As anyone can see, I had to change this blog up a bit. After a few, real and real long months of unemployment, your girl's got a job...even though it could potentially still be considered a hustle because it's a temp position...but it's a legit desk job of sorts!
I know, I know. How do I go from sleeping like a sloth and doing the damn thing every which way I like to sitting behind a desk 9-5 doing computery things and no longer sticking it to the man by doing untaxable work? Well, a girl's gotta eat and earn that dough to get my pretty girl rock back on track. When your mom starts to notice that you haven't been showering because you "don't feel dirty," it probably means your life's heading in the wrong direction. And honestly, I could only work so many holiday stores till I realized, hey I'm not making any money!
Aside from procuring employment, I have also moved to the District to somehow start my life as a Real Housewife of DC. I think I can be a real housewife without ever having been married nor living in a house. All you gotta do is hustle and flow, right? Or maybe that's just in Atlanta.... The series kind of hit a wall in DC because they didn't have the crazy aka Melly C factor and I'm here to revamp that, from the living room of Berica and Bhadley on an air mattress. But it's not an ordinary, one layer Aero bed. This mess is nice! A double layer of gaseous pleasurable sleep, so nice.
And now that I have an income, if I play my insider trading cards right, I could quickly be rich...right? Where's Martha when you need her? I guess I'll just have to make some connects...but legit ones not from my galavants in bars that now are not happening (unless I'm wingwomaning one of mah gurls). I have been made a semi-honest woman by Bpotter, my bif, and can no longer respectably hit on dudes in suits at the bar in hopes of a loveless, money rich marriage. I'm doing some real ish that don't include collecting red heads and biracial midgets experiences.
Despite having given into the corporate world, I downloaded some sweet Weezy and Kid Cudi mixtapes off this website fo' free and so when I'm in my fancy work clothes and looking laced tighty whitey, I'm secretly rockin' out to some Lupe and Wiz Khalifa. Take that, people who shut down my Limewire!
Monday, February 21, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
A Day in the Life
As I venture out of my house to visit various friends, I often get asked, "Since you don't have a job or any hobbies, what do you do all day?"
At first, I was vexed as to how I spent my time. I couldn't think of a single activity that kept me busy for the 10-12 hours a day I normally stay awake. Although I do put out a few resumes a day, it takes about 20 minutes and sure, there's my recent obsession with Anthony Bourdain (you know I'm hooked since this is my second mention of the too-tanned god in my blog). I DVR his show in advance so I have an assortment to choose from when I do finally wake up at 11 AM. However, that show is only 1 hour, and when you factor in fast forwarding, it's cut down to 45 minutes. But then, if you also factor the chance I fall asleep during the episode, it's back up to an hour.
In any case, this show does not account for my time. Lately, my mom has been scheduling household chores/whatever you call it when people come and do stuff in your house. One time when I was about 13 and my brother was 16, a random cleaning lady came to our door and since we don't have a peephole, we looked out the window to see who it was. For some reason, we assumed she could not see us through the open window. She immediately began saying "I see you, I see you. Let me in! I just want to talk about these cleaning supplies for your mom!" It was traumatic and I have not looked forward to these strangers visiting my house to perform random tasks. Yet, since I don't have that much human interaction throughout the day time hours, I've tried to welcome the strangers with open arms, hoping that while they clean my carpet or install a new cable jack that they will offer me a job or their hand in marriage.
I always wonder if the guys will be the Jim Carrey type, you know, freaking weird and obsessive, or the James Franco, hot guy trying to get his acting career in order while making an extra buck cleaning carpets kind. So far I haven't seen either of these types, which is neither a blessing or a curse. But with this in mind, I ponder how I should present myself and what topics to discuss.
Though I want to have a heart to heart with these men (why are handymen always men? I'm not complaining, but it does make a sit down discussion about Oprah over crumpits hard to get into), I am met with the ultimate question of how I should treat them. Do you offer them a cold drink because of the labor intensive work they are doing or do you offer a warm drink because it's cold outside? Is it inappropriate to ask them to open jars that you can't pry open? Would it be weird to ask them to scratch a place in your back you just can't reach? So many questions and there's no Marie Claire guide for etiquette with handymen and I often feel lost in this new realm of social interaction. When I was younger, I could just hide from them but now that I've officially come of age, it's my responsibility to show them common courtesy and take the reins in explaining what needs to be done.
My first question being, do I dress up for my scheduled visitors? I often have to get out of bed before I really want to, so I'm tempted to stay in my sweats as I attempt to seduce these men into matrimony. Yet, since I'm 23, sweats seem an unfit match. They are either too old or too young for a person of my age. I'm drawn to think, what would Taylor Swift do? I'm assuming she has numerous men come into her house for various activities and that she does not wear sweats for any of them. Keeping this in mind, I've opted for jeans the past few days. As I struggle with what outfit is appropriate, I also wonder if I should put on make up.
I usually assume these people think I'm around 15, so I'm okay with not putting on my smokey eye I use for the club, but should I be putting on some sort of foundation or mascara? For some reason, I equate this situation to the one I run into when going to the gym before 4 pm (after all, any self respecting girl has a touch of blush on before 4 pm...right?).
I usually wear make up when I leave the house, but if I'm going to the gym, do I really need to waste it just to later wash it off? The same applies to the cable guy. I'm not actually leaving my house, hell, I'm barely leaving my bed, so is make up a prereq to his arrival? Again, I think, what does T Swizzle have to say? Although she inevitably has a make up artist preparing her for even the accidental encounter with the pool boy, I know she's dabbing on some lip gloss before she hits the snooze button. Since I don't have my own personal assistant handy, I take the poor girl's option and just wear last night's make up for my early morning cable call. After all, I want to look like I had fun the night before but also like I care enough to be made up.
While I sit here and write this, a solid hour has gone by and I didn't even have Anthony on in the background and I didn't take a nap. I think suffice it to say, we can all agree that today has been productive enough for me and I will now go take a nap.
