Monday, May 27, 2013

Us Versus Them

I have watched Stephen Colbert's commencement speech to the graduating class of the University of Virginia many, many times this evening. It very neatly addressed the growing dissonance between competing generations, though I'm certain that wasn't his overall intent. He ever so gently reminded his contemporaries, the Boomers, that their children are not the source of our economic drains. Millennials aren't, in point of fact, the whining, self absorbed babies in the room. Not like the way Gen Xer Joel Stein would have you believe, in any case.

Remember that time Joel Stein wrote an article about how horrible it was that his previously white neighborhood was being taken over by Indian immigrants?

Baby Boomers are fond of decrying Millennials as the source of our economic troubles. Our dear parental generation. Don't we know its just not that hard to do right by this country? Why when I was your age making $12,000 a year was a great start! Of course adjusting for inflation this causes things to tilt in a slightly different direction, but let's not focus on that. We're lazy, we little baby Y's. We aren't contributing as we should to the still struggling economic climate. We're cheap. We aren't buying houses. We're living with our Boomers or renting for far longer than anticipated. We aren't buying cars. We have bus passes, bikes, and zip cars. We're a waste of resources and time.

To Gen Xers, the asshole older brother generation, we're a bunch of whiners. Don't we know they had it hard too once? They had an internship for a while. And yeah, they make 40k a year now, own a home and have three kids, but they worked hard for it! Didn't AT ALL benefit from Clinton's administration and the far more stable American job market. It was all on them. And we Millennials are all a bunch of jack holes sitting around crying about working two to three jobs at a time, all for minimum wage, while balancing internships and volunteer positions, still trying to wedge our foots in the proverbial door. Why don't we just shut up about it already and a get a real job?

This is what I hear in a constant thrum across various media sources. Millennials are the worst thing that has happened to America since Obama. Who we consequently worked our asses off to put in office, so maybe the two things are related. While I am in no position to be a speaker for a majority, I feel I can become a speaker for my friends. For my coworkers. For the people I spend my days with, meticulously counting single dollar bills to discern whether you can splurge for that beer tonight or not.

I have spent the better part of a year either underemployed, as I am now working two jobs that (combined) give me less than ten hours a week, or underpaid, when I was working sixty hours a week at three jobs and still came up short for bills and rent. Whether these older generations wish to acknowledge it or not, the current America is not so simple or so generous to young graduates. It has been almost five years since I heard my own commencement speech, which I now remember very little of, but I wish someone had just been honest and said that it was going to be hard. That I was going to think about things like unemployment support and food stamps, but decline them out of pride, because my predecessors would think less of me for needing them.

Here are our allegations:

1) We are narcissists. The evidence for this case is in our penchant for technology. We won't buy those shiny new houses and cars, but we will invest in smart phones and computers. This seems a confusing trajectory to most Boomers and maybe some Gen Xers too. But that is because to them technology is a luxury item. It is a toy. Something you own to display a certain brand affiliation, a la Apple devotees.

This is not what technology is. Not to a Millennial.

Technology is a gateway. It is a tool. You need a smart phone now, yes you do. Don't pretend you're above it hipsters. You need technology, because you need to be online. We have lived through the progression of the internet. We are human timelines. From weird late night AOL chat rooms to myspace to livejournal to the birth of facebook, the great social networking game changer. And even that is changing now and we're apart of it. We have left facebook as you showed up on it, Boomers. We're tweeting now. Snapchating, instagraming, night blogging on tumblr, and blowing out the parameters of how we connect to one another. Because that is actually what the internet is. It is the way we reach out and communicate. To you this seems cold. And objectively I can see why. But that is because you did not grow up here. This is not your space. It's not for you.

When someone instagrams their lunch you may think it is childish, self indulgent, or even mundane, but this is Millennial communication. This is a way of saying, I tried a new recipe. I am proud of myself. I am making things work right now, because tomorrow could be a hot mess. Twitter operates in much the same way. Is there a flood of minutiae as well? Of course. But don't you have friends who tell you useless things in conversation? (Warning: if you don't, you are that friend.) Your brain filters out what you do and do not want to retain the same way our friends list settings do.

2) You should just get a job already. It doesn't matter what job, just get a job and start making money so you can help us the economy out. That sounds lovely. I would be really interested in this job. I have three years of formal work experience in an education setting, five years of various museum positions, and a solid decade of childcare. Would you like me to tell you how many applications I have submitted since graduating from college? Wait for the punch line, because I lost count at 100.

