I've come back from the dead! To answer a meme.

Hah!

Stolen from ketala

This is a fake album cover meme.

1.go to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random
The article title is the name of your band

2.go to http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3
the final words of the last quote on the page are the title for your album

3.go to http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days/
The FOURTH image on the page is your album cover

4.Design your cover. Layout and presentation are up to you.

5.Post your cover, along with these instructions. In the comments your friends will tell you what kind of music your band plays and the name of the albums single

So, here's my album cover:


Here was the Wiki page, for the interested: Seventh Martin Ministry

And the quote was "The thing that impresses me the most about America is the way parents obey their children." - King Edward VIII (1894 - 1972)

And the Flickr page, interestingly enough titled "Not Quite The Boss"

I promise I'll update soon for real. It's been since like may. I still read my friends page every day, though, guys. LOVE!

I have never been more sure that I want to get out of here. I suck at my job and just look fucking stupid over and over. And really, now that I think about it, I haven't ever been stellar at it, and it puts my self-esteem through a meat grinder to keep fucking up no matter how fastidious I think I'm being.

And yesterday I told them I could work longer if they wanted! I'm gonna go 'head and guess they don't.

And tonight we're all going out for A Supposedly Fun Thing at a bar. With my bosses. Who try admirably hard to be nice to me while telling me I've fucked things up yet again. And my co-worker, who, while she's only been at this a month, is probably doing a lot better job than I am.

Time to call the restaurant. I feel sick.

OH SNAP

...

Can we all just admit that life is much, much, MUCH easier for attractive people?

I've always been the mousy, chubby, plain-looking, glasses-wearin', acne-ridden, cripplingly shy, socially awkward roommate to some of my peers' sexy, skinny cheerleaders. Even though I'm not really any of those things (except one, but I haven't always been chubby), I think i've always exuded that unfeminine, don't-talk-to-her aura.

This is actually not me feeling sorry for myself. I really like who and what I am (though as I said I could lose a few pounds). I was just kind of noticing how it seems to be a lot easier for girls who are pretty first and have personalities second (optional). I'm funny and (possibly overly) friendly first, and maybe attractive second. I wouldn't change anything about it. I like myself far too much to try to do that. I'm just sayin'.

And in a similar vein, what's with women always being needlessly in competition with each other? I know sometimes I must fight the urge to dislike something about another woman because she's prettier or thinner or smarter or more successful than I am, or has a hotter boyfriend than i do (this is technically possible, i suppose, but I've never seen any evidence), or has done cooler things than I have. It's so common to see another woman with a beautiful body and immediately go "well, her face isn't all that much to look at." Why do we do that? It's so, so stupid and counterproductive. I've resolved to identify and squash those thoughts, because they're backwards and poisonous. But it's everywhere in our culture-- in fact society encourages that behavior among women. Sad. I've found that I can be friends with a lot more wonderful ladies because I refuse to be needlessly envious of pointless differences. There are a lot of great women out there.

It's one of those days when you don't have to look at any paper to know what's on the front page of every paper.

And while it doesn't have to be this way, it always is: that's never good news.

It's rainy and dreary, so of course I miss them.

I mean, I think about them every day. But today, I just miss them both so much. Not the kind of missing like the way I miss my grandpa, whose death didn't leave a hole so much as a fervent desire to show the world how wonderful he was by emulating him as much as possible; stopping at the most inopportune moments to teach a small child about a scarlet tanager or an igneous rock.

No, this is a persistent, aching void, though not a terrifying or consuming one. More like the mild disorientation that comes with wandering around in the grocery store knowing you're forgetting something important, I mean, well, it's like that, except it hurts. To know their silence is voluntary, though in both cases, ultimately not my fault. I've written about them here before: two ordinary people, who to the outside world probably look plain, functional, unremarkable; one too loud in large groups, the other too quiet. To me they are radiant ghosts. I have their pictures and their words and memories. They don't speak to me, and out of courtesy (well, to be honest, it's out of love), I don't speak to them. Damn it, I know it sounds corny but I guess I do speak to them. At least, I constantly think about what I would say to them if I had the chance.

I'm reading this book right now, House of Leaves. One of them loved this book. I think about what I'd ask her, did she understand this plot device, did she think this or that symbol meant something, or was the author just being pretentious? The other one, I think this book would terrify her. I think she'd like it a lot. Or maybe it would hit too close to home.

