First Game Day of the Rest of My Life

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

If ever there was a business of scammers, it's those who change car oil. When I ask for an oil change, that's what I want. But for some reason the boys at Jiffy Lube just can't seem to grasp that fact. They insist on throwing in every gadget and widget in the garage they can find. It drives me nuts. Today for example, in preparation of my trip back to Nebraska (yes I'm driving) I had to get my oil changed. The sign said Oil Change Special: $29.95. I tell the attendant, "I want just my oil changed, that's it. I want to pay $29.95. For an oil change. Change of the oil." Can I be much more clear than that? Ten minutes in, the man in the dirty mechanic suit pops into the waiting room,

"You need to get your filters changed."

"No, thank you. My dad's own a car shop, I do all of the extras at home." I've been using this line since the day I was born.

Five minutes later, he comes in again.

"You need to rotate the rotor specters for your modem frictor fractor"

"No, thank you. Just an oil change."

"Alright, but we really recommend you filter the air vents so the inside speculators can run through their ventilation course so the illuminated windmill factory in your engine ran by elves can run like it should. It's for the best."

Are Jiffy men the worse salesmen, or the best? I can't figure it out. Again, I said N-O.

When I go up to pay, he tells me it's going to be $45.95. I look at him like, are you shitting me? He tells me they had to refill my antifreeze. I'm driving a Camry, not a jet. I'm not making a bomb or dry ice or trying to kill Cay... never mind too soon... Bottom line, I don't need it. I'm on a budget, I can't afford all of these fancy add-ons like new breaks and fixing the fracture in my tire that could split any second. I just need a damned oil change to make the red light go away in my car. Is that so much to ask? So the cheap SOB actually removed the anti freeze he'd put in my car because it wasn't a part of the "oil change special." What a cheap ass... Him not me. I can't catch a break around here. If only I had something in my future to cheer me up.... What? What's that you say Facebook world? A Husker game is right around the corner. Well you don't say.

Yes, it seems all of FB world is just as excited as I am for Saturday. I like to think of Husker season as the 9/11 of Facebook, I mean the way it brings everyone together. And only in that way. Just because it feels right, I'm going to plan out my Fantasy Football Day if you don't mind.

9/3/2011 Montage.

Morning: To start off at a tailgate or the Bar... That is one of the biggest dilemmas of all. Especially since Saturday will mark the first annual Wolfe Tailgate, feel free to stop by for a howling good time. Oh, I'm too much. So anyway, my agenda for pre game will be the Bar, the Rail, head to tailgate to munch and throw a football around with a little kid in a parking lot. Maybe start some Go Big Red cheers. Probably glare at some new freshman girls in their jersey dresses and wedge flip flops in shear jealousy. Glance toward the North Bottoms at the sloppy college kids, let a moment of nostalgia take over... Drink some more to remember I'm still having the time of my life. Say a prayer for Patrick Swayze. Chug one more beer, make way toward stadium. Say things like, wow there's a lot of people here. Tell Chris "I'm not drunks, I'm just hungrys." Fight the crowd, elbow people who are too close to me in line. Find seat just as tunnel walk begins. Let goosebumps take over as the players come out, get a little sad I was never able to play college football. Settle in, cheer, cheer, cheer! Nudge person next to me for sitting in my butt space. Vals. Runza. Pop. Water. Is it time to go yet? Getting sleepy, it's clutch time. Either drink more or give in and eat more thus ending the night because it's bound to be a binge dinner... Leave stadium. We win! More chants! Drunk kids falling, police arresting. See people I wouldn't say hi to sober but since I'm drunk we'll hug and scream and say I MISS YOU! Embassy drinks? Maybe, maybe not. Rail? I think so. Shots. Shots. Shots. Shots. Shots. Too much. Old friends reunited! Shots. Shots. (Just kidding adults, I don't really drink this much. But your kid probably does.) Dance like idiots. Limby (yes, I think this might come out.) Slinty eyes, red cheeks, sloppiness everywhere. Bar time? Or hot dog vendor? Hot dogs. See girl crying on street. See boy puking in alley. Swear to self Lincoln is the best place on earth. Walk to Bar, cut line. Feel far too good about cutting line. More friends! More kids that look way younger than you. Admit to younger Thetas you creep on them on Facebook. Regret this the next day. How old am I now? RBVs RBVs RBVs! Party in the USA! Take me home tonight! Snoop, Gin'n Juice. Lights come on. Everyone looks like death, me included. Taxi time? Lincoln only has one. Time for my reward: Lazzaris. Spicy chicken, bucket of ranch. Time for bed. Good night, moon. Hello hangover. First game day of the rest of my life.


Bubba Starling

Thank you for smoking.

Friday, August 26, 2011

And so another Friday has graced us with its presence yet again. How delightful. And I am happy to say that I find myself in a better position this Friday than I was last Friday. What with having a second interview on Monday for the job I interviewed for yesterday. Oh, you didn't hear? Yeah, I got a call back. Nbd. The good ol flattery and modest confidence approach, works like a charm. But for the time being, I'm sitting at Starbucks working on some articles for the Chicago magazine I am starting to write for. And I'm not talking about the fake magazine I used to write pretend articles for, this one is real. It's mostly online, but that's how our world is today. Can you imagine if Facebook were and actual book? The mini would be so outdated! It would be like the old days when someone would say "hey, did you see So & So got engaged two months ago?" Ha. I can't even begin to imagine news delayed over four minutes. How else would I have been able to know thirty seconds after Jade had gotten in her car this morning that she was "smiling all the way home thanks to a great night at Bec's." I mean that's just not news I can wait for.

So this magazine gig I got, it's part time (and yes I say gig because I am officially an artist now.) I actually got the job awhile ago, but I wanted to keep it on the DL to make sure it was legit. You know just in case I started to get the sandhills jitters and left before I even started, we all know how that tends to happen to me. But I have already written two articles, I have two more due by the 30th which is my deadline. I have deadlines now. So as soon as my articles are officially published in the online magazine I'm going to promote the shit out them. So get excited for that, I know I am. Like the working writer I am, I'm typing away at Starbucks outdoor patio when the hipster next to me has the audacity to light up a cigarette. Like are you kidding me? First of all, who smokes in the daylight anymore? And who smokes at Starbucks no less. This isn't Dunkin Donuts for Gods sake. There is clearly a sign right behind him that says "no smoking on or within 15 feet of patio," but this doucher continues to blow smoke right at me. I start coughing loudly, covering my mouth with my jacket, what else can I do to make it more obvious. So I start getting real pissed, I'm fighting every urge to tell him to put it out. But I'm just not in the mood to be the prissy bitch in the jean jacket complaining that Miley Cyrus's older brother is blowing smoke in my face. Yeah, I still love jean jackets, judge me.