I have held "any job" before. And been laid off twice for the effort, thanks. I'm not alone here either. Most young graduates will enter into a grind of underemployment for years to come. Many employers have found that the fastest way to cheap labor is the myth of the internship. If you work as an intern, unpaid for an unspecified amount of time, then maybe some day far off in the future you will have a better chance of becoming an employee with a desk or something. This does work. I do know people who have gone through the whole carrot dangling routine. But for every one person that succeeded, how many countless interns were left behind in their wake? There's only one job. There are many interns. And so it goes. You push and you shove and you hope its enough. I'm fortunate that my Boomers are more sympathetic and understanding than most. They don't ever tell me I'm not doing enough or that I'm not applying in the right places, they know first hand how hard the process is. But I have far more friends who receive the standard, "You're just not doing it right" line.

3) Probably you are Satan? I don't even know. I don't understand why there has been mounting interest in labeling Millennials as the Worst Generation to Ever Worst. Because all this has served to do is separate us. Gen Xers have decided to suck up to daddy and mommy Boomer, siding with them. A wall has been placed which we are not invited to cross. The wall of adulthood. Any one born after 1980 need not apply.

Here is the larger problem with the blame game. While you may feel safe on your side of the wall, smug that you have done everything right and we are the ones fucking up you seem confident that we still want to be you when we grow up. That we are trying so hard to be in your club. Has nothing we've done so far shown you how wrong you are? Generation Y will no longer measure success by square footage owned. By neighborhoods bought into. By the number of cup holders in cars. The more you turn against us, the more we turn against you. We are becoming insular. One day, not to far off, we will turn to each other and say enough. We are what matters and they are nothing but chaff in our way.

One day you will die, Baby Boomers. You will not hold office any more. You will not make policy. Your children will. And what have we become? What have our parents made us? Because on this count you should stand up and take a bow. We are your products. A direct reflection of the world in which we have come of age in to. We will be hungry, tired, and penniless. And we will be deeply mistrustful of you. Good luck in those nursing homes you are rapidly less able to afford.

Friday, May 24, 2013

A Pitch for TLC (Or Whoever Else is into Crappy Reality Programming)

I frequently find myself indulging in this highly specific fantasy where I have my own reality TV show. I can't trace the source of this, but it crops up often enough that maybe I should tell someone about it? That someone is the internet, luckily.

For a reason that should be obvious, this show is titled "Failure" or "Millennial" or a combination of both of those words. Generation Fail. That rolls off the tongue nicely, right? We follow traditional, and often times gritty, reality TV tropes. We have confessional booth time for one-on-one character development, shots of what my day is like, and maybe Paula Cole does the song over the end titles. Also, its been a while since I've watched reality TV.

I just lay there and think about this until I realize exactly what I'm doing. Which is nothing. Which is what most of my days look like. But I feel like I can run with this as a concept! What is one of the best selling games for women (arguably the number one consumer of reality television)? The SIMs. And what happens in the SIMs? NOTHING. Nothing ever happens and its amazing! I SHOULD KNOW. You watch people go poop and take showers and make breakfast and go to work and get random phone calls at inconvenient hours of the day. Its exactly the same thing that happens to you during most of your waking hours and yet for some reason watching this little doll house world makes it fascinating. So why wouldn't my reality show, in which I do the things I normally do, not be a success?

Follow me on a visual journey:

Its nine in the morning when I roll over and turn on my phone. About forty minutes later I wake up again and check my email. At noon I wake up a third time and flail around till I find my iPod. This can be smashcut with me talking about my mornings, my motivation in life, and how I'm trying really hard to eat less during the day because I can't afford to go grocery shopping. Back to the action, I have moved to the top of my comforter and I am now watching this random Japanese drama I found online. As we pan to the screen we see that a particularly tense moment is happening and these two butlers are about to duel and a Spanish guitar starts up (you seriously have to watch this show, its balls crazy). I mime the guitar in my excitement.

How does this not sell itself? I'm super relatable to a disproportionately high number of twenty-somethings. It's like my life can serve as a warning to everyone who's in college right now. Look at where devoting all your time to academics gets you! All those internships! All that money you saved up! Its all going here!

Frankly, I don't see how this can't be golden. TLC loves following hot messes around.


How is me, filling out applications for a few hours each day and then casually watching Vampire Prosecutor any less enthralling than that? Network television please send your over sized bags of money straight to me.

Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Rebel Cry

I walked out on my job.

A lot of other things happened too, between this moment and the last time I actively wrote on my blog. I spent a solid month being depressed. Very depressed. Wherein the effort to continue mimicking the person I was expected to be became an enormous effort. This hasn't entirely changed, but I'm managing it better. The latter half of my time was that I got lazy and embarrassed about not writing the blog I was determined to be good about posting on. So, there's that. Back to the first part.

