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Good Things Happen to People You Hate: Essays
Goodreads Choice Award
Nominee for Readers' Favorite Humor (2019)For lovers of Sloane Crosley and Samantha Irby, this hilarious and raw essay collection paints a recognizable and relatable portrait of life in the early aughts.Former Senior Editor for Gothamist Rebecca Fishbein's adult life has been a dramatic reflection of New York media itself--constantly evolving in unexpected ways and seemingly always on the edge of disaster. In short, Rebecca has seen it all--from 3 bedbug infestations, to being fired, to being yelled at while working at American Apparel, to losing all her stuff in a freak fire, to being bullied online by angry Taylor Swift fans. But the real humor and meat of the collection come from Rebecca's unwavering honesty and unflinching examination of her struggles with alcohol, anxiety, depression, compulsive lying, female beauty standards, and a slew of failed coworker/roommate/friend semi-relationships are dark, insightful, and hilarious. As Jia Tolentino commented, the era of the personal essay ended with the election--this is not your grandmother's millennial essay collection. Rebecca's writing is relatable without being preachy and conveys a message of resilience by example, not by moral. Readers will recognize the world they themselves see--a disastrous president and a scary socioeconomic landscape--in Becca's writing and find comfort in her humor and a snarky but incisive friend in her writing.
229 pages, Kindle Edition
First published October 15, 2019
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 73 reviews
September 3, 2020
I received this book for free free as part of an Instagram tour (TLC Book Tours specifically) I did to promote the book.
I give this book 3.5 stars which rounds up to 4.
This was an interesting collection of personal essays. As with many essay collections, I liked some of them, but didn’t like others.
This book is a pretty typical account of a millennial woman in New York City so there wasn’t anything ground breaking or new about it. I’ve encountered similar stories before. That being said I did relate to the author quite a few times.
For example, the essay, “Real Men Will Disappoint You, Date Fictional Men Instead,” was so relatable. I took one look at the tile and went, isn’t that the truth! Also, all the essays had funny titles like these. Another relatable essay was “Sometimes Your Irrational Fears Come True and Fire Destroys Your Home.” That scenario (thankfully) hasn’t happened to me, but I related to her childhood fears. As a kid, I worried a lot over things other kids would never worry about (ex. car accidents, dangerous criminals, etc.)
The writing style is very blogger like which I enjoyed. It worked well in telling her stories.
I did feel like some of the essays fell a little short. Like they didn’t quite live up to their potential. Sometimes they just ended when I was expecting her to say a little more.
Overall, this was a quick essay collection with some hits and some misses. I did find it entertaining so if you just want to read something fun, go ahead and read it!
I give this book 3.5 stars which rounds up to 4.
This was an interesting collection of personal essays. As with many essay collections, I liked some of them, but didn’t like others.
This book is a pretty typical account of a millennial woman in New York City so there wasn’t anything ground breaking or new about it. I’ve encountered similar stories before. That being said I did relate to the author quite a few times.
For example, the essay, “Real Men Will Disappoint You, Date Fictional Men Instead,” was so relatable. I took one look at the tile and went, isn’t that the truth! Also, all the essays had funny titles like these. Another relatable essay was “Sometimes Your Irrational Fears Come True and Fire Destroys Your Home.” That scenario (thankfully) hasn’t happened to me, but I related to her childhood fears. As a kid, I worried a lot over things other kids would never worry about (ex. car accidents, dangerous criminals, etc.)
The writing style is very blogger like which I enjoyed. It worked well in telling her stories.
I did feel like some of the essays fell a little short. Like they didn’t quite live up to their potential. Sometimes they just ended when I was expecting her to say a little more.
Overall, this was a quick essay collection with some hits and some misses. I did find it entertaining so if you just want to read something fun, go ahead and read it!
December 1, 2019
I am not prone to hyperbole, so you should believe me when I tell you this is quite possibly one of the worst books I've ever read. About halfway through, I considered giving it two stars because it was at least professionally edited and lacking spelling errors, but the author doesn't know the difference between when to use "I" vs. "me" and considering she's a professional writer/blogger, there's no excuse. (Also, for what it's worth, the only personal pronouns she seems to know, whether subject or object pronouns, relate to herself.) So, one star. If I could give it zero stars, I think I might.
First, this is a book of essays, so I expected it might be uneven. Books of essays tend to lack cohesion or have uneven tones. But it's not uneven. Every chapter is of the same quality: low. It's as if the publisher mistakenly published a 14-year-old girl's diary, full of whining and self-criticism of the type that can lead one to either salve a person's pain or roll one's eyes and agree, "Yes, you're terrible. Shut up, stop being terrible, and move on."
Every chapter talks about how the author believes she is ugly and unloveable (and unlikeable). In every chapter, she talks about how she (pretty much constantly) drinks to excess, to the point of having vomited on her (and other people's) floors repeatedly, and how she sleeps with men she barely knows (or doesn't know at all) and then is surprised and unfathomably unhappy when they don't love her.
Almost every chapter is full of stories of the lies she's told, the drinking to the point of blacking out, the stalking of crushes and the indiscriminate sex. (I don't care who she sleeps with, but whiny women like this give women, Millennials, New Yorkers, and pretty much everyone, a bad name.)
This is not someone with childhood trauma. She wasn't abused. She wasn't maltreated. Her parents sent her to private school and pamper her at every turn. In high school, harder math/science classes were difficult for her and she wasn't willing to try very hard and instead she decided to throw herself into drinking and lying, and then in college, into drinking, lying, and sleeping with people who she didn't even know and then loudly bemoaned that men who she didn't know didn't love her. She tells stories of how she purposely got (gets?) drunk to manipulate men into taking care of her so that she can sleep with them. WTF?
Fine. That's her life. But she's not using her essays as a cautionary tale. She's not less irresponsible now than in her younger days. She even thinks she's not an alcoholic because she's not actually addicted to alcohol, but to the way alcohol lets her escape her own thoughts and feelings. Uhh, girl, what do you think alcoholism is? Does she think it's like being allergic to a substance? (And she seems to expect her readers to be proud of her that she's learned not to drink on an empty stomach.)
