Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Some 'fuckscapes' to brighten your day!
Inspiration of the Day
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Inspiration of the Day
"Sometimes I need that romance, sometimes I need that pole dance. Sometimes I need that stripper thats gon tell me that she dont dance." -Drake
Looking for a job is like already working full-time.
My increasing desperation is beginning to lower my job threshold. It is amusing that as months drift by, I find myself no longer turning my nose up at some job postings. My pickiness dwindles with every unemployed minute that passes. For example, I used to think that I would never be a stripper. But, I am beginning to come around to the idea.
For example, as a stripper, I would get to wear feathers and sequins without irony, and I would get to wear heels that would make me tall. Now that I really think about it, I would totally be a stripper if it wasn't for two itty-bitty problems:
1. My 'pole dance' abilities can be summed up in two words -- train wreck. My dancing would just make the customers sad, and it is probably safe to say that the lovely patrons are not there to contemplate their emotions.
Hawt.
2. I do not have full confidence in my ability to dry hump a stranger without giggling, and/or toppling over in my towering go-go heels.
Super Hawt.
I guess, the stripper life is not for me (insert heavy sigh here.) Therefore, I must hang-up my fictional feather boa, and contemplate another avenue for a job.
Besides, there is always Craigslist!
Friday, August 9, 2013
"I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul." - William Earnest Henley
Existentialist crisis - a time where recent college graduates experience a sense of disorientation towards their new life-standing in an apparently meaningless absurd world.
Citing a statistic that I completely made-up for the sake of this post, 75% of recent college graduates experience a vacant and lost feeling after they are released from the clutches of academia. No, this void cannot be filled with frosting and chocolate (but it tastes delicious, so who cares!). It can only be filled with a new purpose of life -- finding a new purpose in life.
This, my friend, is a whole new world (cue Aladdin song and flying carpet) for the recent grad.
Up until the graduation day, life has had a plan -- to graduate college. Now that this seemingly impossible task is accomplished, there is nothing really left on life’s agenda (except for some sleep, and Netflix binging.)
With the passing of one day, the next chapter in life has begun. The transition, for some, is disconcerting because the majority of one’s existence has been leading up to this very moment of graduating college, and wham-bam-hippopotamus its over.
Once the fact that the graduation actually happened begins to sink in, unsurety about the future begins to grow (this experience is usually coupled with colorful statements such as: oh shit, fuck, or I don’t want to be an adult.) But, that is the amazing thing because after 20-something years fighting for this suspiciously flimsy piece of paper, there is now only one master of your fate -- you.
That, my friend, is not the least bit meaningless.
Damn Skippy.
Thursday, August 8, 2013
Inspiration of the day
"Death will be a great relief. No more interviews." - Katharine Hepburn
So, I had an interview for a job yesterday. I dressed the part of an adult woman -- I even wore heels. My toes were numb from the excruciating pain about an hour into wearing them, and I was 90% sure my feet were just going to fall off, but I was tall(er)! You see, as a fun-sized individual, I have to have some extra height so the interviewers are not prone to ask if I am enjoying 4th grade, or if I know Frodo. So, in order to look more imposing than an oompa-loompa, I donned the torture devices.
For me, the preparation for an interview is almost as horribly nerve-wracking as the interview itself. I read almost every article about how to make an interview my bitch, and wrote down questions to ask that will convey both my incredible interest for the job while also illustrating my scintillating intellect for gestating those said questions. I made notes about the company to portray my further interest -- of no longer being unemployed.
To the undiscerning eye, it would seem that I had everything under control. Unfortunately, there is also the horrendously embarrassing case of nerves that I get when I have to either give a speech, or have an interview. I am a complete wreck during the days leading up to it. During those days of preparation, I am writing maniac notes on pieces of parchment throughout the house, my hair is on par with a mentally institutionalized person because I have been running my fingers through it constantly and my lips have been gnawed on for the better part of week. In short, I resemble a troll under a bridge rather than the 22-year old female that I am.
On the day of the interview, I feel like one of those nervous poodles that pees itself. I try and relax, but it is an impossible task when your body is wigging out on you. There is also the mountainous job of taming the mess that I allowed myself to become. Makeup is applied, hair is blown-out to good-enough perfection and eyebrows are tweezed. Imagine The Princess Diaries makeover, and multiply it by eight hundred. Crazed notes are neatly transferred to my notepad, and I shakily put on the most professional outfit I own -- a suit. The torturous heels are finally shoved on without much ceremony before I grab my culminated research materials, and rush out of the door.
I arrive about ten minutes early to show my punctuality and promptness (I actually I showed up twenty minutes early because I was so nervous, and sat in the car for the first ten.) There is a slight panic attack before I stumble out of the car and wobble slightly in my heels. I regain my balance, before heading towards the building.
As I walk up to the business’ front door, I feel less like an interviewee and more like a convicted felon marching to the guillotine. I enter, and awkwardly converse with the secretary as I wait for the interviewers to be available.
During the interview, the nerves manifest themselves in sweaty palms, my heart trying to escape out my chest and a slight tremor in my voice that grows stronger with awareness. It is absolutely horrible, and completely embarrassing. I press through the interview, trying to tame the quiver in my voice and answer the questions as best as I can.
Two statuesque interviewers stare at me with little response. Feeling unnerved by their lack of emotion, a joke escapes.
I laugh.
Both sets of lips slightly curl up at the edges. This is the most emotion I have seen from the two.
The interrogation continues. Questions are now asked in rapid fire.
Reacting as best as I can, I continue to try and answer them as well as I can muster under the circumstances. Time moves both excruciatingly slow and fast.
