Employment Fail

So, I had a job interview yesterday.

It was strange.

I arrived at the building (which, I'm sad to say, was in Washington D.C.). When I arrived at the lobby, the secretary immediately told me to sit down in a chair directly behind me.

When the chair started moving, I realised they'd sat me down in a wheelchair and some hefty man was now pushing me at full-speed through the corridors of an office building, navigating around desks and cubicles. Did I look physically impaired? Or was my laziness so apparent to the world that they figured a time-saving technique would be pushing me around at turbo-speed? I was thoroughly confused.

Heftyheftyhefty parked the chair near a cubicle and I was face to face with my interviewer. She introduced me to her underling, an earnest sliver of a man wearing thick-framed glasses and an immaculately groomed coif.

Then she asked for my resume.

Shit, my resume.

I knew I had it in my bag somewhere...Like a madwoman, I searched through the contents of a knapsack which I then realised was probably not appropriate for a job interview. But the only thing I could find was a stack of embarrassing lady magazines.

"Erm, maybe you could look on your email? I sent it to you." I asked imploringly.

"MMMmmmm...No." She said, emoting her dissatisfaction in one big "Whatthefuckiswrongwithyou" look.

Imagine this look in a human form.

Finally, I found it, folded in one of the many books I'd somehow fit in my bag. (I thought about making a crack about an extendable bag charm as I'd just seen Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows but I though better of it)

She sat me in front of a TV screen to watch one of their on-going projects.

"You've heard of our urban-renewal-wildlife-blah-blah-blah-not-listening-to-the-words-you're-saying project, haven't you?"

"Ohh, of course," I said, realising I had no clue about the images being projected on the screen. First there were lobsters. Then a pile of hay. Then two angry looking dogs chasing after an elephant.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two small children watching eagerly. Somehow, I gathered skinnyeagerassistant was babysitting them for scaryboss. Their commentary was a little distracting:

"Oh my good I can't wait till the dogs catch the elephants....YEAAHHHH!!!!"

I was already struggling to keep my eyes open when a huge blonde blob materialised under my outstretched hand- it was an enormous golden retriever, begging for some affection. (WHAT kind of OFFICE IS THIS? I thought to myself, secretly happy that a canine presence would help keep me awake)

When my cooing and petting became distracting to the pair evaluating me, I focused back on the urbanrenewalwildlife mumbo jumbo.

But...Sosleeepyyyyy..why didn't I drink more caffeine? Would they notice if I took a micronap?
My forehead felt heavy. With horror, I reached up and realised I was still wearing one of those airplane-eye-sheilding things from the night before.

GAAAAAAAAAAAAH! She'd surely noticed. It's not like I could pass it off as a fashion accessory. Or could I? What if I put it back on for a little nap?

Then all of it, the dog-nudging, children blabbering, skinnyasssistant glaring at me, reached a symphonic zenith and suddenly I heard a bell ringing in the distance.

My next-door-neighbor's doorbell. I woke up.

I thought if I gave you a cute picture you'd forgive me for making you read this.

Can I Put "Delusion" Under "Special Skills"?

 As I previously mentioned, I'm unemployed. Very much so. And yes, there are varying levels of unemployment. There's the chronically unemployed-- thankfully, I'm not a part of this group, although at the rate I'm going, busking in the subway may be a possibility. For the good of people travelling on any form of subterranean transportation, it's best (for their sanities and ear drums) I'm restrained from doing this. The only instrument at which I'm proficient is the recorder, (see number three) and I doubt anyone wants flashbacks of their elementary school recorder experiences.


Since I am unemployed, and have copious amounts of time on my hand which should ideally be used for job searching but is rather employed anthropomorphising my cat and writing blog posts, I've devised a handy-dandy collection of ideas of things I should do whilst unemployed. I don't want you to think that I'm obsessed with lists, (and hence, anal) but I love lists.