The author is not ugly. She looks like half the girls with whom I went to summer camp. She has pretty hair and a nice face shape and a ridiculously petite 108-pound figure. Yes, she has what might be considered and "ethnic" nose. So do millions of others. And those millions find love, work real jobs, have babies, and don't spend their lives shrieking at strangers when blackout drunk.
The author complains that she's slept with almost all the men where she works (and has worked) because she can't bring herself not to dip her pen in the company ink. OK, fine. Ew. But whatever.
But none of this is INTERESTING. Contrary to what the book blurbs promise, a "laugh-out-loud funny" experience, I did not laugh once. Chapter after chapter, I spent this Thanksgiving week reading passages aloud to my family, all of us in horror that someone published this book instead of encouraging her to get in-patient treatment.
Had this been a confessional memoir of a long-lived celebrity, I might have shrugged this off as the writings of someone satisfying her audience after 80+ years. Had this been about exorcising her demons on the way to sobriety and perhaps learning someone's last name before sleeping with them and then crying to strangers that she's ugly and unloveable, then I might have nodded approvingly that she's working on getting better. Instead, I read page after page thinking that her editor should have gotten her a better therapist (or a commitment at a hospital) because this woman is not merely a hot mess, she's a narcissist. (I'd be afraid to have her as a neighbor, even her penchant for experiencing bedbugs notwithstanding!)
The author claims to recognize that she is spoiled (often living off of her parents long after the age when many people are not only financially independent but also raising other humans), but she's spoiled in a way that seemingly only an upper middle class white woman from New York City is spoiled. She seems to recognize that that are only three places where humans live: NYC, LA, and Baltimore (and only because she attended college in the latter location). She believes her college-era anxiety was atypical, or even interesting, and again, it's merely drunken and repetitive, a sad reflection of the worst archetype people put forth about twentysomethings.
The sad thing is, although the book isn't funny, and the author's life isn't compelling, there are a few very brief moments, paragraphs here and there, where one might squint and believe the author could have talent. Her description of her experience of her grandmother's death (like all other parts of the narrative involving anyone's other than the writer herself) is mostly so self-involved as to disgust the reader. But a few passages show a glint of her possibility as a writer.
I imagine the author could point to my review and say, "See? I'm horrible. I'm awful!" She could use this to validate, but it's obvious she believes that all negative feedback (from men who never gave her any indication of liking her as a person not, of course, actually loving her, to teenage girls who were mean to her -- as an adult -- when she wrote a negative blog post about Taylor Swift) is an opportunity to show off all the negative things she claims to believe about herself...which is tied to her looks and likability. Because that's all she cares about.
She doesn't care about other people--nobody in her personal stories are three-dimensional or described in any detail at all. They're barely two-dimensional.
She doesn't care about any issues (political or otherwise).
Even when talking about herself, she never looks at her intellect, her skills, her talents, or what she COULD do to improve her relationships. (Advice from an older chick, Rebecca: get to know someone and see if you like them before you sleep with them. Sex doesn't make people like you better unless they already like you some amount greater than zero, and nobody can like you AT ALL if they don't know you at all. If you want to sleep with strangers, that's your business, but then don't whine all over us that the men you slept with don't like you; they don't even know who you are.)
This is a repetitive, boring book by a woman shouting "I'm horrible!" -- and then screaming that nobody likes her. But she doesn't seem to care about anyone but herself, so why should anyone -- men, friends, readers, care? She personifies the 20something, never-looks-past-NYC, Instagramming stereotype of her era, and I'd like to think her age cohorts would be ashamed for her to get attention for this kind of writing.
Blech.
First, this is a book of essays, so I expected it might be uneven. Books of essays tend to lack cohesion or have uneven tones. But it's not uneven. Every chapter is of the same quality: low. It's as if the publisher mistakenly published a 14-year-old girl's diary, full of whining and self-criticism of the type that can lead one to either salve a person's pain or roll one's eyes and agree, "Yes, you're terrible. Shut up, stop being terrible, and move on."
Every chapter talks about how the author believes she is ugly and unloveable (and unlikeable). In every chapter, she talks about how she (pretty much constantly) drinks to excess, to the point of having vomited on her (and other people's) floors repeatedly, and how she sleeps with men she barely knows (or doesn't know at all) and then is surprised and unfathomably unhappy when they don't love her.
Almost every chapter is full of stories of the lies she's told, the drinking to the point of blacking out, the stalking of crushes and the indiscriminate sex. (I don't care who she sleeps with, but whiny women like this give women, Millennials, New Yorkers, and pretty much everyone, a bad name.)
This is not someone with childhood trauma. She wasn't abused. She wasn't maltreated. Her parents sent her to private school and pamper her at every turn. In high school, harder math/science classes were difficult for her and she wasn't willing to try very hard and instead she decided to throw herself into drinking and lying, and then in college, into drinking, lying, and sleeping with people who she didn't even know and then loudly bemoaned that men who she didn't know didn't love her. She tells stories of how she purposely got (gets?) drunk to manipulate men into taking care of her so that she can sleep with them. WTF?
Fine. That's her life. But she's not using her essays as a cautionary tale. She's not less irresponsible now than in her younger days. She even thinks she's not an alcoholic because she's not actually addicted to alcohol, but to the way alcohol lets her escape her own thoughts and feelings. Uhh, girl, what do you think alcoholism is? Does she think it's like being allergic to a substance? (And she seems to expect her readers to be proud of her that she's learned not to drink on an empty stomach.)
The author is not ugly. She looks like half the girls with whom I went to summer camp. She has pretty hair and a nice face shape and a ridiculously petite 108-pound figure. Yes, she has what might be considered and "ethnic" nose. So do millions of others. And those millions find love, work real jobs, have babies, and don't spend their lives shrieking at strangers when blackout drunk.