I walked out on my job.

It is the least Midwestern thing I've ever done in my life. I have been taught above all notions that every job is sacred. That you treat every job as if its the only job you will ever have. That every job you have been in reflects on you and your purpose and your success.

I was laid off from a job I loved. Even on the shitty days, I was always happy to be there. Being told that there's no place for me there, that I wasn't a good fit for the future was devastating. Something I can't grapple with even now.

The only job I was able to get after three months of unemployment was retail work. Another sting. But, I placated myself by chanting over and over that I needed the money and I wasn't too big to say no. This was unlike other retail I've worked before. The model of this company is, no joke, immediately back off if a customer doesn't want your help. My past two retail experiences fall in the camp of HARASS THE CUSTOMER UNTIL THEY LOVE YOU. At first this seems like a windfall. You mean I get to come, get paid, and I don't even really have to do the thing you hired me to do?

But again, Midwestern work ethic.

It turns out, I needed that interaction. I needed to feel useful. Going around a store and slowly adjusting shoes for eight hours a day was monotonous and stifling. Any time some one passed me on the sales floor I probably scared them, leaping to make any kind of contribution. This alone could have grated on my nerves for some time before I decided to look for other work.

What, apparently, I couldn't cope with was being demoralized. There was a manager of this store who clearly felt that the title gave her the right to exert what little power she was in control of over any one in her direct line of sight. She was condescending and sought out ways to degrade employees. Calling them incompetent, lazy, liars, anything really. How they haven't pieced together the high turn over rate at their location I'll never know.

On my first shift with her I had already worked a 22 hour shift at my other job. I had asked for the day off and it had not been granted. Because I am in a bind for cashy monies I just decided to ride it out. By 9:30 the store is suppose to close, but this manager, let's call her the Harpy because I sure did, forbid anyone to announce to customers that the store was closed. By 10:30 the final customer had left. I am ready to collapse. Then we begin resetting and cleaning the store.

This is my lasting impression of the Harpy. She walked through my section criticizing anything she could. I was told by her that since I was new she would give me a pass just this once, but she wanted me to remember everything she was saying so she wouldn't have to repeat herself. She said this slowly and patted my shoulder twice, as you would a child. She then said there were crumbs on the carpet and that it was my responsibility to clean up. We don't have a vacuum, so I awkwardly swept them up before some other sales associate whispered that a cleaning crew always comes in after we leave to do the floors and the Harpy has just told me to do this likely as a power play.

To what end she felt like telling me about the cleaning crew I will never know. I can't tell the manager she's full of shit for having me do this. So now I'm just more angry than I was two minutes ago. At midnight we are allowed to leave, begrudgingly on the part of the Harpy with a sharp "This will have to do." I black out twice on the drive home and have to sit on the side of the road until I can get a friend to get on the phone with me to keep me awake. I have just worked my first 30 hour day.

The Harpy continues this behavior for the month I work here. Snide comments and harsh criticism and four people quit in one week. Seven more people are hired. I suppose the three were for additional collateral they were anticipating.

I get a new job offer. Its not great, but its back in a museum and closer to what I should be doing and will at least fill out a resume better that more retail. Due to the size of the store I was working at the Harpy was one of four managers. Some how no one tells her I've turned in my notice, because when the rest of the hires I came on with begin register training she takes me aside and says I should think about the way I present myself at work since the other managers felt I'm obviously not qualified enough to be trained. She says this while smiling.

I think about it all night.

Its stupid. It doesn't reflect on me. I've quit. They're not training me because I'm leaving in a few days. I have two shifts left. There's no reason to train me. I know this. But this hits a nerve whether I want it to or not.

The next night I'm back in place, slowly angling display shoes a perfect 45 degrees and letting my mind wander. I take my break and in the back room two girls talk about how they're quitting soon. One mentions that someone else has just quit and they didn't even turn in notice. Just stopped showing up and answering calls from the store. I don't know why her saying this changes everything, but this is immediately when I know I'm done working here. I go back on the floor and look to see where all the managers are. I walk slowly, I still clean my area. I think. I visualize it. Walking out the doors. I double back and doubt myself. Even the thought is inappropriate. Is blasphemous to the work ethic that dominates the place in my psyche that I suppose other people fill with religion. My work becomes suddenly manic. I'm walking faster, haphazardly fixing things as I pull back and forth in my head over what I'm thinking about doing.

