bah hamburger

Three cheers for not having to start school on Tuesday!
Zero cheers for having absolutely no plans for the discernible future.

I've reasoned that it is time for an update, with this being the eve of a new month and the end of the summer season. The weather is changing here, right along with my disposition; both are growing a bit more frigid and ominous every day. With wrecked job plans, transient income, and an increasing penchant for 3-dollar Trader Joe's wine, autumn is not holding a lot of promise. And please, no more seemingly cordial advice on keeping a winning attitude, optimism, and other such nonsense. Those things join God, political reform, ghosts, and liposuction in the "crap people believe but are actually products of socio-cultural fear-mongering" category.

I seem to have tripped on the threshold between childhood and functioning adulthood.

It's in our blood

Update! I may have a coffee date this weekend with a guy who appears to be semi-normal, or at least able to carry on a conversation. Please note the severe skepticism clouding that statement. Given my luck this summer, romantic and otherwise, I am not inclined to put a lot of stock in planned social engagements with the opposite sex. This is only natural though; I contend that men are lousy at making/keeping plans and have been since the dawn of time. I can picture it clearly - Early Man and Early Lady going on a mammoth-hunting expedition, having a lovely, prehistoric time. The evening ends with Early Man knocking three rocks together, the pre-lingual way of saying "this was great! Let's do it again sometime." But he never stops by her dwelling again, and is soon spotted gifting a deer pelt to another lady. You can bet that the next village bonfire was pretty awkward for everyone.

My point being, if nothing happens this weekend, I do not think I will be the least bit surprised. In the meantime, I will continue to accept messages from other potential suitors. I like calling them suitors, as it makes the process seem fancy and dignified. One gentleman in particular keeps trying to initiate a conversation, but is about as attractive to me as a lard sandwich. He is definitely one of the computer-game-parents'-basement types. I admire his fortitude, as day after day there is a little note from him or something of the like. It makes me wish the website had a "Never In a Million Years" rejection button.

I told my father about joining the dating site, and he seemed pleased...until he learned that it's not J-Date. I am pretty sure I heard his heart sink over the phone. But really, who has 40 bucks to spend on a dating site? Let me pay you for the pleasure of feeling socially inept! Besides, I can still do this site and use the $40 to go to a bar and meet even more suitors. Logic, people, pure and simple. Anyway, Dad lectured me on the virtues of dating Jewish men, and then told me I should be getting serious about finding a husband in the next "two or so years". Apparently, once I turn 24, the other shoe will drop and I will officially turn into a tired, old hag.

Something to look forward to, I guess.

Exercises in social propriety

Or, "How I Learned to Stop Judging Myself, Instead Letting Others Do It For Me."

And if those titles aren't enough, how about "I Joined an Online Dating Site"?

I was in the shower and noticed remnants of a bruise and a fresh scar on my right calf. It was from that day at the gym well over a month ago, when I accidentally walked into an ab machine and gave myself a huge welt with a nice gash to seal the deal. I also rendered myself incapable to walk for a few minutes, much to the amusement of the other gym patrons, of that I am sure. It was the day before I met Kris at the coffee shop. He called me his girlfriend on our third(ish) date, and then he just didn't call me at all. He was not long for my life, but the evidence of my uncoordinated behavior decided to stick around. I guess you could call a bruise outlasting a boy the final straw.

Thus, I decided to try my hand at online dating. I like to think of the entire situation as a modern interpretation of Lazarus- we the huddled masses, the web our Mother of Exiles. I went in with an open mind, which has since closed ever-so-slightly, partly due to realizing the following: I certainly do attract a particular crowd. A slightly literate, video game-playing, basement-dwelling, baby daddy crowd. I do not want to play mom to you and your three year-old (in New Jersey, no less). I do not want to eat meatloaf with your parents while you are waiting for your online friends to come home from school in Japan so you can continue your "Call of Duty 4" gaming. And above all, I do not want to date someone who calls me "sexi mami" and offers to send me a picture of his "hOTtTt bod."

I am not throwing in the towel just yet, but if things don't get better, I am quitting. Then, my bruises and scars and I will all go for a lovely meal. Alone.

Stages of Unemployment

Stage 1: Joy
I have nothing to do! All day, every day! I can go shopping, exploring, to the museums, to the movies...the list goes on! I can stare at my feet all day if I want to! Why? Because I am F-R-E-E FREE. Released from the confines of answering to The Man, I do/think/wear whatever I want! Take that, Banana Republic business casual! Enjoy the back of my closet along with the rest of the shit I don't like. FREEDOM! Oh, the possibilities of spare time! Praised be the person who came up with this concept!

