Last week, 25-year-old Yelp employee Talia Jane penned an open letter to Yelp's CEO, Jeremy Stoppelman, about her seemingly low compensation that makes it near impossible to live in the Bay Area. After posting the letter, she was apparently fired. Stefanie Williams, a 29-year-old freelance writer, penned an open letter responding to Talia Jane's open letter that was affixed with the headline "29-year-old millennial rips 25-year-old Yelp employee who got fired after complaining about her salary" on Business Insider. In it, Williams chastises Talia Jane's work ethic and tells her not to complain, because she did it. As a 25-year-old woman, I would also like to write my own open letter about my own millennial plight, because the first rule of being a millennial is assuming at least one person wants to hear your opinion.

Dear Stefanie and Talia Jane,

Haaaaayyyyyy girls. I just gotta say, writing an open letter is so empowering. First off, I just want to say to Talia Jane: I'm sorry to hear about you losing your job. I live in New York and I totally get the cost-of-living thing. It's criminal! And Stefanie, I'm so sorry to hear you got fired seven years ago on Halloween and have a Yahoo e-mail address. It sounds like the lessons you're sharing are almost entirely irrelevant to Talia Jane's geographical and financial situation, but damn! What a finely crafted letter.

It seems to me that you (Stefanie) wanted to prove to you (Talia Jane) that you are, somehow, even more of a millennial than Talia Jane and that Talia Jane is "doing it wrong." I love this, because I think it's important for women to publicly correct their peers and hone their one-upmanship while ultimately reducing our generation to a series of broad stereotypes, which I will soon do. And that's why I'm really here. To one-up you all.

I myself have been struggling as a #millennial lately (get it trending!!!!) and wanna just air some of these grievances out. And while this coming section may seem like a non sequitur, this is actually the part of the blog post where I plug my own Twitter, @nsilverberg, while claiming that it relates to the issue at hand. That's a little thing called class.

How to Talk to Strangers in Bars: A Guide for Millennials Talking to people. Terrifying, right? Here, Anna Breslaw provides some nifty talking points for a generation of wannabe sex-havers weaned on Tinder

The other day I was at brunch with my squad, and I couldn't help but feel like a thinking emoji. The mimosas were bottomless, the Wi-Fi was solid, and yet I felt like I didn't belong. My iPhone 5 and its cracked screen stuck out like a sore thumb among iPhone 6S's, and sometime between the last bites of eggs Florentine/French toast (I try to get someone to split a savory/sweet with me so I get both #brunchhack) and the bill that we divided up on Venmo, I started to wonder: Are any of my friendships real? Is time an illusion that we fill with meaningless mimosa brunches until we die? (Get it trending!)

Speaking of: Sometimes I feel like my life isn't trending. The need to put out exciting content is staggering, when in actuality I just want to scroll through Facebook while I nostalgia-binge seven seasons of Buffy: The Vampire Slayer in the background so I can tell my friends in a week that I nostalgia-binged all seven seasons of Buffy: The Vampire Slayer. Sure, Stefanie, maybe you had to juggle working in a restaurant, and that was certainly taxing. But have you ever had an Instagram post lingering at seven likes for 20 minutes? Should I delete this, and maybe repost it at a more convenient time when my network will be looking at Instagram? Should I like my own post and then unlike it later once it's gathered momentum? Should I walk in front of a truck? I simply dk.