But anyway, this guy keeps smoking, I keep getting more angry. Suddenly I feel just like Larry David. If he were in this situation what would he do? I know what he'd do, he'd say something. But then I could see exactly what would happen, I'd yell at this guy for smoking, he'd roll his eyes, step aside and finish it. He'd sit back down, it would be awkward for the remainder of the time. And then later on tonight when Chris and I would be out we'd happen to run into the Smoker, only it would be in a situation where Chris would be asking to bum a smoke, Smoker would initially say yes, until he noticed me and then he'd laugh and blow smoke in my face. I mean that's how it would happen if I were Larry David. In the meantime, as I was sitting at my table day dreaming all of this and picturing what a day with Larry David would actually be like, the Smoker finished his cig. Moral of the story: you should all watch Curb Your Enthusiasm on Sunday nights. It's very entertaining, which is more than I can say about Entourage this season.

I think I've said enough, I have to get back to my magazine articles. I've got a deadline to make. And after all, it's Friday, Friday, party'n party'n yeah! I know I said I wouldn't quote Rebecca Black again after she sold out and appeared in a Katy Perry video, but I can't help it! Who can stay mad at R Black? Not this girl. Not on a Friday. Not when I've got to choose between the front seat and the back seat. Party'n party'n yeah.

Diary of a wimpy bitch.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

A wise man once said, "I'm not unemployed. I'm Kenny Powers." Unfortunately, I am unemployed, and I'm not Kenny Powers. Times are getting real rough around here. It's weird not having an income. I can't buy the simple things I long to buy, like fall decorated paper towels, or fall scented candles. I'm finding I have to be creative in order to have the things I want, but the white napkins that I drew pumpkins on with an orange Sharpie just don't look as good as I pictured they would... Grocery shopping sure isn't fun on a budget, either. I like to buy a lot of stupid shit like fruit snacks and mini chip packs, but of course those were the first things to go. I don't care what anybody says, Gushers just can't be imitated. The cheap fruit snacks I bought just taste, well cheap. For the past five days I've been living off of cans of tuna that my mom bought me at Costco like five months ago, and eggs. Not together, well sometimes, but I figured out real fast that eggs and tuna aren't a good combination. I gathered up all of my coins and took them to the bank so I would be able to do laundry (buy scratch tickets) but the stupid bank by my house doesn't even have a coin counting machine so the bank teller expected me to count all of the coins with him. Puhlease. I'm unemployed, not stupid. I don't have time for such silly things as coin counting. I took my plastic bag with me and left. Am I really supposed to believe I am the only person in Chicago who still brings in coins to turn into cash? Doubtful. But it does put things at a new low when you can't even get money for your pennies anymore.

Until... I got three phone calls. Yes, the above paragraph was wrote this morning when I was feeling down and out. And then out of nowhere I got three little calls, for three little interviews. The first call was from a French family seeking a nanny for their large home in downtown Chicago. Yes, I put my name on a nanny website. Yes, I don't like children, but I figured I could fake it for a while. I was partially excited about this call, but still a little hesitant given my history with trying to be a nanny (for three days.) But working for a French family sounds so illusive and exotic, and I do love crepes! So I agreed to meet the family and their French speaking children. The next call was even better, it was for an interview to be an account executive for a company that is based out of the Hancock building. As in Herbie Hancock. As in I will be working very close to the lake, and even closer to Chris! Hello to happy hours again and feeling like a big city girl working in the cool old building where I hear my heels click down the hall and pretend that I'm Meryl Streep from the Devil Wears Prada and the reason no one is around is because they all heard I was coming and they scattered. Not that I ever think silly things like this when I'm alone in a hallway... And finally, the last call was the best of all. It was Tory Burch herself, calling to ask me to work for her. And by this I mean it was the manager of her boutique downtown, but it might as well have been her because I was that excited. I've always dreamt of being a shoe salesman just like Al Bundy. But I wouldn't be just any shoe salesman, I'd be selling Tory's! Which would mean I would be getting an employee discount. Just the thought makes me gitty.

I went from scrounging through cans of tuna to being offered three interviews. A nanny to foreigners, an account exec, and a shoe salesman. Times are looking up here in Chicago for this old broad. Although they are just interviews, not offers. So I realize I'm taking a real leap here by even mentioning them, don't want to get ahead of myself or anything. Only time will tell. Let's just hope in a few days I don't have to post "I didn't get the job!" as my status. Because everybody knows Facebook is the first person you have to tell with any and all job announcements, it's just the way it goes. Same with pregnancy, in fact, the other day I saw a pregnancy piss-stick mobile upload as a "we're having a baby" announcement. So I guess we've officially taken it to that level now. Some day I bet Zuckerberg will be able to figure out a notification that lets know you're pregnant before you even know... Like the Burger King kids club always say, 'hey, it could happen."

I'm goin on a job hunt.

Monday, August 22, 2011

Today is going to be a good day I decided. I got up early, took a nice long shower and got dressed in my best "hire me" outfit and headed downtown to a Chicago career fair... And five minutes later here I am sitting at Starbucks. I was hesitant about a grown up career fair from the get-go, but you can't be too picky when you're unemployed. So against my better judgement I went. I couldn't help but feel just a little bit like Ben Affleck in the Company Men. I was on the job hunt not just for myself, but for Chris and Harlow too. Someone has to put food on the table. Except I soon realized the people I found myself surrounded by were not as good looking as the cast of Company Men, and I can only assume none lived in million dollar homes or drove sports cars.

When I got to the registration table my better judgement kicked in and I decided I better get the hell out of there. The lady I followed up to the registration table was wearing cowboy boots- warning sign number one. The man I first saw at the registration table was wearing a Dwight-style short sleeve work shirt- warning sign number two. And the person speaking at the registration table, the person who I am assuming was supposed to get all of us job seekers "pumped up," was wearing a tie with cartoon characters on it. I shit you not. Warning sign number three. Even after all of these signs I made myself stay just a little longer. I stayed in the mix of other forty-year-old unemployed people until the Motivator Man passed out the list of the companies who were attending the fair. It was an impressive list. The Army, the Marines, a Security company, the DEA, a few insurance companies, a Dairy Delivery store, all in one place? How did someone manage that one? The only clincher was that only one company actually required a degree... And that company was Devry University. Have you heard of Devry? Well it's the Art Institutes sister college. How's that for irony. As tempting as it was to get a job as a security guard, I knew that was my cue to leave.

So now I sit at Starbucks pondering my next move. My only hope is that my drunken shenanigans from the previous weekend finally pay off for once. And by shenanigans I mean the fact that I got a little tipsy and found the liquid courage I needed to approach every Tom, Dick and drunk Harry on the the street Saturday night insisting they fill out a post card. Perhaps drunk people aren't the best customers to depend on for a new business venture. What can you do. On this said night Chris and I also decided to check out Chicago's fame Husker bar, Kirkwoods. Upon entering the first thing you notice is a huge Nebraska flag that says "Welcome Home." Well, drunk-me was very excited about this and in a matter of seconds I had conjured up this wonderful notion in my mind that "Welcome Home" must truly mean that the inside of this bar would be full of the best Husker fans in Chicago, and there would undoubtedly have to be at least a dozen people I would know. And we all know how thrilling it is to run into someone out of town that you partially know. So you can imagine my disappointment when I found out not only did I know no one, but the bartenders didn't know me either. Nobody was even dressed in Husker attire, and why would they be it was just another Saturday night. But this really set me off. I insisted everybody was a bunch of "posers," a word sober-me doesn't use, and felt no one should be allowed in unless they had actually gone to Nebraska. I sat at my own little table scowling at every person who passed. I was in a weird place. I finally took it too far when I stole a fish bowl from the table next to me when they went outside to smoke. I remember thinking that the fishbowl really belonged to me, because I was a true Nebraska fan, not them. They had probably never even been to Duffy's, and everyone knows Duffy's is the birthplace of fishbowls. It was around this time when Chris and I decided it was time to go.