Then the Harpy announces over the associate radios that all of us should expect to stay late tonight.

I watch her move around the store. I wait till she goes into the back offices. I walk back to my locker, take my things, and walk out. My hands shake the entire way to my car, like my father is going to come charging out from behind some fake mall fern and tell me what I've done is wrong. Obviously this doesn't happen. I get in my car and drive home with a jittery energy.

I am suddenly and irrevocably invincible. I can walk out of a job like I don't give a fuck because I don't. No one has to know about this job, aside from the IRS. No one ever has to know I worked for a month at a shitty shoe store in a shitty mall and that I walked out without a backward glance and fucked off into the night.

Logically I can acknowledge that this isn't actually all that dramatic or altering to anyone accept myself. But it was important for that one day. Important in some tiny way I could say to myself that I'm worth more than a job like that. Important to feel proud of myself for a while. Midwestern work ethic be damned.

Tuesday, March 5, 2013


I'm not certain now's the best time to sit and try to organize my thoughts, because they are emotional and volatile to say the least.

In 2009, I graduated from college. About a week after the ceremony my dad got laid off from his job. It was completely unexpected and we were, as a family, in no way prepared. Things in our house were incredibly tense. My dad places a lot of value on having and maintaining a job. Something hardwired into him from his childhood. When he lost his job he was obviously depressed, which translates very quickly for him into anger. He was unemployed for several months before he was offered a job he was not enthusiastic about. He has been with that job until today.

When he went back to work his schedule was very demanding. The company who hired him are based out of Brazil with offices in Miami. He traveled constantly to trade shows, to Florida, and to the headquarters. When he was home he was sequestered in his office. The expectations were high and the pay was not. My mom took a second job. All of this reorganized my priorities. I stopped looking for jobs and internships out of state.

My younger brother is 22, now. He has Down syndrome. He is low functioning, by which I mean he operates mentally and emotionally at approximately a second or third grade level.

My brother is my world.

When all of these things began to shift I knew I couldn't leave because he needs a lot of support around the house. My job teaching left me with a schedule that reflected his, home in the mornings and mid afternoons. I wasn't asked to do this, it wasn't some great burden. If my parents had tried to bring someone from outside the family in to assist him, I very likely would have thrown a fit. I don't trust other people with my brother.

It's very difficult explaining my relationship with him to people who do not have siblings with special needs. Growing up I wasn't alone, the way an only child is, but I didn't have the kind of social support structures the way children with siblings do. My closeness with my brother is based more out of a parent/child interaction and it always has been, even though we are only four years apart. When he was a baby I assured my mom she wouldn't need to worry about teaching him anything. That it was my job.

The structure of our home life, following my dad beginning his new job, had a deep impact on my brother, something we would only come to realize almost a year down the road. My mom was working long hours. My dad was inaccessible when he was home and when he was gone, he would be traveling for weeks. My brother does not have the capacity to express his feelings verbally. He couldn't say he was mad or confused or upset. Slowly over the year he retreated into himself. He started talking to himself more and more. He abandoned activities he enjoyed. He started displaying signs of depression. It was incredibly frightening for me. I watched my brother disappear and felt powerless.

It got progressively worse.

He would collapse on the floor and have crying fits without any obvious reason for a trigger. He would go days without speaking to anyone. He started losing control over bodily functions. Sometimes he would sit in his room and just scream.

The preschool classroom I taught in was within the Directed Teaching program. This was the school's terminology for self-contained special education. Self-contained denotes that the students I was working with had limited to no contact with other classrooms. All of my students were identified as being on the Autistic spectrum and were low functioning. For preschoolers it was a long day. They were with me for almost six hours and we worked heavily on language. Most of my students were nonverbal and highly behavioral. In the three years I taught at the school I sustained several injuries, including a broken nose from one of my students. It's shocking how strong a five year old can be when they are frustrated with you.

At some point my coping mechanism developed into being in teacher mode constantly. Whether at work or at home with my brother. There wasn't a separation any longer. I think this significantly altered our relationship and even harmed it in many ways.

I ran away.

Or at least, I still worry that's what I did. I was angry all the time, tired, and emotionally blank. When a girl from college looking for a roommate offered me an opportunity to leave, I did. I quit my job, took what I could, and relocated here. I still feel guilty. I still question whether my actions benefited either of us.

