Mind Blown

Scars and all.
Resentment six feet tall.
My heart is yours.
I've zeroed scores.

Failure be damned.
My guns are manned.
I search for land.
Telescope in hand.

My bounce hitting crest.
I hope to coast before I rest.
Plateau this high.
Enjoy the sky.
Bask in my sun.
Undone is done.

Seriously...

That woe is me shit is for the birds.

Honestly, I never believed it to begin with. I was just trying some reverse psychology on the universe.

Happy New Years people.

I'm wrong.
It's just hit me.
I keep hitting a wall because I'm not right.
In the head.
In my actions.
In my perseverance.
I'm wrong.

Delusional, sad and defeated.
I wish you all a happy holidays.

Everyday...

I do something more worthy of derision. Everyday I feel deserving of this unending sentence of poverty.
My skin is a mess, my clothes dirty and wrinkled. I could be mistaken for a homeless person if I didn't refrain from talking to myself in public and confine it to the safety of my own home.

One day it won't be like this.
I just hope it's one day soon.

Bumbling 90th

Somehow, I feel at ease.
Considering what I've been through in the past 3 years, I know I could feel worse.
I'm a delusional crazy person and I have staked my life on my ability to perform in an area where I've only marginally succeeded in the past.
I have good contacts but moderate abilities to make anything of those connections.
I have great ideas and no way of making those ideas come to fruition.
I had faith in myself where maybe I shouldn't have.
I'm a failure.
This feels like another stumbling block on a road to lower mediocrity.
I really thought I was special.

I would give my left ovary...

for a big, hot cup of coffee.

Idolatry

I religiously read the Sassy Curmudgeon's blog for the stitches it puts me in.
Her blog today was terse and effective. It also parallels my own day's happenings.
I bought toilet paper for the first time in a long time this morning.
For the sake of saving you the gory details of, well, I'll tastefully end mine the same way.

That is all.

Darkness...

The buzzer rang a few minutes ago. I did my usual hiding and tiptoeing to see who was here that needed avoiding. When I got to the window, there was a car from Con Edison double parked in front of the building.

A few minutes later the lights went out. Now I have to worry about the food in my refrigerator going bad.

Passed Out, Present, Future.

I started getting food from a neighborhood pantry about a month and a half ago.

Every week I stand on that line I hope it will be my last.

I woke up very early this morning. It was what most people would still consider night time.

At around 10:45 am, after briefly falling back to sleep, I made my weekly sojourn to get groceries provided by a church not far from my house. The air was crisp but I was dressed well for the inevitable wait. I stood at the back of the line for ten minutes before it happened.

I suddenly felt light headed and the next thing I can remember is waking up with people standing around me. They said I was having a seizure , I think I just passed out. I've never had either happen to me before. I hadn't lost control of my bodily functions and I was able to get up (crouched ) shortly after the episode. People scraped their pockets for loose change and bought me a bagel with cream cheese and a cup of tea with milk and sugar. 

While I sat and ate, they held my place on the line. 

Since pantry day is usually Thursday, there was nothing doing on Thanksgiving and I didn't have much to eat for a whole week. 

Maybe next week will be my last week. 

Kidney Anyone?

I'm considering selling an organ on the black market.
Anyone know someone in need?
I have no idea what my blood type is.

Be Bold...

Mighty forces will aid you.

My daily aphorisms are acts of self preservation.
My daily grip on hope for my future is tenuous at best.
I hope things will get better. I hope to sign on to my email account and find the thing that I need to rescue myself from the current mire I find myself in.

Without them, I sleep a lot more, my work becomes unbearable and the pressure of my failure will slowly crush the air out of my lungs.

So I apologize to my readers for having to put up with the chronically annoying blog entries. It's my plea to the universe for a reversal of fortune.

Crab Apple

I'm not feeling sorry for myself. Don't mistake this for self pity.
I think I might be the most annoying person in all of New York City.
I'm obnoxious, I'm loud,
I quote Maureen Dowd.
I make fun of transplants.
But so were my grandparents.

I'm still kind to strangers who don't seem like danger.
I don't fear the rough 'hoods like I do rural back woods.
I'm pretentious and snide, the subways I ride.
In love with diversity and when street kids curse at me.
All my money is spent on ridiculous rent.