One last thing. My ex-boyfriend. We were together for almost six years by the time we finally, finally said our last this-is-really-it goodbye. He'd hurt me more by far than anyone or anything else has ever even had the ability to. I guess maybe after him I was broken and eternally scarred; forever having irrational fears about a host of relationship-related things, carrying a ton of baggage my subsequent partners would "just have to deal with." I would never trust another man again. Most of all, I buried him and his memory wholesale, never to be dealt with, thought of, reconciled, or looked back on. Just move the fuck on. Except none of that actually happened. I'm fine, and, truth be told, started being permanently fine as soon as we said that last goodbye. I talk to him on the phone about twice a month and we laugh and joke. We talk about our worries and problems, too. I even talk to his new girlfriend on the phone-- actually she's really wonderful and I know he'll treat her right. And we always say "I love you" when we get off the phone, and both of our significant others are fine with it, because if it wasn't true, that would be very sad. We made it work, because the alternative was missing each other terribly all the time, but especially on rainy days like today.

So at the end of this, which was supposed to be a couple short sentences, but has again stretched to the length of something no one will actually read, I come to the same frigid, desolate conclusion about the two of them that I always do: I guess they never loved me as much as I love them. Notice the present tense.

I'm going to cross-post this, because I'm a jerk, and also I'd like input on this Real Problem Of Our Times. Originally posted on MySpace (shut up). Sorry to the unfortunate among you who are friends with me through various electronic media.

~*~*~*~


So, my dad called me frantically today to warn me about a dire situation he'd just read about in a magazine. His girlfriend considers herself web-savvy (aside from the fact that she thinks her ex-husband could hack into her computer while it is not connected to the internet or on.), and she had tipped him off to something (I assume) the kids have known about for a long time but that apparently people who still get their news from magazines are just finding out: prospective employers might look at your MySpace or Facebook to find information about you! Realistic calculations as to how many employers are actually doing this aside, Dad begged me not to put any "political opinions" or "satire" (actually! oh, Dad.) on my MySpace, for fear that someone considering my merits as an employee might find something distasteful or disagreeable and thus elect not to hire me.

Here's the thing: Let's say by some ridiculous chance someone is considering hiring me. And let's say this person decides, snickering to him or herself, that MySpace will give a picture of me as I would present myself to friends, and not to an employer. Well Done!, firstly, and secondly what you see is me. I will not apologize for it or tune it down. If you're startled and dismayed to find that I am bisexual, love taking silly pictures of myself and my boyfriend engaged in sober; PG-rated debauchery, have an obsession with English rock band Queen and music in general, have a very un-white-girl love for the hip-hops; and am articulate, engaging, witty, kind, and creative; then I have here registered that I very intentionally show that to the world; that I am well aware of what information can be garnered about me through the wide, wide inter-nets. (I also enjoy artfully used run-on sentences, parenthetical asides, and precarious punctuation.) Gracious, what would we do if twenty-somethings had priorities outside of work and being successful, and indeed, personalities? (This is another post, but I hate the culture of twentysomething "success" that seems to permeate large urban areas and also my Dad and large swaths of America's immigrant communities. It is especially prevalent in this soulless, voteless seat of power some call Tha Distrikt.)

Anyway, all I've shown here is personality. No photographs of me drunkenly making out with someone of a sex to which I wouldn't undrunkenly be attracted for the cheap attentions of men (and if you paid attention at all, you'd know I'm truly (as in not-solely-for-the-enjoyment-of-men-- screw you, Girls Gone Wild, for cheapening my sexuality) bisexual without alcohol anyway!). You will see no digital glitter ITALIAN PRINCESS graphics, no annoying song for you to suffer the first three seconds of before you find its embedded location and press pause on the player. No horrible HTML making my page unreadable, with links to virii and no background of my most favoritest designer purse logo. No idiot friends commenting about what a great weed-bong-naked-sex-whiskey party we had last weekend. For the record, I rarely drink, and I think logo-purses are slightly cooler than carrying your shit around in a plastic bag you received free-with-your-purchase at Rite Aid. But if i did care about that stuff, I haven't shown it here, on the internet. I sometimes say doo-doo words. Furthermore, as you can see, I know the proper usages of "they're," "there," and "their", and i know that "ur" is an ancient Mesopotamian trading center, not a fucking replacement for English words. I know how to pluralize nouns-- without using apostrophes. I'd think those things would be more important to this imaginary "web-savvy" (in the style of Dad's girlfriend) AwesomeBoss than whether or not I agree with the Bush Administration's stance on abortion (I don't!). What I'm thrusting at here (uncomfortable, slightly sexual choice of words intentional) is that what you see, I have chosen to present. I like myself and think you should too.

