Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Male Quote of the Day

"I think he might be thinking about becoming almost exclusive."
    -in reference to a young man's intense thought process on eventually, maybe, committing 

Monday, March 30, 2009

Social Media: Man's Great Big Cry for Attention

I don't really care for social networking. Which also means I don't really care for this blog. 

I find myself trapped in an internal battle of facebook-Perez Hilton-and my own self indulgent ramblings pulling me down into the depths of narcissism and over exposure, while I purposely leave my phone in my car and fantasize about living on Walden Pond (Thoreau people). What really brings all my troubling contradictions to surface is reading anything Paris Hilton writes on her personal Myspace page. That's the problem with social networking, you can't run from anyone! I scan Perez Hilton, celebrity gossip machine who makes fun of celebrities while he himself is the biggest celebrity wannabe, in search of amusing tidbits on authentic talents such as Reese Witherspoon and Justin Timberlake. Yet I'm constantly bombarded with the disturbing existence of Paris Hilton's "deep thoughts". Recently she posted a near novel about "the scariest moment in her life" when her boyfriend got in a brawl with a DJ at a nightclub. Have you ever seen a DJ? They are the scrawny drugged out dude/dudettes in the corner usually maxing out at an intimidating 120 lbs. I couldn't help but wonder why she really thought any of us care about her stupid school yard fight? I've got real problems honey. Buy a new Juicy Couture tracksuit, I'm sure you'll feel better Paris.

Then I realized the hypocrisy of this all. As I too publish ramblings of insignificance. All social media has done to us is given the unlimited ability to cry out for attention. Usually unmerited attention. Consider Facebook statuses. Wow. Half the time statuses are like dogs who whine & whimper to get someone to just look at them. What has gone wrong in life that we must beg for attention in the vast cloud of the internet? Shouldn't this be indulged by the family and friends that surround us IN REAL LIFE? What did we do ten years ago when we needed attention? Oh yeah, we hung out with our friends. Face-to-face. And if you didn't have any friends you became a writer.

Clearly this absence of steady employment has given me way too much time to think. I'm probably not going to move to Montana and live on a ranch with no digital contact, although if you know someone I'd probably be interested. Instead I'm probably going to stay here and figure out what the heck Twitter is, because right now it's stunningly confusing to me why someone/everyone wants to know I just went to Starbucks. 

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Why Do I Do This to Myself? The Absurdity of Choice.

As human beings we have options. Lots of options. While at times we feel chained to our jobs, our finances, and the decline of quality television programming, we really and truly are afforded the choice to do what we wish with our lives. Think of the freedoms! If I want to eat blueberries each and every day for every meal, gosh darn it I can do so. Other creatures aren't afforded such luxuries. They are limited to their environments and the offerings. It's not like a squirrel can hop on a plane and fly to Hawaii if he decides deciduous forests aren't his thing and aloha living is for him. Unless there is some sort of contract with sea spanning birds carrying squirrels across the world that I don't know about, then I'd say they're pretty much stuck.


As a free creature of this great world I must ask myself, "Why on EARTH do I choose to suffer in a climate presently at 24 degrees Fahrenheit? What is wrong with me?"

I am in an abusive relationship with my home state. Does A&E want to do an intervention?

I haven't always lived in this frozen tundra. No sir. I escaped. I lived in the south in overwhelmingly pleasant weather conditions. Sure it got warm, but air condition is this fabulous invention by humankind. You can neatly avoid overheating by driving in air condition, parking in a garage, and going directly into an air conditioned facility. But this isn't even an issue for me, as I wear a sweatshirt in 80 degree weather. 

Yet I choose to inhabit an environment in which 8 out of 12 months is downright miserable. Freezing. Dark. Snowing. Icy. Raining. Sleeting. Dark. I imagine the benefits of hibernation, and wonder if short term disability can cover the choice to stay locked in my bedroom until Spring arrives. And Spring, at some point or another, eventually arrives. And when the birds chirp, the snow melts, things start living...I'm ecstatic. Joy to the 10th degree. Euphoria. Flip-flops. But logically, it only feels this rewarding because I've been punched in the face by dismal doom weather for most of the year. Of course the high is going to feel higher when you can't get any lower than the low!

I must consider the absurd psychology of such a choice. Perhaps I am abusing the right to choose. Whatever the case, I'm cold. Really cold. 

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

The Real Housewives of New York. Yup. Real.