Trendy clubs, scenes and bars,
and still can't drive a car.
Eat out more than in, I can cook.
It's a sin.

The summers here suck, but alas there's still luck.

Four seasons, that's right, relief's always in sight.

There's no place like home when you're bored or alone.

Neighbors just through the wall, I can hear their phone call,

or bless them when sneezing, the winters are freezing.

Public school educated,
can't count the douche bags I've dated,
this place is my home,
though the world I still roam.

For The Bible Tells Me So

I was named after my mother. Our first and middle names are reversed in an exercise in vanity, I suppose. Before that, my first name is also my grandmother's middle name. I guess vanity is genetic.
I would personally never pass my name along to my progeny.
The reasons:

1. No one pronounces it correctly.
2.There's an angry phone throwing supermodel with the same name. Though I increasingly agree with her world views on assault.
3. I wouldn't want anyone to think I was so vain as to have children (selfish) and then name them after myself (enormously narcissistic).

I recently met someone named Ruth who may have a huge impact on my tiny business and have used the biblical connection our two names have to get her attention.

They were basically lesbians. I don't know how well this is going to work out for me.

will

a piece of paper

what I leave behind
how i make things happen
the force of my mind


what I lend to you, 
when your own is waning
what will get me through 
when I feel like complaining


Conviction and strength 
slight after slight
reeling, incensed
I continue to fight


unbroken, 
unharmed.
failure be warned,
here you'll find no cheap thrill
you would only meet ill.


there isn't much chance
I've come through the worst
you've taken your stance
but my will wins the purse

Ok kay kay

As far back as I can remember, I've been the person in the group of my friends that was embarrassing. Whether it was my shocking naivety or my over wrought emotional reaction to things most people sneeze at, I always needed hushing. I was always someone to be mocked, derided and laughed at.
Before I hit my twenties, I was way more introspective. Not shy, just reticent. I had a very low esteem of the world around me. I watched people who supposedly loved each other do the cruelest possible thing in a given circumstance for the sake of it. I watched people get taken advantage of.
The unfairness of the world was obvious to me from a very young age.

Now that I'm older, now that I see that the world I've carved out for myself is just as crummy as the one I was wrought from, I'm ready to be silent again.
I've said my piece. And when it's time to speak again, maybe I won't be laughed at. Maybe I'll be wiser.

One Day Soon...

I'll sleep in a bed.
I'll have a clear head.
I'll do what I want.
Be proud but not flaunt.

One Day Soon...
The tides will have turned.
Life's lessons well learned.
My reach for the sky
won't retract and die.

One Day Soon...
My smile will be pure.
My walk will be sure.
My debts will be paid.
All worries allayed.

One Day Soon...
I'll have good news to share.
No need for despair.
The time will have come.
The day will be done.

NO!

I'm in sales. I hear new variations of the word no everyday. Sometimes polite, most quick and rude.
I present myself and the company I work for with honesty, grace and as unobtrusively as possible. I'm not rude, unpleasant or unskillful. Yet when people get to the point in my two second pitch where they understand that I'm attempting to sell something to them, regardless of what it is or how I sell it, they dismiss me without cause.
Even the people who are interested in the company are curt.
It really doesn't make sense in my head.
It's not the rejection that drives me crazy, its the attitude people have towards salespeople that drives me to drink (smoke).
I guess its humanity in general that brings me to my knees everyday.
The utter lack of courtesy, patience and respect.
I don't keep people and if you don't have the time to talk to me (how much daily time do you spend on Facebook, liars?), just say it's not a good time and I'll call you at some other juncture.
I don't want to talk to people who don't want to talk to me.
Here's what, If you can't beat'em, join'em.

I'm about to become the pushiest, nastiest sales rep of sustainable business products and solar energy the tri state area has ever seen.

Sometimes I Wonder...

I'm squatting.
Seriously. Haven't paid rent since January.
My landlord has known me and my family for years. I'll grant you that the many years we've known him he's been the contractual recipient of thousands of dollars while the apartment has been a typical NYC apartment.