And if you've been given the thankless, soulless, slightly dirty task of combing MySpace for information about interviewees, I'm sorry. If you've seen my boring, plain MySpace, and because of my personality, you don't find me employable (why wouldn't you? I'm a hard, loyal worker and a quick thinker. A good writer with a basic knowledge of HTML. Motivated Self-Starter! Ugh.), perhaps you will find one of my more milquetoast peers who was willing to delete his or her harmless online representations of him or herself in order to appear more employable. Be well, and enjoy your search, because I don't want to work for you anyway. However, if it was my masturbatory bloviating what scared you off, well, it's a fair cop. I'm a cool chick though, a cool chick who needs a job and isn't willing to sacrifice having a personality.

Sorry, dad. I want to make you proud, hopefully (for you) I can do it by being true to myself. If not, it's your fault for letting mom raise me that way. See what I did there?


Also, this is partially why I have an expensive degree and work at a Chinese restaurant.
~*~*~*~


Post Script: I know they look at LiveJournals too, sometimes. That's a whole other fish, but in general what I have here, while it may be a little personal, is not really all that mind-blowing. Also, the gist of the article was that Facebook and MySpace are the main focii of this sort of investigation, and MySpace is the main focus of my ire and the original place i posted this. Here's a link to my MySpace.

In general: I haven't been well. That's for another post.

Driving back from Philly, we stopped to get gas very late at night (of course). There were two men who were obviously Hispanic immigrants staring uncomfortably at their gas pump, which was in front of ours. I noticed and said to Aziz (who was pumping our gas), "are there directions on that sign (the one that tells how to use the credit card reader) in Spanish?" Confused as to why I'd asked, he looked up, and immediately noticed and walked over to the two men. Yes, the directions were in Spanish, but there was no translation for the error message they were seeing on the card reader. Aziz explained (in Spanish), and the two men paid for their gas with cash. I admired him so much for doing it; even though I earned a degree in Spanish, I'm terrified to speak to people-- I'm so worried they'll be offended and I'm always incredibly nervous. So I was floored when he told me, "whenever I do the right thing, it's because I am channeling you." And I realized that our good deeds and loving attitudes are never our own. And shouldn't be.

I've been so blessed, especially in these past few years, to have had people in my life who've shown me how to love the way I've always wanted to. When I try to exhibit kindness, motherly nature, acceptance, openness, uniqueness, selflessness, thoughtfulness, or other words I would be vain to apply to myself, my mind references those who've made it so that I knew how those qualities made themselves manifest. But I cannot ever really own those words; they are meant for my mother and grandfather, and for Terran and Michael Gay and Erika and Aziz and Kaia and Ram and kind strangers and everyone for whose spirit I try to make myself a conduit. My actions in this vein are never my own; I'm forever paying tribute to those I admire and love by bringing their lessons to the world via my life and everyday interactions. I suspect these people feel the same about their loving acts.

But it's difficult. The lessons I've learned from those people are forever combating the lessons I've learned in their applications. People are mistrustful of enthusiasm and affection. You can't fix anyone. You can't make anyone love you. Your best intentions can still fail spectacularly. When you display personality, people have an easier time deciding not to like you than they would if you were milquetoast. Some people will use you, and may not even know they're doing it. The more you open your heart, the more people you try to love, the easier it is to be hurt. And you will be hurt. And some people will just never accept your love, fondness, or goodwill. No matter what you do.

And it kills you. It wears you out. And you can come to feel as if you're failing those people you'd like to channel. And you start to let more petty things distract you from being happy.

Some days you soldier on. Some days you trip into selfishness and (metaphorically) lay on your bed in a ball and listen to OK Computer.

Long story short, I've had a long string of OK-Computer-Days.

Love's always confined.


(post script [i know this is not on OK Computer]:
i get on the train and i just stand about now that i don't think of you
i keep falling over i keep passing out when i see a face like you

i saw a face like you today. i wish i could hate you for still mattering to me.)

I'm doing that thing again where I stop calling my family and friends because I'm embarrassed to tell them what's going on with my life. Except tonight I called my mom to tell her I can't make my loan payment. I suck. My cousin said i was awesome today. I nearly cried.