I hope this answered the age old question of, "What does Melissa do?"
At first, I was vexed as to how I spent my time. I couldn't think of a single activity that kept me busy for the 10-12 hours a day I normally stay awake. Although I do put out a few resumes a day, it takes about 20 minutes and sure, there's my recent obsession with Anthony Bourdain (you know I'm hooked since this is my second mention of the too-tanned god in my blog). I DVR his show in advance so I have an assortment to choose from when I do finally wake up at 11 AM. However, that show is only 1 hour, and when you factor in fast forwarding, it's cut down to 45 minutes. But then, if you also factor the chance I fall asleep during the episode, it's back up to an hour.
In any case, this show does not account for my time. Lately, my mom has been scheduling household chores/whatever you call it when people come and do stuff in your house. One time when I was about 13 and my brother was 16, a random cleaning lady came to our door and since we don't have a peephole, we looked out the window to see who it was. For some reason, we assumed she could not see us through the open window. She immediately began saying "I see you, I see you. Let me in! I just want to talk about these cleaning supplies for your mom!" It was traumatic and I have not looked forward to these strangers visiting my house to perform random tasks. Yet, since I don't have that much human interaction throughout the day time hours, I've tried to welcome the strangers with open arms, hoping that while they clean my carpet or install a new cable jack that they will offer me a job or their hand in marriage.
I always wonder if the guys will be the Jim Carrey type, you know, freaking weird and obsessive, or the James Franco, hot guy trying to get his acting career in order while making an extra buck cleaning carpets kind. So far I haven't seen either of these types, which is neither a blessing or a curse. But with this in mind, I ponder how I should present myself and what topics to discuss.
Though I want to have a heart to heart with these men (why are handymen always men? I'm not complaining, but it does make a sit down discussion about Oprah over crumpits hard to get into), I am met with the ultimate question of how I should treat them. Do you offer them a cold drink because of the labor intensive work they are doing or do you offer a warm drink because it's cold outside? Is it inappropriate to ask them to open jars that you can't pry open? Would it be weird to ask them to scratch a place in your back you just can't reach? So many questions and there's no Marie Claire guide for etiquette with handymen and I often feel lost in this new realm of social interaction. When I was younger, I could just hide from them but now that I've officially come of age, it's my responsibility to show them common courtesy and take the reins in explaining what needs to be done.
My first question being, do I dress up for my scheduled visitors? I often have to get out of bed before I really want to, so I'm tempted to stay in my sweats as I attempt to seduce these men into matrimony. Yet, since I'm 23, sweats seem an unfit match. They are either too old or too young for a person of my age. I'm drawn to think, what would Taylor Swift do? I'm assuming she has numerous men come into her house for various activities and that she does not wear sweats for any of them. Keeping this in mind, I've opted for jeans the past few days. As I struggle with what outfit is appropriate, I also wonder if I should put on make up.
I usually assume these people think I'm around 15, so I'm okay with not putting on my smokey eye I use for the club, but should I be putting on some sort of foundation or mascara? For some reason, I equate this situation to the one I run into when going to the gym before 4 pm (after all, any self respecting girl has a touch of blush on before 4 pm...right?).
I usually wear make up when I leave the house, but if I'm going to the gym, do I really need to waste it just to later wash it off? The same applies to the cable guy. I'm not actually leaving my house, hell, I'm barely leaving my bed, so is make up a prereq to his arrival? Again, I think, what does T Swizzle have to say? Although she inevitably has a make up artist preparing her for even the accidental encounter with the pool boy, I know she's dabbing on some lip gloss before she hits the snooze button. Since I don't have my own personal assistant handy, I take the poor girl's option and just wear last night's make up for my early morning cable call. After all, I want to look like I had fun the night before but also like I care enough to be made up.
While I sit here and write this, a solid hour has gone by and I didn't even have Anthony on in the background and I didn't take a nap. I think suffice it to say, we can all agree that today has been productive enough for me and I will now go take a nap.
I hope this answered the age old question of, "What does Melissa do?"
Thursday, January 13, 2011
New Year, Still Hustling
Apparently since my last entry, we have entered a new year. Having somehow skipped that in my blogging, I've decided to dedicate this entry to my top favorite things of this year so far. I gotta say, it's gonna take some time for the rest of the year to catch up to this past week and a half.
1. Lauryn Hill- she's making a come back, but with her old throw back hits from '98. I recently saw her in concert and despite her very apparent highness, her voice is just as sweet as it was when she was opposite Whoopi Goldberg in a habit. Though she apparently doesn't like white people, if it weren't for the 85% caucasian crowd, her own "habit" may have ended. Nevertheless, shout out to LH and much love to kicking it to the grind.
2. Snow- This is the only thing that brings those employed back to my level as they cannot attend work because of the blizzard-like conditions that we've experienced thus far in 2011. If it weren't for the snow, I'd remember each day that I still have no job and am not in school; however, with the snow, everyone becomes unemployed...and I like it.
3. Anthony Bourdain- for those of you not in the know, this old man is the hottest thing I've seen in a long time. Something about his curly gray hair and leather-like skin is so elusive, yet completely attainable. He drops the eff bomb like the A bomb on his show "No Reservations" and has stolen my heart. He gets sloshed on every episode and travels around to all these exotic places that I barely know exist. A new personal life goal- become Bourdain's Anna Nicole and get some before he kicks the basket.
4. Stray dogs- My mother surprised me with 2 pups as we apparently became foster parents to these orphan dogs. Though we cannot put them on the furniture nor bet on them in a fight, we still get to pet them and cuddle with them on the floor. I can say I've grown attached, despite their constant peeing on the floor and loud barking. It's nice to have someone at home with me during the day.
5. My hermit neighbor- this kind of goes along with number 4, but she deserves her own number. This lady once left a very mean typed note on our door about our unkempt yard, but she has somehow won a place in my heart as she has fallen in love with our orphans. She lives her life in her bathrobe and a cigarette in her hand, but she has come over twice since we got the dogs to get me to show the dogs to her friends. I have since forgiven her previous behavior as I feel sorry that our new dogs are the new joy in her life. As long as she's not typing up passive aggressive notes anymore, I'm good.
