Why is it that, for the past year and a half, my life has been completely uneventful to the point where my roommates had to stop asking me what I did that day, but on the one week since April 25th, 2020 that I actually have shit going on, everything that could ever happen to a person has happened to me. And let’s be honest here—there’s still plenty of time for even more things to happen.
On Monday, I had a final round of interviewing at noon that ended with a job offer, and then Caroline and I toured an apartment at 3:30 and decided she was The One. These are obviously two huge talking points of this newsletter—my unemployment status and my quest to find a new home—but that’s not the event I want to dwell on, surprisingly.
Monday night I hung out with my friend Bria for the first time since March 10, 2020, the day we were sent home from R*f*n*r*29 indefinitely. Bria lives in a hotel-turned-apartment building, so you can imagine the entire place is filled with nice furnishings and upscale finishes. I wanted to pee before I left (classic), so I snuck away to her bathroom. I peed, wiped, etc., and then made my way to the sink. As I’m washing my hands, I glance up at the mirror like any normal person would. I study my face for a moment, and I swear to you, I did not recognize the face staring back. I looked almost one dimensional, and my features looked like they had been altered in a way I can only describe as “manly.” I’ve publicly admitted to having facial dysmorphia on this very newsletter, but this was entirely different. My usual facial dysmorphia consists of my head conflating a break out or two with a face full of acne, due to years of scarring and hyperpigmentation ruining the texture and appearance of my skin. But never in my life have I been unable to recognize the actual structure of the face in my reflection before.
I took an Uber home because, hehe, there were two armed robberies in FiDi that night, and I was not about to let my petite, fragile self ride the subway all alone. As I wait for my car in the lobby, I try my best to respond to every text I got while I was gone (side note: I think I always knew, but this was the worst time to find out I am the incredibly Reachable and Available friend. Let me have a life, damn!!!), while also deciding whether I want to process what just happened or move on like any sane individual would. I suddenly got really hungry, and, to the surprise of many, did not have my signature granola bar one me. I pass out sometimes (don’t read too much into it it’s just a thing that I do), so you can imagine the wave of worry that came over me when I wondered if this would be one of those times. This choice was mine: focus on passing out, or focus on my completely fucked up face. I chose the latter.
The Uber comes, we’re driving, everything’s fine, we’re in Brooklyn now, and we’re entering a ramp to a highway I’m unfamiliar with. There are several cars stopped on the ramp. The Uber driver starts up the ramp quickly, then pumps the breaks. The cars barely start moving and he revs up the ramp even faster than before. The car starts doing that beeping thing they do to let you know, “hey, you might be in a car crash in a sec!” I let out an involuntary gasp before the car stops. He turns around to look at me, I look out the window to avoid his eyes, and he continues to stare for the longest five seconds of my life before saying, “you okay?” I say, “yeah, sorry,” and we’re fine again. Except we’re not fine, because when I gasped, I unknowingly dug my own grave. He spent the rest of the night driving no more than 30 mph and stopping at every yellow light he saw in the distance. Normally I would cherish a driver who respects the rules of the road, but when you’re about to blow the top off what could be a major panic attack while also racing against the clock to get home before your blood sugar drops completely, you learn to appreciate a lead foot.
I come home and Hana is on the couch. I explain the events of the last 30-40 minutes, and she says something cheeky like, “there’s no chance you’re tripping, right?” I was like, “hah, yeah right,” and then I was like, “I am nauseous, though…” It goes without saying, I was not tripping.
Ultimately I think what happened was: I applied too much makeup to overcompensate for some breakouts before my final round of interviewing earlier that day, and because I don’t live in a building where the bathroom lighting is more than half-decent, I wasn’t able to clock just how strange I looked. I’m usually a pretty shiny person, for better or worse, but I must have concealed all of the grease under my foundation (disgusting) and unknowingly given myself a matte makeover in the process. But the lighting was not innocent here, either. I’m choosing to believe that the intense hotel lighting casted some very weird shadows and was responsible for the manly-looking features, like the Homunculus eyebrows and crazy ass jaw line. It was one of the most upsetting things I’ve ever experienced, but it was also a great reminder from God that good feelings are temporary, but suffering? Suffering is forever. I didn’t even tell my friend about any of this, so Bria, if you’re reading this, your bathroom needs some LEDs or something girly.
You’re probably wondering what the take away of that whole thing was, and the answer is, I don’t know, idiot! I just think it’s the perfect example of how incredibly batshit my life is been. I can sit here and tell a dozen stories about how I made it up to Ridgewood for an apartment tour and waited 25 minutes before the realtor told me she wasn’t coming, or I can tell you about the wildest day I’ve had in literal years. Your choice, amigos!!
You’re also probably wondering what the deal is with my new job. Well I’ll tell you, you nosey little skanks!! The job is in social media management (groundbreaking); I asked a friend with social media experience for some tips before I start next week, and she sent me a voice note in which every 3 words she said, “you probably already know all this.” I promise you, readers, I did not understand a single word she said. So, you know, it’s whatever. Feeling good, living better, etc. Also, I found out yesterday that have to go to “court” next week to defend myself against the Department of Labor. So stay tuned for that, I guess.