But I'm experimenting with insanity. It's kind of interesting. I'm able to observe it as from a two-way mirror (usually); it hasn't consumed me yet. I can't go anywhere, because it costs money to go places, and up until yesterday, my car was undriveable. So I have started musing about a lot of things. I've come up with a few decisions about my life that may or may not be insane. It's very interesting to see the sort of crazy things my brain comes up with when I can't do anything but stay in the house and apply for jobs and clean and play video games. If you're my boyfriend you may not want to read these, because you have to live with me and depend on my mental stability.

1. I cannot shake this feeling that I should join the military. I get so angry about the war and such, and so outraged that we, the children of relative privilege don't have to experience such awful things; that our nation's poor and uneducated have to go fight an illegal and disastrous war. Fucking Prince Harry is going to Iraq. Why can't I go there and complete missions and give toys to kids and keep people alive?

2. I think I'm a lesbian + 1 dude. It's a very real sexual orientation, to me anyway. Should I tell livejournal that? Whatever. I am who and what I am. In any case, it might keep me from joining the military.

3. I really want to visit Iran. I know it's a place which reviles Americans and whose policies and cultural standards for women sometimes border on misogyny. For whatever reason, it intrigues me so much. It started last year when I worked at a Persian restaurant. The owner was like the grandfather in My Big Fat Greek Wedding, except he was kind of abusive and not in a terrible, trite movie. He would say everything was invented by Persians; which is in some ways true; as the ancient people who lived in that region were responsible for things like, oh, you know, FUCKING DOMESTICATING ANIMALS AND FOOD CROPS. There were pictures around the restaurant of different ancient sites in Iran, and I have this incredible, turgid boner for archaeology and anthropology, so I'd go home and Wikipedia the sites in the pictures. And lately I've been reading a book about Iran's culture and history. At any rate, if I hide my near-lesbianism and join the military, I might get to go there.

4. I want to have kids. I think. I've always been on the fence about it, but now I think that someday I want to have them come out of my body and be dependent on me for 20 years. Maybe this is less an effect of being crazy and more of reaching my child-bearing prime. But yeah. I want babies. Not soon, but I definitely want them, and I know this for the first time ever.

5. I'm mad at my cat. For no reason. She loves me, and cuddles and plays with me; but hides whenever Aziz is home. And I think I resent her for it. He buys her food and helps care for her, and tries to play with her and pet her, but she is terrified of him. She's had some bad things happen to her, but that's no reason to never trust a man again. Unless you are an animal and not a human being, Rachel.

Anyway, I'm crazy.

I'm starting a job at a restaurant on Thursday. I am a little upset about it, because when I interviewed, they were like "what do you like about being a waitress?"
I said "I love being friendly and helpful and giving people a nice dining experience." This is true. I actually really like being a waitress for this reason.
Then they were all "Yeah, we're more about getting people in and out of here as quickly as possible so we can make more money, because our customers are dicks."
Then they asked me why I wasn't in politics anymore. As I couldn't give them the real answer (no one has given me a job yet because they're slow and I'm one of hundreds applying for low-level jobs), I gave them an answer which was also true. "It's so cutthroat and dishonest. I can't really operate like that."
They were all, "Yeah, sometimes it gets cutthroat around here. We do what we have to to get the tables turned and people have to compete to be scheduled for good hours."

Inexplicably, having struck out majorly on both questions, they hired me. I'm not excited about it. Here's hoping I can get a different job between now and Thursday.

Cute( Music Meme )


Taggins: 'Zizes, Clairey, Jeshu?... Manders? Erin? Who wants to do it. I'd like to see everyone do it. Please? Everyone?

Also, if anyone wants any of the music I mentioned, or more by the artists about whom I spooged, just ask me! I love sharing! Music=love!

I'm doing well. Real well, I'd say. Still jobless and mostly penniless. But happy. :)

"The bad news is, I have to go back to work in about two hours. The good news is, I brought home some ribbon, because I thought we might need some ribbon [makes vague, bashful hall-decking-type motions]."

It is like, maybe three feet of ribbon.

Who is this guy, that I live with?

Apologies for my extreme vanity and my inability to write a short entry, but I need your help. Yes, you!