6. Clean feet- after the New Year's blow out at an open bar in Charlotte, I've really come to appreciate clean feet. People trampled on me, spilled drinks on me, and dropped food on my feet and by the end of the night, I couldn't see the tops of my feet through the bruises and dirt. After washing them, I decided I would never let them get to that level again. Therefore, clean feet are one of my favorite things.
7. Just Dance 2 (the Wii game)- Bsarita bought it after Christmas and we played it for a solid 4 hours. I don't think I've done anything for 4 straight hours since I was in school, and it felt amazing. I'm pretty uncoordinated, which made it surprisingly more fun. I should post videos I took of Bkristen, Bchristie, Bsarita, Bdanielle, and Bannie, buutttt I'm too nice of a person.
8. Twitter- though I've been on Twitter for some time now, I have a new appreciation for it after I converted 3 new tweeps. Spreading the word and the advantages to this social media outlet should count as a job and I feel I should be paid...but, since I get a lot out of Twitter, I don't mind giving back a little bit. All I gotta say is, Twitter may be my only news outlet these days, take note nytimes.com.
9. Primetime OnDemand- streaming "30 Rock" straight to your TV? Yes please! Though I'm never sure if I'm watching the most recent season or just some oldies, I still get to watch the shows I want whenever i want. Pretty sweet.
10. People who give me interviews- Though I have yet to procured a job, I enjoy when people give me interviews. It's nice to get an interview every now and then just to keep me searching... when can you apply for unemployment? I hear you have to have a job first, but does several unsuccessful interviews work?
2011, what can I say? It's been a real two weeks, now give me some of the same for the next 50!
1. Lauryn Hill- she's making a come back, but with her old throw back hits from '98. I recently saw her in concert and despite her very apparent highness, her voice is just as sweet as it was when she was opposite Whoopi Goldberg in a habit. Though she apparently doesn't like white people, if it weren't for the 85% caucasian crowd, her own "habit" may have ended. Nevertheless, shout out to LH and much love to kicking it to the grind.
2. Snow- This is the only thing that brings those employed back to my level as they cannot attend work because of the blizzard-like conditions that we've experienced thus far in 2011. If it weren't for the snow, I'd remember each day that I still have no job and am not in school; however, with the snow, everyone becomes unemployed...and I like it.
3. Anthony Bourdain- for those of you not in the know, this old man is the hottest thing I've seen in a long time. Something about his curly gray hair and leather-like skin is so elusive, yet completely attainable. He drops the eff bomb like the A bomb on his show "No Reservations" and has stolen my heart. He gets sloshed on every episode and travels around to all these exotic places that I barely know exist. A new personal life goal- become Bourdain's Anna Nicole and get some before he kicks the basket.
4. Stray dogs- My mother surprised me with 2 pups as we apparently became foster parents to these orphan dogs. Though we cannot put them on the furniture nor bet on them in a fight, we still get to pet them and cuddle with them on the floor. I can say I've grown attached, despite their constant peeing on the floor and loud barking. It's nice to have someone at home with me during the day.
5. My hermit neighbor- this kind of goes along with number 4, but she deserves her own number. This lady once left a very mean typed note on our door about our unkempt yard, but she has somehow won a place in my heart as she has fallen in love with our orphans. She lives her life in her bathrobe and a cigarette in her hand, but she has come over twice since we got the dogs to get me to show the dogs to her friends. I have since forgiven her previous behavior as I feel sorry that our new dogs are the new joy in her life. As long as she's not typing up passive aggressive notes anymore, I'm good.
6. Clean feet- after the New Year's blow out at an open bar in Charlotte, I've really come to appreciate clean feet. People trampled on me, spilled drinks on me, and dropped food on my feet and by the end of the night, I couldn't see the tops of my feet through the bruises and dirt. After washing them, I decided I would never let them get to that level again. Therefore, clean feet are one of my favorite things.
7. Just Dance 2 (the Wii game)- Bsarita bought it after Christmas and we played it for a solid 4 hours. I don't think I've done anything for 4 straight hours since I was in school, and it felt amazing. I'm pretty uncoordinated, which made it surprisingly more fun. I should post videos I took of Bkristen, Bchristie, Bsarita, Bdanielle, and Bannie, buutttt I'm too nice of a person.
8. Twitter- though I've been on Twitter for some time now, I have a new appreciation for it after I converted 3 new tweeps. Spreading the word and the advantages to this social media outlet should count as a job and I feel I should be paid...but, since I get a lot out of Twitter, I don't mind giving back a little bit. All I gotta say is, Twitter may be my only news outlet these days, take note nytimes.com.
9. Primetime OnDemand- streaming "30 Rock" straight to your TV? Yes please! Though I'm never sure if I'm watching the most recent season or just some oldies, I still get to watch the shows I want whenever i want. Pretty sweet.
10. People who give me interviews- Though I have yet to procured a job, I enjoy when people give me interviews. It's nice to get an interview every now and then just to keep me searching... when can you apply for unemployment? I hear you have to have a job first, but does several unsuccessful interviews work?
2011, what can I say? It's been a real two weeks, now give me some of the same for the next 50!
Monday, December 27, 2010
Who You Find on the Grind
In addition to sending out enormous amounts of resumes to random companies, I have been back at my old hustles...namely the old lady garment industry. For those of you new to this blog, I pride myself on finding strange, legal ways to get money. In the past, I've worked a traveling roadshow of 2-3 racks of clothes made of spandex, lycra-esque material outfits perfect for your Nana or prematurely aging mother or friend. Apparently the roadshow had made its rounds and came back to my town.
These fools called me up on a Tuesday night to work at 7:30 AM the following day, and like a dog in heat finding a mate unexpectedly, I quickly accepted and got suited up for the job.