While preparing for slumber at the all inclusive Days Inn motel in Emporia, Kansas, I stumbled upon the Bravo series "The Real Housewives of New York City". I have heard of this show and have viewed its' sister program "The Real Housewives of Atlanta". The Atlanta version confused me. Do most housewives in Atlanta have aspirations to become recording artists with staggering lack of talent? And host Cavalli fashion parties in their homes?

The New York housewives were even more impressive. In this particular episode they were each shopping for New York Fashion Week ensembles to parade across town. Each woman went to their respective chum chum friend designer and were over complimented and lavished with unique trendsetting fashions. Wow. That's quite different from The Real Housewives of Minneapolis that I know. I get lots of invites to Pampered Chef parties. Sometimes they go outlet shopping or splurge on the 30% off sale at Banana Republic. The title of the series would suggest we as an audience are receiving the nitty gritty on what a New York housewife's life is all about. If this is the standard case, give me a husband and ship me to NYC. And according to the show, my husband can even be a closet gay man. Therefore my numero uno end of the marital bargain would be maintaining an uber stylish persona and lots of gossip.

Thanks Bravo for giving me this inside look at reality...I think I see housewife in my future.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Reality Bites

"Back to life, back to reality....back to the here and now." 

Recognize the lyrics to this popular Soul II Soul tune? This song provided great creative inspiration for the music videos I produced/directed/starred in around the age of seven. Did I say that out loud? I woke up this morning with the lyrics buzzing through my brain, but this time ominously reminding me I had a real life to return to after my week of concert going in the great south. 

This sabbatical I've manufactured to try and figure my life's next great direction has so far proved, well, fruitless. I still have no clue. I did discover that there are people out there who really genuinely want to help, and that BF's worst side is while driving and best side is when fully satiated, that salsa is much better in Texas, that I still really love to workout-write-cook-and take pictures. Personal discoveries they are, answers to life they are not.

Thinking I better get moving on that sandwich girl cart idea....

Monday, March 23, 2009

Things That Now Apply: Metabolism

I've always been an avid magazine reader. Around pre-teen years I'd read my sister's Seventeen and YM and pick out the girls I wanted to look like and guys I thought were cute. In adulthood I've become addicted to all things glossy. I'll read a golf mag if it's in front of me.

Popular in women's magazines are the "Age & Metabolism Decline" articles. I've been skimming these for years. I'd be willing to bet at any time you can find half a dozen publications featuring advice on how to combat aging and the evil outcomes, particularly more fat on the thighs.  They'll give you miracle secrets on how to boost the metabolism with various tricks, like drinking ice cold water or eating spicy foods. Do I really think I'm going to lose a pound by eating habeneros? No. And I've scoffed at these articles for years. Exercise and you won't be fat has been my motto.

But as I view the pics BF took of me while on hiatus, I'm not happy. I've always worked out- since fifteen- and I do so religiously. Diet is pretty closely monitored. Alcohol tends to be a vice. Up until now this has worked for me. It's looking like this program is no longer effective, unless a puffy face is now en vogue. Frick. Not only do I have to get older, but now I can't eat chips & salsa once and awhile? Or have three vodka martinis? What to I have to do? Workout twice a day? Granted I am sporadic. I suppose if there is a science to this whole metabolism system I have been cheating it. Yuck though.

When did articles on aging start applying to me?

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Deep Thoughts Across The Wastelands

Today as I spent twelve hours driving through many many miles of corn/wheat/something fields and past numerous Waffle Houses and museums honoring cowboys, simple thoughts floated around my head. Reasons to be happy and appreciative amidst life chaos. I came to the following conclusions:

1. My car gets really good gas mileage, looks pretty, and is comfortable. For this I am grateful.
2. My BF thinks I'm a pet. Meaning, he pats me on the head, plays little tricks on me, and tells me I'm cute.
3. I'm glad I don't live in Iowa
4. Vacations are much more carefree when you aren't worried about work or getting to work. However, knowing you have no paycheck makes spending money slightly painful. I'll worry later.
5. I'm an excellent snack packer. Healthy organic turkey sandwiches, fruit, cheese & crackers, rice krispy bars, expensive vitamin waters...I had an answer for all of BF's hankerings. I am the Queen of the Car Snacks World.
6. Days Inn are not that bad. Just don't turn the lights up and drink a beer before you get into bed.

This 1/3rd Life Crisis Deserves a Roadtrip. Bad Idea?