Then, it’s finally over.
The torture of my feet and my nerves is at an end. I shake the interviewers’ hands, and share parting words before leaving. My hands are still clammy, and my body is shaking slightly almost from shock.
I drive home in bare feet.
Now, I have to wait 3-6 days to see if I am selected for the second round of interviews. The nerves return. My hands begin raking through my hair again.
The process is not the least bit over.
Monday, August 5, 2013
“Accept responsibility for your life. Know that it is you who will get you where you want to go, no one else.” – Les Brown
Sorry for dropping off the face of the Earth for the past week. I was in a place where wifi was an endangered species (there really should have been some kind of rescue crew in the area to help stabilize the environment, and aid in the birth of more routers.) Anywho, the prodigal blogger has returned!
Interestingly, once some more time slugged by, I actually found myself enjoying the brief disconnect from the technological world (my phone later full-out comatosed because I forgot to bring its charger.) Yes, this does mean that I did not get to keep tabs on my friends’ eating habits on Instagram, or had the ability to constantly update my status about how simply wonderful I am. But, I did experience this thing called (I hope I am spelling this right) conversation. Conversation, in this sense, was not conducted Kb2Kb (keyboard-to-keyboard,) but face-to-face.
During the duration of my occupancy in the technology black hole, I thought it was weird that I cannot pinpoint the moment when I began texting people more than calling them. What does it mean about me, as a person, that my interaction with the human species has completely changed, and I never noticed. Whenever I am in an awkward situation, I will start texting people as some kind of awkwardness buffer. My life revolves around the motto: when in doubt, take your phone out (I was going to say the motto was: when in doubt, whip it out. The pubescent boy that resides in my brain had a giggle before I thought of the more family appropriate motto.)
Personally, I am going to make an extra effort to not to always revert to texting. In some situations, instead of writing the next great American novel in a text, just make the damn phone call. In short, it’s your life, so live it the way you want to. It’s just that this girl (you can't see it, but I am currently pointing at myself) is going to be more cognizant about how she interacts with her friends and family.
Friday, July 26, 2013
Set the world on fire
the meeting place of comfort and risk
Choose wisely
Agent of Chaos
It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are. -- e.e. cummings
During these past two months of looking for a job, I have had an epiphany (not the one I was looking for, but to quote a famous band; “you can’t always get what you wa-ant.”) This manifestation of sudden knowledge was that job hunting is like being on the Bachelor (which is fantastic because what girl feels like she needs more dating in her life? It’s like the world has created another source of nervous encounters and rejection for me, and have wrapped it all up with a fuck you bow.)
Wonderful.
Now, as the honest person that I am, I should also tell you that I have never actually watched the Bachelor (it’s still on - right?) So, any connections I draw between the two are from my own inference and brain workings (honestly, how difficult is it really to understand the show? I am serious. I haven’t seen it before.) Okie dokie, now that that is off my adequately shaped chest -- where was I?
Oh. right.
Roses are a universal dating symbol for “I like you.” In the job hunting world, roses are interviews and jobs; illustrations that you did something right in the previous steps. Roses also further show you that you didn’t fuck it up. They are the sweet rewards of moving up through the interview process, and when you finally get to the finale there is (more likely than not) a man in a suit offering the final rose -- the job.
All seems simple enough, until the competition is added into the mix. Now, these competitors are not just wholesome Jills and Janes from next-door. These crafty bitches have a PhD in bullshit (the smell seeps from their pores because they are so full of it.) They are the Ditto pokemon incarnate -- they can morph into anything : “You want an adventurous girlfriend?-- Call me Marco Polo!” “ You want someone whose second language is binary code? -- 001000110100!”
Sickening really.
Then, finally it is over. The top has been reached, and you are last person standing. The victory is sweeter because the pretenders have fallen -- the rose has been won! (Insert roaring crowd noise here.)
Mission fucking accomplished
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Go for it now. The future is promised to no one. -- Wayne Dyer
As a recent college graduate, I thought I would have my life figured out.
Man, was I wrong.
When I was younger, I always thought that when I finally graduated college I would be a card carrying adult. An adult that, like, knew things. I thought that once I crossed the book riddled finish line I would know what my path in life was going to be.
Funny.
When the day finally came, I had no fucking clue about what I was going to do with my life after that moment. My 22 years of existence on this blue marble had lead up to this moment of a glorified stroll across a stage. The jaunt was the end result of hundreds of caffeine riddled nights, the reading prowess of thousands of pages, mind-numbing projects, and years of sugar-infused studying. Naively, I figured that the end result of all of this work would match all of the hard work (and money) that I had put into it (the culminated weight of the two would probably equal the weight of an African elephant and his hippo friend.) But, life is not a dream world filled with unicorns shitting rainbows, and in this world we live in -- not everything turns out the way we expected it to.
During the days leading up to my graduation, I knew that the end was coming. My fucking student planner told me so. I just stupidly expected that I would wake-up one morning with a knowledge surge of what being an adult really meant. To no one’s surprise (except my own,) it did not happen. I never ended up having an ‘ah-ha’ moment when the puzzle pieces of the universe neatly snuck into place to reveal the secret on how to be a successful adult person. Instead when the big day finally arrived, I felt like I had been caught with my dick in my hands with the lights on. Side note: As a lady, I only have a metaphorical dick -- not a real one (I also have a pair of metaphorical balls too, but that is not important right now.)
So it is here where we lay our scene: at the brink of being a grown-up. This is not the Rugrats' version of being grown-up, this is the real thing. This is real life. Or, rather, my real life, and my unsuccessful jab at wearing the adult uniform.
Friday, July 19, 2013
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