I knew what I was getting into and rejoiced in obtaining some sort of income outside of my monthly allowance via my parents. I gotta do something to contribute to my eating and drinking habits, right? I like to feel like I'm at least 3% self sufficient with this moo-moo hustle; it is where it's at.
Unlike my previous roadshow experience, my second shift was marred by a random sleet storm. After consulting with my coworker, we both opted out on working that day. I called in, thought everything was cool and kept on keeping on. Though I admit it, I probably could have driven to work in my sedan, to make myself feel better I refused to get into any car that was not an SUV that day. If I didn't get into a normal car that drove fine on the roads, I could think that there was no way my Beefy Corolla could have taken that road... that's how I reason it, anyway.
I roll into work the next day and some chica is up in my biznaz tryna run my racks. At first, I was confused so I called my contact at the rando company. She apparently fired me and my other coworker who didn't come in that snowy day without telling us and apparently wasn't going to tell us. She hired some other bias via craigslist (only fueling my love-hate, mostly hate, relationship with craigslist) and they were all up on the schedule. She quickly said that since I showed up for my previously scheduled shift that day and only lived 10 minutes away that I could keep my hours. I was relieved mainly because I already bought my Christmas presents and spent more on them than the usual $10, thrift shop, hand-me down gifts I usually get for my family. So, I continued working.
Since I would now be working at the same time as these new chicks, I decided to get to know them and I thought I'd share with you the type of people you encounter while hustling random grinds around town.
The first girl, whom I will call Bsnooki (not to be confused with Snooki). Bsnooki was amiable and quick to tell me the facts of her life. Coming from a farm (she never said what the farm produced, so I assumed for myself what they grew), her dad was a pothead and her brother was in jail for selling the ganja. She herself was on probation for a DWI, being only 20. She moved out of her parents house at 15 (what, can people do that at that age?) and into a dude's house. Then she was in the army for a year, a year she apparently spent sleeping in her locker so as not to do work. She seemed reliable enough, though her boyfriend was apparently the jealous controlling type and they lived in the basement of his 109 year old grandmother's house. Bsnooki was a talker, and it kept me entertained. I played up my hoodrat roots living, saying I once lived in an apartment when I was young and had divorced parents. I tried to relate and thought I gave a pretty good impression of also being from a similar background. She talked of the rough life and paying bills, and I talked about how hard it was to decide which J Crew shirt to buy and which relative I would ask for money to make that purchase. It seemed a match made in heaven. The last time I saw her she was going to an audition for a dancer position from an ad she also found on craigslist. It's to be determined if this dancing took place on a pole or a stage, or a combo. More power to you, Bsnooki, you get through that probation!
The next lady was someone I'll call Belinda. She was a little older than the rest of us, but the pounds of make up she wore concealed her age...and quite honestly, her identity. She had a tranny glow about her, but she really was a sweetheart and her troubles were insane. She had high blood pressure, a heart murmur-type thing, her grandpa was about to die, and she seemed to live in an animal menagerie from what I understood about the amount of pets she had. Her thick Southern accent and odd colloquialisms (something "thicker than a cat's tail on Christmas day" is a good thing, right?) along with my Melly from the Block way of talking made communication difficult at times and I found myself nodding along as she listed what I assumed were her ailments. I became a little scared that she would pass out and I would not be able to do anything but rely on the sample-giver outers to CPR her back into working order. I don't think her health was helped by her cigarette habit, but she seemed okay with her way of life...well, aside from the fact that some medicine she was on would make her walk in her sleep at night and dig through drawers and boxes of cereal, or make and eat a peanut butter sandwich.
My favorite buddy was Bojangles. I don't mean that she was fat by using that name, but instead to imply that we bonded on our love of Bojangles biscuits. She was also a recent graduate from an accredited university and felt for my unemployed way of life. She hated being stuck in the Dash but also didn't know how to get out of it. We both had the same opinions about education, law, and sleep walking. In our 4 hour work shifts together, I got to know her real well and I felt like we were really sistas. Out of all the people I've met on the grind, she had to have been the only one I could have an intelligent conversation with and still laugh about the odd looking people that came into the store. Although we hugged as I left, Bojangles was the only person I did not get the number of upon my last day of work, thus dashing my hopes of having 3 friends in my hometown to hang out with.
I also met some weird people that gave out samples. I feel like I don't really need to describe them because, well, if you've ever been to a bulk store, you know the samplers are just plain odd (except for Bantwone). They will give you extra samples if you work with them though, which can be nice when you don't want to buy a day old hotdog from the club restaurant.
After all that, I'd say I'd do it again. I like the samples, the stories, and the money.
These fools called me up on a Tuesday night to work at 7:30 AM the following day, and like a dog in heat finding a mate unexpectedly, I quickly accepted and got suited up for the job.
I knew what I was getting into and rejoiced in obtaining some sort of income outside of my monthly allowance via my parents. I gotta do something to contribute to my eating and drinking habits, right? I like to feel like I'm at least 3% self sufficient with this moo-moo hustle; it is where it's at.
Unlike my previous roadshow experience, my second shift was marred by a random sleet storm. After consulting with my coworker, we both opted out on working that day. I called in, thought everything was cool and kept on keeping on. Though I admit it, I probably could have driven to work in my sedan, to make myself feel better I refused to get into any car that was not an SUV that day. If I didn't get into a normal car that drove fine on the roads, I could think that there was no way my Beefy Corolla could have taken that road... that's how I reason it, anyway.
I roll into work the next day and some chica is up in my biznaz tryna run my racks. At first, I was confused so I called my contact at the rando company. She apparently fired me and my other coworker who didn't come in that snowy day without telling us and apparently wasn't going to tell us. She hired some other bias via craigslist (only fueling my love-hate, mostly hate, relationship with craigslist) and they were all up on the schedule. She quickly said that since I showed up for my previously scheduled shift that day and only lived 10 minutes away that I could keep my hours. I was relieved mainly because I already bought my Christmas presents and spent more on them than the usual $10, thrift shop, hand-me down gifts I usually get for my family. So, I continued working.
