Another great feature of Facebook is that it reminds you of all your friend’s birthdays so you can celebrate accordingly, by either sending them a cyber gift, or leaving a celebratory post on their wall. Basically everyone on the birthday list for tomorrow is someone I’ve slept with. Thank you Facebook…for reminding me I’m a whore.

Anyhow, my mom walks in wearing this oversized ASPCA shirt and announces that she is dying her hair and this shirt will now the “hair dye” shirt. I tried to keep a straight face. I was sure I had given this shirt away to the Goodwill ages ago, but somehow it had come back to haunt me. One of my “walk of shame” shirts had found its way into my mom’s wardrobe. Ooooops.

So what exactly have I been up to? I’ve rewrote my resume close to 65 times. I really need to bite the bullet and start handing out a version without my college education on there, but dammit, it’s a matter of principle. I think in most cases that’s why the more run of the mill jobs are not hiring me.

Also I’ve been writing a LOT. Ironically though, it’s of a very private nature and nothing I feel comfortable sharing with anyone, even with the anonymity I have hopefully achieved via this site. I’ve also become really good at Bejewled.

Wells Fargo emailed me this morning telling they have slots available for appointments for interviews advising me to call and schedule one. I called about 20 minutes later and they told me all available slots had already been filled. Damn.

This week I probably spent at least 30 hours on the job search, filling out apps, sending out resumes, etc. I got one interview out of it.  A $12/hr job that would have required me to wear a denim shirt to work. As of now, I have not gotten a callback. Maybe they figured I wouldn’t look good in denim, whatever the case, totally depressed.

Before desperation status, I had planned to go teach English abroad. I completed most of the necessary paperwork, all of it actually, save for the final step of actually getting the visa. I was supposed to go with a friend who kind of lost interest, so naturally I lost interest too. I’m kicking myself over and over right now for not following through. I think it’s time to reconsider that option.

Tonight though I drink, tomorrow I’ll conquer the international job market once again.

Mazel Tov!

“INSERT NAME HERE is like communism. He’s better in theory than reality.”

Amen to that! But seriously, how many guys are like that…I’d risk saying most.

They seem great on paper. Perfect gentlemen, that type you’d like your mother to meet, and possibly save you from a lifetime of labor and exploitation at the cost of the bourgeoisie, but eventually lo and behold…they come crashing down with the terror and fervor of Joseph Stalin. You go hungry, your buddies all die a bloody death in the revolution and you get offed with an icepick.

So, my question is, what would a capitalist guy be like?

Anyways, the first and most apparent option to cross my mind, was of course selling my body. I figure I could boast a pretty decent resume for the industry and could probably provide any interested parties with quality references. Then I rememebered my unwillingness to to be involved with about 90% of the population unless intoxicated near the point of blacking out. I wondered to myself if the would be clients would care if I was intoxicated. I mean, I’m probably a bit sloppy at this point, and my motor skills aren’t exactly perfect, but I gather I could still do what was asked of me, at least what I’ve been told, but that’s neither here nor there. Upon careful deliberation, rationalization involving some weird variation of microeconomics and supply and demand, and careful consideration at my potential future as a politcal figure I decided it was probably best to give up on this option.

After ruling out being a lady of the night I realized I basically out of ideas. I decided to apply for all of the jobs in the Sunday ads that seemed the quickest and most easily attainable. This translates to customer service. I have an interview at a janitorial services supply company tomorrow. When I was younger, like say in high school, taking approximately 6 advanced placement courses, working as the editor of the school newspaper and still managing to snag an MVP award on the soccer team I would always wonder what my life would be like as an adult. Let’s jus say this isn’t exactly how I figured it would go. I spent some time today trying to work backwards and pinpoint what exactly where I went wrong. I decided my college boyfriend was to blame and resolved to spend at least a few extra hours this week pouring over feminst texts. I then decided to forgive him because I recently had a dream where he played a brief cameo as a cancer patient. I thought the guilt might be enough to push him over the edge and was worried how his grandma would take the news of his impending death. She was always so kind to me so I figured I at least owed it to her to prolong her poor grandson’s life.

I’ve also effectively broken up with my “best friend,” and am feeling much like I have gone through an actual divorce. I’m particularly sad though because friendships do not provide for any type of visitation rights with children involved. Super bummed.

There is nothing exciting about this, like most of life, it’s actually rather mundane, but like the great sitcom Seinfield I intend to incite entertainment out of the everyday occurences that really follow no particular story line.

So, said duo is composed of two men. One in his early 30s and the other in his late 40s to early 50s. They don’t seem to get along particularly well, which makes me wonder why there were partnered in the first place. They aren’t fighting or anything, but the whole “whistle” part of “whistle while you work is missing.” Their conversation is minimial and the only words I hear coming from these men are measurements or instructions on how to wield the hand drill or the caulking gun. Because of their silence and no real sign of personality I am led to wonder about these men and their lives outside the window installing business.

I wonder if either of them are married. The younger one seems like he may have a more jovial side to him. I’ve been told that women like that quality in a man. I myself am a bit more superficial and prefer men that are outright assholes, but rumor is this jovialness means he’s a “keeper.”

