“Hey, do you want to go to the gym sometime?”
“Huh?”
“You know, go work out. We could be, um, workout partners.” Workout partners? I could feel myself blushing. This sounded ridiculous. It was like I was asking him out on a date.
“Sure, whatever,” he said.
“Cool! How’s tomorrow, at, like, four o’clock?”
He shrugged and finished gathering up his things. “That should work. Give me your number just in case,” he said. We exchanged info and he wandered off.
I was elated. I’d never been to the campus gym before, but figured it couldn’t hurt to start working out after all the junk food I’d been eating. The next afternoon I put on a pair of blue Abercrombie shorts and some cheap running shoes from Payless and walked across the quad, south of the main campus, and down to North Street.
The recreation center is a huge, windowless brick structure and looks more like a prison than a place to get healthy. It was early November by this point and freezing cold, but I didn’t want to hang out in the lobby by myself, so I waited outside on a ramp, jumping up and down to try and keep myself warm.
I’m here, I texted at 4:05.
Outside, I mean, I texted at 4:12. Are you already inside?
Ten minutes later: Did something come up?
I finally gave up on him at 4:35 and rushed back to my dorm, diving under the covers to warm up my freezing legs.
When I saw him again in class the next day, I asked what had happened. “Oh, yeah, something came up. Sorry.” He didn’t offer to try again, so I gave up on him. But I wasn’t ready to abandon my search for friends yet. I scanned the school’s bulletin boards in search of activities that might be fun and saw that auditions were being held for a play. But the day I saw the flier was also the last day the auditions were being held, so I rushed straight to the auditorium. There was a girl sitting at a table in the lobby and she pointed to a sign-in sheet.
“You got here just in time,” she whispered. “There’s someone else in there reading now, and we thought he was going to be the last one for the day.”
She handed me a copy of the script. “You should have some time to look this over before you’re up.”
I thanked her and scanned the printout, but it was a play I’d never heard of, and I wondered if a student had written it. I began to concentrate on the highlighted lines when the girl called my name. “Actually, you’re up now after all,” she said. “You can go on in.”
I went inside and walked down the aisle toward the stage. An upperclassman was sitting in the third row with his feet up on the seat in front of him, and two other guys holding clipboards flanked him.
“Hi,” I waved.
They nodded at me, and I walked up onto the stage and stood across from another guy holding the script.
“I’ll read the other parts,” he said. “Start whenever you’re ready.”
I hadn’t had a chance to see more than three lines of dialogue before being called in, and so as you might imagine, the audition was a disaster. I stumbled over every other word. And since I didn’t know what the scene was even about, I had no idea how I was supposed to be acting. The dialogue was pretty ambiguous—the character could have been happy or angry. It was impossible to tell. About halfway through the scene, I realized that I hadn’t even looked up from the script once, so I quickly made eye contact with the other actor, who was staring at me like I was insane. I dropped my eyes back down to the page but lost my place and stood there saying “um, um, um” over and over until I found it again.
Once the ordeal was finally, mercifully over, the director called out “Thank you,” with disdain practically dripping out of his mouth.
I didn’t even bother checking the callback sheets the following day. Maybe I was actually cast in the lead role and just never found out. But somehow I doubt that.
The one thing that kept me from going absolutely out of my mind was—you guessed it—YouTube. I had started to become closer and closer to my online friends, like a girl named Meghan who ran a channel called Strawburry 17. I became a little obsessed with her. Every morning I’d wake up, eat a bowl of Apple Cinnamon Cheerios, and watch her new daily vlog. She’d chat about her cool life and take viewers along with her on little adventures, and she’d sometimes really open up about her personal life. Her mom had some issues with prescription drugs, and her childhood wasn’t the greatest. I was shocked: I didn’t think anyone else was going through anything remotely similar to what I had been through. It was cool to see someone I admired so much being open and vulnerable about her personal life. I didn’t talk about my family issues with anyone. Literally, no one. I couldn’t imagine how she had the guts to expose that sort of information to the world. (Little did I know that one day I’d write an entire book about my personal life.)
Anyway, I’d pretend that I was hanging out with her when I watched her videos, and she made me feel that I was catching up with an old friend every day. I eventually reached out to her online to tell her how much I liked her work, and we began writing back and forth and then video chatting. I developed a little crush on her. She was cute and funny and smart, but she was also located all the way across the country, so there wasn’t much I could do about it.
Winter break was approaching, and it couldn’t come fast enough. After Amanda had broken up with the stoner, he had started going to fewer and fewer classes, until he stopped going completely. He was in the room constantly, smoking pot and playing Grand Theft Auto. I never had any time to myself, but I also never felt so alone. We lived together with our headphones on—him lost in video games and me meticulously editing videos. When we did talk, I’d try to persuade him to go to class. (Okay, maybe it was more out of a desire to finally have some alone time.) He never listened though, and by the end of the semester he was expelled, which meant I’d have the whole room all to myself when we got back from break. But that was the only good thing I could see about returning to college after the holidays.
