s last name cleanly listed above yours. You are not Carrie Bradshaw, pretending to survive off the miniscule salary of a columnist, purchasing thousand dollar pumps every time you get dumped.  And there’s certainly no gas card; you have to pay the rent. Like so many misguided now twenty something’s, I craved the independence, the modern woman lifestyle that I was told came with each passing birthday. I couldn’t wait to establish my autonomy through parties, trays full of hor d’oeuvres, heels and gorgeous young men to play with. Not so fast.

This is my reality

Hunger pains.

Being in your mid-twenties means there’s never any good food in the fridge. I can’t remember the last time I had a really satisfying meal. I live 3.5 hours from my family so leftovers are a rare occurrence and my mom does not send food via the mail. . I don’t cook because there’s no one to cook for. Each of my meals is small and personalized just for me .No leftovers mean loneliness and overall feelings of being pathetic. That mustard or half empty jar of mayo is not going to fill that void. No family dinners, no rolling my eyes at my annoying 14-year-old sister and no going back for seconds. Nope. I can’t nuzzle my little head into my mother’s overwhelmingly plump chest or lay on her on the family couch. Hell, my couch is covered in my roommate’s cat hair so I’d rather just not sit there at all. A hunk of dry cheese is what I have to look forward to after a night of pounding beers with pals either that or order out from the same (stellar) Chinese restaurant up the block. My favorite chocolate soymilk isn’t overstocked in the back of the fridge and my mother’s deep-dish endless tray of lasagna isn’t there to quell my late night cravings.

That cost how much?

Yep. Remember when it was so easy to spend your parent’s money? I do. My mother gave me a credit card in college that I just felt compelled to use. Use on gas, groceries, sometimes I’d even pay my bar tab with it. Now, I walk into a store or restaurant and say to myself (or the cashier) “That hummus is how much? You’re robbing me!” When you have bills and expenses suddenly ordering out for sushi or blowing money at the bar doesn’t seem to be a top priority. I’d rather use that money on a new skirt or save for a plane ticket to Europe, cuz oh yea; I’m buying those now too.

Vampires.

Ladies if you’re in your mid twenties, or approaching them, you suddenly become prey for that older 36-42 year old male. You know, the one that isn’t married and somehow seems to be attending every party you do, the one with the alcohol tolerance of a, well a 40 –year-old man that has been partying every night for the past 20 years. Yea, that guy. Hold up. At first, you may think that access to a bunch of parties and the free drinks rock, cuz they do, but it gets to a point when you’re literally attending the same party and drinking the same beer and fighting off the same 40-year-old guy at the end of the night. The only thing that’s changed is your outfit.  Hang around him some more and keep wondering why you’re still single. You’ve befriended your cock-blocker. This guy is looking for the same thing every other guy is looking for but he’s 15 years your senior. You have to think “Do I want to grow old with someone or rejuvenate someone else’s life by giving them a second chance with MY youth?” Beware of the vampire; these guys probably even look like them once they get naked anyway. Procreate with someone your own age.

Let’s get serious… maybe.

On the subject of dating, you start to really question the people you spend your time with and date. “Is he the one? Am I really going to have kids with this guy? Am I willing to mix my genes with his? Whoa, Is this what I really want?” Before you overwhelm yourself with panic, you have to realize that yes it is starting to matter who you date, but you can still have your fun. This is that age when people you know are getting married, even divorced, and you’re probably next. You have to really figure out whom you’re going to spend your time with and what they’re doing with their lives and how it fits into yours. It’s hard to imagine rotting away with someone who just puked cheetos into your garbage can after a night of drinking…on a weekday. But hey, if you’re willing to hold the garbage can for them, you just may be willing to dive into a full-blown marriage too. Who knows?

Getting older isn’t easy, especially when you’re caught in between paying bills, health insurance policies and figuring out which slutty costume you can pull off this Halloween. Things can get serious, very fast and the responsibility falls on you. Now is the time to start growing up… a little.

The slightest
coercion
towards destruction
I mean

a sliver

that’s all I need to come
sucking up vapors
of instigation

watch me.

Say it isn’t
so

I will drag
my weight
across
the blunt
of every presented
nail
without wincing
at the pain.

Just to say
“So”

deadening pride
because
mine is far too
dense to swallow.

It’s only become
easier
to blink away
realities rather
than catch
emotion
in the gut of
my throat.

I’ve learned
to season
elations into
a numbness
and within that
nothingness
awaits
some reward.