And so another weekend passed all too quickly. I'm thinking positive about this week though, I really am. I can feel an interview coming on any day now... First comes the interview, then comes a job. Then comes me quitting a week later. Not this time though, I'm really buckling down.

Shoot for the moon, if you miss, you'll hit unemployment.

Friday, August 19, 2011

So yesterday I was sitting outside at Starbucks, should have been enjoying one of my usual morning writing sessions typing away at my screenplay , but my experience was completely ruined from the homeless man behind me pedaling his new magazine. Why did the Lincoln Park Starbucks allow a homeless man to harass all of their customers? I don't know, probably because they're an equality opportunity employer. His magazine was called "Street Wise." How original. "G'day to you madame, top of the morning to you sir. Can I interest you in a magazine? Hot off the presses, only seven hours old," was the same line I heard over and over spoken by the homeless man in some sort of bizarre old English proper accent. Perhaps this man just assumed this is how you address white people? I have no idea. Twenty minutes later, I was annoyed as hell and hadn't written more than a page. But I had a new idea. If this homeless man could pedal his great idea, why couldn't I?

And so two hours later I found myself on Michigan avenue handing out my Morning After postcards... I do a lot of weird shit to try to get my "projects" going. But I felt most out of my element in this situation. I don't like approaching people, I get tongue tied, and I get pissed easily if they blow me off, but I'm unemployed so I'm kinda up against a wall here. I stepped out of my comfort zone and just went for it. I don't know why I was so timid to begin, it's not like I was dressed like a hotdog or the Statue of Liberty doing an awkward dance trying to get people into my store. When I made this point to Chris he said, "maybe it would be better that way though, so then people couldn't see your face." Always so supportive. It took me about forty five minutes to finally approach someone. And when I did, it was three girls, probably 19 years old with shirts on that said "Wake up drunk," on the front and "go to bed shitfaced," on the back. Money. They were basically honored I asked them to contribute a drunk story, and so were the next twenty people I went up to. It was refreshing, like as soon as I said "a morning after story" almost everyone I talked to lit up with a huge smile, their mind was already filtering through some of their greatest/worst moments with alcohol. It's kind of nice to know that alcohol ties us together as human beings. Makes us all equal. But not really, I was pretty picky about who I went up to. For example, anyone wearing Crocks was out. Same with guys in cargo shorts. How great could a story be if your 25 and still wearing cargos? Those weird brown close toed "sandals" guys wear didn't make the cut either. Lacey tank tops under sweaters, standard, we all know how those bother me. Ed Hardy, Affliction, or anything with jewels or rhinestones was an instant no go, for girls or guys. What about homeless people? I struggled with this one. But I had the feeling a morning after story from someone who lives on the streets might have a completely different tone than I was going for, "And then, I realized she was dead. So I was bummed at first, but then I saw there was still alcohol in the bottle. So I took it and ran. I didn't look back." .... I think it's funny though how even homeless people follow the trends of advertising, like for example ten years ago it was all about sappy, emotional signs, "Please help, I'm cold and hungry. Just need a bite to eat. God bless." And now as advertising has taken a turn to the comical and sarcastic side so have the homeless. "I'm not homeless, just ugly. Buy me a shot." I wish homeless people had more money because I would love for one of them to hire me to be their sign writer. "Why lie, I need a drink," is so two years ago, and yet so many of them still write it.

But anyway, back to me being a pedaler. I handed out my post cards and felt pretty good about it. Even if I only get one back in the mail by golly I gave it a shot. And that's all we have to do to succeed right? Just give it a try! Shoot for the moon and if you miss you'll hit the stars. That's such bullshit. I've shot for the moon so many times and all I've hit is unemployment. The more I think about it, the more it pisses me off that teachers encourage little kids to "find your dream job." That's what got me into this mess in the first place. Okay kiddos, today we're going to talk about what we want to be when we grow up. An astronaut! A movie star! A famous athlete! A hair cutter for dogs (Kate Rolfs haha.) Encouragement all around. But this is just setting us all up for failure. I don't think it would be such a bad idea if instead teachers said things like, "okay kids, we're going to talk about what we want to be when we grow up. Let's make three columns. 1. List jobs you would never do under any circumstance. 2. List jobs that you would hate, but could probably tolerate. and 3. This is the good one, we'll talk about jobs in the insurance, recruiting and sales industries. All one in the same basically. And then let's go from there." This way kids like myself can grow up with more realistic expectations rather than being chastised when they're 24 years old and still hold onto that notion they're going to find a job they love. But maybe it's just me. I know other people grow up and move on from those earlier dream jobs of movie stars and athletes. Even in high school, kids start to tell people they want jobs a little more "realistic," like for example, a sports agent. Thanks Jerry Maguire for adding another job onto the radar kids in the Midwest otherwise had no idea about. Or a TV news anchor, who didn't want to work with that stunning John Knicely, which by the way I really had high hopes for that guy, how has he not made it past Nebraska news?

And then we hit college. And ironically, for the next four years we seem to forget about the entire idea of finding a job. But I digress. I talk about college too much, I know. What was your kindergarten dream job? Did you get it? If you did, good for you. You can rest easy tonight knowing that I hate you. Kidding. But seriously. Enough is enough. It's Friday. I'm gonna pedal a bit for more today, and then I'm gonna drink even more tonight. Cheers.

Day 3 of the Challenge- I'm gonna play for money instead.

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Well the Challenge is officially underway. It got off to a slower start than expected on account of the whirlwind of a weekend my parents led Chris and I on. I will say, it's not the easiest thing to come back from the kind of weekend I just had. My parents packed about a month's worth of Chicago fun into four days, everything from a Bears game (exceeded my Da Bears SNL skit envision and more) to Westside story (the Jets are gonna have their way tonight) to Chinatown (don't go), a Blues Club (go, but be ready for numerous "cracka" jokes and "whites can't dance" jokes) bike riding at Navy Pier, and drinks every step of the way. I wish my parents could come every weekend, but I'm not sure if I could handle it. By Sunday night I had to beg my dad to come home rather than going to just one more bar like he insisted. My dad can drink his Gin and Tonics until the cows come home, and after a night of great Blues he could have given a shit about cows, he just wanted more drinks.