When I left, my mom left one of her jobs, so that she could be available to care for him. Today my dad was laid off again. I'm scared of what this means for them, for him, for me. Likely my parents will sell their house. My dad wants to return to the South for better housing prices. This kind of upheaval will cause my brother an incredible amount of distress. My mom is already frantic about it. I feel responsible, even though logically I know I'm not the cause. In the wake of my own inability to find reliable and permanent work, I find myself wondering tonight more than ever if I made the worst kind of mistake for leaving in the first place.

Sunday, March 3, 2013

Pro Tip: Just Say No

I'm not a parent and don't have plans on being one for at least another five years, if not more. But I've been working in some capacity with children my whole life. From babysitting, to summer camps, to teaching, to the museum educational programming I'm invested in now. Childcare has always come naturally to me, for whatever reason. As a result, I've had the opportunity to observe a lot of parents in the act, as it were. And I'm beginning to think Gen X-ers are raising a bunch of assholes.

I was blessed to have great parents. Very involved, they had high expectations of me without being overbearing, and I maintain a really close relationship with both of them. In fact, when I talk about the level of closeness my mom and I have, I think it wigs people out sometimes. For example: in college I called my mom the first time I got crazy hung over to brag. She is also usually aware of who I'm having sex with. This is just how we are. She's the single most nonjudgmental, supportive person in my life and I adore her. My dad doesn't know these things, because both my mom and I know he would probably die of shock, but we are still close. He's an old world Southern gentleman, no joke, and I get my sense of humor from him. Sarcasm was a form of affection in our house. He also openly and unconditionally loves his family. They are great parents and even better models for the kind of parent I would like to be. Which is NOT AT ALL like the kinds of parents I deal with on a daily basis.

Currently, the bulk of Gen X are in their mid thirties to forties. Prime parenting ages. As I cannot relate to what it was like developing your identity in the seventies and eighties, I don't know what happened to them as a generation to decide when they became parents that their children would rule the house. Were they all just really repressed? I have no clue. I lived through a certain amount of helicopter parenting as a child and even a bit into high school, but I have never at any point in my professional dealings with children thought that it was wrong to use the word "No."

This trend started years ago, but it has really taken a hold of modern parenting. "No" apparently stifles children, creates barriers, and makes them have sad feelings. When I was teaching preschool we had whole seminars on replacement words for "No." The kinds of examples they would give were as follows:

If you observe a child engaging in an inappropriate or dangerous activity stop them and ask, "Are you making a good choice?"


A "good choice." Seriously? Of course they aren't and of course they know that. Asking them to pause and reflect doesn't actually accomplish anything. In the 13 years of my life that I have been working in some form of childcare I have learned that most kids don't have the capacity to sustain self awareness until they are well and truly removed from whatever stimulus has caused their reaction. So using your best neutral tone and politely asking a child if their "choices" are "good" will rarely cause them to stop running frantically around a room slapping people for attention.

And yet, day after day, I witness parents who refuse to tell their children no. Currently my weekends are booked up with the infotainment business of hosting birthday parties in a museum. I can't tell you the number of times I have witnessed children blow up at their parents just to watch them kowtow to unnecessary demands. I have lost count of how often I've watched a kid scream, I WANT MY PRESENTS NOW!

There are like...a ton of gifs from The Orphan on tumblr.

And they are then given the presents as a reward for this behavior. Maybe to their parents they don't see this as a cause and effect relationship, that they are continually teaching their children to freak out and throw a vase every time they want something. But they are. In a thousand little ways these children are learning that the only way to get what you want is to frighten everyone around you. Manipulate the situation through fear and aggression to achieve your goal.

Sometimes fear and aggression aren't even necessary. Those are for the kids with less skill. Being quietly manipulative will still get you whatever you want. Cry. Whisper that you hate your parents for being so mean. That works too, apparently.

My mother tells a story from when I was four years old, I came into the kitchen to ask for some kind of treat. I was told no. I continually asked, pouted, and wheedled until she told me to leave the room because the answer was still no. I left with a cry of, "I hate you!" My aunt had been present for this and she got emotional on my mother's behalf, asking her how she could resist giving in. My mom shrugged it off and said, "She's four. She's going to forget she said that in an hour and come ask me again."

Whether I forgot or not, the fact remains, kids don't actually dissolve under the word no. Their worlds don't unravel and they don't actually hate you. Kids need structure. They need to understand what is expected of them and what isn't. Its a part of socialization. Otherwise you've got a band of sociopaths that you're raising who believe their relationships with other humans are based off a series of manipulations. They quantify a person's usefulness by whether or not they can be controlled. Maybe I'm overstating things, but I do also have a 22 year old cousin now who goes around my aunt's house punching holes in walls and threatening her whenever she tries to deny him things, which is incredibly rare as it is.