Stage 2: Muted Joy
Good news - I got to do all of the things I wanted to do! Bad news - it took me two days. Boredom is batting his pretty eyes at me, as I spend more time sleeping and less time celebrating the fact that I no longer need to use words like "meeting" and "memo." Still, the novelty of beginning my day at 12 noon has yet to wear off. For the first time in almost a decade, I am well-rested! I am also discovering another perk of being unemployed - grocery shopping during the day, while everyone else is working, means no lines for me! I can now buy my food in peace, right alongside the rest of the price-conscious jobless folk.

Stage 3: A Visit From the Concerned Fairy
The initial thrill accompanying no longer having to wear nice clothes every day has morphed into wearing the same ratty jeans and t-shirt four days in a row. I have been sleeping upwards of 14 hours a day, for lack of anything to better to do. I am not unhappy, but perhaps not as chipper as before. A notice from the bank indicates that all of those fun and games (see: Joy) come at a price, and that this carefree time may not be able to continue forever. "Real-life" issues like health insurance and bills start to enter my stream of thought on a regular basis. This is ok, because I am starting to become irritable. Luckily, this irritability has motivated me to apply to a few jobs. Given my stunning employment history, terrific education, and winning personality, I expect to have a job in no time at all! In the mean time, I will continue to take advantage of my schedule-less life and shiny television.

Stage 4: The Beginning of the End, Part 1 (Present state of being)
My job search has yielded no results, fostering a growing sense of rejection, along with its good friend frustration. Apparently, no one wants to hire me. I choose to blame my crap employment history, lousy education, and grouchy disposition. Wearing the same jeans and t-shirt has devolved into wearing the same pajamas day after day, as leaving the house no longer has the same appeal. The highlight of my day arrives at 3 p.m, when "Dr. Phil" airs. There is simple pleasure to be found in watching fat people from the Midwest complain about their kids/spouse/in-laws/pets/neighbors/local Wal-Mart/etc. I feel smart and accomplished when I watch. I am also starting to think that Dr. Phil is more of a miracle-worker than people give him credit for. By the end of the hour, I am lulled to sleep by their nasal voices and white skin. After napping for two hours (give or take two hours), I wake up in time for "Wheel of Fortune," where I watch another group of fat Midwesterners wave their arms and try to remember the alphabet ("I'd like to buy a vowel...F!"). Actual accomplishments have been replaced with "I got out of bed before the sun set" and "I pooped today." I may or may not be getting pressure sores on my ass.

A job cannot come soon enough, even if I have to dust off those sweater sets and skirts.

I know, I know. I haven't blogged in forever. Sorry! But, I do have reasons, so there's that. I moved to Queens yesterday, which was a production and a half, but it's all over and done with. I hate moving. I am planning on living in this apartment until I die, because that is how much I hate moving. The new place is nice and pretty clean, which is a huge plus. The only downside is that none of the windows have blinds or anything, which has made indulging in my favorite hobbies (naked strutting, naked yoga, naked writing, etc) a little awkward. I have got to get blinds soon. It's been two days and I am already feeling repressed. I like to think that this move to Queens signifies a new period in my life. Like, in my biography, it will be the title of a new chapter called "The Queens Years". I like that. I am sorry this post is so fucking boring. I am in the Apple store and I would write more if my legs weren't starting to hurt and I didn't have to poop. Later gators.

Something new and different

It's 4 a.m. and I am still awake. And drunk. I just ate a bunch of Indian food to help me stomach some of the massive quantities of alcohol I consumed, but something tells me that was an ill-conceived idea. Let's talk about my night, shall we? Allie and I went to a bar and did some necessary catching up...which would have been even lovelier, had the roommate of a guy I slept with last summer not been at the bar. Of all places, right? I am so glad he took the time to interrupt giving me the stink-eye to gesture to his friend and go "She slept with...," jerking his entire body toward me. Thanks, asshole. Because I don't feel bad about myself as it is, I have you to reinforce it. Also, I was in my sky-high hooker heels and short shorts, an outfit eerily reminiscent of the one I wore whilst seducing his roommate. He probably thinks that all of my clothes totaled equal a singular yard of fabric. He probably thinks I shop exclusively at Fantasy World. I don't know why seeing him bothered/bothers me so much. I think it's a reminder that I will never, ever be able to escape my past. Especially when that past involves booze, scorned lovers, and curry.

What a worthless post. I do feel compelled, however, to point out that while leaving the bar, I ran into a woman who worked in the cube next to me, who was so beyond drunk that I felt the need to pity her instead of myself. This is a woman whose job is to declare winners in elections for the tv network.

No wonder Bush won. Twice.