How my parents ruined my life
Sometime in the last year or so, I confronted my parents with the fact that they ruined my life.
See, when I was in high school, I had it all figured out. I was really into makeup and decided I wanted to be a professional makeup artist. This was in the time before 13 year old amateur makeup artists on YouTube figured out that they could make videos of themselves putting on makeup and make more money than I will ever make in my life. This was back in the days of "let me just experiment with this humongous Estee Lauder Christmas gift set until I look awesome and could conceivably in 10 years, if I go at this rate, convince someone I could do this for a living."
One day, my aunt and uncle came over for dinner and my aunt, who didn't usually wear makeup, let me put makeup on her. I did gold and purple eyeshadow and she looked amazing and I took some pictures, only in the pictures she looked less of an avant garde New York club scener and more like a funny but very pretty clown. That was both the high and low point of my putting-makeup-on-other-people career.
So I announced to my parents I didn't want to go to college, but I did want to go to a prestigious cosmetology school and then move to New York City and do makeup for Broadway shows.
They said, "That's awesome! But first you will go to college, or we will financially cut you off."
If I'd had the chutzpah I always wished I had, I would have said, "Screw your money! I will make my own way!" but I didn't. I didn't like working (in theory - I'd never actually had a real job), and I wasn't ready to think about real life things like paying my own car insurance. I knew if I went to college they would keep taking care of adult stuff like that for me, and for some reason I thought I needed them to do that. Why I didn't realize I could take out loans like every other college student ever and get a job and make it all happen on my own, I will never know. (Or maybe I'll know after tomorrow, when I have my first appointment with my new psychologist, but I guess we'll find out.)
So begrudgingly I agreed to go to college. I didn't know what I wanted to study, so they said, "Just pick something you like." My other vague idea in high school had been to become a journalist (because I always liked writing sad personal narratives about my dogs and how I hated going to the gym) but for some reason when I actually went to college I forgot all about this practical life plan and picked history like I was pulling a random subject out of a hat.
History is basically the worst major ever. You learn about things that happened a long time ago, and about people who are all dead, and everyone in your classes is as depressed and antisocial as you are because you are spending all of your time learning about mistakes dead people made, so you never make any friends.
I was super depressed in college - did I mention that?
While other kids went to parties and did fun stuff like tailgating and insert fun college stuff here - I have no idea what college kids do for fun, I found a nice quiet spot on the 4th floor of the old library nobody went to anymore and spent all my time there reading books and cramming as many dates and names into my head as I could. I got through my first two years of college with straight A's and no actual friends.
Then my best friend's grandma died and she had a slightly-pre-quarter-life crisis and we both decided to transfer to UK together and be roommates.
Going to UK with her was fun. I graduated early because I hated college and wanted to get out as fast as possible. You had to have 120 credits to graduate and I had exactly 121 when I graduated. Never let it be said that I am not efficient.
I had vague plans of going to grad school to become a historic preservationist. Except that involved more school and also massive quantities of money to pay for said school. I had neither the desire for more school nor the money to pay for it.
The next best plan was pretending to work vaguely in the direction of going to grad school one day. So I moved to Maryland and worked for an actual historic preservationist and had 6 of the best months of my life. Only problem was I lived with one of my bosses, who was a certifiable madwoman. After six months, my options were blowing the house up or moving back to Kentucky. So with my tail between my legs, and no actual plans, I moved back to Kentucky.
Luckily, Starbucks had a job fair and I went to it, and scored myself a job as a Barista! My first real job, with taxes taken out of my paycheck and health insurance and everything. Except making $7 an hour isn't awesome, and sort of makes you feel bad about yourself when you have an actual college degree from the freakin' flagship university of your state. I finally quit Starbucks and got a job as a teller for like $9 and hour, and sold myself to the Man, which brings me to the Current Day, where I find myself here in podunk Eastern NC with no boyfriend, and no kids, and no imminent prospects for either, but with 3 cats, who I love dearly and who, on good days, show intermittent signs of loving me back.
So mom and dad, I blame you for all of this. If you had just realized my potential as a future Tony award winning makeup artist when you got me that Estee Lauder Blockbuster for Christmas in 1999, and had agreed to keep paying my car insurance while I went to makeup school, I would probably be living in a loft in New York City right now, with a Wall Street boyfriend and a Tony on the wall (or the mantle, wherever one keeps those things).
If I can just blame you, that will make me feel so much better about myself. Can you just take this one for the team? Thanks. Love you. xoxo, Erin.