Since I would now be working at the same time as these new chicks, I decided to get to know them and I thought I'd share with you the type of people you encounter while hustling random grinds around town.
The first girl, whom I will call Bsnooki (not to be confused with Snooki). Bsnooki was amiable and quick to tell me the facts of her life. Coming from a farm (she never said what the farm produced, so I assumed for myself what they grew), her dad was a pothead and her brother was in jail for selling the ganja. She herself was on probation for a DWI, being only 20. She moved out of her parents house at 15 (what, can people do that at that age?) and into a dude's house. Then she was in the army for a year, a year she apparently spent sleeping in her locker so as not to do work. She seemed reliable enough, though her boyfriend was apparently the jealous controlling type and they lived in the basement of his 109 year old grandmother's house. Bsnooki was a talker, and it kept me entertained. I played up my hoodrat roots living, saying I once lived in an apartment when I was young and had divorced parents. I tried to relate and thought I gave a pretty good impression of also being from a similar background. She talked of the rough life and paying bills, and I talked about how hard it was to decide which J Crew shirt to buy and which relative I would ask for money to make that purchase. It seemed a match made in heaven. The last time I saw her she was going to an audition for a dancer position from an ad she also found on craigslist. It's to be determined if this dancing took place on a pole or a stage, or a combo. More power to you, Bsnooki, you get through that probation!
The next lady was someone I'll call Belinda. She was a little older than the rest of us, but the pounds of make up she wore concealed her age...and quite honestly, her identity. She had a tranny glow about her, but she really was a sweetheart and her troubles were insane. She had high blood pressure, a heart murmur-type thing, her grandpa was about to die, and she seemed to live in an animal menagerie from what I understood about the amount of pets she had. Her thick Southern accent and odd colloquialisms (something "thicker than a cat's tail on Christmas day" is a good thing, right?) along with my Melly from the Block way of talking made communication difficult at times and I found myself nodding along as she listed what I assumed were her ailments. I became a little scared that she would pass out and I would not be able to do anything but rely on the sample-giver outers to CPR her back into working order. I don't think her health was helped by her cigarette habit, but she seemed okay with her way of life...well, aside from the fact that some medicine she was on would make her walk in her sleep at night and dig through drawers and boxes of cereal, or make and eat a peanut butter sandwich.
My favorite buddy was Bojangles. I don't mean that she was fat by using that name, but instead to imply that we bonded on our love of Bojangles biscuits. She was also a recent graduate from an accredited university and felt for my unemployed way of life. She hated being stuck in the Dash but also didn't know how to get out of it. We both had the same opinions about education, law, and sleep walking. In our 4 hour work shifts together, I got to know her real well and I felt like we were really sistas. Out of all the people I've met on the grind, she had to have been the only one I could have an intelligent conversation with and still laugh about the odd looking people that came into the store. Although we hugged as I left, Bojangles was the only person I did not get the number of upon my last day of work, thus dashing my hopes of having 3 friends in my hometown to hang out with.
I also met some weird people that gave out samples. I feel like I don't really need to describe them because, well, if you've ever been to a bulk store, you know the samplers are just plain odd (except for Bantwone). They will give you extra samples if you work with them though, which can be nice when you don't want to buy a day old hotdog from the club restaurant.
After all that, I'd say I'd do it again. I like the samples, the stories, and the money.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
In a District of Columbia Non-State of Mind
Wow, how time has flown and yet nothing has really been done to remedy this unemployment predicament I am in! Jk jk, I'm on the job prowl and for that, I had to traverse out of my comfort zone and into the District. As for the delay in updating, I apologize. I know you four people have been patiently awaiting an update!
Anywho, it was to the good old Capitol town I went earlier this week. I've been there before, in fact, I had a wee bit of an obsession for most of my life and have gone at least once a year. Something about old statues and homeless people, along with the highest STD rate in the nation, just makes my heart skip a beat and I have to go back.
This trip was unlike my others because I was actually doing something productive by getting some interviews via my buddy Berica. In hard economic times like this, it helps to have friends who will pass your resume, and not your blog, to future employers. I had three set up for Tuesday and a Happy Hour with some real working girls afterward, aka the perfect day.
In post interview celebration and pre Happy Hour time, I headed to the subway to try and navigate my maybe future home. I took the long way to the metro stop and after an hour of walking, got on. Maybe not the best plan in 28 degree weather, but it worked. I looked at the metro map and figured I'd go to the Smithsonians since they were free.
As I got out of the stop, the wind had picked up and I realized I needed to get inside somewhere quick and immediately stumbled upon the Holocaust Museum. In an effort to get feeling back in my toes, set the mood for Happy Hour, and celebrate Hanukkah, it seemed like the perfect spot. It was free because it was the off season, so I ventured inside. I couldn't help but be reminded of a previous visit to the Holocaust Museum that I shared with my friend Bkelly.
I was visiting Bkelly as she spent the summer working for some non-profit. We couldn't think of anything to do, so we went to the Holocaust Museum's gift shop, naturally. We looked around at the menorahs, the Torahs, and the postcards to pass the time. We both spotted a tiny, ancient lady who seemed to straining to reach a book (at least I remember her playing up the damsel in distress bit) so we walked over to see if she needed help.
She motioned for us to follow her to the back of the store, and we did, thinking that something was just too high for her to reach in her Merrels. All of a sudden, a table appeared before us with a mound of books atop it and an empty chair behind it. The lady sat down and handed each of us a book. She explained that this was in fact her book about her experience in the Holocaust.
Moved by her words, I thumbed through it. There were pictures of her as a young girl and I genuinely was interested, but just not in buying it. As I looked through it, I tried to find the words of consolation for such an experience and also the words to say that I was just looking and not intending to spend $20 on her book, Bkelly sat the book down and walked away, leaving me looking like a putz.