No heat or hot water.
No laundry or amenities.
Old plumbing and electricity.
Crumbling roof, leaks.
Infestations of the rodent and roachy kind, etc...

After years of almost every tenant calling 311 to complain, the Department of Buildings finally showed up and under court order, turned the thermostat up. Now I can take short warm showers at the wee hours of the morning before the rest of the building wakes up.
The building is 109 years old. Parquet floors, fireplaces, Crown molding blah, blah, blah. The facade and the hallways are horribly under maintained but once you walk into the actual apartments, you'd never believe what a shithole the building looks like from the outside.

I'm not making excuses for not paying my rent. I don't have it to pay. I'm sure if the lease hadn't run out two years ago he would have had the requisite papers drawn up and taken me to court. As of now, I've promised him that he'll have his money next week.

What are the odds?

I'm not looking forward to homelessness. It'll certainly be an experience.

Another Day...

Everyday I live relatively comfortably, I know how lucky I am.
Every Thursday I stand on a line for a bag of free groceries at a church in my neighborhood, I know these are resources to be grateful for.
There are people I depend on who have been kind, understanding and generous.
I'm not glib. Circumstances are not optimal.
I won't pretend to be a sunny optimist, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
I could be worse off.
I'm certainly not complacent either. I am daily striving for a better life.
I know what I deserve but I won't take what I have for granted.

People Are Assholes

Not all people.
God knows I wouldn't be here but for the kindness of strangers.
Some people are kind and generous.
Most people are assholes.

That is all.

When the lights go out.

I haven't paid my electricity bill in a while. I set up a payment plan hoping to have secured the required upfront payment of $60 by now. I'm not sure when it's going to happen, but I expect the power to go out eminently. It's part of life, these ebbs and flows. I can work in the dark if I have to. I don't have much choice.

They say it's always darkest before the dawn.

On this, the day of my birth...

I'm sure of few things in this life.

I know:
I will succeed.
I am capable, smart and resourceful.

Sometimes, it's hard to see these things.
Hard to forecast the future when times are tough.
But I will not give up.
New opportunities will always find me.
Life will be exponentially better very soon.

Happy Birthday me.

And Gramps too.

Aging Fools

I'm going to be 29 tomorrow.
I won't pretend I had outrageously high hopes that I would be jetting off to Paris to celebrate. I thought maybe I would be solvent by now. I thought maybe, I'd be able to buy myself a meal or a drink.
Instead, I find myself wondering how I'll keep my lights on past Tuesday.
I have not progressed.
If anything, I've regressed. I have hopeful plans but I had hopeful plans last year also.
I've had intermittent employment. I even had a relationship briefly.
I think I'm really bad at life. I think Fail should be my legal name.
I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels this way.
I'm sure feeling this way and wallowing in it to an extent isn't bringing anyone any solace.
I know it's not helping me.

For my birthday, as a gift to myself, I'm going to ease up. I'm going to give myself a break. I'll not rationalize or excuse my lack of progress. For 24 hours starting tomorrow, I'll stop beating myself up for the quagmire I now find myself in.

I'll wait until Sunday to restart the hand wringing and plotting.

Aging Hoodrats

Today it was cold and rainy in Brooklyn. For the better part of the morning, I stood on a line at the food pantry a few blocks from my house. I got there at 9:45 only to find out that I would be standing there, exposed to this inclement weather, for the next two hours.

Drop by drop, the water started seeping into my bones. Through the coat, the sweater, the hat, the t shirt. My feet were dry but they were freezing.
The women that eventually formed a line behind me were old, ornery and mean. One particularly nasty battle axe asked me why I was holding an umbrella over someone else's head. Asked if she was my granny. I looked her dead in the eye and said, "What does it have to do with you?"
It struck me while I was holding someone's umbrella to prevent her from stabbing me with it any further, that all of these old catty bitches were once young catty bitches.
It struck me further as I watched a fight break out on the line behind me.

Hoodrats get old. Apparently they wear wisdom repellent also.

Today's random question; Why does dried fruit make you shit? Anyone?

Steal NYC

I transferred $2.00 from my savings account so I could get on the subway this afternoon.
My meeting was at 2pm. I made it there, dressed in a beautiful blue suit, pink tie and heels and my aviators.

