- Today starts the third week of my unemployment. I’m hard pressed to say I am doing well. Although I am not doing as bad as I thought I would be. I’m applying to jobs steadily and I have had about 5 phone interviews, but I need some legit interviews: no more of this phone nonsense. Being unemployed really puts things into perspective for ya. You see life in a completely new light. At least I do. I am constantly reminded of our mortality. Our lives are so finite. They are fleeting. They are complicated and sometimes we have no control over what happens to us. The world is unforgiving and every day that something goes alright is a day to celebrate and give thanks. I am just realizing this now at 30, although I have experienced hardship, I never felt that life was so temporary. In a way it is paralyzing.
- I feel unsafe in everything I do and in just being. I feel scared that I will die. I’m terrified. However, people keep reminding me that I should make the most of my life while I am still here. I really want to subscribe to this mentality and just live life to the fullest, but sometimes that isn’t possible. We have to do unpleasant crappy shit all the time. Is that living life to the fullest. I don’t know what living life to the fullest means. Maybe I am living life to the fullest in my own way. Who is the authority on living life to the fullest. I don’t know. I just know that I have always lived doing what I wanted and even though sometimes that sucks, at least I chose it. That is conducive to a lot of moving and job changes, but why the fuck not. I want to experience different things and not be stuck doing one thing forever. So as I worry that I don’t fall into the norm of keeping one job for years and years and living in only one city, I might actually be living life to the fullest.
What is with every girl taking big eye pictures? You know, when you look straight into the camera and focus your gaze into the lens with “big eyes.” It’s like you’re eye fucking the camera. I mean what is the message there? Are you trying to look vulnerable? Contemplative? Let me tell you, when I think about stuff I’m not gazing at my book seductively. I’m actually squinting, making me look confused and/or in need of an eye exam.
Why aren’t guys taking pictures like that? Everything goes back to women trying to seduce their viewer. It’s frightening and more so, like 33% of my Instagram photos are like that.
I had a job interview today.
The man interviewing asked — What is your passion? First of all, cliché much? Second of all, it was a job to be an administrative assistant. Come on guy.
I didn’t get the job. When my recruiter asked for feedback on my interview they told her that I lacked energy. To be perfectly honest, I thought I killed it . What was awkward was that the other two candidates and I met before we were each interviewed. Their in house recruiter told us that this style of interviewing was kind of like speed dating. We all giggled like little girls when she said that.
Little girls, speed dating, energy?
Ah yes, back to my passion. I told him the truth — my passion is to be a better human being. He didn’t seem to like that answer. Other than that though I thought the interview went well, and I was confident the job was mine. The other two girls came to the interview in sandals and asked irrelevant, kiss-ass questions (at least in my presence). They seemed really juvenile, hyper feminine, and dumb. I have Master’s degree, am well traveled, and am keenly aware of current socio-political issues of importance in today’s modern world — clearly, I was the well rounded candidate any organization would dream of. Alas! Not so. Of course, this can be all speculation on my part, but I honestly feel that intelligence and strength in character isn’t as valued in the workforce as I thought. In this case, I think they just wanted someone bubbly, subservient, and who would get wet over their position of power. I suppose my lack of energy was my lack of awe for their British accents.
I’m not going to beat around the bush, this is not a post about how horribly sexist this organization is or my feelings about facing unjustified rejection. It’s about women. I honestly thought we had come far, but, as I now have no choice but to live in this real world I have been hearing so much about, I have come to see how fucked the state of women still is. Interview after interview I see insecurity, defensiveness, and territoriality amongst women; I saw it today, I see it in stores, and between groups of friends. What happened to sisterhood? Maybe it’s just the cut-throat reality of this city, but it’s straight-up sad.
I then went to Gap to get a sports bra. The young lady who was working there was extremely rude, she ignored me, and when I asked for a dressing room, she walked away. My blood was boiling. She personified everything I speak of in the paragraph above. Fucking bitch…fucking bitch? I looked up, there was a CC TV in the corner, and I saw myself…I looked just like that bitch. My expression and my body language were all defense mechanisms to what I perceived was her shitiness towards me. I embodied everything I despise and believe to be wrong with women today.
I tried on some sports bras. I got the small, medium support in pastel green, and when I left the fitting room, I genuinely smiled at her –not that forced, smug smile girls give each other which secretly means, fuck you. I thanked her for her help and handed her the items I chose not to buy. I did all this knowing that she may not return my kindness. I did it anyway accepting that if she didn’t, I would be ok.
She smiled back, thanked me for bringing out the clothes, and told me to have a nice day.
Guess who got laid off.
I’m okay, I definitely miss money, but I’m gonna pull up the bootstraps, or however that saying goes, and keep on keeping on: writing blog entries, reading self help books, buying craft supplies, putting away said supplies (crafting sucks), learning a new language, etc.
No but seriously, I have acquired quite a bit of new hobbies (NBD): making jewelry <BAM> planting grass for my cat <BAM> acting lessons, Spanish class. <BAM> <BAM>
Although I gotta tell ya, there is no instant gratification from growing grass. Growing grass takes patience and has way too many steps. I’m not gonna get into the details of how to grow grass, but let me just use this grass thing as a metaphor for the pace of my life at the moment. So I am like the grass seed, I need soil — good soil is like my environment, and then I’m in the soil, but if the soil is bad, I don’t grow. So A) good soil/environment. Then B) I need water, water equals my interaction with people, as I need to socialize and be around people to grow. Finally C) – sunlight is like my attitude. Therefore, I will only grow in a healthy environment, with positive social interactions (no swamp water), and my attitude aka suuuuun, has to be bright and good. Then you’re like, well how often do I water the grass? I followed the instructions, but they are different on every site, and what if I mess up one step and the grass doesn’t grow well or dies. What if the grass dies!!!
