How to become a better you

Four months of therapy (and counting) has taught me mostly to just blame my parents for me hating everyone and lacking even the most basic of social skills and how to breathe and stuff, but I have picked up on a few valuable life lessons. I would now like to share these lessons with you so that you can save some money every week, and so I can tell my therapist that I’ve been talking to strangers more.

Therapy lesson #1
Just because the first words out of your mother’s mouth upon seeing her newborn child were “She’s ugly!” doesn’t mean that you are the hideous wildebeest that you sometimes feel you are. Look around … almost every damn person I see walking past me day in day out is nasty as hell. I have it in my head that I’m cuter than everyone at all times. Whether it’s true or not, it always helps to think that you’re great and everyone else is a piece of crap.

Therapy lesson #2
Just because your parents are toothless retards, doesn’t mean that you are too. Yeah, it’s hard because whatever these two people say is ingrained in your system as the gospel truth, but my Mum is addicted to QVC and chain smoking over books about serial killers, so I’m pretty sure that I can rule out whatever she says. Your parents are probably assholes too. Chances are you make more money than them, and have slept with way more women than your father has, so what do they know about anything?

Therapy lesson #3
If someone doesn’t like something that you’re doing … they’re an asshole. As a writer, I have found that a good idea is worth more than gold. You can be a great writer and know all about how great you are in your head, but if you don’t have a good idea for something to write about, you don’t really have much of anything. To get around this, just keep in mind that you a special fucking golden gem, and that everything you write is goddamn brilliant. If an editor comes at you with “We don’t think this will work,” well . . . they just must not be in the know of what’s what. Your mantra should be “I’m the coolest. They are crappy. I’m the coolest. They’re fat retards.” Just keep repeating that in your head. I’m repeating it in my head right now as I’m typing this.

Therapy lesson#4
Success isn’t measured by how many friends you have, how much money you make, or whether or not you have a book deal. Success is measured by either sucking or not sucking. Anyone could write a goddamn book about lawnmower maintenance if they really wanted to, but that doesn’t make it a good idea. I figure if you’re not in jail, don’t have any children, can read, can fit into pants other than sweatpants, and have some form of internet fame, then you’re a success!

I’ll leave you with a funny anecdote about personal growth. Many years ago, while working as a shift supervisor for a well-known coffee chain, I decided that it would be a good idea to smoke pot in the bathroom with one of my co-workers. This co-worker later played a game of truth or dare with me at my apartment where she convinced me to shove an incense stick up my vagina hole, but that’s not part of this story. This girl and I smoked pot in the bathroom, and then I hid in my car for a while because I’ve never had much tolerance for drugs.

I was sitting in my car, hallucinating a parade going by out of the corner of my eye, and then came to the gripping conclusion that I had no business working at a coffee shop, I was better than that, and I had greater and more important needs to attend to elsewhere. With my apron and coffee shop hat still on, I drove away–at about two miles an hour–making sure to pause at stop signs for about 20 minutes. I went home, ate everything in my fridge, and didn’t have another job for about six months. BUT! THAT GIRL STILL WORKS THERE! Do you see the beautiful lesson in all of this?