I looked sharp. A lot of people in my meeting and on the street were kind enough to say so.

On my trip into the city, I ran across a NYT crossword puzzle. What luck.

My trip home was a going to be an ad lib. I had no money to get back and no way to utilize a transfer from my subway ride there. My sneakers were tucked neatly in my bag, ready for the sojourn.

I passed Starbucks, coffee shops, people having lunch in restaurants and cafes. The sun shone brightly and the brisk autumn air lent some much needed energy. If I had to walk back to Brooklyn from midtown, it wasn't a bad day to do it.

The food pantry was closed when I went by yesterday. Not having eaten since the night before, I needed some calories to burn. I shoplifted a chocolate chip cookie from a deli and an apple pie from the farmer's market in Union Square.

I sat peacefully in the park after my meeting and ate my bounty of sweets to fuel myself for the journey home.

Before I started walking, I tried the subway. I hadn't changed into my sneakers yet and didn't want to have to walk all the way to Prospect Heights. Not even on a beautiful day.
The token booth clerk was a woman. Women have no sympathy.I crossed 4th avenue to a different clerk hoping for a man. Hoping for some help. The line never made its way down to less than 4 people. I watched as people came in and out of the subway. I watched one person ask for a swipe and thought begging might work for me also.
One denial was enough. I hung my head in shame glad that everyone within earshot would be on their way in less than the blink of an eye. I watched strollers, art pieces and people with bikes swipe their cards and enter the "Special Entry" door. I watched as the cop on the other side stood with his summons pad within reach. I stood there and watched.

I was ready to walk upstairs, strap on the kicks and start walking.
Then it happened. The cop left his post. Walked right past me to an exit and was gone. I walked over to the "Special Entry" door, helped a woman with her stroller and entered the subway system without paying for it.

I was home in 15 minutes.

I stole lunch, dinner, the hearts of many and a ride home courtesy of the MTA.
I'm also stealing the internet right now.
I should write a book.

It's been a while...

As we approach the new year (shoot me in the head), I find myself in much the same predicament I was in last time I wrote.

I'm almost 100% certain that when I awoke to the sounds of my cats meowing this morning, coaxing me into the kitchen where her bowl sat, full of food, that she was responding to the growls of my stomach and not her own.

This is the same animal who sits on my feet in the dead of winter to lend her warmth and fuzziness to the prevention of shivering. Normally, when she calls me into the kitchen in the wee hours, it's because her bowl is empty. This morning, not only was it full, there were two types of food in it. Wet and dry. And I'm now certain she was trying to share it with me.

It's been weeks since I was last paid. The last time I shopped for groceries, a friend had offered because I was visibly thinner than the last time we saw each other.

Today I got a bag of groceries from a food pantry. The line in front of the church stretched around the corner. Its constituents we're mostly elderly, black and obviously poor. As I left my apartment on the way there, I helped my neighbor lift her grocery cart up the few stairs of the stoop to her front door. When I received my black plastic bag full of cans, pasta, rice and a brick of frozen cheese, I recognized the bag as the same one from her cart just a few minutes earlier.

A woman on the line behind me began telling me all about the tricks people pull to get double the offerings.
"In the winter, some of them take off their coats or turn them inside out and sneak back to the end of the line for another go 'round."

It struck me as some sort of conflict of interest that the people doling out the food also seemed like they were themselves in need of charity. How judicious can one be when they're probably stashing food for themselves or friends in similar situations.

I sincerely hope that the next time I stand in line for groceries, I'll be paying for them.
I hope that my next interaction with a food pantry is a donation and not a hand out.

Amen.

I'm Back...

I know you've missed me.

I've been crazy busy trying to secure my position on the food chain. Still at tadpole phase but my jaw dislodges without too much bruising by now and I'll be able to swallow something larger than me in no time flat thus guaranteeing my progeny's evolutionary superiority.

I think I might give off a femme lesbian vibe. I don't mind. I've made all kinds of new friends lately. It makes my life feel fuller. The attention is nice also. I just talk too much and too easily to anyone. It's like I have William's Syndrome. It either puts people off or it endears me to them.

Tata for now...