Life is like grass, people. Grass. It matters the type of soil you grow in, how much you get watered, and how much sun you get. That’s why we see such a variety of people. Maybe one grass grew in a rainy climate and rarely saw the sun. Another type of grass may have been born near the site of an industrial disaster. Oooooor the grass has weeds. Grass just grows where it can, where there are the minimum conditions for it to grow. Which grass is better? It all looks the same to me for the most part. Of course the grass on the golf course is more lush because it is chemically treated and primped by what I’m guessing is a crew of undervalued and underpaid employees. Then there is the grass that gets trampled on, burned by the sun, and never watered, but it’s not grasses fault where it grows. So many types of grass out there, like people. This metaphor just won’t quit.
WARNING: This blog post is rated MA: L (It contains strong language and opinions)
I work from a neighborhood cafe. Yes – I have a job now. Yes – it’s super glamorous.I try leaving my beloved couch to avoid the inevitable insanity that arises from spending 12 hours in one spot.
The neighborhood cafe looks like something grunge kids in the 90’s would be drawn to. However, it isn’t run by a couple of subversive hipsters living out their dream of independent living. No, it’s owned by a homosexual Chinese man who employees 4 Chinese employees. Why is it important that I’m mentioning they are Chinese — no I’m not racist — but you don’t normally see a hipster cafe owned and operated by immigrants whose English is low intermediate at best (former ESL teacher, remember?) Anyways, you don’t normally see this, unless you are from or live in San Francisco.
That’s what I kind of love about San Francisco — you walk into a place thinking you know exactly what to expect based on previous life experience — A hipster cafe filled with terrible art, a weird color scheme, and reclaimed furniture — be honest, you don’t expect it to be run and operated by recently arrived immigrants who I am sure understand what I say like 45% of the time.
That’s what I love about San Francisco — you think you will be bombarded by socially progressive weirdos and a busload of gays will greet you upon moving in, but then you get here and you realize that’s only in the Mission. If I were going to label this city, like so many people try to do, it’s a city that is everything you expect and nothing at all like you imagined.
New York and San Francisco are always competing. Which city is the Specialist? Which city is the most indescribable? The hipster battle rages on. New York is an amazing city — totes love it — but the goal upon moving to New York is to assimilate, to be a New Yorker, to be a true New Yorker. “I’ve lived here for xx amount of years” and by that logic you are either more or less of a New Yorker than someone. Sound familiar?
In San Francisco, no one cares. Haven’t heard anyone rate the degree of their San Franciscan status yet. You’re from Iowa? Whatever man, no one is perfect. You’ll be fine here – if you can afford the rent. To match the 90’s decor of this cafe I’ll throw a kewl slogan at you in an attempt to articulate the vibe of this city — come as you are…
…unless you’re a corporate douchebag.
Just kidding there’s a bunch of those here too!
So I’m watching this great & funny show, and I am starting to realize that all the references referring to the “good ol’ days” are speaking to me. Crap. I also realized that “boss” characters are my age and the employees are in their early twenties. Also, the characters’ friends have children that walk and talk. Am I…old?
I still feel like I am 24, but come to think of it that was a while ago. And let me just say, I hate when girls in their early 20’s start complaining about having a quarter life crisis — those girls were born when the New Kids on the block…ugh, can’t think of a clever pun here…well they weren’t a thing anymore is the message.
It doesn’t bother me that I am older. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no ageist. I like my current age: I look alright while also being able to enter an office type of environment/department store and still be taken relatively seriously (until I take out my child colored and sized wallet). However, I have no polished career type image where I talk about IPOs and currency rates, no property, no investment portfolio, savings, car, luxury leather goods etc. Okay, here’s the part where I list my accomplishments in an attempt to soothe my bruised ego.
1) I have a Bachelor’s degree from the University of Illinois.
…And academic fields shouldn’t technically even be capitalized…
2) I lived in Spain and taught English. Aha! Travel+Job=no money and I still can’t speak Spanish.
No one cares…
No one thinks teaching ESL abroad is a real job (recruiters have actually said that to me)…
3) I have a Master’s degree!
4) I attained a 3.83 GPA in my Master’s program.
Literally — NO ONE cares…
Well, I am definitely one to complain. All the time. About everything. I truly believe that even if I were in a tropical paradise sipping mojitos on the beach, I would still find something to complain about.
The sun is way too hot.
I’m going to get sun spots.
Is this premium liquor?
I don’t want a hang over.
How much are these drinks?
The messed up thing is, I like to complain. You know how some people work really really hard to change themselves and their negative thinking and their negative patterns, yea, that’s awesome, and I’m definitely on board for like losing a few pounds, being more self-less and grateful…but I still want to keep the complaining part. Is that messed up? I mean, what would there be to talk about and long for and be dramatic over if you couldn’t complain? Me not complaining–would not be me. This is where people will want to insert a superficial and probably totally lost on them anyways zen buddhist quote. I get it, you get more of what you complain about, but if I am complaining about stuff that’s, by most people’s standards, already pretty “good”, doesn’t that technically get me more good stuff to complain about?