Good Luck! Good Job! Oh Okay.

December 23rd 2012

Story originally written and experienced: December 14th 2009


It was beautifully routine. 

Somewhere over the course of the years my friendand I established a fairly balanced “keep in touch method.” You text me. I text you. You call me. I call you. You like my Facebook status. I’ll mentally like yours. And sometimes when miniature communication just didn’t seem hearty enough, we’d e-mail. A lot. And I liked these e-mails. Getting them. Receiving them.  Sending them. But after a certain while I began to notice something. A routine…within the e-mails. An unintentional cycle of “Good luck! Good Job! Oh okay.”
And here’s what I mean.
It was during the time I was venturing in Europe. Gallivanting in the Italian Swiss Alps and arguing with Canadians in Ireland when our e-mail exchanges became more frequent and more evident that Peter was living an unsatisfactory life. By his definition, and only his own.
You’ve got mail. 
October 14th 2009  2:06pm.
Hey Olive!
Sorry it took me a few days to respond. Things have been pretty crazy here with midterms but I decided to take a break from studying and e-mail you back! Gotta be honest, I’m not shocked at all that you got in an argument with a Canadian in Ireland. And I’m more certain than ever after you told me you stole 6 Guiness glasses from the factory tour (thanks for the pic btw)
Following the rules with my right hand....doing illegal things with my left.

Following the rules with my right hand….doing illegal things with my left.

