I Kind Of Hate Cat Marnell

Screen Shot 2017-02-21 at 1.59.39 PMI want to hate Cat Marnell. I really do. She even warns us in the beginning of her memoir, “How to Murder Your Life,” that we will probably end up hating her and her stupid entitled world she lives in. And I wanted to. SO badly. Typical rich kid with daddy issues gets hooked on drugs. How could this be entertaining? 

But it was. So much so that I finished “How to Murder Your Life” in like 48 hours. Any free spec of free time I had was dedicated to Cat Marnell’s wild ride filled with drugs, fashion, and bad decisions. And when it was over, I craved more. To the point where I ended up stalking Cat on Twitter and Instagram for a stupid amount of time, gasping over how thin she was (normal, right?).

I’ll be honest, apart of me hates Cat, for nothing more than pure selfish reasons. I, once upon a time, dreamed of picking up after college, moving to NYC, and working at a glossy magazine. But alas, due to the economy sucking, and being stupidly broke, that dream did not pan out (#noregrets)

So reading about her effortless move to NYC, her parent’s paying for her lifestyle, and just falling backwards in a drug haze into the glamorous world of magazines was only slightly infuriating to me. Slightly. Okay a lot. Maybe more than a lot :::shakes fist::: Arrrrggghhhh.  

And then I kind of adored her. Because of her honesty and self acceptance (also … Jesus Christ this is SUPER hard to write about without giving away any spoilers … ugh). But, without saying too much, she starts living her true self and gets to write about it … no matter how fucked up it was or how much it made you cringe, she was getting paid to write her truth. 

Cat paints such a vivid picture of her drug-filled existence that sometimes I felt like I was in the corner of her room watching her shoot up some sort of drug. I felt like I could reach out and smack the needle out of her hand as I took a break from rummaging through her designer-stuffed closet to say, “STOP DOING DRUGS, YA DUMMY… but may I borrow this Balenciaga clutch?”

It’s really every writers dream to be able to get paid to write about what they know best (for me it would probably be black outfits, cats, and wine). And when you write about something you know, and are passionate about, that writing becomes magnetic … which is what happened here in Cat’s memoir. 

Sometimes it’s nice to jump inside the lives of others, no matter how messy they are (and trust me, Cat’s is like the messiest mess of all time). I kept waiting for the part where she dies … but had to stupidly remind myself, “self, she wrote this fucking book, clearly she somehow survived and may or may not be bullet-proof.” I mean, for the love of God, whose boss sends them … DAMMIT ... spoiler. Nevermind.

So if Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra had a rating system for books, I would give Cat Marnell’s memoir like 4 bras out of 5 (guess I don’t hate her THAT much).

And also, don’t do drugs. Cat did an excellent job of making a drug habit look disgusting and horrifying, so if you were thinking about taking up a drug habit, this is a MUST READ for you. 

Also don’t do drugs, ya fucking idiot. 

Self Care

parks-and-recreation-meditation-ron-swansonThe world is a God damn dumpster fire. That’s really all I can say. I literally walked upstairs to pee the other night, and by the time I came back to my couch, the acting Attorney General had been fired for not swallowing a fist full of Trump’s crazy pills. Uhhh…  

Logging on to social media is like immersing yourself in an angry crowd of towns folk trying to bring to justice a bunch of witches. That is the world right now. So many people (myself included) are so angry, sad, outraged, in shock, and God damn rightly so since we are all fucked, unless you are a privileged white dude. 

I realize “self care” has become such a buzzword as of late. And for a while I thought it was just an excuse to slack off and schedule a massage for no reason. I didn’t realize what it meant or how important it was until I found myself in the middle of a good ol’ fashioned breakdown. 

My anxiety was through the roof, my eyes were leaking, I was FEELING things (what the eff!?). I just wasn’t me, and that’s a scary thing to realize. I’m not saying it was all Donald Trumps’ fault, but his dumb ass DEFINITELY had something to do with it (#thanksDonald). Because when you immerse yourself in that much negative shit, there is really no other outcome. 

While in no way, shape, or form would I consider myself even CLOSE to a “self help guru” (hi, I’m a hot fucking mess sprinkled with anxiety and self loathing), I am figuratively stepping outside of the insane, angry crowd of people to “get some fresh air.” Because sometimes it’s too much. 

One person can’t save the world, unfortunately. What you CAN focus on saving is your sanity. Because we need sane people to help fight this madness going down in our country. 

Henceforth where this “self care” comes in. Listen to your body. If you want to punt your television every time you watch the news, then stop for a bit. If you can’t take the crazy loons screaming on social media about how everything is awful and underlining another horrific thing Trump has done, log off.

For example I’ve been keeping my phone in my purse for a few hours after I get home from work. It’s torture, and I can only imagine it is like what a drug addict goes through when they can’t get a fix, but I’m trying, dammit. 

After hour two I like run to my phone thinking 50 people texted me, when in reality only a food delivery service texted me a coupon code for my next order. Awesome. 

I’m back on Pinterest, because pinning shit soothes my soul. I watch the Food Network because I find it relaxes me (unless Guy Fieri is on or some kids baking bullshit). I have like 45 books that need reading, so I’m going to do that this weekend. Binge watching TV is cool. Like right now I’m on Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (it’s so good, but I wish they would stop singing … it makes me uncomfortable).

I mean, we are all different weird birds, so I can’t tell you how to define your “self care.” Just don’t feel like an asshole because you’ve treated yourself to a bottle of wine and you’re soaking in a juicy Us Weekly instead of joining your fellow people and protesting for our rights. 

Just don’t tune out completely … because that would be dumb and I’m pretty sure if we all tune out, we are for sure going to die. Kay, thanks. 

Everything in moderation, right? Fake self help guru OUT :::drops mic:::