Thus far into the challenge I am taking it very seriously. I am diligently doing my writing work and have not even attempted to lay out once with these last few days of summer. And I have made myself wait until at least 5:00 before having a drink. Part of my writing day is reserved for job searching, as well. I already went on one interview yesterday and was offered the job, but after thinking about the position very carefully as I am not going to just jump right into anything this time, I declined it. It was a great position, and I loved who I would be working with, but in the end I decided that if I am going to become a dog walker I would probably like to be a bit of an entrepreneur and start my own dog walking company. But I was of course flattered to be offered the position on the spot like I was. They liked me so much they said I could even drive the pet taxi, a position not offered to just anyone they mentioned. As tempting as it was, I just couldn't shake the vision of me as Harry driving a large van decorated to look like a shaggy dog delivering dogs covered in ketchup and mustard. It's kind of funny to me how I hated my last job so much because I found it to be so humiliating and yet here I am interviewing to walk dogs... But ironically I don't find that humiliating at all. Driving a pet taxi? Yes. But walking the dogs doesn't embarrass me one bit. I've had to deal with co workers shit before. As long as you got a bag it aint no thing.

But enough talk about work and jobs and co workers shit. Let's talk about the fact that I think Chris and I might have just decided last night that we are indeed making the drive back for the first HOME GAME!!! Well he's still up in the air, but I told him I'm going for sure. I just won't have it any other way. We drove three hours last year to get to every game, what's five more hours on top of that? Just more tailgating time in the car is all. I can already taste the Bloodys and feel the sun shining on me in the beer garden. I'm predicting the new Party in the USA song for post game celebrating with be Gaga's newest, because we all know how thrilling it is to here the word "Nebraska" in a song. It's right up there with seeing Nebraska in a movie, or having Tommy Lee film a reality show here (WTF was that all about by the way?.) I don't care if the video is creepy as hell, she says Nebraska at least ten times! And I for one think she got our state pretty right on in the video, what with the scary mermaid trapped in the barn, playing a piano in a thong in the middle of a cornfield, sadistic dancers stripping and gyrating on each other at the farm. If that's not Nebraska then I don't know what is. Sure, she could have gone a different route, but where would the shock factor be if she instead had T.O. dressed like a merman in barn? Or the entire football team gyrating on each other in the farm, or my favorite Carl Pelini in a thong playing the piano. Everyone would have expected this and that's not Gaga's style.

Well, no more dicking around. It's time to get back to work on my screenplay so I can make some money someday. Because like the great Bubba Starling once said, "I'm gonna play for money instead." Me too, Bubba. Me too.

I smell Rush Week 2011...

Monday, August 15, 2011

I'm noticing a lot of sorority love on Fb... Could it be? Is rush week 2011 really here? Oh boy, how exciting! What a week this is. A week full of new friendships, old friendships shattered, summer eating disorders finally paying off, just insecurities galore! A week when dreams are made, and nightmares are realized. For those GDIs who don't know what I'm talking about, well good, we like to keep it that way. I'll just say think of every stereotypical sorority/frat movie or rumor you've ever heard or seen and then multiply it. Because they're all true. The fat circling, the sister bonding, the frat hazing, the rabbit blood, it all happens this week. I can't say enough about what a glorious week this is. It's a week for sisterly love not only for the lucky new members, but also for the veteran members finally able to reunite after a long summer. We dance and sing in our sorority living room dressed in our frilly pjs into the late hours of the night preparing for the new girls to come through. We comb each other's hair and paint each other's nails, encourage one another to do just one more sit-up, one more push up. We have to be at our best this week. But how could we not be? "I was at my best, when I was with these people." And I was at my worst a lot too, and at my sloppiest, and bitchiest, and rudest, and a long list of other shit. This can be one long ass week locked in a house not meant for 80 girls. Tension can get very high at times. Some girls just can't handle the pressure of it all. The pressure of recruiting the best possible new members of the house. Luckily, I never had to actually deal with this pressure right on as I wasn't usually allowed to "talk" to many of the new girls coming through. I don't know why, I guess my House never trusted me or what I might say wrong. They all seemed to think I was a little too "straight forward" or something, might scare the girls away so they insisted I play the Helen Keller card and keep to myself. It was a hard time for me. But that's how rush can be, ruthless. It's a time for the Sally Sunshines of the house to really shine, they're the MVPs of the week. I can still think of the MVPs I so admired, wished I could be a little more like. But I was never a Sally Sunshine as hard as I tried, I was always a Sarcastic Susan. So to all the Susans this week who aren't allowed to interact with the new girls, who are locked in the closet with Marge and Sasha, don't let Sandy or anyone else get you down. Keep your eye on the prize. And that prize is Thursday night.

The best night in all of college is the Thursday night after rush lets out. Sorority girls and frat boys alike party like they haven't seen each other in almost five days. Oh, what a night this is. Girls hug and scream and chant their annoying cheers because after five hard days or recruitment work everyone is just boiling over with their sorority love. And the frat boys hug and scream because the new slutty sorority girls are finally let out on the loose. It's a great night for all. Unless of course you're one of those new girls who didn't get a house, or if you're a house who got all the sloppy seconds. But even those things don't stop a girl from partying, life goes on. It's nothing that a shot or two can't cure.

Yes, this sure is a great/awful week. A time when different paths join as one. From different worlds we have come. Would I relive it again if given chance? My mind says no, because God knows I hated this week. But my heart, my tiny little Theta heart, says yes. Maybe just a day of it. Because two years later, my sisters and I, our roads have parted, we said we all couldn't imagine it, but it's happened. We don't get to see each other often, so a night locked in at 1545 S Street with all of them doesn't sound that bad right now. So to all the bitchy folk who like to boast about sorority girls buying their friends I can't help but respond, hells yeah I bought my friends, and it was a damn good purchase too. They shouldn't be bitter, they would have done it too if their parents had money. Deal with it. We're sisters of love, friends of money. Jk. But....


Betty L. Hamilton

Dear Real World,

Friday, August 12, 2011

So as we all know the past few weeks of my professional life have been very stressful, to say the least. While I am thankful I have my 30 Day Challenge to rejuvenate me and give me a new lease of on life, I still can't help but be frustrated that I was driven to this point. It's this whole living in the "real world" thing that's really got me irritated. I don't like it, and I don't want to be a part of it anymore, so I've decided to do something about it. I'm going to do what I do best, and that's write a complaint letter.