Early this morning I embark on the impromptu decision to drive across the wastelands we call Iowa, Kansas, Oklahoma, did I mention Kansas, and Texas (might have forgotten a state) in search of respite from my most recent confusions and the search of meaning and existence in the world. It just so happens all this soul searching occurs at the South by Southwest Music Festival in Austin, TX. Authentic Tex-Mex, Bob Schneider tunes, friendly "hi ya'lls" and a stroll across the greens of my alma mater are sure to feed the soul. A couple Shiner Bocks will help. 

I've taken companion on this adventure, in the form of BF. 
18 hours in a car with BF.
Is this a good idea? After all, he just threw a tennis ball at my butt. 

Stay tuned...

Monday, March 16, 2009

When a Woman Pushes You Out of Her Way to Hit on Your Boyfriend

This past weekend I got to be a roadie. 

My BF manages a musical comedic variety act, so sometimes I am scheduled in to accompanying him to the performance. This weekend we were going to a small little town I had never heard of in which I was also going to meet his grandmother. A double header.
I was pretty excited for the show. The combined elements of a Ballroom Dance Hall (pole barn), bring your own bottle, fire fighter fundraiser, guaranteed attendance by at least three 87 year olds, a meat platter, and the premise of the show being audience participation- you can't get a better people watching environment. When BF's grandma brought a bottle of Crown Royal and the rent-a-cop looked straight out of Dukes of Hazard, I knew things were about to get good. Little did I know that the real show would happen right in front of me.

Midway through the performance I found a very intoxicated woman whispering in my ear, "I love your grandma."And when I say she was a woman, I mean she was not shy of taking full advantage of the tools of self-enhancement a woman can use. Hair. Make-up. Jewelry. Perfume. Cleavage. As I informed her it was in fact BF's grandma, she barely let me finish before zeroing in on BF. I drowned her out as I studied her face. How did she get so much eye shadow on? And is it possible to wear a double layer of fake eyelashes? I don't think that's healthy...

Suddenly I woke out of my perfume drunk trance to realize The Woman has basically shoved me out of the way. My BF used to be standing to my right, The Woman to my left, but now I was standing in back of them both with a side shot of her bosom blocking my view of anything. She was crouching in prime prowling position: rounded butt in the air with an arched back and eye on the prize. My BF. I couldn't even figure out how she managed to get in that position. I turned to look at him, and he just sat there nodding nicely to her, listening to her drunkenly in her most seductive drunk storytelling manner relay the same story incoherently twice. At some point someone will acknowledge me. Nope. Instead I turned into a voyeur. Cougar and BF were in a show of their own, and I was courtside seats. 

I wondered to myself, "Should I be really bothered by this?" 

Here a woman is practically devouring my BF right in front, practically on top, of me. Isn't that at the least a bit disrespectful? I could climb up her hips and scratch her face makeup off, but she might kill be with her jewelry. There was enough metal there to make weapons for an army. However all thoughts of violence went to the wayside when I saw good old Carol. 87 year old Carol with bejeweled hands and a fur lined sweater stared at The Woman in a judgement look that can only be effective by a petite little elderly woman. Carol looked The Woman up and down in disdain, then whispered to her pal Germaine. Grandma got in on the whispering action, and then they all looked to me in camaraderie. These ladies knew what was up. They knew this cougar was trying to snatch my BF right in front of me. Suddenly I didn't need to start a Ballroom Pole Barn fight to stake claim- I had a posse with the combined age of 290. Should things get ugly, I now had canes in my arsenal.

Eventually The Woman moved away after a friend of hers realized me and my posse were staring her down. BF looked at me sheepishly and pulled me in for a hug, unaware of what actually had transpired.  And later, The Woman was crying in a huddle with her friends. Karma.

Friday, March 13, 2009

Blue Plate Special

Last night I got to have dinner with two of my oldest friends. I say "got to" because we get together roughly every full moon, despite all living within an hour of each other.

Getting together with the girls takes a complex system of emails deciding dates, times, and possible locations. You'd think we were secretaries of the state, but no, just a realtor-nurse-freelancer. Once we had finally whittled down a convenient location and date, the dinner time was emailed to me. She said:

"We decided to meet at 5pm. I'm sorry, I hope that isn't too early for you."

Okay, 5pm is a little early for dinner. 5pm is happy hour, casual meet-up of friends, not really dinner. Nevertheless I didn't really care. I'll get together at 3pm and we can call it supper. Yet again, once comfortably seated in the empty 5pm restaurant, my friend apologized to me (on behalf of both of them) about how early it was. She really hoped it was okay with me.

