We have all heard the legend of the mid-life crisis from our menopausal mothers and the one creepy uncle with a new yellow sports car he can’t afford – what no one ever talks about is the true terrifying reality of the quarter life crisis. You can’t afford to own real estate but would rather sell your ovaries than live at your parents house, you’re too young to have kids but are reminded that your relatives were already birthing their third child at your age and you somehow think you have your shit together because you have a fucking Linkedin account. Six months ago I had my first (of many) quarter life crisis. One Spring morning I took an impulsive leap of faith and irresponsibly decided to quit my job. I had no interest in moving up in the company (which I made abundantly clear) had to lie about my education and live as a rainbow fish in a sea of Ann Taylor. I was paid generously to spend my days exploring my nail art talents, play Pick the Perp, steal beers from the kitchen and watch Netflix. WTF was I supposed to do all day? WORK? DATA ENTRY? KILL MYSELF? I recall my boss calling me into her office to suggest I start being more proactive in getting more assignments from various departments… I don’t think so bitch. Surely they didn’t foresee me contributing actual labor. I was hired for my quick wit, exquisite execution of daytime sequins and gift of casual office banter. This is when I realized I had been wasting my golden years doing absolutely nothing that benefited myself. My thigh gap will never be wider, my liver never healthier and I still am functioning without any prescribed medications. If I was going to make a change I needed to strike while the iron is hot or at least warm! Of course I want children, a hypoallergenic golden retriever and a big house with an infinity pool that I can have my friends over for Sunday dinners where I can serve vodka gimlets with fresh mint from my herb garden in a mason jar so I still seem down to earth and kitschy. But how am I going to get that sitting on my ass all day reveling in Nancy Meyer movies illegally and pretending to be on “business” calls with a broken headset to avoid conversation with coworkers? I am too prude for prostitution, too charismatic for a cubicle and too hyper and egotistical to settle for a 9-5 shitfest. This is when I decided to kick-start my quarter life crisis. When voyaging your quarter life crisis, a bitch must contemplate the following: What are my skills? What do I enjoy? Can I afford this life change? Do I have a back up sugar daddy or position at a family members company? Am I mentally stable? If you answer yes to at least 3 of these pre-requisites you are ready for the next step. A bitch doesn’t always need to be realistic… I leave logic for people who have good credit and make manicure appointments. I think it is completely realistic to think that I am going to have a show, 8 books, a Korean pop album and a line of sequined outerwear for HSN in the next year. Konichiwa bitches! (Is that Korean? Don’t care – it all sounds the same to these American ears – calm down) It was this delusion that led me to believe I could commit to un-skillfully piece words together and create a blog. I knew what I lacked in basic knowledge of the English language I could disguise with cryptic and vague metaphors and aggressive humor. This is how I created The Bitch Bible. This is how I was able to leave my job confidently. This is how I have never for a second contemplated the frightening alternative that this venture won’t pan out and I will end up a fucking Executive Assistant at my father’s company… or an asexual escort for some Middle-Eastern. It’s not a great plan b. Some bitches prefer the stability of a merry-go-round, others thrive from the highs and lows of a ferris wheel. The wild ones are looking for roller coasters and the sketchy bitches are content with a slushee and mowing the funnel cake cart. See what I mean about the vague metaphors? Concluding paragraphs aren’t my thing. Quit your job, book a flight, listen to yourself first, find out what you love and work on it every fucking day. If that doesn’t work do it all over again and don’t come to me for any life advice.