I used to open with, “I’m a litigation paralegal!” and as I’ve gotten older (toodles, overeager 2011 me) I realize I only liked that opening because it sounds important. But since my identity is still so tied to that opening line, I will extrapolate.
I was an English major at a prestigious all-women College. I started off with Biology but became disenchanted with all the chemistry required to go on to medical school (though, I don’t think I’d mind it these days, as Walter White serves as living [fictional] proof that chemists are baller). I went with my gut instinct of investigating the human experience through the words of others. And it truly was very lovely.
But the question became: what do I do with this degree? Ah, welcome to the struggle of the millenial twentysomething with a degree in the humanities.
I love to argue, I make awesome points, and I’m going to change the world. Ergo, I am a natural-born attorney. Law school, they said. It’ll bring out the best in you, they said.
Upon graduation, I applied to paralegal jobs and I’ve been jammin’ behind a cubicle wall ever since.
The world of lawyers in NYC is cold and impersonal. It’s full of crushed dreams and cheap irish pubs where associates go to wonder where they went wrong and buy endless refills of Ommegang. Just kidding. The majority of them don’t have such good taste. Those of us with access to watering holes like Fraunces Tavern (or anywhere on Stone Street, I guess… I am rarely cognizant of what’s what when I am on Stone Street) have truly lucked out. I digress.
I did a lot of soul-searching and went through a shitty breakup and finally arrived at my final destination: psychology. I’ve always been one to pick apart the motives and behaviors of others. I’ve always been the counseling type. This is a fancy way of saying I dole out pretty decent advice and people enjoy speaking to me about their problems. I actually care about their problems. Also, I have my fair share of issues, so I am chock full of empathy. Basically, my calling patiently sat next to me, watching me grow, and then plucked me when I was ready for it.
In two weeks, I am starting my grad program in clinical psychology.
And in four days, I am ending my career as a paralegal.
I’ve been a god-awful paralegal ever since I got my acceptance letter. They tell you not to burn bridges behind you but my subconscious smacked that idea upside the head and grabbed the gasoline.
ANYWAY. This is what you need to know about me if we will continue on this path together and you decide to give any semblance of a fuck about what I have to say:
1) I love pizza. I am addicted to it. I now work at a pizzeria for part-time kicks and giggles where I heat slices and pack them and sell them to you and sometimes I pop into the restaurant and waitress. This is like putting a crackhead in a crack house and expecting things will not go terribly wrong. I fight weight gain with every breath of that cheesy, saucy air.
2) I hate love. I’ve had nothing but shit experiences with it. I used to be such a goddamn romantic that it’s sickening.
3) I have anxiety. No, really. I am a nervous wreck and I don’t attempt to hide it anymore. It’s a huge part of who I am. Par example, as of late, I am obsessed with not catching ebola. Is this rational? No. Did I still break down and cry hysterically two weeks ago and refuse to enter the subway system because tourists and metrocard machines are just giant-ass ebola monsters? Yes. Am I going to hide it? No, fuck no. You know what? When my hyper-vigilant and inherently badass self survives the zombie ebola apocalypse and you don’t, we will see who will laugh the hardest, my friend. No, coughing and spitting up zombie blood does not count.
4) I cook sometimes and I will post recipes for you. I eat out sometimes and will post reviews for you. I share the foodie love.
5) I am Puerto Rican. I am loud and believe in carbohydrates in everything.
6) I am Italian. I am loud and believe in carbohydrates in everything.
7) I curse. A lot. So if you’re, for whatever reason, opposed to the best word, the most versatile word, ever introduced into the English language, please leave now. Because “fuck” is a goddamned masterpiece of a word. It sounds fantastic. It emphasizes so many points. It can mean so many different things. It’s never mild, never gentle. It’s never going away.
8) I love makeup. We can talk about this, too.
There’s more but I’m tired. Oh, there you go.
9) I love sleep more than I will ever love any man. I barely make enough time for it. Therefore, it is safe to conclude no man deserves my time. I will soon begin to collect my cats.
10) I make logic happen.