See, when I was in high school, I had it all figured out. I was really into makeup and decided I wanted to be a professional makeup artist. This was in the time before 13 year old amateur makeup artists on YouTube figured out that they could make videos of themselves putting on makeup and make more money than I will ever make in my life. This was back in the days of "let me just experiment with this humongous Estee Lauder Christmas gift set until I look awesome and could conceivably in 10 years, if I go at this rate, convince someone I could do this for a living."
One day, my aunt and uncle came over for dinner and my aunt, who didn't usually wear makeup, let me put makeup on her. I did gold and purple eyeshadow and she looked amazing and I took some pictures, only in the pictures she looked less of an avant garde New York club scener and more like a funny but very pretty clown. That was both the high and low point of my putting-makeup-on-other-people career.
So I announced to my parents I didn't want to go to college, but I did want to go to a prestigious cosmetology school and then move to New York City and do makeup for Broadway shows.
They said, "That's awesome! But first you will go to college, or we will financially cut you off."
If I'd had the chutzpah I always wished I had, I would have said, "Screw your money! I will make my own way!" but I didn't. I didn't like working (in theory - I'd never actually had a real job), and I wasn't ready to think about real life things like paying my own car insurance. I knew if I went to college they would keep taking care of adult stuff like that for me, and for some reason I thought I needed them to do that. Why I didn't realize I could take out loans like every other college student ever and get a job and make it all happen on my own, I will never know. (Or maybe I'll know after tomorrow, when I have my first appointment with my new psychologist, but I guess we'll find out.)
So begrudgingly I agreed to go to college. I didn't know what I wanted to study, so they said, "Just pick something you like." My other vague idea in high school had been to become a journalist (because I always liked writing sad personal narratives about my dogs and how I hated going to the gym) but for some reason when I actually went to college I forgot all about this practical life plan and picked history like I was pulling a random subject out of a hat.
History is basically the worst major ever. You learn about things that happened a long time ago, and about people who are all dead, and everyone in your classes is as depressed and antisocial as you are because you are spending all of your time learning about mistakes dead people made, so you never make any friends.
I was super depressed in college - did I mention that?
While other kids went to parties and did fun stuff like tailgating and insert fun college stuff here - I have no idea what college kids do for fun, I found a nice quiet spot on the 4th floor of the old library nobody went to anymore and spent all my time there reading books and cramming as many dates and names into my head as I could. I got through my first two years of college with straight A's and no actual friends.
Then my best friend's grandma died and she had a slightly-pre-quarter-life crisis and we both decided to transfer to UK together and be roommates.
Going to UK with her was fun. I graduated early because I hated college and wanted to get out as fast as possible. You had to have 120 credits to graduate and I had exactly 121 when I graduated. Never let it be said that I am not efficient.
I had vague plans of going to grad school to become a historic preservationist. Except that involved more school and also massive quantities of money to pay for said school. I had neither the desire for more school nor the money to pay for it.
The next best plan was pretending to work vaguely in the direction of going to grad school one day. So I moved to Maryland and worked for an actual historic preservationist and had 6 of the best months of my life. Only problem was I lived with one of my bosses, who was a certifiable madwoman. After six months, my options were blowing the house up or moving back to Kentucky. So with my tail between my legs, and no actual plans, I moved back to Kentucky.
Luckily, Starbucks had a job fair and I went to it, and scored myself a job as a Barista! My first real job, with taxes taken out of my paycheck and health insurance and everything. Except making $7 an hour isn't awesome, and sort of makes you feel bad about yourself when you have an actual college degree from the freakin' flagship university of your state. I finally quit Starbucks and got a job as a teller for like $9 and hour, and sold myself to the Man, which brings me to the Current Day, where I find myself here in podunk Eastern NC with no boyfriend, and no kids, and no imminent prospects for either, but with 3 cats, who I love dearly and who, on good days, show intermittent signs of loving me back.
So mom and dad, I blame you for all of this. If you had just realized my potential as a future Tony award winning makeup artist when you got me that Estee Lauder Blockbuster for Christmas in 1999, and had agreed to keep paying my car insurance while I went to makeup school, I would probably be living in a loft in New York City right now, with a Wall Street boyfriend and a Tony on the wall (or the mantle, wherever one keeps those things).
If I can just blame you, that will make me feel so much better about myself. Can you just take this one for the team? Thanks. Love you. xoxo, Erin.
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