Now, it's not that I didn't want to buy the book or didn't feel for the lady, but I was a college student with limited funding and limited time to read. Trying to politely get out of the conversation without purchasing the book, I proceeded to ask her to sign the book, thinking I could get her to sign it then walk away and leave it somewhere where she wouldn't see me put it down.
Unluckily, she informed me that I would have to pay for the book before she could write in it. This was a predicament indeed because there was just no easy out. I caved and put the book on my credit card then returned to the table and asked for it to be personalized. The lady did it with the biggest smile and quickest pen. I walked away feeling I had made this lady's day.
I met Bkelly outside, who was laughing at me for being a softie and buying the lady's memoir. I mean, how can you say "no" to a lady who has been through the Holocaust? It's just not right!
When I returned home after my trip, I opened the book, because I believed it deserved a read for both the lady and my $20. I never finished it because it was probably one of the most poorly written books I ever started. I felt like I should almost edit it then send a copy to her to republish. I read the back of it and got the jist.
I felt I did both her and I a favor by reading the synopsis, but I also remembered to not go into a museum's bookstore again unless I wanted a signed book or rock candy.
Anywho, it was to the good old Capitol town I went earlier this week. I've been there before, in fact, I had a wee bit of an obsession for most of my life and have gone at least once a year. Something about old statues and homeless people, along with the highest STD rate in the nation, just makes my heart skip a beat and I have to go back.
This trip was unlike my others because I was actually doing something productive by getting some interviews via my buddy Berica. In hard economic times like this, it helps to have friends who will pass your resume, and not your blog, to future employers. I had three set up for Tuesday and a Happy Hour with some real working girls afterward, aka the perfect day.
In post interview celebration and pre Happy Hour time, I headed to the subway to try and navigate my maybe future home. I took the long way to the metro stop and after an hour of walking, got on. Maybe not the best plan in 28 degree weather, but it worked. I looked at the metro map and figured I'd go to the Smithsonians since they were free.
As I got out of the stop, the wind had picked up and I realized I needed to get inside somewhere quick and immediately stumbled upon the Holocaust Museum. In an effort to get feeling back in my toes, set the mood for Happy Hour, and celebrate Hanukkah, it seemed like the perfect spot. It was free because it was the off season, so I ventured inside. I couldn't help but be reminded of a previous visit to the Holocaust Museum that I shared with my friend Bkelly.
I was visiting Bkelly as she spent the summer working for some non-profit. We couldn't think of anything to do, so we went to the Holocaust Museum's gift shop, naturally. We looked around at the menorahs, the Torahs, and the postcards to pass the time. We both spotted a tiny, ancient lady who seemed to straining to reach a book (at least I remember her playing up the damsel in distress bit) so we walked over to see if she needed help.
She motioned for us to follow her to the back of the store, and we did, thinking that something was just too high for her to reach in her Merrels. All of a sudden, a table appeared before us with a mound of books atop it and an empty chair behind it. The lady sat down and handed each of us a book. She explained that this was in fact her book about her experience in the Holocaust.
Moved by her words, I thumbed through it. There were pictures of her as a young girl and I genuinely was interested, but just not in buying it. As I looked through it, I tried to find the words of consolation for such an experience and also the words to say that I was just looking and not intending to spend $20 on her book, Bkelly sat the book down and walked away, leaving me looking like a putz.
Now, it's not that I didn't want to buy the book or didn't feel for the lady, but I was a college student with limited funding and limited time to read. Trying to politely get out of the conversation without purchasing the book, I proceeded to ask her to sign the book, thinking I could get her to sign it then walk away and leave it somewhere where she wouldn't see me put it down.
Unluckily, she informed me that I would have to pay for the book before she could write in it. This was a predicament indeed because there was just no easy out. I caved and put the book on my credit card then returned to the table and asked for it to be personalized. The lady did it with the biggest smile and quickest pen. I walked away feeling I had made this lady's day.
I met Bkelly outside, who was laughing at me for being a softie and buying the lady's memoir. I mean, how can you say "no" to a lady who has been through the Holocaust? It's just not right!
When I returned home after my trip, I opened the book, because I believed it deserved a read for both the lady and my $20. I never finished it because it was probably one of the most poorly written books I ever started. I felt like I should almost edit it then send a copy to her to republish. I read the back of it and got the jist.
I felt I did both her and I a favor by reading the synopsis, but I also remembered to not go into a museum's bookstore again unless I wanted a signed book or rock candy.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Okay, Maybe Not
I did not and will not be going to Korea. It came down to a game-time decision. It was reminiscent of a game-time employment decision I made a mere 2 years ago...
To set the scene, imagine a young girl on the cusp of womanhood who only wants to make a ton of money to replace her crappy IBM with a brand new Mac. A young, Latino man offers her an opportunity. He was an elusive young chap with a penchant for sales, smoldering eyes, and a pitch she could not ignore... whoa, I may be reading too many trashy novels... The job was in sales, though the it required door-to-door sales of school books and not of her body as she does when she participate in research studies.
As I got more into the job, I realized this Latino had a novia and I wasn't going to be making money and dating him, but it was okay because the whole second semester of school, I fantasized about how much money I'd make and be throwing over my head like Richie Rich and wondered if Ben Frank or Ol' Washington would be better to wipe my face with after bathing in quarters. I was hyped, I was ready, I wanted that green staining my skin. Everyone was like, "Don't kids get school books... in school?" and "Aren't children in St. Louis illiterate?" but my thirst for book sales could not be satiated. I was going to St. Louis and that was that. I had prepared my housing for the duration of the trip, my car for the ride and my mind for a long, yet hugely monetarily satisfying summer. I was one suitcase short of out the door, when I decided to go out one night with Banna.
I was explaining my exciting new job as Banna's eyes and mouth grew open in anticipation of a rebuttal. As soon as I finished my elated explanation, Banna grabbed my arm and screamed "DON'T DO IT, DON'T DO IT, DON'T DO IT! I did it for a week and HATED it! I'm calling this dude who hired me and convinced me to quit right now to talk to you!" Granted it was at the end of the night and we were in Bski's, the speed with which she dialed a guy I'll call "Bernie" (mostly because I forgot his name), convinced me she meant business. She handed me the phone.
