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.

Greetings from Sunny Florida!

More like "Torrential Downpours Alternating with Scorching Heat" Florida. Seriously- the weather patterns here are pretty stupid. If it's not the surface of the sun, it's a storm of Biblical proportions. I did get to see a rainbow after one of the storms, but I couldn't look at it too long, or the sun was going to burn holes in my eyeballs. I like being home, if for nothing else than the full fridge, nice gym, and free laundry. Hanging out with my parents isn't half-bad either. And when my little turd of a brother isn't feeling so, well, turd-like, it's actually fun! They keep asking me whether or not I am moving here. (Granted, I am not allowed to move in with them, but must rather rent some sort of habitat near them.) Today while getting manicures, my mom predicted to the nail lady* that I will be living here by the time I am 30, "or even sooner, depending on when she gets pregnant." Wait...not only do I have to produce children, but I have to move them to her? Me thinks not. Although, all that free babysitting would be nice...

I don't even know why I am thinking about this! Let's count the number of months that have passed since I have been on a proper date. If that embarrassingly large number says anything, it's that I am more likely to own a unicorn farm than get married and help populate the earth.

*As soon as we left, my mother told me she had a hard time keeping a straight face while getting her nails done, because the manicurist "had teeth like mah jongg tiles. How can she close her mouth?!"

Now you know what kind of tree cultivated my tendency to be a mean little apple.

Funemployment!

What a busy week for this girl! Exclamation point! I cleaned my room, returned a ton of books, and ate an entire jar of peanut butter.

Oh yeah, and graduated from college.

Granted, the above activities took about twenty minutes (plus four years). And now, I am fresh out of things to do. I spent my first task-less day as an unemployed, hyper-educated semi-adult eating sorbet in my underwear while watching a show on Redwood trees and napping. Four hours of that and I was sad and lonely, thus prompting a right-quick escape to Connecticut to love Jessico. I've been back in the city for about 8 hours, and am getting ready to leave again for a sojourn into the Land People Under 70 Forgot. I should probably be packing, but that won't take long; I am just throwing all of my dirty clothes in a bag. I always hope that TSA doesn't go through my stuff, because boy, will I be embarrassed when they see all of my dirty clothing! But, then I remind myself that people so grossly violating my personal rights deserve nothing more than a suitcase full of dirty clothes.*

I am half-watching The Bachelorette while I write this. She is about to eliminate the first round of boys, and has some "really hard choices" to make (cue violins). Let me get this straight- I am supposed to feel sorry for this skinny, gorgeous girl because she has to choose between 25 different men that all want to boink marry her? I am having issues mustering up sympathy for this girl (despite the teaser clip of her crying in front of her mansion). They are now showing interviews with the men who didn't get picked for the chance to woo her. One man is talking about how he quit his job, sold his condo, and moved across the country, only to get rejected immediately. I have two things to say about that:

1. Dummy!
2. Is the state of modern American romance? No wonder I am left to choose from the old ones and the ones in committed relationships with their cousins.

I'm sorry if this was a very boring post for you to read. I think you ought to get used to it, though. My post-collegiate life is not exactly off to an exciting start.

*They also deserve a bunch of dog shit, but I am not about to pack that.

'Splainin

So, I had a preeeetttttty intense anxiety attack at about 3 a.m. last night, which is one of the reasons this blog is now private. I also deleted about 60 Facebook "friends." Then, I rearranged my underwear drawer.

I think that is what happens when you spend all day trying to write about urban toilets and contemplating that graduation is rapidly approaching. Sigh.