1) Become a crossword puzzle genius: I briefly considered becoming a chess genius, but last time I played chess it was with a nine year old, and he beat me-- twice. In the past week, I was on a plane for a total of six hours. What did I do? I worked strenuously on the SAME NY magazine crossword puzzle. The. Same. One. As the little boxes filled in, I became convinced- I'm REALLY good at this shit! (There was a hint of delusion in the stale airplane air) So, I will become a mad crossword genius, and groups of people will gather round to watch me as I solve them in a matter of mere minutes. I'll be the Bobby Fischer of crossword puzzles. They'll make a film about me. I think I've said enough on the matter.

I don't want to tell you how much time this took. Also, I underestimated the number of letters in "puzzle"                

2) Learn to drive so I can prove that yes, I can reach the pedals : In the past month, I've been reengaged with suburban America. (Aka "The Real America) And I've discovered two things--- Firstly, this supposedly "real" land (in which the closest semblance of a cultural centre is a strip of chain stores) is kind of horrible. Secondly, if you don't have a car, or don't know how to drive, you're fucked. (I've always lived in cities, it was neither necessary nor safe since the cities were notorious for reckless driving) I've been told my legs are too short to reach the pedals, but screw you haters, I will soon be very comfortably sitting on a large cushion in the driver's seat.

You can get this fancy thing here- it swivels too....!

3) Teach myself to play the guitar that I have had for over six years: The guitar symbolizes how impressive my powers of delusion are. When I got it, I was (and still am) convinced I would be an autodidact, like those artists grueled for hours upon hours, alone, teaching themselves how to play guitar or piano, so they would someday write their masterpieces. (Or lip-sync to them) But I really didn't have the determination or drive for that. I learned a couple chords, but hit a wall when it came to the strumming bit. Maybe it's time for this pipe dream to be finally REALISED!


4) Coach my cat into being a You Tube sensation: This is probably the most realistic of my options. He's very charming and his antics would be rivaled only by "Charlie Bit Me." His act would be part Maru, (see below) part Charlie Chaplin. But I'm scared I will be an overbearing stage mother and that the fame will go to his head. I just want him to lead a normal life.

5)  Fruit Ninja high score: Ever since one of dear friend's has had an ipad in her life, it has been my dream and goal to beat her high score on Fruit Ninja. My quest remains unfufilled, and she is only getting stronger as I languish to surpass her. Must practice slicing fruits with panache and dexterity.

These are most of my more pragmatic suggestions. Any others would be very much appreciated-- for example, building a ten foot structure out of al dente macaroni, or placing tracking devices on squirrels for super important research about acorn. (ha! ACORN)

I Can Has Blog?

 Citizens of the universe, I own my very own BLOG! I would be excited, but I'm told pretty much anyone is allowed to have one of these. I don't feel that special. Below find the reasons I didn't want to risk entering this risky territory. 

1) Other people: You know the ones I mean. They feel they're doing internet users everywhere an immense service by sharing the minutae of their daily lives. Twitter is bad enough, with it's "I just read an entire novel on the toilet and now I have an imprint of the toilet seat on my ass" style postings, but at least you're limited to 16-words of pain. This, coupled with the fact that their lack of self-awareness makes them think their every sentence is literary plutonium (that's right, more valuable than gold), makes me cringe when I read their quip vomit. (Quip vomit: An ailment experienced by people such as Kanye West, who experience the sudden and irrepressible urge to spew out their invaluable opinions, OFTEN IN CAPS-LOCK LIKE THIS.) The blog, when in the hands of quip vomiters, becomes a shrine to ME ME ME. I'm thinking of you, person who went overseas for the first time in his or her life and somehow absorbed all the cultures of every place everywhere by visiting one European city and needs to shout it from the rooftops.
2) I'm scared that I will become one of those people.
3) I'm scared that I already am one of those people.
4) I had another blog, but I hated it.
5) This list.

But WAIT! Reasons that I embarked on this blog thing.
1) Other people: Other people's blogs can be amazingly wonderful. A couple examples; http://www.iamjudgmental.blogspot.com, http://therealmofexcess.tumblr.com/, http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/, http://www.moteldemoka.com, http://ny.eater.com/, to name a few. (I know the first two personally, if that has any effect on how much you like me)
2) Unemployment: I need something to prevent the sweet cloak of insanity from covering me forever.
3) Must offload the many observations about my cat without risking my friends knowing for certain that I am indeed a crazy cat lady.
4) Blog is an amusing word.