Five Essential Items to Bring to College
1. Flip-flops to wear in the gross, grimy shower.
2. A shower caddy so no one steals your conditioner.
3. Stuff to decorate your room with that makes you feel safe and reminds you of home.
4. At least two pairs of sheets, because with everything else going on, your laundry probably won’t get done that often.
5. Your true self. If you try to be someone you’re not, you’re just going to end up attracting the wrong kinds of friends.
How to Get Along with Your First College Roommate
1. Be open to your roommate’s interests and the stuff that he or she does. The chances of your getting a roomie who is exactly like you is zero.
2. Be willing to share space. If you have some sort of invisible line in your head dividing the room, you’re setting yourself up for failure. Your roommate’s coffee mug will accidentally end up on your desk at some point, and it’s no big deal.
3. Be respectful about food. Don’t eat things that don’t belong to you, but if you do, let your roomie know immediately and replace the item within twenty-four hours.
4. Share your class schedules so you each know when you’ll have alone time in the room.
5. If you truly can’t stand each other, rally for a room change before the bad situation really escalates.
How to Tell If You’re in a Toxic Friendship
It’s weird how often people end up being friends with someone who is terrible for their self-esteem. But a lot of times people stay in the friendship because they’ve been in it so long that they don’t even realize that something is wrong. Here are a few signs that it might be time to friend-dump someone:
1. You feel down about yourself after you hang out with the person.
2. You feel that you are always trying to win the person’s affection.
3. He or she is controlling you in some way (a classic example is telling you that you shouldn’t hang out with certain other people).<
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4. You only ever get to do things that your friend wants to do, not what you want to do.
How to Get Out of a Toxic Friendship
Friend-dumping someone doesn’t have to be dramatic. A slow fadeout is usually better than a big screaming match. Just take a few steps back from the relationship, then a few more, and usually by that point the person should get the hint. If not, then it’s necessary to have a real conversation so things don’t get any worse. My advice is to just gently say that you feel that you have different interests from this person and that you want to pursue them.
How to Pick the Right College for You
Do your research. Start with location—if you’re a city person, go to a big city, but if you’re not, don’t force yourself because you’ll be miserable. Once you’ve figured that out, think about your interests, and find schools that have strong departments for what you think you want to major in (and remember that you don’t have to pick a major before you begin college; you can always switch, so be sure to check out the different disciplines offered). Research the alumni, and see what they have accomplished. Once you’ve picked out a few colleges you like, be sure to apply to a few backups just in case.
How to Deal with College Rejection Letters
Everything happens for a reason. Either push yourself to work harder so you can reapply and transfer, or have a good cry and move on. Your ideal college might have been full of snobby, pretentious people and your backup college could be the place where you meet the love of your life. You just really never know. If Emerson hadn’t rejected me, I would never have ended up where I am today, and I wouldn’t change that for anything.
Chapter 9
Not-So-Happy New Year
My winter break was three weeks long, and I couldn’t wait to have a bedroom and bathroom all to myself and work with Brittany on more videos. But it became pretty clear after I got back that my mom was in really bad shape. She and Bob had technically split up (AGAIN), but he was still living in the house so he could take care of Jett. Thank god, because she was drunk almost every night. But every damn morning it would be like nothing had happened. We were all so used to her being sloshed by that point that her behavior became the norm. It was all so depressing, and I tried to get out of the house as much as possible. Brittany and I worked on some WSP projects, including a video parody of Lady Gaga’s “Monster.” We changed all the lyrics to fit The Jersey Shore and Brittany dressed up as Snookie. We used tons of self-tanning powder to make her face as orange as possible. It was hilarious and so much fun to make.
On New Year’s Eve, I just wanted to have a quiet night at home with friends and watch movies. After such a terrible first semester at college, I needed a low-key and drama-free evening to usher in 2010. I invited Brittany, my cousin Justin, and two other friends from high school, Hannah and Mariah, over to my house for a sleepover. Hannah and Mariah are great, and if you watch old WSP videos, you’ll see them pop up from time to time. They are lighthearted and freaking funny, and they taught me to laugh difficult situations off if there was nothing else I could do. Anyone else might freak out if someone hacked their Facebook account and posted, “Ugh, I’m pregnant AGAIN,” on their home page, but Hannah thought pranks like that were hysterical, even when they happened to her.
Our plan for the night was to watch an utterly bizarre horror film from the nineties, The People under the Stairs. It’s about a psychotic brother-and-sister couple who give birth to a bunch of cannibal kids they keep in their basement. In theory, it should be totally creepy, but the film is ridiculous and campy and a total trip. We made popcorn and settled in for the night. Just before the movie began, my mom told me that she was going to The 99, a restaurant a few blocks away that she frequented. It also had a bar. I knew that she’d come stumbling home drunk at some point, but hoped that it wouldn’t happen until after everyone had already gone to sleep.
No such luck.
Just as the movie was ending, the front door swung open. My mom and a strange guy were standing on our front steps.
