I've spent the past week holed up in my mother's guest room recovering from quite possibly the most masochistic adventure I've ever signed up for... the removal of the wisdom teeth. I have laid here day after day, hour after hour, four gaping holes in my gums, the pain of a thousand hells, alone with my own thoughts, two seasons of Gossip Girl and a variety of fashion and celebrity gossip magazines. And what this experience has taught me? Is that I want to live the fabulous life... and instead I live this one. This average, plain, shitty-jobbed, suburban life.
I've always thought there was something marvelous out there for me. Always. I moved to New York when I was 18 to find it. I left, alone and defeated. I moved to Phoenix when I was 21 to find it. The only thing I found in the desert is Satan and the fiery heat of his own personal Devil Star. And here I am. 29. Mouth throbbing, medical receptionist job looming, fabulous life nowhere in sight.
And I am aware that submerging myself in hours of Upper East Side privilege and hundreds of pages of Vogue photo spreads whilst marinating in self-pity was quite possibly the worst idea I've ever had, but that said, the bitches in Gossip Girl didn't even have to work for their fabulous lives. It was all handed to them. And I wasn't born to be 5'10" and 110 lbs, with legs up to my neck and flawless bone structure. I'm just me dammit, and all I'm saying is I deserve a chance to live the fucking fabulous life!
Now someone hand me a rhinoplasty and an auditon time.
1 week ago