Dear "Real World,"

You're a bitch. And not a fun bitch like in the way high school girls or queer men say it to each other, but just a straight up bitch. Your cousin, College, is like ten times cooler than you. Even on College's worst day, like when it's super hung over, can't get out of it's dirty frat bed, and has left it's debit card at the Bar so it has to charge everything on it's N Card, you still don't hold a candle to it. You, Real World, don't even hold a lighter, not even a yellow lighter. Where do I even begin with why you just suck so much? Just the fact that you insist on starting everyday so damn early. 7:00 a.m.? 8:00 a.m.? Is there really a need for this? Sometimes I just don't want to get up, College never cared about this. But not you, you're just a real asshole like that. What's it matter if I don't want to show up and instead choose to lay in bed all day and then do all of my work from the hours of 6 p.m. - 3 a.m., if the work gets done, the work gets done. Nope, doesn't fly with old uncle Real World. Not only do you insist I show up at the hours you place, but you're gonna make me dress up like a miniature, miserable 40 year old to do so. When I was with College, I dressed however I preferred. Yeah, sometimes I would look nice, just because I respected College and wanted to show him I cared, but a lot of the times I rolled up in sweats and a North Face- the official sponsor of College. He never minded, didn't insist I wear close toed heels or panty hose like a 1950's hooker. Sometimes I can't help but think that you're a sexist small minded douche, RR. But that's just my opinion what do I know? According to you, not a whole lot.

You know what else pisses me off? Your judgement. So what if I come to see you with bloodshot eyes, fire breath and last night's makeup? It's you who forced me to that point. College used to think that kind of behavior was cute, would let me ease into the next day by laying on the couch for hours on end watching the one channel that happened to be on the TV when it was initially turned on because most times I was too hung over to even change the channel. That's just how College was, understanding, compassionate and accepting of all flaws. Not very good looking? College doesn't care, take a few more shots, then check back. Not very smart? Nbd, test files for all! Don't have a lot of money? We'll figure something out, sell your books, sell your prescriptions, sell yourself in a medical study, steal from your frat's entertainment fund. You know who you are... Bottom line: College was a problem solver. The kind of guy who saw the pitcher half full.

Real World, If I had a dollar for every time I didn't feel good enough or up to par for you, I'd have enough money to hire the hit man I want to kill you. I know that's intense, but you're pretty damn intense. So back off, stay out of my Facebook, stay off of my blog, don't worry about my credit history, don't take a hair sample, don't call a reference, and don't ask for transcripts. Because college will lie for me. Back the fuck off. Yeah, Real World, I just said F! Deal with it. College always did. You don't see too many people walking around with the signature black T shirt that says "REAL WORLD" in white block letters, do you? No, John Belushi wouldn't have worn that if you paid him with an eight ball of the narcotics of his choice. It's because no one likes you.

I think I've said enough. I know this whole thing has been kind of weird, but that's how I'm feeling right now, kind of weird. You seem to have that affect on people. Cheers to hoping you don't cause another honest, hard working person to jump off a bridge today.

Happy Friday!

Tommy Frazier

(because we all know how the Real World has treated him. Jk, #15 love forever)

The Runaway Employee: It's an "I quit the job!" post...

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Why must quitting have such a negative connotation alongside it? Is it always such a bad thing? Hey, I quit smoking, good for you! people would say. Or what about, hey I stopped shooting heroine! Again, I would get some pats on the back. So why then, is it such a poorly regarded thing to say, hey I quit my job. What if I told you that today I revamped my job? What would you think? Or if I said, I revamped my job after only seven days! You'd think, wow, now that's a go-getter, she knows what she wants in life and she's gonna get it somehow. Well then I'd say you're right, because that's what I did. I made a decision today to revamp my job. I should say I made a decision 20 minutes ago to revamp my job, actually. I'm now sitting at the El stop waiting for my train thinking about that decision I just made. But I feel good about it. There comes a time in every person's career when they have to shit or get off the pot. I'm not one to shit around new coworkers, so yeah, I got off the pot. But right about now I could go for some pot...

You might notice that it’s technically not the end of the work day yet. Well see I’ve got this problem, remember I call it the sand itch, that when I know something isn’t right I suddenly have to get the hell out of there right at that moment or I start to get super high strung and anxiety ridden. It’s similar to the condition Julia Roberts felt in that lovable romantic comedy “Runaway Bride.” I guess I’m kind of a runaway employee. But at least I don’t make that awful platypus face she makes in an attempt to be silly yet cute all at the same time. So right after lunch, before I could say my I do’s with Richard Gere, I was overcome with the urge to flee and so I took off down the fire escape stairs. Luckily, there was a horse conveniently waiting just outside to take me off into the horizon, wedding dress and all. It was pretty dramatic. In reality, I faked a headache and got the hell out. But I’ve got a good feeling the coworkers were already taking bets on whether I’d be back tomorrow...

So what’s the next card, dealer? Well, I’ve already thought about that, because I’d just like to reiterate that this is not a rash decision. I’ve put at least three days of thought into this, which is about 50% of my work career thus far. I’ve spoke with my loan officer (my dad) and we’ve come to a business agreement. It’s a very rigid plan, but I think it might just work. I’m calling it the 30 Day Challenge. Obviously that’s a working title because it is clearly lacking any and all creativity and I don’t really want people to think I am on one of those weird 30 day diet or workout things. My challenge is much more difficult. So here it goes:

I have thirty days to write a novel, sell a novel, sell a screenplay, become a director and or producer, or get a job that won’t cause the runaway employee disorder to kick in. And after those thirty days I have to start paying back the small loan I am about to borrow. Like I said, it’s not going to be easy. But I am approaching this very professionally and treating it like an actual job. I will work very hard from 8-12, lunch break at noon duh, then it’s back to it from 1-5. I might even work til 6 since I can cut out transportation time given that I will have the luxury of working from my home. It’s going to be a tough month, but I can do it.

The challenge isn’t going to start until Monday though because I really need a five day weekend right now. Those seven days of work really took it out of me. And plus my parents are coming to town tomorrow so I need to make sure I am at their disposal to really be able to show them the city.

Cheers to new opportunities. And taking risks. And being scared shitless.

Still pursuing that happiness

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Yesterday might not go down in the books as one of my "better days." Will Smith would most definitely have been disappointed in me and my lack of pursuit of happiness. I cried, I stomped my feet, I drank heavily, I killed a hooker, (joke!) I didn't really drink heavily. And I think I've got dead hookers on the mind on account of the great movie I just watched, Lincoln Lawyer. Not at all what I thought it was going to be about (a small town lawyer in Lincoln, Nebraska defending a high profile case about a man named Carl Pelini and the dead hooker found in his Embassy Suite hotel room) even though that wasn't the exact plot it was still good, never the less. I guess I have a soft spot for movies about well-intioned hustlers, like I've said before, I used to sell candy on the black market in grade school. I wish I could figure out a fun, but legal way to become a hustler here in Chicago. That would solve all of my problems.

So back to my pursuit of happiness, which by the way I think is much easier said than done. I'd rather have an eight year old African American child and have to carry around large machines from door to door than do what I do. Will didn't have it so bad, the guy could afford a rubix cube for God's sake, could his life be that awful? Maybe I'm just idealistic, maybe that term doesn't even fit this situation. But why is it so wrong to want to quit something when you just know it doesn't fit? What's with all the bullshit about "stick it out," "give it a few more weeks," "it's too soon to tell anything yet." When you know, you know. What's the point of dragging something out that you know doesn't work? Does it make me a quitter or a giver-upper? I don't think so at all. I just think it means that I am very decisive and know exactly what I want- or what I don't want. I haven't quit just yet. I am really trying, against my better judgement, to hang in for a few more days.

