Stephanie Georgopulos

The way an anteater gracefully hoovers its prey through its nose; so shall you inhale the spilled contents of your burrito (using your mouth, of course). When you’re finished, crumple the burrito remains into a tinfoil ball and shove it aside.

Go to the liquor store and spend no more than $12 on a bottle of wine. Buy Yellowtail or Barefoot or some other Native American-inspired brand that you used to drink in college when you wanted to feel sophisticated. As the cashier swipes your debit card, wonder if it’ll get declined.

Believe in yourself. Don’t feel like you’re not good enough to be loved. Self-pity is a good way to stay single. Self-respect is a good way to stay grounded. Remember that people who are in relationships were once single.

Remember that you’re an individual; that your personal success matters. Have something other than ‘Really awesome girlfriend! :D’ on your resume. Take pride in something.

On my mornings off, I’d lay in bed writing and smoking cigarettes and drinking Café Bustelo and being so omigod post-grad tortured, or I’d show up to yet another job that I’d fashioned all on my own—selling my not-yet-paid-for clothes back to a thrift store.

Sure, I’d never been to a rave, but I wore UFOs with a sense of misplaced pride. It was just too cute to roll on E in pink raver pants, even if I was actually just going to school or hanging out around a bonfire in my friend’s backyard.

In New York, I often find myself playing Tag. By that, I mean I see something I like, peep the price tag, then run away. In Chicago, I looked at a tag and was like, “I’ll take two, please wrap them so that I can present myself with a gift-like reward for being awesome at shopping.”

I’ve reached this point before, when it’s too late for pills because I’m already too anxious. If I take the pill, my breath will slow and my heart will stop. I’m alone and who will make sure I’m okay, who will save me 30,000 feet in the air? Not silver-haired man. Not anyone. It’s too late, I decide, now I have to stay conscious or I’ll have a heart attack.

“Where do you see yourself in five years?”
The right answer is at this company, functioning as an indispensable member of our team. You won’t want to be that after five minutes of working here, let alone five years; but play along.

I’ve reached this point before, when it’s too late for pills because I’m already too anxious. If I take the pill, my breath will slow and my heart will stop. I’m alone and who will make sure I’m okay, who will save me 30,000 feet in the air? Not silver-haired man. Not anyone. It’s too late, I decide, now I have to stay conscious or I’ll have a heart attack.

Once, my friend tweeted, “At least I’ve still got chicken.” I thought, “That’d be a nice book title.” I’ve been thinking about tweets as book titles ever since. If these tweets were books, I’d read them.

Grip the armrest as you ascend, choke on canned air. Order the wine that’ll wash down the pill that’ll keep you sedated for the next five, ten, fifteen hours. Watch an in-flight movie about a troubled couple and bite your lip in anticipation of a happy ending. Fall asleep before it comes.