Astonishing Feats of Travel

"Can you do that?"
I looked the train conductor in the eye with wonder and puzzlement.
Then, the train went backwards.
This is Amtrak mind you. My trip to rural Massachusetts took 15 hours from New York. I could have made it to parts of Africa in 15 hours.

Apparently, Rhode Island was flooded.
The buses made it.
WTF Amtrak?!?
Are you really gonna let Greyhound punk you like that over some rain?

6 AM Epiphanies

I fell asleep early and woke up at the runners and crack head hour of 5:30AM.


SHOUT OUT TO THE GUY AT THE BAGEL DELI ON COURT STREET


I've been under the weather and the influence of drugs so my circadian rhythm is all fucked up.
I got a comment on my blog. The only comment I've ever received and it was about how cute my cat is.

The Cute Cat Theory of Digital Activism 

If any of you have read the content of my blog that didn't directly and shamefully draw full visual attention to my beautiful feline apprentice in nihilism and all things thc laced, you know how end of the world this is for me. 

I'm Going to Die Alone...

                       If you can tell me you've seen anything cuter, I beg you to point me in its direction.

                                                             Go ahead. I'm waiting.


More?

Oh, I've got more...

Yes, her nose is red in this one. No animals were harmed in the making of this picture.

She's so sassy, though.

Can't stand how cuuuute you are Miss Kitty.

She sleeps with both eyes open. I still can't be trusted, even after all these years.

Just imagine the sound of an 80 year old man with an upper respiratory infection snoring.

Somehow, it makes her even cuter.

Dear God/Universe...

I've heard, from many accolade ridden knuckleheads, that success is only possible through God.
Or some such nonsense as that.
Whenever someone gets up to receive an award, a finger points skyward and some silly sentimental thanks are given to this unknown entity that seems to have signed that million dollar check and won them a trophy.
Some people luck into success.
What I don't understand is how people who have struggled, suffered and perservered through hardships can give props to anyone or thing else for the hard work they definitely had to put in to gain success.

If and when I make my way out of this quagmire of worry, debt and uncertainty, no one gets credit for surviving this shit with me.

Maybe my cat.

You hear that God/Universe? (Someone call a doctor.)
You get no burn!!!

 
That'll go over really well.

To end this on a happy note; when I woke up this morning, Miss Kitty (name changed to protect the innocent) was curled up in a ball next to me in "bed".

How sweet is that?
She warms my cold, hardened heart. 

Bagels and Pipes

I met a crack head when I was at a deli ordering a sandwich this evening.
He wasn't lighting the pipe right there behind the counter.

Apparently, he had learned that crack was whack waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay back and cleaned himself up after a 15 year addiction.

Kudos.

Really.



He looked totally normal at first glance.

Then I noticed his doll head.

Maybe he smoked his hair in a cracky fit of desperation.

I kept taking quick, determined glances at his hairline to confirm.

It was a lace front wig or a graft from another body part. (ugh)

The hairline was then eclipsed by the all too perfect choppers that didn't quite fit his mouth.

What had started out as a pleasant chit chat turned TMI very quickly.

Him: "Can I get you anything to drink with your sandwich?"

Me: "I'll just have some water with it when I get home. I had a lot of coffee today. I need to re-hydrate."

Him: "Water is the best thing for you. Coffee is good for you too. Is it true it makes you go to the bathroom a lot?"

Me: "It's a diuretic. Yes."

Here comes the freak shit.

I then got the details of his defecation schedule and how it was fueled by an espresso here and a double shot there.



Me: "Is my FOOD ready yet?"



As much as I was enjoying hearing about his new vegan lifestyle and the half marathon he runs once a week, I was ready to go. Not hungry anymore but ready to pay for the food I had ordered and get the fuck out.



His parting words were, "I'm so glad the crack didn't take a toll on my body."

I thought of his hair, the teeth he had probably thrown in a pipe and lit for a quick buzz, and walked out grimacing.



Denial is a clerk in Brooklyn Heights.

Blind Dates and Nervous Cats

I'm in no financial position to be dating. I know.

The last movie I saw in theaters was Doubt.
Yes. 2008. Give me a break.