On the other hand, my sister is currently attending the regional meeting I should have been attending, had I not quit that culinary job I used to have ages ago. My sister doesn't do the culinary thing, but she does something similar in Omaha, our family prefers to share jobs in case you haven't noticed. So she has been sending me little updates about the coworkers we see once a year and could care less about. It's made my day go pretty quick. Turns out there's lots of rumors going around about M-E and the reason to which I jumped ship. I'm loving it. One classy gal who I used to work with in KC apparently had her Tj Maxx panties in a bunch when she got wind of the fact that I was getting to work the summer in Chicago because she too would have liked to go away for the summer... Had she known she could have taken that illusive three day getaway to Branson she would have jumped on it. Poor Lucy Bell, gotta take those opportunities when they arise, there's no telling how often you'll get the chance for a three day all expenses paid vacay at the Branson Motel 6, all circus shows included and everything. Another employee heard I got an agent and have signed on with a production company in LA to get my movie going... What an awful rumor to having going (thanks Jade.) Old coworkers are like the Westboro Church in Topeka, interesting at first when you only have to see them once in a while, but if you run into them too much it gets to be annoying and too satanic like. I like to keep my past in the past, but for now I can't help but relish in the fun work gossip. I'm hoping that by the end of the week Jade will have them all convinced my movie is not only being made, but I've signed on Roseanne Barr to play the role of my old boss. It's going to be called "The Devil Wears Kohls." Or "The Devil Wears Bebe Because She Still Thinks It's a High End Brand." Oh, I could do this all day. That old boss of mine was a hoot. If there is ever a day I run into her in the future that would be the day I die a happy gal, because I've rehearsed in my bedroom mirror countless times what I would say to that woman. I can't say it on here, that's just too risky, I learned the hard way about the power of hit lists in middle school. But I can tell you one thing, it's good and it's spot on. That means nothing to you because none of you know her, but just imagine the nastiest boss lady you've ever had and then multiply it, and dye it's hair that fake black hairstylist-esk color and put it in a cheap suit and cheetah print BCBG heels.

So anyway, I'm just trying to follow in the footsteps of every AA survivor, just take it one day at a time. And keep a little bit of vodka in your bottom drawer. It's all I can do at this point. Things will get better. The lotto is pretty big for tomorrow and I've got a real good feeling about it this time. August 10,2011: the day I won the lottery. It just has a ring to it.

When is it too soon to quit?

Monday, August 8, 2011

I'm stuck between a rock and a shitty job. I don't want to go back to work after this extremely short lunch "break" is over. Like at all. In my small amount of time at this new position I've come to learn there are many degrees to which one can hate their job. My last job for example, I hated because it was humiliating and annoying. This new job I hate for all sorts of new reasons. I dread coming to work every single day, and yet I can't pinpoint what exactly it is that I loath so much. But I'll try to come up with a list anyway. I don't like the overall subject of this work, it's painfully boring and I am expected to spend so much of my precious time reading about this subject and then interviewing people about the subject and then find an endless list of companies that specialize in the subject. I don't like my boss telling me he's "putting the pressure" on me about making so many phone calls. He told me that in order to make more calls I have might have to start thinking more "creatively about it, by maybe making phone calls over your lunch hour, or staying late or coming in early to do so." Ha. Good one, I seriously had to stifle a giggle when he said this. If he thinks I am going to put in more time than I already have he has another thing coming. I already spend about five hours too many doing this job. If he asks (tells) me to stay late tonight I will quit on the spot. Mark my words. I've had enough of this shit. I'm starting to get my sand itch... The itch I got at Sandhills when I decided I couldn't waste any more of my time and left at lunch. I'm in no mood to be pushed today. I'm trying to calm myself down with a latte at Starbucks but so far it's not working. I'm getting more heated by the minute. I can't go back into that place. I just can't, because I know if my boss tells me to do one more phone call I'm gonna freak out and do something that I would regret. But of course I would never regret it, I love making rash decisions, I just know a lot of people around me (my mom and Chris) would be mad I quit. I wish I could quit secretly without letting either of them know. I feel like that happens quite a bit in romantic comedies. I would still dress for work everyday and walk to the train with Chris but then right after he got on I would run back home and jump into bed. It would probably be a lot easier to fool my mom than it would Chris. All I would have to do to keep up the part on my mom's end is give her a 5:30 call every night that consists of me bitching and moaning about what I had to do for the day at my shitty job. I could fake that pretty well. In the end they would both catch me in a humorous situation that involved me showing up to meet them in a blouse and high heels but I would forget to change my pajama pants or something ridiculous like that. It could be a cute movie, I'd call it Freaky Friday.

My sweet time is fading. I wouldn't hate it if I got hit by a car on the way back to work, but my parents would be pissed because technically I'm without insurance at this point...I really can't win right now. I know what you're thinking, maybe it's not the jobs that aren't working out, it must be me, right? Wrong. I just keep landing the wrong jobs. I know if I got the right job I'd never complain about it. If someone paid me to blog, or watch reality shows, go to Starbucks everyday, wear cute work attire, go on wine lunches or meet friends for happy hour I swear I'd never bitch. I just don't think I'm supposed to dread going into work as much as I do. And if you dread work like I do I suggest you quit, as well. This isn't right. We are valuable, fun, young people who deserve a job we enjoy. I could literally cry at the thought of having to go sit at my stupid desk for four more hours with my boss checking in on my every ten minutes, "what's up" "what's going on" "any new leads" "what do you know" "what are you doing" "what do you think?" I think I am going to apply at Starbucks.

My time is up. This is the worst feeling ever.

O what a place

Thursday, August 4, 2011

A wise person once told me that drinking is a two day activity at least, sometimes a three day activity depending on the person. Day one is the drinking and day two is the hang over. Now when some people wake up partially drunk/partially hungover they prefer to just ride that drunk wave in all the way through day two, thus enters the day three hang over. But those people are either college students or Kim. Us working folk don't get that novelty anymore. The novelty of waking up with the bitter scent of alcohol on your breath and rather than brushing your teeth you decide to open a beer and carry on the binge for a little while longer. Yea, those were the days. A time when I led a more simple life, when I wasn't so career focused like I am now. Because as far as I can tell, going to work hungover isn't fun. This morning has been the worst morning ever. I think it might be one of the only times I've been this hungover and have been forced to function. Back in the days of my old job, which seems like years ago, I just wouldn't go to work if I drank the night before. I can't do that anymore, my boss sits right next to me, he'd probably notice if I didn't show up.

