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My First Week at BuzzFeed

New year, new job—whuddup 2013?!—and mine just happens to be at my favorite website, BuzzFeed.

I started last Monday and couldn’t be happier. The LA based writing team I’m working with is phenomenal, smart and completely engaging—as is everyone at the company. It’s a compelling and unique environment, where new ideas are welcomed and creativity abounds. So, yeah, it’s pretty much the greatest.

I’ve also been able to write some really fun pieces, like this one on What Women Think About Going to the Gynecologist. Or 24 Faces to Make at People You Don’t Like. And this fun one about Sergeant Brody’s return to Homeland.

You can keep up with all of my posts here, and make sure to follow me on Twitter for updates as well!

My It Gets Better PSA

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Last night was spent with 2 glasses of wine, so I want you all to bear with me on this little epiphany I had:

When I was in my early 20s I remember thinking, “This really sucks, but it’s better than high school sooo…At least there’s that?”

At 22, I wasn’t living at home, could have liquor freely sitting out on the counter and enjoyed the luxury of eating gummy bears in large quantities at my discretion (sometimes even for breakfast!!!).

My apartment was a 2 bedroom that had been converted into a 4 bedroom with random girls I’d met off of Craigslist. One of them cried a lot, with the door open and sometimes in the shower. I was a lowly assistant to an editor beast at Random House and put all of my whiskey diets on a credit card that I knew I very well couldn’t afford.

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My hair was short, like Posh Spice short. In fact, I remember going to a hairdresser in midtown with a photo of Victoria Beckham’s blunt cut that I’d printed out at work and telling them to, “Make me look like her!!!”

I wore ballet flats everywhere because my feet couldn’t muster the strength or class to teeter around Manhattan in heels. I was starting to explore what it meant to be an adult and have responsibilities like paying bills on time, even though I rarely did. I wasn’t dating but enjoyed ogling men with beards and smelly coats in bars. I had no idea what the hell I was doing with my life, but I knew that I was an adult and had to do something and at the time in spite of hating my job, the weather and my tiny apartment, that all seemed like the right course.

Cut to last night, in my 27th year of life, when I am out celebrating the fact that my friend has just landed a job as an executive at Warner Brothers and I can’t help but think that I finally understand that this is what Kathy Griffin means when she records a PSA for the It Gets Better campaign because, in fact, things do improve. (She was talking about my life as a straight, white girl, right?)

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I have a job that I really love going to everyday and makes me feel creative and useful. I love my parents and we’ve come to great place where they seem to actually accept that I’m not becoming a doctor when I grow up—especially looking back at my early 20s when they didn’t understand what a career in writing meant. I’ve let my red hair grow out and dress in a way that flatters a lady of 5’2. I’m living in a city where it’s always sunny (and not Philadelphia) and, even though I’m not a huge fan of sand, allows me to venture to the beach, if I so choose.

My friends are succeeding in their careers and that makes me want to do the same. I work hard, but not because it’s what I’m supposed to do but because it’s what I want to do. I’m lucky enough to not have to struggle for money and fortunate enough to have free time to indulge in things I love, like scouring Buzzfeed for photos of cats.

I’ve figured out the types of men to avoid at all costs (mainly the ones I used to stare at in Brooklyn bars) and the types who are worth my time (I’m dating someone now who fits that description).

What I’m trying to say is that I realized that I am the happiest I have ever been. Out of my whole life. Ever.

Each year I seem to get a little less clueless and a little more put together. You couldn’t pay me to go back to high school and, while I really loved college, I like my life in L.A. better.

I’ve heard that people are happiest when they’re in their 60s, because it’s those golden retirement years, you have nothing to do but travel and you’re no longer some angst-riddled 20something.

It’s true, like that show Girls says, that your 20s are really tough. I’m still in them, but I think the closer I inch to 30 the better life is getting.

My point? It gets better, 21 year olds! Hang in there babes! Stop taking daily Instagrams of yourself, though! K?