The older one seems bitter and to have already dealt with many of the trials and tribulations of life. He seems like a broken man and just does what he has to get by at this point. He’s either been married for 20 plus years, which incidentally could be the source of his downtrodden demeanor or he’s gay and single, but ultimately frustrated he hasn’t met the “right one.” Judging by his mannerisms the former is much more likely than the latter, but it excites me to think that a gay man could have such a stereotypically male/macho job.

Unfortunately I find niether of these men attractive, effectively crushing any dreams I may have had with hooking up wtih a home improvement guru.

Now that I’ve sat here and created a life for each of these men I wonder if they have done the same for me. Had they done this for my friend it would have been simple. It’s much easier to size someone up when granted access to their home. I have no doubt that they pinned the nail on the head with her. Me on the other hand, who knows. I’m wearing cut offs and a tank top, glasses and my hair is thrown up messily, I have minimial make up on and don’t seem to talk much. Your guess is as good as mine.

Due to the nature and scope of my study, the dynamics I often find myself in the middle of seem to imply a certain moral ambiguity on my part. I’d imagine this questionable nature is true of most people that society has regarded as crazy during their lifetimes, but who have grown to great prominence and fame after their death. I figure that posthumously I will either be known as a champion to women…or a slut.

“Once upon a time“…“happily ever after“, these are words whose meaning have time and time escaped me. Sure I have in been “in love,” the reckless, hopeless, life-affirming type. This though, was before I had been introduced to alcohol. I never quite fell in love with alcohol; we only became friends with benefits and were always on-again/off-again. The first time I slept with a boy who I was not in love with was one of these nights alcohol and I were “on-again.”

My “on again” slowly transformed a new identity for myself. It helped to ease the transition from devoted girlfriend to something slightly more casual. I suddenly found myself in somewhat of a committed relationship with alcohol. I realized that there were certain situations where I would depend on it. Alcohol had without my knowledge, slipped a cheap promise ring on my finger. It was very similar to one my ex-boyfriend had given to me years prior. I later found out he purchased it for $40 off EBay. It’s a really a wonder that relationship didn’t last.

Anyhow, now in a monogamous relationship with liquid courage I felt more comfortable doing things with him that were once reserved for commitment of a greater nature. Ironically, for those of you not following the metaphor this means cheap and tawdry sex with whoever happened to be interested at the moment.

I had always considered myself to be a person of strong moral fiber, but suddenly I became a devout follower of moral relativism which became my own brand of “horizontal relativism.” Consequently I threw myself into feminist literature and tried to let go of the conventionality of my strong Catholic upbringing, that despite my best efforts to eradicate, still lived in the most cavernous regions of my brain. Thankfully, I was able to dissuade these ideas of wrong and right because of afore horizontal relativism. The issue of morality became another area to study, most prominently and culturally relevant was the age-old question of what exactly a “slut” was.

I was always confident that I was not one, but I felt that I was getting closer and closer to whatever this definition might be, hence the infusion of feminist literature. I am woman, hear me roar. I can bone whom I wish without shame or remorse. Feminism helped, but alcohol was the real gem in my transition to guiltless promiscuity.

Basically this is where I am. I still don’t know what a “slut” is, but I’m sure that I am not one. Sex is sex and relationships just seem so constricting. Both are just life lessons to learn and things to be studied. Despite my devotion and commitment to studying, I always, much like in college, found myself only scoring mediocrely on major tests and exams. The same is to be said for my love life.

Here I was, young, vibrant, name-brand degree in hand and a few telling experiences to make my resume stand out. I was sure I would be fine. I had a few interviews here and there but with each of those interviews, one of those nicely worded letters littered with compliments and praise but whose intended message was  actually“no thanks, you suck,” would grace my mailbox.

Month three came and went and my thoughts began to grow a little more unorthodox. “So I’ve got a degree, gee great, no one cares. No, no, wait! Koreans care!” My fate was sealed and I began the application process to teach English abroad. It seemed like the perfect idea. I’d get out of the country, gain some international experience, make enough money to have fun then I could come back and begin the grad school applications I have been perpetually putting off since actually graduating college. Two years and counting for those of you who are curious. Things were going well. I moved right along in the application process without a hitch. Eventually I got offered a position. The universe, and my father, however, seemed to be against me. North Korea decided to aim nuclear missiles at South Korea. Due in part to practicality, and more largely to the over sensationalism that so well characterizes the media, my parents became increasingly uneasy about my departure. The idea escaped me as fast as it had appeared.

I am now well into month four of unemployment and for all intensive purposes am beginning to forget what exactly it feels like to be a contributing member of society. My alcohol consumption, which by official standards has always been characterized as binge drinking, now is not only confined to the weekends, but the weekdays alike. Unlike the job market, beer is always best served cold.

I spend my days half-heartedly filling out job applications and my nights mixed up however and with whomever. I am about to enter month five of unemployment. My skepticism is at an all time high and my hair is now dyed black to reflect my current outlook on life.