Say "No" to your kids. They deserve an active parent.

Saturday, March 2, 2013

Stupid Cupid: The Prologue

In July 2011, I went to San Diego Comic Con for the first time. This is also (currently) the only time I've been, but I have every intention of returning once a trip like that is financially available to me. I spent about half a year preparing for SDCC. It was a big fucking deal. I lost weight for it and everything. It became a running joke between my friend and I that we were going husband hunting. Of course, after the fact, this is an even bigger joke to us, but at the time she and I had some rocky relationships under our collective belt and it seemed like hanging out at Nerdvana would at least give us a level playing field of knowing a guy would reciprocate on our interests.

We didn't find any husbands.

This was for the best.

But it did mark the turning point of a mental corner for me. I spent a good deal of my time in college avoiding guys for a plethora of bad touch reasons. After I graduated, I rationalized that by living at home with my parents and working full time as a preschool teacher I had no opportunity to meet men. Not that I was continuing a prosperous tradition at that point.

Going to Comic Con made me feel more confident and comfortable with myself, which is the most unexpected side effect of that event. Between having guys approach me at the convention to having off duty military personnel offer to by me drinks at night, it was like having an out of body experience.

When I got home I had this moment of zen where I thought, yes. Yes. I am ready for internet dating.

I'll let you draw conclusions about what site I ultimately chose. Going by context clues you know I a) Don't have any money to throw around on something like this b) Am probably socially awkward and c) The title of this post.

I have been on many dates now. I have seen and heard things. Things you would not believe, because you have to reassure yourself that not only can people like this NOT exist, but there would have had to have been warning signs before I agreed to give them my phone number. You would be so wrong. Granted not all my dates were awkward, gross, terrifying or a combination of the three. But a significant portion of them were.

When I first joined the site I made the fatal mistake of being so very earnest in my profile. Every little idiosyncratic interest was put on display. I made a total of seven Legend of Zelda references in the "About Me" section. There was nothing left to the imagination. I let my freak flag fly.

Which worked.

I got about twelve messages within the first hour of being on the site. This is pretty standard for women, as I understand it now. In fact, I could have filled out my profile using nothing but meaningless stream of consciousness, so long as I had a picture up. Dudes do not really care what you write. Sure, most of them would quickly scan the body of my profile and point out things I said. Many of them got excited, even, over my nerd girling. Too excited. But I wouldn't come to realize this until I began frequently running into a particular personality type over and over again.

Internet dating has the kind of mental highs and lows that come from having a stranger decide to "date" you based on a series of preconceived notions. Its chaotic, absurd, awkward as hell, and sometimes scary, but oh so necessary as a modern tool for meeting people and, in my case, pushing forward into adulthood. Because it causes you to think about what you really want and how to graciously tell people to never call you again. And, again in my case, being okay with being called a bitch when you realize after meeting in person that you aren't interested in someone. It toughened me up and gave me perspective, something I frequently need more of. More than anything though, it gave me so much to laugh about.

Friday, March 1, 2013

Ramon's Having a Party and You're Invited

It is March first, which means we are T-minus sixteen days away from America's favorite drinking holiday after Thanksgiving, Cinco de Mayo, Christmas, New Years, the Super Bowl, and Thirsty Thursday. I'm focusing on this, as opposed to the fact that the first is also when I pay all my bills and cry many hot, little tears into my pillow when no one's home to hear my antics. A year ago, at this time, I was working for a major retailer as a bridge job to fill hours and keep my head above water. I have no idea, seeing as they were one of the two to lay me off last month, if I need to maintain a sense of store loyalty and not use their name. So I will just leave some hints and say they sell clothes and are Macy's.

Saint Patrick's Day last year was a rare treat, as I was working that day. The store location I was at was advantageously positioned to have revelers from the parade wander in and out throughout the day. The store opens at 10 am and it was around 10:02 when I spotted my first drunk on the floor. The insanely mild weather, coupled with it being St. Pat's, meant that people were out in droves and going rather buck wild for this usually staid Midwestern hub.

You could predict the number of bodily fluids that were going to end up across the store. That seemed a given by lunch. There was even a certain expectation in terms of increased business on green items. There was one thing I was completely unprepared for.

The second floor men's room.

It would be generous to say that our cleaning crew was horrible at their jobs. I used to calculate if I could go a six hour shift without peeing. I knew past that I would eventually need to, but I could usually ride out that shorter shift. And that's the women's bathroom. Not to say that women are innately cleaner, but yes that's exactly what I'm trying to say. I spent four years at a (heavy emphasis on the first word) liberal arts college where we had co-ed bathrooms. Boys do some sick ass shit in the bathroom. Therefore, using my powers of deduction, I know if the women's room is a hover zone, then the men's room has to be a nightmare.

