i got a job offer from a firm that runs the biggest daily-deals website in the world (think hard; you’ll know who i’m talking about. it’s not a fashion site. don’t tell me you’ve never signed up for emails from this site to get free movie tickets, $30 haircuts, etc.)

after getting this news, i proceeded to squeal “EEEEEEEEEE!!!!” loudly and dance all around the room.

but. but they want me to tell them on monday.

and. and, i’m waiting for a final round interview with my dream firm.

shit. what do i do.

**edited: i have really fucking smart cousins (and smart cousins’ significant others.) who have seen it all and know how to get around this shit. and that is how i get by. sometimes, i feel super, super lucky.

I’m not, all right?! I’m just not.

I do love getting dressed up. I do love dancing with my friends. I do love the amazing people-watching opportunities that happen in a club. Yes. I love all of the above.

But. But, I hit a wall. Typically, about two hours in. It’s extremely shameful — what do you mean, it’s 12:30AM and you want to go home?! It’s practically unacceptable. A girl my age should be out. She should be dancing the night away. She should be enjoying her youth, blah blah blah.

Yeah, whatever.

Here’s the problem. About two hours in, my knees and feet are tired from dancing in my heels (and from dancing in my flats that I’ve changed into, like, 30 minutes ago). I’m tired of being pushed around in a crowd. And those girls next to us, teetering around in their heels, and their drunken antics that end up with me falling over or getting sloshed with vodka? Yeah. I don’t like them either. Am I grumpy? Probably. Am I old? Really, not old enough. Is it because I’m in a relationship? But tonight, I don’t even have a boyfriend to go home to (he’s in Paris). 

So why am I in such a damn hurry to get home? 

Because I just want to get in bed. Okay?! I’m sorry. Go ahead. Pile it on. I’m lame. I get it. Nobody likes the girl who goes home early. But you know what? Tonight, I went home early instead of going along with everyone else because I didn’t want to piss anyone off, instead of tagging along even though I hated the music (…seriously, why can’t anyone in London just play me Kanye all night long?) and hated the place. And I love myself for it. I don’t give a shit. I am so happy to be in bed, with my makeup removed, with a huge glass of water. I’m so happy to have a full day tomorrow that I can use to go work out, to go finish my presentation for a class Monday morning at 9AM, to go call my mom and fill her in on my life, to clean the bathroom, and to do my laundry (yes, this is a serious list of things that I want to do tomorrow. We can get into this later.)

I’m pathetic, and I can only last a few hours in a club before I really want to go home. And I never wanted to admit it to myself before. But tonight, I did. And it felt so good. And now I don’t understand why I never stood up for myself before. Fuck it. This is me. And I’m all right with it.

*this post is brought to you by three double vodka-tonics and a healthy dose of self-righteousness.

Three things I’ve prayed about for a long time that have finally come true in the past two weeks:

1) My dad finding a job.

2) My flatmate finding an internship.

3) The Big 3 giving me another shot with a first-round interview.

Trying to break the habit of only blogging when I’m sad. This seemed like a pretty good place to start. Even though I’ve got about 2734892735 other things on my mind that I’d like God to work out for me. But it’s okay. I’ll take these three things. They’ve made a pretty big difference in my life, whether I’ve chosen to acknowledge them or not, and I need to be better at remembering what counts and what doesn’t (like, for example, having to wait too long in line at Starbucks. That really shouldn’t make me want to go on a knifing rampage. #firstworldstruggles)

This is the burger place in Brixton Village that I went to last week while one of my best friends from home was here. Just needed to share with you the wonderfulness of it all. The line was out the door for ages, but we emerged, full of delicious, overpriced burger.

And this is a picture of my four best friends back home, having post-Christmas brunch and mimosas. (Plus one of my friends’ gorgeous new watch!)

Okay, now the picture is complete. Just wanted to make sure I covered all of the luxury of having absolutely nothing to do for the past few weeks, so that when shit hits the fan, I can remember that I once was a real person who did fun shit. Onward, team.

have looked like this:

View of the Thames and Parliament at sunset, from the top of the London Eye.

Freshly baked bread at Borough Market.

Fancy-ass Laduree macaroons from the little shop in Harrod’s (one of my best friends came to visit for a few days, so I got to use her as an excuse to do all of the shamelessly touristy things here.)

Caramelized onion and goat cheese tarts, from when the Boyf decided to get fancy and make a whole bunch of complicated courses for a dinner party last week.

Little mini cheesecakes with raspberry coulis. Also made for aforementioned fancy-ass dinner party. Also consumed extremely liberally the night beforehand. Don’t judge me.

My sweetass pocketwatch necklace that I’ve been coveting for ages. Sent to me all the way from some Etsy shop in Hong Kong. I give this chain three more days before it turns my skin green. I’m allowed to hate on China as long as I’m paying £16,000 to study China, right? Right.

Last but not least, another shot of the awesome, awesome shoes I bought as a birthday gift to myself in October. They still make me smile a shit ton whenever I look down at them. So there.

So there you have it. The next few weeks are going to be brutal, since I’ve got a few job interviews lined up. Fingers crossed that all hope is not lost after all?