The author complains that she's slept with almost all the men where she works (and has worked) because she can't bring herself not to dip her pen in the company ink. OK, fine. Ew. But whatever.
But none of this is INTERESTING. Contrary to what the book blurbs promise, a "laugh-out-loud funny" experience, I did not laugh once. Chapter after chapter, I spent this Thanksgiving week reading passages aloud to my family, all of us in horror that someone published this book instead of encouraging her to get in-patient treatment.
Had this been a confessional memoir of a long-lived celebrity, I might have shrugged this off as the writings of someone satisfying her audience after 80+ years. Had this been about exorcising her demons on the way to sobriety and perhaps learning someone's last name before sleeping with them and then crying to strangers that she's ugly and unloveable, then I might have nodded approvingly that she's working on getting better. Instead, I read page after page thinking that her editor should have gotten her a better therapist (or a commitment at a hospital) because this woman is not merely a hot mess, she's a narcissist. (I'd be afraid to have her as a neighbor, even her penchant for experiencing bedbugs notwithstanding!)
The author claims to recognize that she is spoiled (often living off of her parents long after the age when many people are not only financially independent but also raising other humans), but she's spoiled in a way that seemingly only an upper middle class white woman from New York City is spoiled. She seems to recognize that that are only three places where humans live: NYC, LA, and Baltimore (and only because she attended college in the latter location). She believes her college-era anxiety was atypical, or even interesting, and again, it's merely drunken and repetitive, a sad reflection of the worst archetype people put forth about twentysomethings.
The sad thing is, although the book isn't funny, and the author's life isn't compelling, there are a few very brief moments, paragraphs here and there, where one might squint and believe the author could have talent. Her description of her experience of her grandmother's death (like all other parts of the narrative involving anyone's other than the writer herself) is mostly so self-involved as to disgust the reader. But a few passages show a glint of her possibility as a writer.
I imagine the author could point to my review and say, "See? I'm horrible. I'm awful!" She could use this to validate, but it's obvious she believes that all negative feedback (from men who never gave her any indication of liking her as a person not, of course, actually loving her, to teenage girls who were mean to her -- as an adult -- when she wrote a negative blog post about Taylor Swift) is an opportunity to show off all the negative things she claims to believe about herself...which is tied to her looks and likability. Because that's all she cares about.
She doesn't care about other people--nobody in her personal stories are three-dimensional or described in any detail at all. They're barely two-dimensional.
She doesn't care about any issues (political or otherwise).
Even when talking about herself, she never looks at her intellect, her skills, her talents, or what she COULD do to improve her relationships. (Advice from an older chick, Rebecca: get to know someone and see if you like them before you sleep with them. Sex doesn't make people like you better unless they already like you some amount greater than zero, and nobody can like you AT ALL if they don't know you at all. If you want to sleep with strangers, that's your business, but then don't whine all over us that the men you slept with don't like you; they don't even know who you are.)
This is a repetitive, boring book by a woman shouting "I'm horrible!" -- and then screaming that nobody likes her. But she doesn't seem to care about anyone but herself, so why should anyone -- men, friends, readers, care? She personifies the 20something, never-looks-past-NYC, Instagramming stereotype of her era, and I'd like to think her age cohorts would be ashamed for her to get attention for this kind of writing.
Blech.
August 20, 2019
Over the course of this essay collection, I laughed, I cried, I gasped at just how sharply I was relating to the experiences recounted therein. Fishbein's writing is smart, frank and funny, and this particular collection of essays focuses on topics universal to the millennial experience without pandering to them or glossing over their ugly excesses. If you like Melissa Broder or Fleabag — which is to say, if you like witnessing women who are on the verge of a nervous breakdown finding ways to turn their constant, simmering panic about being alive into something joyful — you will like this book. A lot.
February 25, 2020
Yes, some (many) of these essays are insufferable. One can only read so much about drunken hookups, throwing up on the floor (a concerning amount of throwing up on the floor), and self-deprecating ravings about being ugly.
But other essays are heartfelt and true: Fishbein’s youthful love of one of Daphne Du Maurier’s lesser-known novels, and her description of her battles with depression and anxiety left me aching.
It's a fine balance. How much can you really ask of a woman who admits that the most exciting thing to ever happen to her was getting harassed by an army of Taylor Swift fans on Instagram?
But other essays are heartfelt and true: Fishbein’s youthful love of one of Daphne Du Maurier’s lesser-known novels, and her description of her battles with depression and anxiety left me aching.
It's a fine balance. How much can you really ask of a woman who admits that the most exciting thing to ever happen to her was getting harassed by an army of Taylor Swift fans on Instagram?
December 11, 2019
I love this book and I want Rebecca Fishbein to be my friend (or drinking companion in NYC)!
March 25, 2020
This was very readable, but it's also extremely Middle Class White Lady with a Creative Career in New York, so how much you like it will be based on how much you can tolerate that.
October 15, 2019
Happy happy book birthday to this gem of a book by Rebecca Fishbein, and shoutout to William Morrow for the finished copy.
If you’re missing your hilarious and snarky bff from college, pick up this book! Also, maybe you wanna call them and tell them how much you miss them and about your terrible Tinder date last week. And remember, “Dying alone is better than signing up for a lifetime of Sex Dates.”
In this witty collection of Essays, Fishbein tackles everything from bad dating and depression to the pitfalls of upsetting Taylor Swift’s fans. It’s hilarious, heartbreaking, and brutally honest about the lives of “adult” millennials. Though I wanted to devour this collection, I savored it, reading only one essay every day or every couple of days. Now that it’s done, I want to start it all over again.
“The myth of depression is that it’s something that gets better, when really it’s just something that lives inside you all the time, sometimes dormant, sometimes not.” That punched me in the gut. Like any cynical millennial worth her salt, Fishbein peppers her sarcasm and dark humor with wisdom and honest depth, a perfect pairing for someone who also masks her pain with bitter comedy. What can I say? This collection spoke to me.
It’s out today, so be sure to add it to your fall/winter nonfiction TBR!