that Europe is turning you into an argumentative thief…just don’t steal my shit when you get back…haha…but seriously….stop taking my socks…
But in other news, things have been okay here. Actually I forgot to tell you this. I applied for that internship I told you about! Redid my resume and everything. Excited to hear back. 
– Pete
He had a great shot. At the internship I mean. I told him that in my e-mail back. I’d always told him that even before I left for my European extravaganza. He had perfect grades. With the perfect experience. Incredibly charming. And well-deserved success.But he always shrugged it off. Told me that he didn’t want to get his hopes up. But to get this? To get this would be a dream. But lots of people had experience and perfect grades. It’s not really a big deal. He was nothing special, he said. Not yet.  If he got an interview though? Then he’d be happy. And in my e-mail back I told him
Good luck! Whilst I’m frolicking the streets of Europe inflicting tom-foolery on innocent bystanders, know that I’ll be performing wishes on shooting stars, making mental requests at 11:11 and hand picking four leaf clovers all on his behalf. And to let me know how it all goes.
October 21st 2009   6:44 pm. 
Bienvenidos Olive,
Midterms are finally doneeeee. Yessss!!! I’m sorry to hear about your host mom feeding you frozen salmon every night. That’s pretty damn disgusting. Also thank god you had that spanish-english dictionary when your host mom brought up drug trafficking at the dinner table.  That’s the 3rd time this week right? She sounds like a gem and/or an assassin. Keep me posted on that one…
In other news. I heard back from that internship! They asked to set up an interview with me. So that’s pretty cool. I’m sure it’s just a formality though. We’ll see. I also decided to start working out more recently. Turns out the Freshman 15 is actually the Junior 25. I’ll take the frozen salmon if you’re not going to eat it…
– Pete
He was in wonderful shape. In success and physicality. And I always told him that. Even before I left for this European merrymaking. But he would just shrug it off. Told me I was just saying that because I was his friend. That it wasn’t a big deal. So what if he’s put on 15 pounds of muscle? He’s not nearly as buff as that guy over there. If he could put on another 10? 15 pounds? Then he’d be happy. And I told him that’s what he said 15 pounds ago. And he ignored me. And in my e-mail back I told him
Good job on the interview!!  Let me know how that shit goes. Your lack of shock of me stealing those Guiness glasses is my lack of shock of you getting this interview. Also, good luck at the gym! I know you’ve been twerking on your fitness for a while now. Perhaps one day you’ll be hulk sized and I can paint you green and make you my pet. Questions? Comments? Concerns?
November 1st 2009      10:01 am
O – diggity,
Yes. I have questions, comments AND concerns about everything you just said. Although, I always thought green was my color. We’ll have a brainstorm once you get back. I’ve actually been eating super healthy. Like straight up veggies and tofu and shit. But I’m also a man who needs meat so I’ve been owning some turkey burgers like a boss….don’t tell anyone I just typed out that sentence…that was kind of weird wasn’t it…yeah that was weird…
Also. Quick side note. I got the internship!! Interview went really well. Hopefully this will help me get a job post-grad. Idk. Weird that they picked me. But it should be a good time I guess. An internship isn’t a job so I guess it’s nothing to go crazy over.
– Pete
P.S. Did I tell you I finally started dating that girl?
He was the perfect catch. Good face with a  kick-ass personality sporting romantic gestures that entwined with his sweet nothing words. I always told him that. Even before I took off on this European escapade. But that wasn’t even the problem. He knew he was a good catch. And he never really had trouble with the ladies. More so the ladies had a little bit of trouble with him. He was sort of a heartbreaker, you see. Always thought that maybe he could do just.a.little.bit.better. And I told him that. That maybe he was skating by perfectly perfect options just for the sake of denying perfection altogether. And he’d just shrug it off. Tell me that he knew what he was doing. And even when I’d change the subject and say things like Good luck on your interview! Good job on your work out success! He’d tell me that it was nothing to be proud of. But once he would reach x y and z – goal. Then maybe then there would be something to celebrate. Oh. okay. 
November 12th 2009 7:21 pm.
Yo, Olive!
That’s how you say hi in Italian right? Haha. Fuck I’m so out of practice. Wait what am I talking about I never even took Italian. Although that is pretty basic translation…I suppose I could have just double checked that on google…whatever.
Italy sounds amazing! Did you really climb to the top? I know you had some pretty shitty luck, but that’s pretty awesome you’re going to do a write up of it for the school magazine. Can’t wait to read it!
Thanks for the congrats on the internship. Like I said it’s not a job. So nothing to get too excited about. Things with Maggie are good. They’re really good. But you know me. I get tired and bored after a little while so we’ll see how this goes on. Don’t get all girl power on me like you did with the last girl I broke up with though. She wore neon orange shoes and sang show tunes on her way to class…LIKE WHAT THE HELL WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?! Although she did make a pretty fantastic omelet. But you can’t stake an entire relationship on just an omelet Olive, YOU JUST CAN’T. Or maybe you can. But that would probably be ill-advised…
You’re coming home in like a month, right? Bring me back a piñata. And some sautéed rice. I heard they sautee the shit out of the rice in Spain and it’s delicious. Actually don’t bring it back. Or then I’ll revert back to the Junior 25. I’m trying to stick to this work out business. 
– Pete
P.S. But seriously bring the pinata.
He was right. I did get a little girl power on him with the last girl he broke up with. I even told him that before I fled the U.S borders into this European magic land. And the bitch did make a solid omelet. And I’d miss them. And sort of her too. But every time I would tell him that he was making up excuses to push away good people, he would just shrug it off. Tell me that he just didn’t want a girlfriend right now. Only to have a new one just a few weeks later. And I felt like I was always just in the midst of telling him “Good luck on asking her out! Good job on sustaining this pretty sweet relationship. And then he’d tell me that he wanted more. That this probably wasn’t going to work out. That he was tired and needed something else. Oh okay. 
And after e-mail after e-mail of recycled dialogue that had replaceable subjects all ending in “It’s no big deal. I’m not to where I want to be yet.” I eventually sent him an e-mail that said this:
December 14th 2009   12: 06 am
Pete face,
Terrible news. The Piñata was a no go. Primarily because there are none here of quality stature and color. But I did manage to salvage some extra confetti that could make a beautiful toss-up activity during our next rager. I can’t imagine confetti would make a party any less fun. Potentially a choking hazard? Yes. Willing to deal with those repercussions later? For sure. Let’s discuss details in approximately 10 days when I arrive home.
Also…don’t get mad at me….I know I always end up being your mom in these situations. But I don’t think I ever really noticed until I saw you typing your e-mails out to me, how completely unsatisfied you are…all…the…time…and I don’t know why, Pete! You literally got a DREAM internship. You constantly talk about how out of shape you are and if I have to boost your ego ONE MORE GODDAMN TIME in that department. I’LL FUCKING DO IT. And then make you buy me a cookie because that shit is getting exhausting. And the girl stuff? Dude. That’s supposed to make you happy. Not miserable. And the worst part is, there’s nothing to even be miserable about! It’s like you’re constantly looking for reasons that your relationship isn’t going well. Or that your successes aren’t successful enough. Or how you’ll never ever look quite. like. you want it to. And I’ve never seen you. Not once. Pat yourself on the back and recognize anything that you’ve done. And it makes me sad….so…yeah I think that about wraps that up.
O- diggity…
P.S. Was this awkward? I felt like this was a little awkward. Let’s discuss. Or not discuss. Idk. Did you see the most recent episode of Glee? Idk Sorry I’m panicking.  I didn’t even watch the most recent episode of Glee. Because I don’t watch Glee. Alright leaving now…
…it’s me again. Just making sure you’re not mad. Okay bye for real. 
And it took him a few days but eventually he wrote me back. And he said this:
No no I’m not mad. But I kind of just re read your message for a while because I mean I never really expected anyone to call me out on it. I’m a perfectionist, Olive, That’s all it is. I’m a perfectionist. And it’s kind of getting worse. Like I notice that I manage to find something wrong in every.single.situation.
Even the best situations. In the best internships, in the best shape, with the best people. You’re right I’ve literally surpassed almost every single one of my accomplishments in my life with a blind eye because I’m so consumed in completing my next goal whose success will probably go unnoticed as well. I probably won’t ever be happy with the way that I look. Or the things that I do. That’s not to say that I’m unhappy, I just for some reason makes satisfaction an unreachable goal for myself.
But…in a weird way I’m kind of glad that I always expect the best out of myself. It gets in me in shape, gets me good opportunities, gets me great girls. But it’s unnecessarily unsatisfying because I’ve already created a new expectation at the breach of my old one. But I am working on it. I can’t be all positive and rainbow like you all the time. Like good-god woman wtf kind of happy juice are you chugging every morning?? 
– Pete face
P.S. Thanks
He was a perfectionist. Always expected the very best from himself and always got the very best from himself. Even if he didn’t know it. But I knew that. I told him that even before I left for these European shenanigans. But he always shrugged it off. Told me that he just had a lot of goals and liked to be that way. But I guess he didn’t shrug me off too much this time. So I e-mailed him back. And told him that the world thanked him for his perfectionist ways. That if we didn’t have perfectionist in the world, how brilliant and advanced would our world really be? How out of shape and lazily content would our world be? How challenging and quality would our world be? Sure we’re not all that way. But we have perfectionist who sort of mold us and balance us that way. That we say good luck to! And wow great job! And then they tell us that it’s just not good enough. And for that we thank them. For striving for brilliance. And more often than not achieving it. But our external thanks can only trade in for so much satisfaction. And it doesn’t hurt, every once in a while, to thank yourself too.