Bernie was pretty inebriated, as I detected in his slurred speech, but his message was clear. As I woofed down my AKski, I listened to this kid monologue me into the fear of leaving my house. He said the following:
"Imagine yourself in a city you've never been in, doing something you don't wanna do that no one even understands why you're doing it. You know no one and don't recognize anyone except the guy who drove by delivering pizza and you swear it's the Papa. You've just knocked on 50 doors, in 30 minutes, but no one has answered a single door or let you in. The temperature is rising and you're wearing a suit to appear legit, and you can't take off the coat. You find yourself sitting on the curb with cottonmouth from the night before when you drank away your sorrows and no water in sight. You're alone...utterly alone. Your dad told you to be a man and never cry, but you start balling anyway and snot's running down your nose. And this is only the first day, not even the first hour. You're alone, forever."
Well, as you can tell, it sounded miserable. I hung up the phone and shed a tear for the poor soul I had just spoken to. For a half second, I thought, "He must just be a really bad salesman, or ugly." But Banna was there to assure me that Bernie was hot and the job was really just that bad. She also told me that she had single-handedly convinced 10 other people to quit when she realized how bad it was, which made me wonder why she didn't stay and make boatloads of money if she was that good. In any case, I was convinced this was not for me and the next day canceled my plans and got a room in Banna's house for the summer.
That summer, I ended up working at a pool and spending a lovely two months with differently-abled individuals like M'Lady (who deserves her own book full of entries). Though I spent all the money I made on liquid food, it was better than sitting on a curb crying, alone...
Maybe this experience influenced my decision about Korea. The thought of sitting on a curb (does Korea even have curbs?) crying and being the tallest person in the city, though while fulfilling my fantasy of being an Amazon queen, really did not appeal to me anymore. I'm not knocking those who are there sticking to the teaching grind, more power to you, all I gotsta say is that it isn't for me, mainly because after reading my last entry, I REALLY do not wanna become Sister Bjoan...glass eye...ew.
To set the scene, imagine a young girl on the cusp of womanhood who only wants to make a ton of money to replace her crappy IBM with a brand new Mac. A young, Latino man offers her an opportunity. He was an elusive young chap with a penchant for sales, smoldering eyes, and a pitch she could not ignore... whoa, I may be reading too many trashy novels... The job was in sales, though the it required door-to-door sales of school books and not of her body as she does when she participate in research studies.
As I got more into the job, I realized this Latino had a novia and I wasn't going to be making money and dating him, but it was okay because the whole second semester of school, I fantasized about how much money I'd make and be throwing over my head like Richie Rich and wondered if Ben Frank or Ol' Washington would be better to wipe my face with after bathing in quarters. I was hyped, I was ready, I wanted that green staining my skin. Everyone was like, "Don't kids get school books... in school?" and "Aren't children in St. Louis illiterate?" but my thirst for book sales could not be satiated. I was going to St. Louis and that was that. I had prepared my housing for the duration of the trip, my car for the ride and my mind for a long, yet hugely monetarily satisfying summer. I was one suitcase short of out the door, when I decided to go out one night with Banna.
I was explaining my exciting new job as Banna's eyes and mouth grew open in anticipation of a rebuttal. As soon as I finished my elated explanation, Banna grabbed my arm and screamed "DON'T DO IT, DON'T DO IT, DON'T DO IT! I did it for a week and HATED it! I'm calling this dude who hired me and convinced me to quit right now to talk to you!" Granted it was at the end of the night and we were in Bski's, the speed with which she dialed a guy I'll call "Bernie" (mostly because I forgot his name), convinced me she meant business. She handed me the phone.
Bernie was pretty inebriated, as I detected in his slurred speech, but his message was clear. As I woofed down my AKski, I listened to this kid monologue me into the fear of leaving my house. He said the following:
"Imagine yourself in a city you've never been in, doing something you don't wanna do that no one even understands why you're doing it. You know no one and don't recognize anyone except the guy who drove by delivering pizza and you swear it's the Papa. You've just knocked on 50 doors, in 30 minutes, but no one has answered a single door or let you in. The temperature is rising and you're wearing a suit to appear legit, and you can't take off the coat. You find yourself sitting on the curb with cottonmouth from the night before when you drank away your sorrows and no water in sight. You're alone...utterly alone. Your dad told you to be a man and never cry, but you start balling anyway and snot's running down your nose. And this is only the first day, not even the first hour. You're alone, forever."
Well, as you can tell, it sounded miserable. I hung up the phone and shed a tear for the poor soul I had just spoken to. For a half second, I thought, "He must just be a really bad salesman, or ugly." But Banna was there to assure me that Bernie was hot and the job was really just that bad. She also told me that she had single-handedly convinced 10 other people to quit when she realized how bad it was, which made me wonder why she didn't stay and make boatloads of money if she was that good. In any case, I was convinced this was not for me and the next day canceled my plans and got a room in Banna's house for the summer.
That summer, I ended up working at a pool and spending a lovely two months with differently-abled individuals like M'Lady (who deserves her own book full of entries). Though I spent all the money I made on liquid food, it was better than sitting on a curb crying, alone...
Maybe this experience influenced my decision about Korea. The thought of sitting on a curb (does Korea even have curbs?) crying and being the tallest person in the city, though while fulfilling my fantasy of being an Amazon queen, really did not appeal to me anymore. I'm not knocking those who are there sticking to the teaching grind, more power to you, all I gotsta say is that it isn't for me, mainly because after reading my last entry, I REALLY do not wanna become Sister Bjoan...glass eye...ew.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Korea, There's An Idea
In an attempt to be witty, I may have actually not rhymed as I hoped in the title of this entry, but I still like it and therefore will use it (so THERE, Bmichelle!).