If you’re missing your hilarious and snarky bff from college, pick up this book! Also, maybe you wanna call them and tell them how much you miss them and about your terrible Tinder date last week. And remember, “Dying alone is better than signing up for a lifetime of Sex Dates.”
In this witty collection of Essays, Fishbein tackles everything from bad dating and depression to the pitfalls of upsetting Taylor Swift’s fans. It’s hilarious, heartbreaking, and brutally honest about the lives of “adult” millennials. Though I wanted to devour this collection, I savored it, reading only one essay every day or every couple of days. Now that it’s done, I want to start it all over again.
“The myth of depression is that it’s something that gets better, when really it’s just something that lives inside you all the time, sometimes dormant, sometimes not.” That punched me in the gut. Like any cynical millennial worth her salt, Fishbein peppers her sarcasm and dark humor with wisdom and honest depth, a perfect pairing for someone who also masks her pain with bitter comedy. What can I say? This collection spoke to me.
It’s out today, so be sure to add it to your fall/winter nonfiction TBR!
January 23, 2020
*sigh*
disappointed. Flipped through this at the book store and laughed at each of the titles. Thought it was going to be a slam dunk because I love short stories / essay compilations. And if it makes me laugh... even better.
Sadly, none of them hit home for me. Not sure that I laughed once even though the book had tremendous praise all over the jacket.
It sounded a lot like my life, but way worse.
disappointed. Flipped through this at the book store and laughed at each of the titles. Thought it was going to be a slam dunk because I love short stories / essay compilations. And if it makes me laugh... even better.
Sadly, none of them hit home for me. Not sure that I laughed once even though the book had tremendous praise all over the jacket.
It sounded a lot like my life, but way worse.
December 12, 2019
I think I am too old for this shit.
October 22, 2021
This book started out as mildly amusing and spiraled into a sad, sad recounting of the author’s train wreck of a life. She’s a raging alcoholic, with clearly zero self esteem, who over and over again has blackout drunk one night stands, or becomes obsessed with men who aren’t interested in her or only want to screw her casually, which she grasps at just so she has any chance to spend time with these creeps.
She has mental health issues, which I’ve gotta wonder, isn’t just the above issues amplified. She’d probably be fine if she just quit drinking and screwing scumbags.
A lot/Most/ALL of her little anecdotes, are pretty much just drunken debauchery tales from her life. And while nearly all of us have many of the same experiences in high school and college, and early/mid 20’s, I don’t know anyone who recounts these tales at all, let alone seems proud of them, particularly by her age. But this behavior is continuing on and on and now she’s like 30 years old. That’s the sad part, she seems truly proud of this behavior, or that she’s just so lacking in self esteem she’s trying to make it funny so she’ll somehow seem likable? I don’t know. All I do know is that this book made me sad for her, and I didn’t enjoy it at all.
The only upside here is that I bought this at a yard sale for $.50.
She has mental health issues, which I’ve gotta wonder, isn’t just the above issues amplified. She’d probably be fine if she just quit drinking and screwing scumbags.
A lot/Most/ALL of her little anecdotes, are pretty much just drunken debauchery tales from her life. And while nearly all of us have many of the same experiences in high school and college, and early/mid 20’s, I don’t know anyone who recounts these tales at all, let alone seems proud of them, particularly by her age. But this behavior is continuing on and on and now she’s like 30 years old. That’s the sad part, she seems truly proud of this behavior, or that she’s just so lacking in self esteem she’s trying to make it funny so she’ll somehow seem likable? I don’t know. All I do know is that this book made me sad for her, and I didn’t enjoy it at all.
The only upside here is that I bought this at a yard sale for $.50.
January 9, 2020
What a delight. I feel like she took my life and wrote it down. I've literally written essays about both the best places to cry in New York as well as my troubling penchant for sleeping with coworkers. Funny and succinct.
January 15, 2020
Wonderfully witty and down to earth. I was torn between wanting to devour it in one go and wanting to savor chapters to keep having more of Rebecca's writing. I felt every essay was very relatable, extremely honest, and made me giggle out loud repeatedly. It is a wonderful book and I HIGHLY recommend it. Probably the best book I read in 2019!
December 10, 2020
A severely anxious, self loathing drunk who sucks at yoga, loves sleeping alone, and can only get laid when the dude is inebriated. Did I accidentally write a book and forget??
October 11, 2021
3.5 stars
September 14, 2019
This is the first essay I have ever read and I was pleasantly surprised! If you love reading books with cynical humor and pitiful (yet super relatable!) stories then this should be on your to-read. I haven't experienced all of the "adventures" Fishbein has gone through, but I do know that life is a firestorm mixed with a tornado full of some cruddy people. It's nice to know you're never alone in your misery (and, yes, sometimes your happiness) even if you so desperately want to believe that you are.
April 12, 2020
Had this book fallen into my lap 10-15 years ago, I probably would’ve rated it five stars, giving it a glowing review, and stalked the author to see if I could meet her by “chance” somewhere and strike up a funny conversation and then become best friends and move into a crumbling but adorable tiny apartment in New York and...you get it.
But, I’m older now. Things are different. I don’t tolerate well when people harp on the same things over and over, when their privilege is their brightest star, and when they’re in a constant state of contradictions.
The last half of the book is more tolerable than the first. In the beginning, I felt like I was reading a less salacious Lena Dunham (not a compliment from me—read my review of her book). She’s a white, straight, upperclass, spoiled girl whose family paid more for her to attend high school for one year than I paid to go to four years of college and who, at first, seems totally unaware of how easy she’s had it. Later, she admits she knows she’s spoiled and that her troubles pale in comparison to the majority of people. This makes her more relatable, maybe because you realize she’s not living in a fantasy world. The last few essays go a little deeper (just a little!) as she reflects on mortality and on actually growing up. Still, you can only read so much about an endless stack of poor decisions that are conveniently erased from her memory by alcohol, drugs, money, and privilege.
But, I’m older now. Things are different. I don’t tolerate well when people harp on the same things over and over, when their privilege is their brightest star, and when they’re in a constant state of contradictions.