This confuses me. Why is 5pm early for me, and not for them? 

The only difference as far as I can tell between the three of us is that I am not married and they are. Do they think I'm out partying on weeknights until 4am and I'm just waking up at 5pm? Do they think I need to "see and be seen" and can only venture out at 9pm? Do single people eat really late lunches and therefore can't eat dinner until late?

I ask questions because this one really has me stumped. I don't get it.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Talent Should Be Given Out Equally

- (noun) A special natural ability or aptitude

Why does it seem like some folks hog all the talent and the rest of us get stuck with crappy abilities like spelling or cracking eggs well? When I think of the ideal occupation, I think of doing something that I'm naturally talently inclined towards and capitalizing on it for pay. Theoretically it would no longer feel like work work and more like kinda fun work. Yet to reach this occupational state of self-realization, I need to determine an actual talent. This is where I get stuck.

I think I'm marginally good at a few things. Like I dip my toes and skim the pool of talent, but I'm not swimming any Olympic trials. Then I worry perhaps there is something I'm quite talented at, but never tried therefore I'm missing out on this great opportunity to be on Dancing With The Stars (not true, as I know I'm not a naturally inclined dancer- it takes me forever to memorize two moves in a row). But you see what I'm saying. I could blame my parents, but in order to allow five children to try every sport/activity/art they would have had to hire escorts and take loans out from the government. 

What is the solution? I'm not sure. I'd like a genie to swoop down and grant me three talents. Or a psychic to reveal my innermost strengths and tell me how to use them for maximum dollar. Or maybe I should make an annoying facebook test quizzing my 278 closest friends on what they believe my talents are. Then I'll end up being employed as a professional stubborn arguer. 

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

I Need an MBA for an Internship, But Lauren Conrad Can Write a Book

While searching for steady employment options, I looked to some of the "best" companies the city has to offer. You know the companies- the ones where there are gyms on site and you don't have to steal some one's stapler because everyone has their own. They may even have free coffee. And water. I bet they have big jugs of water with both hot and cold options.

As I scrolled down to the open positions, mostly IT (because the super genius freaks from MIT I'm sure are looking for employment right now) I found something in my field. Although it was an internship, at least it could get me in the door. Visions of free Vanilla Hazelnut creamer danced in my head. Clicking on it, I became more and more excited. What a fabulous opportunity, and really, I think I'm qualified! Until I read three very confusing capital letters:

"Candidate should have their MBA."

I instructed myself calmly to not freak out. Let me get this straight. I have to have an advanced degree for an internship? You're telling me that a good 4.5 years at two top universities and $100,000 tuition is not enough? I have to spend an extra $100,000 to get a NON-PAYING job?
And that stupid girl from The Hills who constantly rolls her eyes and plays with her hair and has her own fashion line just signed deals to write books? Put Obama on the line! This is an extra new case of discrimination and a violation of equal rights! Those who are rich and privileged (MBA students with $250,000 student loans are not taking internships) get their first jump at opportunity, while the 9% of us (eerily close to 10%) have to do everything we can to get an employer to notice us.

What's a girl to do? 
A) Pretend I'm super rich
B) Try to be a reality star. Apparently that's the new college.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Age Should Be Earned

Yesterday I informed my boyfriend that I do not deserve to be a year older at my next birthday. In fact, I should be stripped of last year's honor as well. I have done nothing in the last 730 or so days to be granted the gift of age progression.

Shouldn't age be established by achievement and developmental milestones? Rather than biological life stages? Just because days pass on by does not prove we've really become older, because being older suggests being more developed and mature than the previous stage.

Personally I think time is finally catching up with me. Always pegged an old soul and mature for my age, things are slowing down and mellowing out. Maturation halted. After moving through life experience at warp speed time ticks sluggishly in the clock of personal progress and I stay the same. Well, may hair doesn't. I tend to change a hair a lot. But I hardly think that should grant me a new numerical value.

I've still got a good 6 months to go, so you know, a lot can happen. Maybe I will move an inch or so. Otherwise my twin brother is going to turn a year older than I.

Monday, March 9, 2009

Lessons Learned from Britney Spears

Yesterday I found myself transfixed on some Britney Spears documentary on MTV.com. While there is a likely possibility that I was just searching for something, anything, to make me feel better, I do sympathize with the pop princess. She's got some issues, real issues. And she's lonely. I'll be your true friend Britney. And no true friend would let you out of the house looking like that. So I'll be your true friend and trusted stylist. 