So I saw Alice in Wonderland last night.
With a blind date...

Holy shit!
This cat was nervous.
So nervous, in fact, that he lost the ability to smell his own breath.
Something about the autonomic nervous system.


Then there was the inappropriate touching.
I had to back away from several unwanted attempts at embrace.

Onlookers got a kick out of it.

This is the only nervous cat whose bad breath I will tolerate from now on.

Look, she wants a hug too.

Off to the Races...

So here we go...
I am not racially paranoid.
Let's get that out of the way immediately.

I've been on two interviews for sales positions in the restaurant industry that have both taken a very unprofessional turn.

1. I was asked my age.
2. I was asked if I had children.
3. I was explicitly asked if I was prepared to meet, "people who don't look like me" or told "that people who own restaurants look more like me than they do you."(presumptuous)

These three questions are all legally actionable.
Anyone with human resources training would have told these two gentlemen that I could have walked out of each of these offices, called a lawyer and won a decent chunk of change in a civil suit.
Had I not gotten both jobs.

My biggest issue is question number three.
Here's what I've been trying to figure out for the last three years; were they trying to prepare me for discrimination I will likely face or were they asking me if I know how to speak and relate to people of other races?

I wish I had answered like this:
"Are you asking me if I know how to talk to white people? It seems silly that you would ask me that. Mostly, because you are white and we are talking and relating to each other at this very moment."

I wonder what their response would have been. Maybe something like this:

"No, I just want you to be prepared for what you're likely to face in the market."

To which I would have loved to have said:

"There is no preperation for discrimination. When it happens, it hurts just as much if you're prepared for it as it would if it flew at you from a dear close friend you never expected it from."

In your imagination, you rail on.

"My junior high school classmates were Isreali, Egyptian, Indian, Bengali, Puerto Rican, African, Jamaican, Italian and Irish.
I went to the University of Connecticut. Whitest state in the union.

More?

My landlord is Hasidic, my neighbors represent the entirety of the Carribean, most of my teachers were white, my Grandfather is a quarter Cherokee and a quarter causasian,  my Grandmother was born in Panama and lastly, I live in New York frickin' City.

So what are you really asking me?"

How am I not supposed be paranoid with all of these white men clearly implicating that my race is going to impede my success?
I try not to let it enter into my thoughts.

Be Bold...

...and Mighty Forces Will Come to Your Aid. -Basil

I've been called an idealist by almost everyone I've ever met. Like expecting the best (or at least hoping for it) is somehow the most misguided thing I could do in the world.

My mother wants me to settle into some semblence of job(not career) stability, find myself a no-good-nick and pump out a rugrat or two like she did. Nothing in the world would make her happier. It would probably validate her choices in life.

The only problem with that scenario...I refuse to pretend like what she wants is going to make me happy.

Sorry Mom,I cannot, for the following reasons:

+I will not let someone else tell me how much my work is worth.
+I will not let someone else dictate what kind of relationship I will be in.
+I refuse to have children with someone I cannot depend on. (Every relationship I've been in so far.)
+I will not settle for good enough.

Even if the best career, relationship, or whatever takes me forty years to find.

I've worked hard, damn hard to get where I am. I will not let it all slide through my fingers.

Dreamers only fall hard if they lose their balance.
Steady on...

Druthers

I never liked the word druthers.
The meaning is simply preference.
It sounds like what birds leave behind after they molt their feathers.

Nevertheless, had I my druthers, I would be a writer.
Argue my merit as you read my blog. That's fine.
I think that's the point.

I want to be like David Sedaris. Writing essays and making people pee themselves on public transportation between my trips to France and Italy.

I want to verbosely detail my visits to the worlds eating hotspots and obfuscate my opinions by both lavishing the food with compliments and particulating the country's horrifying political unrest. Anthony Bourdain, eat your heart out.

Basically I want to be on permanent vacation while fulfilling the part of me that yearns for artistic expression.
Apparently I want to be a white male too.
Possibly gay and thorny.

Oddly enough, this all makes me perfect for sales.
Not the sexual or racial confusion part.

I make people laugh.
I'm curious and resourceful.
I'm extremely personable.