The last half of the book is more tolerable than the first. In the beginning, I felt like I was reading a less salacious Lena Dunham (not a compliment from me—read my review of her book). She’s a white, straight, upperclass, spoiled girl whose family paid more for her to attend high school for one year than I paid to go to four years of college and who, at first, seems totally unaware of how easy she’s had it. Later, she admits she knows she’s spoiled and that her troubles pale in comparison to the majority of people. This makes her more relatable, maybe because you realize she’s not living in a fantasy world. The last few essays go a little deeper (just a little!) as she reflects on mortality and on actually growing up. Still, you can only read so much about an endless stack of poor decisions that are conveniently erased from her memory by alcohol, drugs, money, and privilege.
June 2, 2021
Okay, technically I didn't finish this, but Kindle tells me I made it more than 50% through and honestly that was a slog, so for what may be the first time ever in my life, I'm just giving up on a book. And I have read a LOT of things I hated all the way to the end. I have finished whole trilogies on the power of spite and manic completionism alone. (Looking at you, Assassin's Apprentice.)
This author just hates herself so much. And she seems...perfectly adequate as a human. Based exclusively on the way she presents herself here, I don't think we'd be friends, but I bet we'd run into each other at NYC media happy hours. But her constant self-loathing and alcoholism is EXHAUSTING. Reading this makes me feel like I'm trapped in a conversation at a party with an acquaintance who has decided I'm a substitute for a therapist and thinks that somehow their boring problems and dumb drunken escapades are a charming substitute for a personality.
Her problems themselves aren't unique or interesting, and she's not a good enough writer to make them sound like they are.
Very rude of the blurb to mention Samantha Irby, as Irby is both actually funny and self-aware. False advertising.
This author just hates herself so much. And she seems...perfectly adequate as a human. Based exclusively on the way she presents herself here, I don't think we'd be friends, but I bet we'd run into each other at NYC media happy hours. But her constant self-loathing and alcoholism is EXHAUSTING. Reading this makes me feel like I'm trapped in a conversation at a party with an acquaintance who has decided I'm a substitute for a therapist and thinks that somehow their boring problems and dumb drunken escapades are a charming substitute for a personality.
Her problems themselves aren't unique or interesting, and she's not a good enough writer to make them sound like they are.
Very rude of the blurb to mention Samantha Irby, as Irby is both actually funny and self-aware. False advertising.
February 19, 2020
I expected to like this quite a lot given how quickly I judged the book by its title and decided that the author had to be excellent. Unfortunately, I think a lot of the essays just don't really come together? I have enjoyed many similar essay collections in this niche genre of slightly quippy, personal essays by young female writers who have lived in New York, but again and again, as I got to the end of each essay/chapter, I found myself disappointed that the story had not really...had a point or shown some kind of direction within the author's life. There are some good lines and some good insights, but there is no sense of direction, purpose, centrality? I skipped around and started skimming through chapters. Despite this, I commend the author for an excellent title that sold me on the book sight unseen!
August 31, 2019
Only put the book down to grab something to eat!
Full of clever, dark humor that makes you chuckle and even laugh out loud. Though it is written to take you through her fears, insecurities, and awkward experiences, it certainly makes you reflect on your own.
Highly recommend.
Full of clever, dark humor that makes you chuckle and even laugh out loud. Though it is written to take you through her fears, insecurities, and awkward experiences, it certainly makes you reflect on your own.
Highly recommend.
November 11, 2020
Total impulse read based on the fantastic title.
The best pieces were the book's eponymous essay and "Summer of Death." The latter broke me wide open and destroyed me. The very last essay of the book was simply great because it was absurdly hilarious and a light note to go out on after "Summer of Death."
The problem with a lot of essay or short story-filled books is that one or two pieces usually stand out a lot more than others. I felt somewhat unmoved by so many of the essays here, even during the times when I related with her on a scary level. Part of this is because her writing style makes her come off as very offputting. It was a bit of a slog and I'll probably forget most of this book in a day or two, minus those last three essays.
The best pieces were the book's eponymous essay and "Summer of Death." The latter broke me wide open and destroyed me. The very last essay of the book was simply great because it was absurdly hilarious and a light note to go out on after "Summer of Death."
The problem with a lot of essay or short story-filled books is that one or two pieces usually stand out a lot more than others. I felt somewhat unmoved by so many of the essays here, even during the times when I related with her on a scary level. Part of this is because her writing style makes her come off as very offputting. It was a bit of a slog and I'll probably forget most of this book in a day or two, minus those last three essays.
August 19, 2019
There were a couple of gems in here, particularly the essays that focused on family and career and mortality. But I overall felt like the collection was, in many ways, repetitive (seriously, we get it, you have major boy problems; While totally relatable to a certain extent, I only have to read about one-night-stands and constant rejection a few times to get the picture) and leaned a bit too much on the "whiny millennial" schtick that I think we're all (and I am a card-carrying millennial) growing a bit weary of reading.
November 13, 2019
Some funny moments, but too repetitive and more self-loathing than self-deprecating. Nothing special at all.
January 11, 2020
"But homes tied to turbulent industries tend to crumble once you've kicked your shoes off, and our comfortable abode was no exception."
"The thing about media is that if you have a staff job, at some point you'll probably lose it. Journalism is an industry in permanent turmoil, with publishers on an everlasting quest to balance profitability with quality work. They still haven't figured it out. It's possible they never will."
"Solidarity is, as I said before, a real thing in a tempestuous working world."
"I miss being young and hungry and convinced I'd found a spot for me forever, because it turns out no spot is forever, no matter how infinite a job seems when you're twenty-five and on top of your own tiny world."
"The thing about losing your mind is that it happens when you're not paying attention. Depression is like a bedbug infestation-you keep waking up with bitesized welts of self-doubt and sadness that at first you rationalize away, tricking yourself into believing you're not sleeping enough or are undercaffeinated or just have a teeny case of the blues. Then one day you can't get out of bed. That lasts for a week. Now you've got a problem."