But as I escaped into the pathetic world of another to escape my own issues, instead of feeling better, I kinda felt worse. You know how some reality shows, like anything on VH1, make you thank the moon and the stars you didn't turn out to be such a freak? How suddenly growing up in a Minnesota suburb where Taco Bell was the cool hangout feels like the protecting factor from making you dumber than dumb and trying to date Snoop Dogg? As Britney dissected ever-so-thoughtfully to her mystery British interviewer the trials and tribulations of stardom, I started to feel not only sorry for her, but for myself. The defining moment of self-pity came when she proclaimed, "At least I have my job and my children. My job and my children are my life- I would die without them."

Ok, let's see here. We all have had people take advantage of us like Britney. We've all had terrible break-ups like Britney & Justin. We've all made a bad hair decision like Britney. But I don't have millions of dollars to medicate my sorrows. I don't have someone blow drying my hair everyday. And I don't have a job or children.

The important lesson to be learned here from Little Miss Spears is that anytime you start to feel sorry for someone, you might as well feel sorry for everyone- because we've all got the same misfortunes. I'm lucky to have friends I trust and love and not a manager slipping me drugs, but she's lucky that at least she has the opportunity to be well dressed and in Paris while she suffers.

Friday, March 6, 2009

It's The Little Things, Part II

Recently due to my slightly unfortunate turn of events, several little things have brought me great amounts of happiness. The following event occurred in the last few days that made me feel really really good. I am concerned about my mental state:

I thought before my health insurance ran out I'd get my eyes checked. I wear glasses when I drive, but I also can't really seem to see most things very clearly. I expected the worst. I expected the doctor to look at me, shake his head, and tell me I'm a pathetic carrier of eyeballs. To stare at me in amazement- how could a twentysomething have such terrible eyesight? She's a disgrace! Instead, much to my surprise, the following happened:

After the eye screening I sheepishly looked up to him (with mascara running down my face from my eyes being smashed up against those binocular things), "So doc, how bad is it?"

Shrugging his shoulders, "Your eyes aren't bad at all actually. They're pretty good."

I'm going to live! It felt like he was telling me I looked like Heidi Klum's twin. I was literally beaming. It was the most wonderful thing I'd heard in days. I strutted confidently out of Vision World. Yup people, you're looking at a girl whose eyes "aren't that bad."

Then I realized that good eyesight doesn't explain very clearly why I can't see anything. Why the Starbucks board is a Monet, why I use an inner power of direction to steer me at night. 

Apparently it's just my brain that isn't functioning well.

Thursday, March 5, 2009

The Cost of Unemployment

Cost of $4.19 dollars per hour of job searching
Listening to three "intellectuals" talk about the real societal role of a waitress
Watching a woman knit. Or wait, is that crocheting?
Lovely burning fireplace
Being in the company of other laid offs, socialites, stay-at-homes, escapees
Why are people still riding bikes in the middle of the winter?
And why does the woman from the bike have a Barbie Doll in her leg pocket, and one in the back of her pants?
Why can't this just be my job?

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Some Things Are Better Left Unsaid. Really.

The great part about losing your job is the free advice you get from everyone. While not being employed for the first time since age sixteen has given me a slight tick and a nervous laugh, I am largely optimistic. I am a capable, well educated and resourceful human being...I can weather this storm. I may be weathering it without any extras, such as vodka and a spring wardrobe, but nonetheless I should hopefully (cross your fingers) be okay. 

Speaking of weather, maybe you could stop raining on my optimistic parade? Yesterday I had not one, but at least two people say the following to me:

"Oh, wow, you're laid off? Are you really scared?"

Uh, no...I really wasn't...but now I sure am. When you look at me with those furrowed brows and pity glaze I can see your brain ticking and your  "I am so glad I am not her" prayers to the employment Gods. Now your negative brain waves are crashing into my false hope and crushing them with evil oppressive force. Your negative realism cuts the strings in the ballad of my I Will Survive theme song I hum while sending countless resumes.

Therefore, I appreciate the time you take to ponder my situation and offer thoughts. Really, I do. But just like a child who wants to believe there are giant bunnies who bring candy filled eggs to their homes at night, I want to believe things aren't going to be so bad for me. There, I said it, I'm following The Secret with this one. If I BELIEVE I will get a job soon, then I WILL.