So. Five Year High School Reunion coming up. Very big doings. Of course, there's the whole paradigm of looking thin and successful with a totally hot date; but since I spent the last three months working 13 hour days 7 days a week on a Senate campaign, I am down to one of those things. (But it makes up for being unemployed and fat!) At any rate, I was not excited about purchasing attire. Because, well, I'm fat and unemployed, which makes the shopping experience less enjoyable. Somehow, I managed to find a dress that looks even better than the "passable" for which I was aiming, it looks downright pretty-ok. I even got jewelry that I find wearable. But as you all undoubtedly know, shoes are the most important part of any outfit.

Before you laugh at me, a word about shoes: If there is one area of my life wherein i'm The Stereotypical Female (besides, you know, the having a vagina part), it's shoes. I love them. I like my feet, and i like to put cute shoes on those feet. I think the reason I love shoes so much is that you can't look fat in shoes. I'm serious. Even as I bemoan my legs, tummy, and upper arms; my feet, ever vigilantly, remain looking good. It's a self-esteem booster to feel like one part of your ensemble looks amazing, even if you're not very happy about the rest. So for me, the right shoes help me feel prettier. Say what you will about consumerism and culture and femininity; all I know is I have an easier time feeling okay enough to leave the house when I have good shoes.

So anyway. Here is the dilemma. This was important enough to me to put pictures of my body on the internets for criticism. I couldn't decide between two pairs of shoes; so indecisive was I that I bought both pairs with the intent of returning the runner up when I make a decision. NB: Each pair cost more by itself than my dress. But part of that is due to the fact that I got a fabulous deal on the dress. At any rate, I call the choices "sexy" and "classy." Abandon all hope, ye who dislike photographs of pasty, somewhat-chubby disembodied legs!

(Ahem. Sorry. Please look at the pictures)

( Sexy v. Classy )

And no, I'm not going to post pictures of the whole dress, for two reasons: 1. This load is meant to be blown on reunion day, and no sooner. 2. Although I was surprised that the dress looked okay on me, that by no measure means that I am excited about how I look in it. It is a halter top. That is all.

Thanks for indulging my extreme vanity and idiocy. I promise I am a real person and stuff. Tell me what you think, please!

Edit: Another great side effect of unemployment: you will notice the kitchen floor behind me is [jazz hands/voice] spotless! [/jazz hands/voice] It feels so good to clean again.

It was eventfully uneventful. I guess I'll remember this day as a day I was out doing the Lord's work, which for me is trying to get Democrats elected. I've been working on doing that for so long.

As usual, I'm humbled by and thankful for all the happy wishes. I have the loveliest friends and acquaintences, and even if it seems trivial, the MySpace and Facebook messages, e-cards, IMs and phone calls meant a super lot, especially on a day when other things took precedence over the anniversary of my birth. Life went on. Which is good, I suppose. I was more surprised at the people who didn't get in touch with me, most notably my forever-ex (with whom I'm on very good terms) and my Dad. I'm sure they both assumed I'd be busy, which I was. Never too busy to hear from two of the most important men in my life, though. It's the kind of omission that leads me to wonder if they're okay or possibly dying in a ditch somewhere.

... Even Katie managed to send a text message.

I'm officially in my mid-twenties. Odd, that.

(i doubt you still read this, but i still miss you, it should be noted.)

I am Backstage at NBC's "Meet the Press" right now! I am going to be on TV! (kinda)

I'll explain later.

Re: my last entry: I have the greatest friends of all. Thank you all for caring.

...it's an odd feeling, to realize something you thought you already knew. Even odder, I've found, to realize it a time you never thought you'd realize anything.

I worked about 12 hours today, and had more work to do when I got home. As it became way-too-late-to-be-awake, I still sat in bed with my work-issued laptop, tapping away.

...Eating a late-night bowl of cereal you'd poured for me (and cut strawberries into) even though you don't like it when i eat in bed, laughing at the way you'd said the word "no," watching you hop in and out of our room, and surprising myself each time you do with an internal swoon because your hair's falling into your face just the right way today; i realized, sitting here reading endless newspaper articles, that you basically have to be mine forever.

We'll worry about the details later, but for now I can't help but tell the world (of livejournal, barf) that i found you. I thought I already knew that. But I realized tonight-- through giggles, work, and a headache-- that I found you. Lucky, lucky me.

sorry for the mushiness, everyone

¡Venid a ver la sangre por las calles,
venid a ver
la sangre por las calles,
venid a ver la sangre
por las calles!
-From "Explico algunas cosas" (okayish english translation)

(for those who don't [farley] AH-BLO ESS-PAN-YOLE [/farley] or are too lazy to click on links:
Come and see the blood in the streets,
come and see
the blood in the streets,
come and see the blood
in the streets!)