"Anxiety takes the gray of depression, turns it red, and twists the edges, speeding up your heart rate and making your hands shake. Anxiety doesn't just make you said, it makes you scared, without permitting you to pinpoint a cause or possible solution. Anxiety warps your brain, inserting dark corridors into your future and packing them with threats. When you are anxious, you are always unsettled, no matter how much reading of online forums or deep breathing or crying into the phone you do. If you're not sure what specifically is spiking your adrenaline, then it could be anything, which means danger lurks from all possible angles."
"Mostly, I think, since we're all failing all the time, someone else's failures make us feel better about our own."
"I will never be nice. I will never be better. I will be good. Niceness only helps incubate the lies we tell ourselves and the ones we present to others. I choose the truth, even if the truth is selfish and stupid."
"The thing about watching disaster unfold is that you don't realize it's disaster while the shock is giving you a hug. You just keep watching. There's nothing else to do."
"You can't stop someone you care about from deciding not to care about you. Sometimes you lose your job. Sometimes you lose your home."
"Experiences change you in small ways, but you're never really fixed. And in some ways, you're even more broken."
"When life is good and full of promise, a long run is the perfect thing. Runs give you time to let your mind wander unfettered."
"It is strange when a friend becomes a stranger. You've grown too distant to share with each other the warts and vulnerabilities that make a person real, but you remember what it was like when you saw them unpeeled."
"But friendships are different when you are no longer afraid of being alone."
"What they don't tell you when you're young and afraid of failing is that it is very freeing to fail. It is even more freeing when you fail in full than when you fail in part. It's easier to scrap something entirely than to fix something that's broken, which is why couples break up after their first fight and no one ever eats half a burger. If you can't be the best, you might as well be the worst. The resignation is liberating."
"In the world of the Manhattan rich, there is no such thing as failing, no matter how hard you try."
"Sometimes I want to stop trying. Sometimes I want to see who I am when I am untethered. Who would I be if I didn't owe anything to anyone, if I had no one to impress and no one to disappoint? Who would I have been?"
"In a world where you have little control and everyone ele's successes light up your social media feeds, revenge fantasies are a great source of empowerment."
"Ultimately, living well means ceding control. Not caring requires you to give yourself up to the universe, instead of flinging your enemies into the vortex."
"Things change all the time, and uf they could change for the worse, that also meant there was room for them to change for the better."
"The thing about media is that if you have a staff job, at some point you'll probably lose it. Journalism is an industry in permanent turmoil, with publishers on an everlasting quest to balance profitability with quality work. They still haven't figured it out. It's possible they never will."
"Solidarity is, as I said before, a real thing in a tempestuous working world."
"I miss being young and hungry and convinced I'd found a spot for me forever, because it turns out no spot is forever, no matter how infinite a job seems when you're twenty-five and on top of your own tiny world."
"The thing about losing your mind is that it happens when you're not paying attention. Depression is like a bedbug infestation-you keep waking up with bitesized welts of self-doubt and sadness that at first you rationalize away, tricking yourself into believing you're not sleeping enough or are undercaffeinated or just have a teeny case of the blues. Then one day you can't get out of bed. That lasts for a week. Now you've got a problem."
"Anxiety takes the gray of depression, turns it red, and twists the edges, speeding up your heart rate and making your hands shake. Anxiety doesn't just make you said, it makes you scared, without permitting you to pinpoint a cause or possible solution. Anxiety warps your brain, inserting dark corridors into your future and packing them with threats. When you are anxious, you are always unsettled, no matter how much reading of online forums or deep breathing or crying into the phone you do. If you're not sure what specifically is spiking your adrenaline, then it could be anything, which means danger lurks from all possible angles."
"Mostly, I think, since we're all failing all the time, someone else's failures make us feel better about our own."
"I will never be nice. I will never be better. I will be good. Niceness only helps incubate the lies we tell ourselves and the ones we present to others. I choose the truth, even if the truth is selfish and stupid."
"The thing about watching disaster unfold is that you don't realize it's disaster while the shock is giving you a hug. You just keep watching. There's nothing else to do."
"You can't stop someone you care about from deciding not to care about you. Sometimes you lose your job. Sometimes you lose your home."
"Experiences change you in small ways, but you're never really fixed. And in some ways, you're even more broken."
"When life is good and full of promise, a long run is the perfect thing. Runs give you time to let your mind wander unfettered."
"It is strange when a friend becomes a stranger. You've grown too distant to share with each other the warts and vulnerabilities that make a person real, but you remember what it was like when you saw them unpeeled."
"But friendships are different when you are no longer afraid of being alone."
"What they don't tell you when you're young and afraid of failing is that it is very freeing to fail. It is even more freeing when you fail in full than when you fail in part. It's easier to scrap something entirely than to fix something that's broken, which is why couples break up after their first fight and no one ever eats half a burger. If you can't be the best, you might as well be the worst. The resignation is liberating."
"In the world of the Manhattan rich, there is no such thing as failing, no matter how hard you try."
"Sometimes I want to stop trying. Sometimes I want to see who I am when I am untethered. Who would I be if I didn't owe anything to anyone, if I had no one to impress and no one to disappoint? Who would I have been?"
"In a world where you have little control and everyone ele's successes light up your social media feeds, revenge fantasies are a great source of empowerment."
"Ultimately, living well means ceding control. Not caring requires you to give yourself up to the universe, instead of flinging your enemies into the vortex."
"Things change all the time, and uf they could change for the worse, that also meant there was room for them to change for the better."
December 27, 2019
“In its early stages, as depression starts to seep in, everything is tinged with gray.You are still you, and your friends are still your friends, and your life is still your life, but it feels muddy and overcast, like you’ve relocated to the upside down or Seattle.
A few years ago, my folks burn tapes of me and my sister to DVD, and the front rivers it, unless they were taken when I was in middle school, and then I have to text my therapist.