Oh geez, I've referenced Oprah twice in two days. Somebody get this girl a job.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Deep Thoughts by the Unemployed

As soon as allotted the freedom to choose how to spend the extra 2,400 minutes you've been granted a week, you're inevitably (if type AA as myself) trying to figure out how to fill those minutes ASAP. Hopefully not by the marionette of a Mr. Crazy Boss and preferably with a rate of at least thirty-seven cents a minute. Hurrah though for me, as surely with Obama & Oprah leading the country I can truly be anything I want to be and succeed!

Thus, the past few days of nothing to do but contemplate my employment fate have brought about thoughts of the following career paths:

#1 Sandwich Cart Girl
Buy a concession cart, slap on a cute self-branded t-shirt, and sell sandwiches from a cart all spring/summer. You probably don't know this, but I can make some pretty mean sandwiches. They'd be healthy & recession friendly. I call it a networking opportunity. People would be like, "Hey, did you see recession sandwich girl today? She's got a Tex-Mex tuna panini melt that's mad tasty! Maybe we should give her a real job?"

#2 Vending Machine Business
An entrepreneurial friend fearing his own layoff gave this idea to me. Potential. Problem is that I'd have a moral compass prohibiting me from stocking the machines with the unhealthily evil candy/chip combo and rather would stock with organic snacks. Then when I go to refill the machines, angry worker bees would throw shoes at my head screaming, "Bring the frickin' Snickers back vending machine girl!" 

#3 Pillsbury Bake-Off Winner 
$1,000,000 to the Midwestern housewife creating a genius family friendly meal out of specifically chosen products. Well, move over ladies because I'm swooping in. Growing up in a family of seven has me well equipped for this competition. In conjunction with my months of recipe brainstorming (how fun it'll be to pop open that many Pillsbury dough tubes!) I'll produce a documentary on the crazy twenty-something who went off the edge after losing her job and believes her ticket to financial freedom lies in clinching the title of Pillsbury Bake-Off Winner 2009.

Monday, March 2, 2009

Wait…Are You Saying I Don’t Have A Job?

Late last week I received an email from my boss reading the following:

                  Please find time to meet with me sometime today.

Ok. Another impromptu meeting with my boss. Nothing out of the ordinary at this particular establishment. Perhaps he wanted to rehash the results of the multiple personality tests he administered, psychoanalyzed by his very non-psychologically certified self, to the company in the last month. He held a particular glee in reading aloud to me that my graph insisted I was “cool and aloof”. Or, maybe he wanted me to rewrite the org chart again. I most definitely lost count after the fifth revision within two months of my employment. With only fifteen employees there weren’t many options left. Most likely he just wanted to give me a special very important project that must be completed by the end of the day of which I would never see a completed purpose for after I had turned in. I had started to suspect my special projects were being somehow reformulated into a way to solve world hunger.

Instead, I was met with a meandering speech with an inconclusive path. Something along the lines of:

Boss: I’ve maxed out the company’s line of credit…I can’t put any more of my own money into the company…it’s funny, but your personality test shows that our personalities conflict…we can’t pay our bills…

Me: So wait, are you telling me I don’t have a job?

Boss: What I’m saying is essentially I can’t pay you.

Me: So, you’re basically telling me I don’t have a job.

Boss: Well, as of Friday (two days from now) I can no longer pay you.

Hmm. Geez, thanks for the two day lead! I’m positive I’ll land a job in the next week amid the greatest unemployment crisis since The Great Depression. Oh, and did you say no severance? Awesome. I mean, come on- who really wants a couple weeks pay? I call it a crutch for the weak. And since I’m not married, that means I can go this alone! Totally stoked, it’s going to be a great personal challenge. I hope the reward is something better than waiting tables at Perkins. The overnight shift since I’m new. I’ll turn my company cell in to you on Monday, just after I figure out I’ll be paying a car payment’s worth for health insurance. You won’t be in on Monday? Because you and the other company owners are going to be in Vegas partying at The Ghost Bar? Surely you’re drinking to your sorrows of not being able to pay me, to wash away the heavy guilt of thrusting me into a zero cash back world…

Important Message About The Circumstances Surrounding This Post: it’s 2:30am on a Sunday and I’m eating organic wheat thins and drinking a Michelob Golden Light because all I can imagine is the man standing in front of me today in Rainbow Foods who used food stamps to purchase a single Cadbury Egg. He ate the entire mystery filling confection before his transaction was even completed.  If this isn’t my horrible rotten no good very bad terrible twenties, I don’t know what is.