I'm not sure if you automatically have to wear the pretension hat for quoting Neruda, but if so, it's a fair cop. Chapters upon chapters have been written about those lines, so I won't dissect them or try to add my minutaetive (new word!) two cents. I'll let it speak for itself: those words give me chills no matter how many times I've read them. Even as i was typing the translation, I nearly teared up. More rage and pain are evoked in three repeated lines than in subsequent historical tellings of the Fraquista takeover of Spain. I think "Explico algunas cosas" ("I explain a few things") is my favorite poem of his. Just read those words. God. When I spend my day (actually, life) being outraged and I feel drained, I can turn to things like this.

Which brings me to my next thing:

Sorry I haven't updated in awhile. The good news is, I got a job doing research in a high-profile Senate campaign, and I love it. The bad news is, I work at least 12 hours a day 7 days a week. It's taxing in every way imaginable: I'm exhausted, I get far less time at home and with my amazing evil twin. I spend all day researching (yes! I am a nerd for a living!) evil men doing evil deeds (no less than GW Bush and The Talented Mr. Rove, and their illustrious cohorts, against whom I'm formulating strategies and so forth), and my frappuliberal rage seeps from every enlarged-by-greasy-restaurant-food-diet pore. I never get enough sleep, I eat shitty food; my face is puffy from stress and said lack of sleep, my eyes and smile are drawn and droopy, and i've gained easily 5-10 pounds because I eat 3 meals a day at the campaign, at my desk, while working. And I make far, far less money than I should. I'm paid a salary, but when taking into account my insane hours and 30-minutes-each-way (driving) commute, I make a few dimes more than federal minimum wage (a ludicrous $5.15 an hour- I cannot imagine trying to live on that for real). I think I've actually developed a heart condition and have no insurance. And I really feel like a bad housemate/girlfriend/person: when I get home I have no energy to exercise or clean, I just sit around until it's time for bed. I usually go to bed long before Aziz, and don't get much of a chance to talk with him, since he usually works until 11, 12, as late as 3. So I've lost a lot of self esteem from this experience, as I can barely pay my bills on time or do the dishes, AND i've gotten fatter.

On to the point of this update: I actually like my job and love my coworkers- after all, we see each other far, far more than we see our families. But I was hired on the spot. I don't directly work for the campaign, i work for a research firm that's been contracted by the campaign. And I'm worried that I suck at my job. So you all have to be my guinea pigs while I hash some things out. ( wherein I piddle all over myself about my job )

A note, though: I know I use this space to bitch a lot and not to tell of the joyous things in my life (of which there are many). And I'm not a negative person, and I am, all told, very happy with my life. Part of the reason for that is my unrelenting optimism. A lot of the reason is supportive family and friends. And a huge part of that reason is that at the end of the day, I still get to fall asleep (even if it's just for a few hours) next to the best person I could ever have dreamed I'd meet. I realize I've never written an entry about how wonderful my boyfriend is, and I really should. He deserves that at minimum, though I believe a testament to my incredible awe about our relationship is my persistent inability to describe it. But you all deserve to know about my fabulous evil twin and our shenanegins, chicanery, and exploits. We're basically the most hilarious couple on the planet, in addition to the one with whom the largest percentage of men and women worldwide would like to engage in a threesome.

Anyway, I have so many great things in my life, and I couldn't do it without all of these things. So please don't worry about me, or worse, think I'm just a big Negative Nelly. I'm actually really happy. And I'm going to bed now. Happy. But with not nearly enough sleep.



Shut up Aziz, I like this song.

Some things:

1. I didn't get that job I really, really wanted. I was so qualified too. I guess not enough, though. I'm finding more and more jobs for which I'm just not qualified, even though they're labeled entry-level. Now my mom's gonna bug me even more to move home.

2. I am not this type of girl, but hopelessness about my job prospects causes me to desire retail therapy. I usually don't even like shopping. So, let's recap. Hoplessness re: no money= feelings of worthlessness= desire for shopping?? No money! A plague a' both your houses, capitalism and joblessness!