Capitalism and taught me that I would feel better if I had a new T-shirt, and sometimes it did make me feel better. Other times I had just one more T-shirt. But there was a security and having the things. I like that they were safe with me in my apartment. I liked the things that belong to me slept near me in a drawer. We insulated each other from the outside world, heightening the difference all domesticated creatures assert —that they’re in fact is a difference between in here and out there.
In a world in which appearance is still paramount for the once deemed fair sex, being ugly is a curse, a sure fire sign that you’re an undesirable Destin for a lonely future in a silent death at the paws of your many unkempt felines.
Surely by now a well-adjusted individual would seek out a nice Tinder stranger to marry, instead of digging her claws into yet another person who is located just a few feet away from her at all times. But as I’ve already pointed out, I am not smart, and I am nowhere near well-adjusted. Having laid waste to my workplace like the ambulatory HR violation that I am, I set my stupid sites on the next closest possible location: my apartment.
I know I’m an addict. I’m not literally addicted to boots. I’m a hard and functional worker. I’m not stashing airplane bottles of Jack Daniels in my bedroom. I can go weeks without drinking and not feel any withdrawal effects safe for clarity. But I’m addicted to how I feel when I drink like I’m not me or a better me, or at least a more alive than the sober me who’s too afraid to ask the world for what she wants. When I’m drunk, I take it, even if I take it too far.
What they don’t tell you when you’re young and afraid of failing is that it’s very freeing to fail. It is even more freeing when you fail in full but then when you fail in part. It’s easier to scrap something entirely then to fix something that’s broken, which is why couples break up after their first fight and no one ever eats half a burger. If you can’t be the best, you might as will be the worst. The resignation is liberating.
I know what it says about me that I didn’t experience this kind of existential panic until Trump’s election, but for the first time in my very silly charmed life, I had to come to terms with the fact that things weren’t guaranteed to be OK. It was unfathomable to me at the time but the hot president who tried to give us healthcare and been swapped out for a racist orange blob with the Twitter addiction.”
January 19, 2021
"Regular Non-Surprising Life Shit Happens to Rebecca Fishbein & How Her Mind Processes it" essays. Oops my bad, I meant "Good Things Happen to People You Hate" essays.
Suffice to say, I did not particularly enjoy this read!
I did not find it "laugh out loud" funny like many reviews led me to believe it would be. It did not give me any lasting takeaways, lacked the oomph factor and I found it very difficult to finish.
I understand that writing a book in general is a talent and I commend this writer for being brave enough to put intimate details about her life out there for the world to sift over and criticize. The very fact that she has been published is a huge accomplishment in my book. However, I felt that the entirety of this book was used as her own personal form of therapy; documenting notes from her adolescent diary. A girl finding peace by getting all of her lingering thoughts sorted and finally vacating her own head. She was able to find a healthy and empowering outlet to release, which is fabulous for her and a whole hell of a lot cheaper than actual therapy, but ultimately this did nothing for me - the reader.
We all encounter experiences that stick with us and tend to focus on the less-than-flattering ones far too long; replaying the scenarios over and over and slowly changing the script to benefit us over the other party. The "should've, would've, could've"s of our past that like musician George Strait says are the "Famous Last Words of a Fool." We are all guilty of this toxicity. However differing our experiences are from one another, I believe that we ultimately endure the same feelings of frustration and angst and humiliation and constant lust-fullness and misguided self-criticism and regret. But we process these feelings and recover uniquely and write our own "personal therapy diaries" through whichever healing methods we choose.
Therefore I found it hard to relate to the writer's way thinking that these "hardships" or "setbacks" were somehow considered "big picture" experiences or worthy of showcasing to the public when we all have them. Other than the one slight slip near the end of the book where she called her life silly and charmed, she never stopped to consider that her hardships were not necessarily that hard or that she, unlike many of us, had a "bright side" to each of these situations...
Hardship: Her apartment building caught fire and she lost most of her belongings.
Bright Side: Her family lived close by, took her in, supported her financially and she was back on her feet in no time.
Hardship: She has a large nose, curly hair, and a short body.
Bright Side: Every man that fits her underwhelming criteria of proximity and time-spent-together is somehow still willing to fuck her.
Book relationship status update: Strictly seeking novels
Suffice to say, I did not particularly enjoy this read!
I did not find it "laugh out loud" funny like many reviews led me to believe it would be. It did not give me any lasting takeaways, lacked the oomph factor and I found it very difficult to finish.
I understand that writing a book in general is a talent and I commend this writer for being brave enough to put intimate details about her life out there for the world to sift over and criticize. The very fact that she has been published is a huge accomplishment in my book. However, I felt that the entirety of this book was used as her own personal form of therapy; documenting notes from her adolescent diary. A girl finding peace by getting all of her lingering thoughts sorted and finally vacating her own head. She was able to find a healthy and empowering outlet to release, which is fabulous for her and a whole hell of a lot cheaper than actual therapy, but ultimately this did nothing for me - the reader.
We all encounter experiences that stick with us and tend to focus on the less-than-flattering ones far too long; replaying the scenarios over and over and slowly changing the script to benefit us over the other party. The "should've, would've, could've"s of our past that like musician George Strait says are the "Famous Last Words of a Fool." We are all guilty of this toxicity. However differing our experiences are from one another, I believe that we ultimately endure the same feelings of frustration and angst and humiliation and constant lust-fullness and misguided self-criticism and regret. But we process these feelings and recover uniquely and write our own "personal therapy diaries" through whichever healing methods we choose.
Therefore I found it hard to relate to the writer's way thinking that these "hardships" or "setbacks" were somehow considered "big picture" experiences or worthy of showcasing to the public when we all have them. Other than the one slight slip near the end of the book where she called her life silly and charmed, she never stopped to consider that her hardships were not necessarily that hard or that she, unlike many of us, had a "bright side" to each of these situations...
Hardship: Her apartment building caught fire and she lost most of her belongings.
Bright Side: Her family lived close by, took her in, supported her financially and she was back on her feet in no time.
Hardship: She has a large nose, curly hair, and a short body.