See, in all of my dreams of being able to experience the fun happy hour environment I never thought to think about the awful post-happy hour morning. Last night was a blast, everything I hoped for and more. A group of us gathered at Theory after work for $3 pints and half priced wings in honor of the birthday boy. I have a "group" now. Well, Chris has a group, but they're starting to be my friends too. I'm almost up to seven. We took shots, drank cool Chicago beers, ate wings, and talked about how much we all hated our jobs. It was a cliche beyond my wildest dreams. Around 10:00 we moved the party to Andy's roof top for more drinks and more fun. Although Kate, Katy and I actually hung out more in the living room anxiously awaiting the large pizza we ordered. My call log shows that I dialed the pizza place at least six times calling to ask how much longer it would be. We eventually moved out to the patio to ensure we would see the pizza delivery man pull up. When he finally arrived I ran down the three flights of stairs so fast I nearly tripped and rolled all the way down them. The pizza didn't so much as hit the counter top before the three of us devoured every last piece. It was gross, but really good.

And now today I suffer. I suffer from being hungover, and I suffer from being miserable in this new job of mine. I can literally feel my spirit dying a little with every moment I stare at the computer screen. I can only play on Linkedin for so long, thanks by the way for all of you who have accepted my invites to join my network, feel free to add me if you haven't. I will admit, I find it pretty entertaining how much people our age like to fancy up their work titles. I am a senior advanced professional recruiting specialist CIA director consultant entrepenour. I know, right? Linkedin is cool, but it's no Facebook. I don't really understand it to be quite honest, what's the point? And does anyone else always think of Lincoln when they type Linkedin into their screen? Because I do, so then naturally I think of college, so then I get even more depressed than I already am. It's getting close to that time by the way, you know when college resumes. First week of college... what can be said about such a glorious time that came around every year just at the perfect time? I can literally sit here and reflect on that week and just smile. I just did in fact. Hot sweaty nights at the Rail. Cutting lines at the Bar. Accusing the hot dog man of giving me the "smallest dog of the bunch." That dirty little strip called "O" is one of a kind I don't care what anybody says. Where else can you enjoy a delicious Gyro and listen to some sweet washboard while a man walks by you carrying a huge cross on his back all within a few feet? O. Oh what a place.

But anywho, no time for memory lane now. I've only got five more minutes of this "break" before it's back into the trenches. These will be the fastest five minutes of my day. Friday, stop being such a little tramp and get your ass here.

Happy Bday Chris!!!

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Happy happy birthday to one of the best looking guy's ever, Tom Brady! Oh, and happy birthday to the other best looking guy ever, Chris! The big 2-5, how very exciting. I've heard this is a pretty cool age, I wouldn't know since I'm only 24 though.  I'm going to try my hardest to make this a great day for you. I promise I won't "hide" any of your stuff, like the papers you leave out on the table, or your glasses on the coffee table. Everything will be just as you left it like you prefer. I won't complain about the bathroom counter looking like a typhoon just ran through or the shave trimmings in the sink. It's fine by me, birthday boy. Go ahead and leave as many shoes by the door, they're more accessible that way. And all night long we can watch shows like Deadliest Catch, Bear Grylls, Dual Survivor, Man vs Nature and any other outdoor shows you like to watch to prepare for that one day you might be left in the woods for weeks at a time. Because on that day I know I won't even have to worry, I'll feel safe with the knowledge you'll be able to survive on your own because you know how to make a 4-Wheeler out of a few pieces of drift wood and an abandoned snake skin. Thanks Bear. 

Yup, my Chris is a pretty great guy. He can make anything taste like heaven with the aid of a grill and some Lawrys. He can tell you absolutely anything you'd like to know about the Nebraska Cornhuskers, any PGA golf course, and which chords go where in a new TV. He might be the smartest guy I know. One of these nights our luck will hit us head on and we'll find ourselves in the Chicago Cash Cab. That'd be pretty awesome because Chris is truly a bottomless pit of useful (useless) facts. Which brings me to my next favorite quality about Chris, his bottomless stomach. I thought Thetas were fun to binge with, but Chris takes eating excessively to a whole new level. Just the other day when we were at KFC, yes KFC, there was a street festival going on, an outdoor concert, and Chris and I chose to spend our Saturday lunch at KFC... Guess we might still have a little of that Topeker blood in us afterall. But anyway, we're at KFC ordering disgusting amounts of fried chicken, Mac 'N cheese and baked beans, we had paid for our food and we're ready to go when we realized we'd accidentally forgotten to order potato wedges. So do we just say forget it and head out with the pounds of greasy fat food we already have?  Nope, Chris reorders and when asked by the unhappy cashier to make it a large he responds with "definitely." French fries are the way to any girl's heart. That was a good day. And thanks to the fact that going out to eat is a favorite past time for both Chris and I, we have a lot of good days.

I just really hope this is a good birthday for Chris. I've heard rumors of some people going a little nuts on their 25th because of a "quarter life crisis" but I see no need for this.  What's not to be happy about being 25 and living a youthful life in Chicago? Seems a helluva lot better than being 24 and in Topeka.  Speaking of, it was exactly one year ago today when Chris called me on his birthday and said, "what do you think of Topeka?" Oh how time flys when you're miserable. I wouldn't trade places with 24 year old Chris any day.

Tonight we're probably gonna meet after work for some birthday drinks downtown. Just a happy get together among friends, nbd, I have friends here. Only 2.5 more hours of work... I can do it.  No I can't. Kill me now. 


Life is just too short. I say no, no, no.

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Let's be real honest here, this job isn't rocket science. No job is, not even an actual rocket scientist because how hard could it be to do experiments on rockets? It either blasts off or it doesn't. So why must new job training be so difficult? Every employer shoves so much shit down your throat in the first week you can hardly breath, and when you do your breath reeks of shit. It's just so annoying. Ease off, why can't I just learn by doing? Does anybody really learn from piles of packets and tutorial videos circa 1991 with the guy from Reading Rainbow? I can't imagine so. The only thing I took away is that technology has improved quite a bit, and so have neon lights.

I can sum this job up into two reality shows: Millionaire Matchmaker and Pawn Stars. That's what I do. I'm a matchmaker for employees and companies, and a negotiator for them when they decide it's gonna work out. So all I need to do to be good at this job is watch a shit ton of Patty and a shit ton of Chumlee. I need an insecure, chubby blonde assistant and old man boss who dresses like a ringmaster. My millionaire calls in, tells me what they're looking for, and then it's up to me to go through my candidate pool to find the ones who are qualified, have a good degree, and will agree to not have sex on the first date. Hopefully all works out so then I can take on the role of negotiator. They make me an offer, I then make a counteroffer (with a little bit of sass about how I could never accept something so low because it's going to take a lot of work to fix up) they come back, and then I have to call my historical advisor to get the DL on the item's authenticity. See, it's all one in the same. So much in life can be learned from reality television. Teen Mom: don't have unprotected sex in high school, unless you have a contract with MTV. The Bachelorette: don't expect to find love on a show where guys willingly choose to live in a house full of other douche bags. If I were a GDI I'd input a frat joke here, but I'm not, frat/sorority love forever!!! Swamp People: incest is against the law for a reason. Real Housewives of New Jersey/Shore/Jerseylicious: Everybody makes mistakes, even God.