3. I really liked that meme I did below. And I'm really feeling unhappy today. So if you want some compliments/feel like complimenting me, look at my last entry.

4. I've somehow managed to annoy an inordinately high number of people today. I seemed to unwittingly get on everyone's nerves. Also, I opted not to go to Philly and thus have not only ended up alone, but missed Josh, Lizzie, and bowling.


I need to make something good happen for me today. I need to figure out how to do something that will cheer me up. 'Cause otherwise I'll just end up sleeping until Aziz gets home from Philly, then being up all night worrying about how I don't have a job and no one likes me and my butt smells.

Everyone do this, 'cause it's fun. Just comment on this post, and I will complete the following list for you :)

1. I’ll respond with something random about you.
2. I’ll challenge you to try something.
3. I’ll pick a color that I associate with you.
4. I’ll tell you something I like about you.
5. I’ll tell you my first/clearest memory of you.
6. I’ll tell you what animal you remind me of.
7. I’ll ask you something I’ve always wanted to ask you.
8. Post in your own journal if you wish.

Well, YOU have to do number 8. So do it, even if you don't like memes, Aziz. I like memes. And I want to tell all my friends good things about themselves! Also, if you want, you may reciprocate in the comments section after I do it for you. Okay? Okay.

Edit: You guys should answer question 7, and reciprocate if you like. Otherwise, just post to let me know you've read it. Thanks!

I got a restaurant job! Nothing special, but it probably means I can pay the rent next week.

It's a trendy place in Dupont Circle, which, for all you non-DC-familiars, is DC's Gayborhood. Love it.

However, that means it's about a 45-minute to an hour commute, whether I drive or take the Metro. Boo-urns. Gotta love cities, it's 7 miles away and will take an hour. I could probably walk.

But that's a tad less despair! Hoorah!

Any suggestions? This is boring but bear with me. I can get there the following ways:

Drive($park)-->Metro($)-->Walk- takes about 50 minutes, costs about $6 or so to park and about $4.35 (round trip) for the metro

Bus($)-->Metro($)-->Walk- takes about 75 minutes, but bus is less than parking and I don't have to leave my car anywhere.

Bus($)-->Bus-->Walk- takes about 60-75 minutes, but only costs $1.25 round trip.

Drive($park?)-->could take any amount of time depending on traffic, probably at least 30 minutes, but will possibly be stressful and may cost to park

What do you think? Is there something I'm not thinking of?

(I acted admirably. It didn't matter. Don't you hate that?)
>ahem<


I am well aware my music and the tone of this post are not compatible.

Rant about unemployment:

As of today, I have been unemployed for two and a half months.

I have applied to over 30 "real" jobs.
I have had phone interviews for 2 of them, and was subsequently not hired.
I have had in-person interviews with 2 others. One I'm still waiting on.

I have applied to about 10 temporary-ish office jobs. None have contacted me.

I have registered with two temp agencies. I have not gotten a single assignment.

I have applied at 6 restaurants. 1 may hire me. The others "filled their positions."
Restaurants don't even want to hire me, for fuck's sake.

I've followed up where applicable; most places I apply say "no phone calls." I even keep bugging the temp agencies.

I'm not trying to solicit sympathy, this post is more so that I will see what I've done and not feel worthless. It's very hard not to feel like I am unintelligent and unskilled. I am finding it harder and harder to believe that my troubles are a result of a saturated job market and interns willing to do these jobs for free. I feel like with the law of averages, someone should, at some point, accidentally trip on a stray roller skate and hire me.

Erica got a great job, finally. And the one job I'm still waiting on is the one I really want. But I get more and more hopeless as the minutes tick by.

I'm sick of asking my mom for money, she's been so wonderful and supportive and I just can't keep taking her money, though I know she'd gladly give it. I have NO income, and rent's due in 9 days. My boyfriend's parents are afraid I might "accidentally" get pregnant to extort money from them. You know, since I am poor, and lazy and worthless because I don't have a job. Also retarded, and sneaky. And let's not even talk about the noises my car is making or the problem with my dental fillings or my migraines.

Trying to take a snapshot of a moment in time.

Tonight's a bad night anyway, I'm just going to try to sleep.

OK. I just fed the cat. (FASCINATING, I KNOW.) On the side of the bag of cat food, it says "Ideal for feeding EVERY DAY"


...wtf?

I know some experts say you're not supposed to feed them, for example, canned food every day. Still. WTF?