“Hi, Joey! This is Max. He made sure I got home from The 99 safe, and he also brought some beers for you and your friends! Don’t worry, he used to be a police officer. Shhhhh, don’t tell!”
The guy was tall and skinny and wearing a black leather jacket. “Yeah, they’re out here if you want them,” he said.
All I could think was, Eww, who is this crusty man coming to my party to give my friends and me booze? None of us drank. He dropped the grocery bag of beer on the steps, but I didn’t make a move to get them. I was so frustrated and suddenly just snapped. “Who the hell are you?” I asked. “You can leave now.”
He laughed it off while my mom said, “Be nice, Joey.”
This was embarrassing. As far as my friends knew, my mom and Bob were still together. He in fact was asleep in the house at that very moment! So who was this random dude my mom was hanging with outside in the freezing cold? I ran upstairs to Bob’s room and told him what was going on.
“You need to come downstairs. Mom brought some weird guy home,” I said.
I heard him mutter something under his breath as he stepped out into the hallway.
“Can you get rid of him?” I asked. “It’s creeping me out.” Not to mention that I was appalled that my friends had to see my mom in this condition.
“I’ll take care of it,” he said.
He went downstairs and walked outside. Thankfully Officer Max didn’t put up any sort of struggle and wandered off into the night.
I turned to my friends. “Sooo, what do you guys want to watch next?” I asked.
They could tell I was humiliated, but they all just laughed the situation off and pretended that there was nothing weird at all about my mother bringing home a cop who wanted to get us drunk.
Bob went back upstairs, but my mom had no intention of letting the party end. “Come on kids, let’s daaance!” she said, swaying her hips to imaginary music. “It’s New Year’s Eve! Let’s parteeeeee! Whooooo!” Mom sat down on Brittany’s lap, who looked horrified. “Come on darling, you’ll dance with me, right?”
“MOM! GO TO BED!” I yelled.
Hannah and Mariah could tell how mortified I was and started doing everything they could to defuse the situation by playing along with my mom, laughing and joking and dancing around with her. I loved them so much in that moment. But I finally had enough when Mom lowered her voice and asked, “Do any of you want a drink? It’s a special night!”
“Stop trying to be the mom from Mean Girls,” I said with a groan. “Please, just go to bed.”
She finally left, but she acted all wounded. “Don’t be rude,” she pouted. “I’m your mother!” She stomped up the stairs and I heard her bedroom door slam.
We called it a night too, and the next morning we all pretended that nothing had happened. I managed to avoid Mom the next day, which was also my plan for the rest of winter break. I tried to be out of the house whenever I knew she would be around, but we kept crossing paths. I’d come home and find her crying at the kitchen table with a glass half full of wine or a Coors Lite in front of her, and I had zero sympathy. I was fed up. “Stop crying,” I’d tell her. “You’re being a brat.” I didn’t care if I sounded mean or hurt her. I wanted to hurt her, because once more, she was destroying our relationship.
One night when I was getting ready to go to bed, I found her sitting on the stairs with a cup in her hand, blocking my way.
“Excuse me,” I said. She didn’t budge.
“You have no idea what I have to put up with,” she said.
“Yeah? Like what?” I said.
“I have to clean up after you, I have to take care of Jett, and Bob treats me like crap. All I do is work.”
“We all work, Mom,” I said. “Stop acting like a child and be an adult for once.”
“You don’t do anything!” she screamed, standing up to face me. “You’re just a lazy, rude, ungrateful child!”
“Okay, whatever. You�
�re a pathetic drunk who can’t even take care of her kids,” I said. I felt horrible as soon as the words came out of my mouth. It was one thing to be embarrassed by my mom and tell her to stop drinking in front of my friends, but it was another to outright insult her like that. She spun around and I saw pure rage in her eyes. She slammed me up against the wall, pinning my wrists with her hands.
“Don’t you ever talk to me like that!” she screamed, spitting in my face. “You are a clueless little . . .”
I didn’t let her finish the sentence. I managed to wrench free of her hands, grab hold of her wrists, and push her off me hard. She stumbled back but didn’t fall, and I felt a sudden wave of shame and regret course through me. I just pushed my mother, I thought. Her eyes were wide open in shock as she regained her balance and I fled up the stairs to my room before anything else could happen. I locked the door behind me and threw myself on the bed, willing myself not to cry, but it didn’t work. I was filled with anger and guilt and had no idea how to get rid of it. I could hear her fumbling around and cursing downstairs, so I pulled a pillow over my head, trying to drown out the sounds of her crying and yelling, “No one cares about me!”
Hearing your mother cry is one of the hardest things in the world, even if she’s just drunk. I wanted to go and comfort her, but at the same time I felt that she didn’t deserve to be comforted, so I swallowed all of my sympathy. Good, let her cry, I thought. Brick by brick a huge wall was going up between us, and I was starting to no longer even see her as my mother.
The New Year was off to a disastrous start, but I was determined to turn it around. I knew I couldn’t keep living like that—miserable at both home and school. Something needed to change.
In Real Life: My Journey to a Pixelated World Page 9