Like a lot of women, I wanted a change. I was tired of being undermined by my boss, underappreciated by my husband, and buying pantsuits from Ann Taylor. That’s when it hit me. I should be living in Shondaland.
Like Annalise Keating says, “You can spend life in a corporate office drafting contracts and hitting on chubby paralegals before finally putting a gun in your mouth or you can join my firm and become someone you actually like.” I chose the second option.
So I quit my job and left everything I knew to move to Shondaland, the magical place named for Shonda Rhimes, creator of hit TV shows Grey’s Anatomy, Scandal, and How to Get Away With Murder. At first the transitions was hard; my husband left me, I forgot to take showers consistently and my mom left me a voicemail saying she was worried about me. But after a great last couple of weeks, I can confidently say, “In Shonda I trust.” Here are five three reasons I moved to Shondaland and never looked back.
Everybody here has baggage.
Since I moved to Shondaland, all the shit that happens to me only makes me more attractive. In my old life, all the bad things that had befallen me were painful problems that negatively impacted my relationships. But in Shonda’s world, negativity and disaster only makes you stronger. And hotter. In a world where Meredith Grey has been in a plane crash, drowned and watched her husband shot by a gunman only to come out the other side thinner than ever—well, you won’t hear any complaints from me. Plus, now everything I say is so elegant and quote-worthy; it has the potential to become a voiceover for a trailer about my life.
Wanting to sleep with the president is totally normal and doesn’t make me look like I have daddy issues.
Since moving to Shondaland, my fantasies of sleeping with the president are justified, even expected. In the real world, I was frowned upon for bringing up my fantasies about a romp in the oval office. In Shondaland, I lean into it. Like Olivia Pope and President Fitzgerald, I’m basically encouraged to have sex with the president. And I do, on top of mahogany desks, all the time. I have the kind of sex where we climax at the same time in the name of gender equality and it doesn’t mess up my hair. Back in the real world when I had sex with my boyfriend Aaron, it was quick, drama-free, and I had frizzy hair afterwards. Thank God I left that behind.
I’m allowed to yell and cry in front of my coworkers without it getting weird.
Since moving to Shondaland, I’ve made being a bad bitch my full time job. At my old accounting job, my boss would ask me to collect myself in the bathroom after I broke down and cried over sharing an office with my ex. In Shondaland, I’m allowed to cry in front of my coworkers with no apologies. Is it a safe space? Definitely not. The gossip is unreal. But knowing I can frantically yell at several coworkers about committing murder without any repercussions is worth it.
I’m learning useful skills, like how to get away with murder.
And I’m always ready for sex, despite this incredibly rigorous murder schedule.
Making the decision to move to Shondaland was tough. But now that I’m here, I’ll never go back. Shonda combines everything I was missing in my old life, murder, sex scandals and horny brain surgeons, and brings it together in a place I call home.