So I obviously understand this job, but what I still can't grasp are the amount of hours I'm expected to work it for. Like last night for example, after all the shenanigans of riding the train home and then walking to my house and taking Harlow to the park by the time I got home it was already 7 p.m. And let me tell you, I had to fight to get on that 5:20 train from downtown, it was packed! Sweaty people were pushing up on me and shoving me from all sides. But I held my ground, I've got bows sharper than the knives in my old knife kit, so I just stuck my hands tight on my hips and dared someone to get close me. I was the first one on the train and even managed to snag a seat. I know that probably surprises you, I can come off as a real sweetheart. But don't let the sundress and Norfolk flowing blonde hair fool you, I can hold my own against anybody. But like I said, I wasn't at home on my couch until roughly 7:00 p.m. By the time Chris and I had dinner and cleaned up it was 8:00 p.m. Wtf. I still had so much to do, but my bedtime was in two hours. And the worst part is the thought that when you go to bed you're that much closer to starting the bull shit day all over again. Three in a half hours at home in exchange for about ten hours on the grind. That just does't suit well with me, so I don't intend to do it for long.

Call me old fashioned, or naive, or whatever, but I'm gonna do something that I love. Eleanor Roosevelt once said, "nobody can make you feel inferior without your consent," and the sign in my middle school gym said, "what is cool isn't always right, and what is right, isn't always cool." I don't know what either of those things mean, but I bet both people who made the signs did something they loved. Well probably not the second person because they sound like a real loser, but Eleanor seemed like she had her shit together. I'm not saying it's going to be easy, but God I hope it is because I tend to give up quickly... But I'm really going to try. The thought of living my life working a mediocre job that I hate seriously makes me sick to my stomach. Life is too short. Especially if you live it right. Look at the 27 club. Think all of those people died with a smile on their face? You bet they did. I can still picture Amy Winehouse's cracked out, missing-teeth, million dollar smile shining up at me from her grave. RIP Amers. Guess you should have tried just a bit harder to go to rehab... I say no, no no.

Time for another day.

Part II- it's too much.

Monday, August 1, 2011

It's amazing to me what a novelty outside can be. Just a day ago I had the option of going outdoors right at my finger tips and yet today it feels so far away. I can't help but wonder if I took enough advantage of it. Luckily, I got a pretty sweet desk right next to a window. I've found myself staring out this window quite a bit today, not looking at anything in particular, just staring. A window is such a treasured spot in a work place I think, I'm not sure why it's so entertaining but it is. I like to watch the cars drive by and wonder where they're going. Who is in the car? Where do they work? Are they looking up at my office wondering about me? Probably not, they're outside. Free.

My first day has gone... Well it's gone. It hasn't been bad, really. A little bit tedious for sure. Sometimes I notice after someone talks at me for so long I just completely stop paying attention and suddenly I have no idea how long I haven't been listening for. My eyes start to blur,
I can't focus and I'm thinking about something bizarre like the first time I heard an Eminem song, and where is he these days, oh that's right he's performing in Kansas this weekend and remember when I used to live there and ugh Topeka! Those damn Westboros. Boom! I'm so far off thought I feel like I blackedout for a moment.  It's weird. I need a window to calm myself down again. But like I said, it's not that bad here. The whole staff is young and nice, and there is a basketball hoop hanging on the back of the door to the kitchen, what could be bad about that? For lunch I sat in the kitchen with the other coworkers and chatted while trying to take bites between questions so I didn't  have to answer while awkwardly trying to cover my mouth. After lunch I was sent in a room to watch training videos. This was probably the worst part of the day, I could have been distracted by a fly on the ledge of the building next to me, and I was. Note to trainers: never play training videos. It will take your new employee from thinking their new job isn't so bad to making them want to smash their heads into the TV that is preaching about clients, candidate pools and market mastery. It's just too much, I can't handle it. The only thing I'll probably retain from today anyway is the window I sit by and the small joys it gives me. 

Everything will get better when I get released to work on my own, I just know it. But right now I can't help but feel like Andy Dufresne trapped in Shawshank dreaming about the outside. Or maybe I'm actually in the shit tunnel right now and I just don't realize it. I have to survive just a few more piles of shit before I break through to what I really want, thats semi uplifting. But at least Andy had Morgan Freeman to get him through his days.

I'm just trying hard not to let myself think about people today like Snooki,  the Kardashian transvestite whores or  Lauren Conrad. Those bastards who don't have to watch training videos and haven't done a damn thing in life besides sell their souls to MTV, E! and Bravo. Because once you start thinking about them it's all over, there's no chance in keeping your spirits up. You just can't keep up with them Kardashians. Ok, I just accidentally let myself "go there." Now I'm all upset. I think it's time I discover the vending machine, it's the small victories that will get me through these days. I think I'm depressed now. Being a working girl isn't nearly as fun as Melanie Griffith acted like it was.

First day of work- part I

Here goes nothing, my first day of work as a big city girl in Chicago. Having been off work since early May I forgot how incredibly awful it is to wake up early, it literally pains me. I just laid there and begged for the clock not to move. But it did, and it felt like my snooze was thirty seconds long rather than seven minutes. I grumbled through everything this morning saying how dumb it was that people expect us hardworking youth to get up so early. It's ridiculous. But within about five minutes I was awake and feeling better. It was refreshing to dress in normal attire today rather than my good ol' chefs coat. I could actually look myself in the mirror and take what I saw seriously. My morning pep talk was a lot easier to deliver to a professionally dressed young career woman than a beaten down circus chef, "today is going to be a good day. You are going to be the best damn little recruiter this company has seen, and you're not gonna be a little bitch and whine about the fact that you don't like being told what to do," or something along those lines.

The next part of my morning being a big city worker is getting to the train. Chris and I walked together today, but this might be the only day because I actually don't have to be at work til 8:30, he at 8:00. We talked about all the things a big city couple discusses on their way to work, "so what time is the dog walker coming?" "did you remember to pay the cable bill?" "Did you order the tickets for the Opera on Saturday?" Someday... At the train station we departed ways as he got on the Red line and me on the Brown. I was super lucky and actually got a seat on the Brown. So instead of driving an hour everyday to work in my Camry, I now have the pleasure of riding a ten minute roller coaster to work. It's pretty thrilling, I think the Brown line is the best train to ride because it does all sorts of loops and turns. It's just that instead of being surrounded by happy screaming children on a roller coaster I look around and only seem glum looking adults not speaking a work to each other. We just all look down at our phones or newspapers doing anything to avoid eye contact. They must not have as good as a job as I do.

So this is just part one of my morning, still bright eyed and bushy tailed sitting at Starbucks sipping my iced coffee watching out the window at the city dwellers on their way to work. Let's hope part two is just as enthusiastic. I hope my work gives me at least a two hour lunch so I will have ample enough time to write a blog, I can't see how they couldn't though that just wouldn't be fair. And I also hope there is a TV in the office so I can watch The Today Show while I work in the morning like I am used to. As long as all of these pieces fall into place I will be a happy camper. If not... Well I'm not even gonna go there yet.