Anyway, my months of being the ultimate bum are quickly coming to a close as I say bon voyage to myself while embarking on a new chapter in my blogger/real life, but first, a little background.
As an elementary student, day in and day out, I pledged my allegiance to quitting school when I was 16 and joining the circus as a gymnast whose only real talent was rolling around on the floor thinking I was doing a cartwheel (my talents are immortalized in my "MLC Reckless Tour" video which may some day go viral... thank God for my brother and his flare for theatrics). It sounded like a great plan and I believed it would make me money. Then, in third grade, freaking Mrs. Henderson (I think that was her name?) decided to make predictions about everyone in the class and their future careers. My friends got great predictions like model, doctor, geisha. I was eager to see mine.
Instead of recognizing my raw physical talent, Mrs. Henderson saw something in my stellar phonics scores and predicted that I'd be the principal of our Catholic elementary school in our podunk town. WTF? First of all, the principal at the time was a nun with a glass eye and drawing any correlation between me and this closeted lezzy was just wrong. I mean, I did have wide shoulders and maybe a tendency of wearing a habit, but seriously?
While I doubt anyone remembers this scarring prediction, I have fought it tooth and nail since I was 9. Yet, somehow, maybe through God and the grace of that dear Sister "Glasseye" Bjoan, I am entering the education field. But it's not a traditional, go to school to be a teacher type of job; it's teaching English in South Korea.
Now it seems crazy to some, but somehow highly logical to me. I mean, where are gymnasts born? ASIA. If I want to continue to pursue my aforementioned real dream career, I gotta learn from the best. Like I said, it's logical, right?
But on the real... I'm about to leave everyone I know and love while following the path I have tried to avoid my entire life: becoming a teacher. I know it's not Sister Bjoan-like to go to Asia to teach and it possibly won't put me back in Bmacon schooling chillans at my old elementary, but the similarities are becoming too eerie for me to handle. She was a teacher (or at least I am assuming she was...don't principals have to be teachers at some point?) and I'm becoming a teacher; if I keep mysteriously getting pink eye, I may lose an eye ball and gain a chunk of rolling glass; the only thing really missing is a large, mullety lady love with whom I go on "outings" to the local seafood restaurant. Too bad my mullety lover would be male and therefore unacceptable.
I guess the only real question is: when will I get thee to a nunnery? Do people even become nuns anymore? You just don't see 20 year old chicks romping around in a flying nun outfit with the lepers like you used to. At one point, I thought I could become a nun, but at another point I also thought that I may be the second coming of Christ. I mean really, if you're going to tell kids that anybody could be Jesus, how are they not supposed to think that they themselves can be Him and thus try to heal a scratch procured from the playground? The things Catholic school does to you.
Again, I lose my focus as I get wrapped up in my fear of the nunnery and being a principal. (Seriously, Mrs. Henderson, your predictions were both jarring and traumatic.) We shall see if South Korea either gives me an Asian, mullet-bearing manfriend or has already reserved a spot for me in the convent...
Anyway, my months of being the ultimate bum are quickly coming to a close as I say bon voyage to myself while embarking on a new chapter in my blogger/real life, but first, a little background.
As an elementary student, day in and day out, I pledged my allegiance to quitting school when I was 16 and joining the circus as a gymnast whose only real talent was rolling around on the floor thinking I was doing a cartwheel (my talents are immortalized in my "MLC Reckless Tour" video which may some day go viral... thank God for my brother and his flare for theatrics). It sounded like a great plan and I believed it would make me money. Then, in third grade, freaking Mrs. Henderson (I think that was her name?) decided to make predictions about everyone in the class and their future careers. My friends got great predictions like model, doctor, geisha. I was eager to see mine.
Instead of recognizing my raw physical talent, Mrs. Henderson saw something in my stellar phonics scores and predicted that I'd be the principal of our Catholic elementary school in our podunk town. WTF? First of all, the principal at the time was a nun with a glass eye and drawing any correlation between me and this closeted lezzy was just wrong. I mean, I did have wide shoulders and maybe a tendency of wearing a habit, but seriously?
While I doubt anyone remembers this scarring prediction, I have fought it tooth and nail since I was 9. Yet, somehow, maybe through God and the grace of that dear Sister "Glasseye" Bjoan, I am entering the education field. But it's not a traditional, go to school to be a teacher type of job; it's teaching English in South Korea.
Now it seems crazy to some, but somehow highly logical to me. I mean, where are gymnasts born? ASIA. If I want to continue to pursue my aforementioned real dream career, I gotta learn from the best. Like I said, it's logical, right?
But on the real... I'm about to leave everyone I know and love while following the path I have tried to avoid my entire life: becoming a teacher. I know it's not Sister Bjoan-like to go to Asia to teach and it possibly won't put me back in Bmacon schooling chillans at my old elementary, but the similarities are becoming too eerie for me to handle. She was a teacher (or at least I am assuming she was...don't principals have to be teachers at some point?) and I'm becoming a teacher; if I keep mysteriously getting pink eye, I may lose an eye ball and gain a chunk of rolling glass; the only thing really missing is a large, mullety lady love with whom I go on "outings" to the local seafood restaurant. Too bad my mullety lover would be male and therefore unacceptable.
I guess the only real question is: when will I get thee to a nunnery? Do people even become nuns anymore? You just don't see 20 year old chicks romping around in a flying nun outfit with the lepers like you used to. At one point, I thought I could become a nun, but at another point I also thought that I may be the second coming of Christ. I mean really, if you're going to tell kids that anybody could be Jesus, how are they not supposed to think that they themselves can be Him and thus try to heal a scratch procured from the playground? The things Catholic school does to you.
Again, I lose my focus as I get wrapped up in my fear of the nunnery and being a principal. (Seriously, Mrs. Henderson, your predictions were both jarring and traumatic.) We shall see if South Korea either gives me an Asian, mullet-bearing manfriend or has already reserved a spot for me in the convent...
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