Thursday, April 7, 2011

How To Hit Bottom With Style And Panache (Robyn Happened: Vintage 2008)

OMIGOD YOU GUYS. I was poking around MySpace for old times' sake and re-reading the ol' blog. It used to live there once upon a time. And I came upon this gem of an entry from December 2008. For those playing along, at the time, I was living in DC and had broken up with a guy who did an Epically Bad Thing, and was perpetually drunk and miserable. It was fantastic. I've hit a bit of an emo patch here in 2011 lately, but finding this was like getting a face-punch across time and space from 2008 Robyn, who's all "Awwwwwww, is widdle hipstew Wobyn sad with her uptown wiverfwont apartment and wock star fwiends and widicuwous job. PISS OFF. DON'T. EVEN. START. WITH. ME." And she has something that resembles a point, poor drunk thing.

And to think I didn't transfer this over because I thought it was oversharing. Hilarious.


So you think things can't possibly get any worse? Surprise! They just did! But fear not. Here's some tips on how to properly hit bottom.

1a. If the bad news is delivered in a professional/public setting, and does not entail any life or death type situations, it is critical that you accept it elegantly. Look your assailant in the eye and smile like you love nothing more than being metaphorically shot in the gut at close range. Exit the situation with perfect posture until you are out of sight, dragging your metaphorical entrails behind you.

1b. If, however, the bad news manifests itself in a no kidding, life and death type situation, by all means, skip immediately to step 6 and lose your shit like there's no tomorrow. A good primal scream or prolonged gutteral moan works beautifully. As does a nice fainting spell. In this situation, all bets are off.

2. An escape plan is critical. You must, in the near future, flee the scene, if only for a day or so. Clean up whatever logistical mess must be attended to, and then get the hell out of town. If you've just received the bad news, it might be a good idea to fire off a semi-hysterical missive to out-of-town friends requesting, nay, demanding, their hospitality in the not-too-distant-future. You may lose elegance points here, but they will oblige. They'd be scared not to.

3. If it's seasonally appropriate, and if your city is enlightened enough to have one, visit the neighborhood Festivus pole, and publicly air your grievance anonymously. True, it will not solve your issue, but it will be immensely satisfying. Especially if you have a particularly good grievance, or a series of them presented in bullet form on the back of an envelope that once contained an affidavit from Dell Financial Services.

4. If you have a friend in the vicinity of said Festivus pole, call them immediately upon posting your grievance, and drink copious amounts of adult beverages with them. Bonus points if said friend happens to have a healing mixtape on hand, and is willing to share her steak dinner with you. Make sure you have cab fare before embarking on this step. You'll need it later.

5. On your way home, kick the crap out of a few streetlamps. This town is, after all, trying to kill you, and you must fight back. Just mind your toes.

6. Once, and only once, you are in a safe space, it is now time to lose it. Crumple to the floor and weep generously. I mean really get into it. Get all snotty and ugly and maybe drool a little. Ad-lib. Suggestions: "I don't understaaaaand..." or "Whhhhhyyyyyy?" or just say the F-word. A lot.

7. Pass out, either from exhaustion or alcohol, or both. You can take off your makeup in the morning.

8. Wake up, take an aspirin, dress up pretty, and resolve then and there to move to New York City.