Its after my lunch break, I have a long haul till close, a man has already screamed threats at me, and I am trapped behind the register selling everything from ugly green t-shirts to ugly green pants. Suddenly, a woman shoots to my side and very furtively gestures for me to lean in close. I resist her suggestion. She whisper!yells that her son just tried to use the bathroom on my floor and she believes there are people having sex in there.

Now, when she said "people" my brain understood immediately this implied more than two. If it was two, she probably would have said, "There's a couple having sex in there." Either way, I'm not breaking that up, because I get paid minimum wage. I need a title and at least a three dollar increase before I start leading the charge on this situation. Having no other recourse, I smiled and thanked her for the information and told her security and a manager would be here immediately to deal with it. A word about our security guy: he was a fresh faced air-force drop out with some brassy red hair. You make him uncomfortable and he will blush.

Because I cannot be satisfied with simply the knowledge that a sex party is being broken up, I lurk my way over to the hall where the bathrooms are and lie in wait folding t-shirts. First, our reluctant security guy enters and breaks the whole thing up. There's a lot of cursing and shuffling noises. And then proceeds a conga line out in to the store. Three guys and two girls. Rowdy, drunk, and presumably unsatisfied. What they were doing must not have been too salacious, since no one called the police, but they were eventually shunted out of the building.

I was left in a daze trying to figure out who initially made the suggestion of "Hey, let's all hook up right now. And also, we should do it in the men's room of this store. Because everything in this hallway smells like dookies and I am into that." Also, the third guy...was he involved or like a spotter? Was he giving tips? Waiting for his opening? What is your purpose guy number three??? Finally, and most importantly, did neither of the two chicks go, "Hey, all women's restrooms in major department stores have fainting couches in them for some reason, we should go in there so as to not have to touch cheeks to any of these mysterious surfaces."

As I pondered these questions, out loud, my co-worker told me an even more insidious story. Or as she put it, "Gurl, that is not even the worst thing to happen in them stalls." She told me that a few months prior, staff would have to regularly check the men's room for flyers. These would be posted inside all the stalls and read, "RAMON'S HAVING A PARTY. TUESDAY 5-7." Along with pulling down the signs, they would then have to be aware that day of potential foot traffic into the men's room. As she tells me this, a second co-worker sweetly asks at this juncture, "What kind of party?"

I obviously can't say for certain the above picture is from one of Ramon's Parties, but I don't want to be told I'm wrong either.

Thursday, February 28, 2013


Un(der)employment is not for the feint of heart. You have to remind yourself constantly to maintain your focus, stay objective, and be as positive as the situation warrants. But in the face of all the negativity there are some often overlooked perks.

You can nap whenever and where ever you want to. I know I do. Face down on the couch? You betcha. In my office chair? How uncomfortable, but doable. Clearly my bed is always available. So napping will always be at the top of my list.

You can eat whatever you want at any time you remember you're suppose to eat. The only people who eat three meals a day are the ones who have schedules to keep. Gone are the days of any regular eating habits. Spent all morning in a good wallow? Sounds like you should eat only dinner because, too late, its nine at night somehow. And also, dinner is pretzels. Eat oatmeal, five times, in one day. Bowl of ice cream at two in the afternoon. A bottle of red wine over the course of a day. Your options are endless and no one can judge you. Because everyone else is at work.

Bathing is a thing you should do only if there's someone to impress. I'm cutting back on my laundry by just a ton and saving on soap. Also, the guy down at the Walgreen's does not care what funk I'm bringing into the store with me at five minutes till close. He just wants to sell me more sour gummy worms (which are for dinner, as noted above).

You can watch anything you want on tv/youtube/Netflix/Hulu. I have seen every episode of Say Yes to the Dress which is available on Netflix. I'm not entirely sure yet if this is a perk, but I have done it.

You can pretend to shop online. This is such a fun game, I can't even tell you how often I do it. After sending out your mandatory two applications a day, reward yourself by going on to some ridiculous website. I particularly love faux vintage clothing retailers where the starting price of a tshirt is about $30. Fill an entire shopping cart with things you would like to own, then frantically click out of the website. Repeat with accessories and shoes as you like.

You can start a blog. Jury's still out on how well that's going.