Bright Side: Every man that fits her underwhelming criteria of proximity and time-spent-together is somehow still willing to fuck her.
Book relationship status update: Strictly seeking novels
June 21, 2021
This book has an excellent title- that might have been why I initially put it on my to-read list. Unfortunately, that's pretty much the best thing about it. This feels like it was written by one of the characters from the TV show Girls. The essays are all autobiographical, but nothing all that interesting has happened to her. Which is actually fine! I've read some great books of essays by people whose lives aren't all that out of the ordinary- Hypocrite in a Pouffy White Dress: Tales of Growing up Groovy and Clueless is one, Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life is another. The problem is that in order for essays about non-unique experiences to resonate, they need to be funny or insightful or both. These are neither. There was very little in here that I could relate to. I was particularly disappointed in the essay about the fire in her apartment building- I went through an apartment fire myself, and while she comes to the trite conclusion that people are what's important and stuff is just stuff, I came through my experience disappointed in people and thinking that stuff is underrated. And, while I think she was often aiming for quirky humor, this book is simply not that funny. I feel like I got a good idea of her neuroses but not much else- no universal insights, no real clue as to why she is the way she is.
January 7, 2020
I'd picked up this book with high expectations to be entertained or as the blurb says to "laugh out loud". I didn't laugh out loud.
I do give the author some credit for baring it all; from admitting that she was a compulsive liar when she was young (though of course, she has since changed), battling with bouts of depression, to being lazy although she grew up in a somewhat privileged family and being sent to a private school (now who can afford that now?), beating herself up about her looks/bemoaning that it's a shocker anytime someone wants to sleep with her (she is petite and not that bad looking from her author's picture), being so messy/filthy as to have a bedbug infestation (which she never fails to remind her readers in a few chapters here and there, although it is a badge of honor!), or that she sleeps with man she doesn't want just to rack up the numbers on her bedpost and the list goes on! Well, it is ok if you read the book with the mindset of "Sex and the City" and accepts all of the author's bad decisions as what one does in the name of youth. However, there came a point where the quibs and jibes at herself seemed a bit repetitive and I was found asking myself, "ok what's next? where's the funny part that I was promised?"
There was, however, some slim nuggets of insight and introspection that hinted at her innate talent. These, I love. Wish there were more though. In all, I didn't regret picking up this book but wish that there was more bite and funny in it then there actually is.
I do give the author some credit for baring it all; from admitting that she was a compulsive liar when she was young (though of course, she has since changed), battling with bouts of depression, to being lazy although she grew up in a somewhat privileged family and being sent to a private school (now who can afford that now?), beating herself up about her looks/bemoaning that it's a shocker anytime someone wants to sleep with her (she is petite and not that bad looking from her author's picture), being so messy/filthy as to have a bedbug infestation (which she never fails to remind her readers in a few chapters here and there, although it is a badge of honor!), or that she sleeps with man she doesn't want just to rack up the numbers on her bedpost and the list goes on! Well, it is ok if you read the book with the mindset of "Sex and the City" and accepts all of the author's bad decisions as what one does in the name of youth. However, there came a point where the quibs and jibes at herself seemed a bit repetitive and I was found asking myself, "ok what's next? where's the funny part that I was promised?"
There was, however, some slim nuggets of insight and introspection that hinted at her innate talent. These, I love. Wish there were more though. In all, I didn't regret picking up this book but wish that there was more bite and funny in it then there actually is.
Read
December 8, 2019This was a collection of short essays by a writer/blogger who I enjoyed reading at the Gothamist news blog before their a$$hole billionaire owner shut them down. The aspects I enjoyed most about her writing were emphasized here, snarkiness, cynicism, and youthfulness, but the collection overall seemed darker and somewhat more bitter than the writing I remember liking. In particular I didn't like and wouldn't recommend the essays on depression(/sun-in hair lightening product) and death. These were perhaps too real (well written?), but seem to me to be mentally infectious--they'll haunt you. I don't like to watch scary movies because I'll have flashbacks to the frightening scenes, these stories yielded that through their wording and mental imagery. I would have liked the essay collection to have some balance to all the negativity. I also thought there was too much emphasis on the author's belief that she needs to find a man. This would probably be relatable for the right audience, but struck me as pining for external validation in lieu of personal satisfaction. Here's hoping the next collection is brighter!
December 19, 2019
This collection of essays covers all the topics I tend to gravitate to and write about already: friendships, failed relationships, dating and sex, addiction and drinking and depression and anxiety and death and finding meaning in moments that matter, as fleeting as they might be.
Rebecca was super relatable, hella humourous in a sarcastic way I'm drawn to, and wrote short, concise, digestible essays, concluding with witty one liners bringing each one to a memorable close.
She is raw and real yet uses her humour and acknowledgement of her own failings and flaws to establish a sense of vulnerability, while in on the joke.
My only complaint? It wasn't long enough. 5 stars, easily.
Rebecca was super relatable, hella humourous in a sarcastic way I'm drawn to, and wrote short, concise, digestible essays, concluding with witty one liners bringing each one to a memorable close.
She is raw and real yet uses her humour and acknowledgement of her own failings and flaws to establish a sense of vulnerability, while in on the joke.
My only complaint? It wasn't long enough. 5 stars, easily.
August 20, 2019
Lotta people say something is laugh out loud funny, but they don't really mean it. This collection (GTHtPYH) is cackle-inducing. Like if Norah Ephron and David Sedaris procreated a book after being forced to actually stay in NYC for their entire lives. It's also dark and human and keenly aware of our current cultural predicament. But somehow great to read on the beach?
Fishbein writes – on dating, on bedbugs, on watching your industry burn to the ground – with the effortless wizened-ness of someone who has seen it all. She shares generously, and we are lucky for it. Buy the book, and maybe good things will happen to you!
Fishbein writes – on dating, on bedbugs, on watching your industry burn to the ground – with the effortless wizened-ness of someone who has seen it all. She shares generously, and we are lucky for it. Buy the book, and maybe good things will happen to you!
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