You can play video games. All the video games. There are so many of them! Once you do the things you know you have to (apply to jobs, brush your teeth, apply to jobs, something else I forget) its like you've got an entire other 12 hours to fill of your day, because obviously regular sleeping is optional now with all these naps you can take. Personally I've been engaged in replaying all of Lego Harry Potter and getting 100% completion which would be shockingly time consuming if I had other concerns in my life.

You can internet. Perhaps the previous remark on watching tv and whatnot falls under this category, but I feel like interneting is a whole other experience. For example: I was on buzzfeed for four hours today. Then I went on foodgawker for an additional two. There is no end to the riches of interneting.

Un(der)employment sucks. Its emotionally draining and feels like a full time job all on its own, constantly tweaking my resume and writing dozens of cover letters. But I'm coming around to embracing that I also have to take some time to wallow. Otherwise, I will burn myself out on the emotional highs and lows of the situation.

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Susie Homemaker

I like to consider myself an active member of Generation Y, in that I currently work about an average of ten hours a week and am coming up on the realization that I will probably have to file for unemployment if I can't find a job in another month.

I had the great fortune to be laid off from not one, but two! jobs in January. It has left something of a dent in my psyche and an even greater impression on my wallet. These are not new concepts. On the whole people that fall within Generation Fail are underemployed to unemployed. You work crap jobs you know you're overqualified for and you smile and bow and scrape to hold on to those. Its a symptom of the condition the Baby Boomers have left us in. I make no apologies for blaming them for our current economic tail spin. They over stretched themselves and now they can't afford to retire so there is no longer a graying of the profession to look forward to.

I made the double good choice of setting my heart toward nonprofit work. Because money train baby, money train. I want to be making barely minimum wage for the rest of my life, because it lines my heart with righteousness or something.

Seeing as I have just a shit ton of time on my hands these days I have to find things to do, other than make money. Most of this downtime is spent applying to jobs in the hopes that, yes, soon I will have that as an option. But otherwise, I would say my time is spent in a combination of wallowing, watching strange reality programming on netflix, playing video games, and occasionally pretending I am Betty Crocker.

This latter option was a strong part of today's accomplishments. I got to use the crock-pot my parents bought me for Christmas, for the first time. A hallmark in any young woman from the 1960's book. And I made so many, many cupcakes. I'm fortunate in that I have people I can foist my efforts on to. Roommates and my gentleman caller, primarily. Otherwise, who the hell needs 24 cupcakes on Wednesday?

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

This is an experiment

I'm awful at being consistent. Everything for me is a series of time trials. I enjoy and revel in my ability to complete a task for as long as anyone is watching me actively do it. So starting a blog feels like one of those things I'm going to forget about.

I have all these incredibly vivid memories from my childhood of receiving tons of journals from my aunts and uncles as that last ditch effort to buy me SOMETHING as a gift, usually with the tacked on comment of, "You've always liked to write!" A genuine attempt at connection, while dismissing the fact that I probably just wanted a doll. I fucking loved dolls. But I would always get it into my head that here, this is your journal, your little diary, and you are going to write in it all the time and it is going to be just...groundbreaking. I found many of these half formed time capsules during the process of moving out my parent's house a year ago. The ones from the late nineties are filled with the kind of gravity only children can possibly have while writing in a diary. "Today Tabitha was so mean to me in math. We wore the same shirt. Everyone laughed."

I was a dismal 4th grader. And my handwriting hasn't improved AT ALL. (Samples to follow)

The ones from high school read like an episode of something that would be featured on the CW. All frenetic emotion. I was human Id, in the way that everyone who was ever a teenage always is. Everything was tragic, everything was wonderful, and no one was ever going to know what it felt like to be me. Except for Sylvia Plath, possibly. What I'm trying to say is, I was hilarious.

The one tie that binds these strata of my youth is the fact that every single one begins the same way. I felt it incredibly necessary to speak to each of these journals, as though sitting down with Barbara Walters, for the story of my life. "Dear Diary, I know we've just met, but I feel you should know who I am before we begin." ACTUAL QUOTE. I would then labor over every pertinent detail of my life to that point, a sort of "Previously on Lost..." jump cut into my first entry. How could I possibly tell you what happened today! You have no context! Silly, diary! I was a strange kid.

I have to resist that urge so very hard right now, to not give some sweeping introduction to my life. Because somehow I've trained my brain to assume that's what diaries/journals/blogs/bathroom stalls are for. But where's the mystery in that? I'm going to just assume this blog is not unlike evenings in my house when friends are over. I'm going to think of a story and share it. With context, without, and usually nonlinear.

Also, thank God this is the only time I have to write a first post, because it is super awkward.