If I can get behind your product, if I'm passionate about it, I'll sell the shit out of it through fits of laughter and curious personability.

The End.

Say Yes to Everything...

This might be a rookie mistake. I admit that.
Right now, I'm taking every offer I lay my grubby little fingers on. I have back up plans for my back up plans.
I guess it's like a numbers game.
One of them has to pan out.(fingers crossed)
It's a schizophrenic existence. Absolutely.
One day I focus my attention on one thing.
The next day another.
I don't always remember what day it is. But I know what I'll be working on the moment my eyes first catch daylight.
I try to plan out my day's strategy the night before.
It helps me keep sane.

Sometimes I wake up as early as 4am. For no other reason then I have severe anxiety.
So much so, my hair is falling out.
It'd be pretty awesome to be a bald 28 year old woman.
Pretty awesome.

Nevertheless, I pursue all kinds of leads.
My main focuses right now are wholesale gas contracts, selling ad space in a local neighborhood guide and the "big deal".
The one I have more doubts about everyday.

Business to business. No real focus. I would like to focus on restaurants primarily. But at this point, I'm just not picky.

Tempered Excitement

So I start work on a new project tomorrow.
It looks like it's going to be fun if nothing else.
It is temporary. (4 weeks)
The pay is going to suck.
(You really know the pay is going to suck when they wait until the verrrrry end of the meeting right before you leave to talk about it)

It will be fun but it's more of the same. I do all the work, they make 90%. I make 10%.
No time is invested in training.
My expenses are my own.
Blah, blah, blah.

I'm grasping at straws here. I think it will be funish.
It will certainly not solve my problems long term. It might help me in the short. Just a little.

When it rains...

I have an interview today.
Might almost be 100% sure that this is another opportunity to be mediocre.
There probably isn't a salary or benefits.
I'm certain this is a part time gig.
Either way, I guess it's better than nothing.
It might be fun.

On another note, this deal that I've been working on, sigh...
Who knows? I have no hope.
Sent someone else a resume.
Someone I trust.

The Future Conan?

In the year 200000000000.
In the year 200000000000000000.

Aside from the common middle 20s angst and loss of idealism, not knowing what you can do let alone what you want to do to earn a living for the rest of your life is extremely limiting.

You focus your energies on the day to day struggle to survive in lieu of planning your future. You can’t relax with debt looming and you can’t pay off your debt when you’re simply trying to survive. Not in any significant way. It honestly comes down to a decision of whether to eat or keep the utilities on.

So what do we do?
You’re supposed to go to college to advance your education.
To establish yourself as an educated person.
I think we all know plenty of “educated” people who can’t string together a coherent sentence.
Then there are the loans.
Few people, save those who were smart enough to go to a CUNY or SUNY school, graduate (or drop out for that matter) without tens of thousands of dollars worth of debt.
If you live in a major metropolitan city like New York, you might be able to get a job that pays the bills if you have a roommate and meager expectations as to what constitutes a life.
The debt remains and you scrape by.
If you’re lucky and you know someone, you may get a chance to change your circumstances.

My ex, who dropped out before completing undergrad, met a girl who worked for the standard of journalism. He happened to have been the EIC of his college paper and had a prestigious editorial internship one summer.
These meager qualifications didn’t get noticed when he applied in the years after dropping out.
When he started a relationship with someone who worked there, he was suddenly hired.
It’s not about what you know. It’s about who you know.
It’s the George Bush brand of cronyism, nepotism and the lack of merit based hiring and promotion that keeps most qualified people from gaining the success they may rightly deserve.
It also discourages people from actually trying to achieve. What is the point of accruing the actual necessary experience if I don’t know anyone who can put my resume under someone’s nose?
What are the chances, of the hundreds of people who respond to a job listing, that my resume will even get a glance before anyone else’s?

Are we doomed?
Who do you know?

What will become of me?

I often wonder where I'll be next month.

What will the very near future have in store for me?
Will there be success?
Satisfaction?
Fullfillment?
Resolution?
Releif?

Will there be failure?
Despair?
Frantic scraping?
The hatching of new plans?
Further uncertainty?

Will my life take a turn for the better?
If it doesn't, am I prepared to deal with those circumstances?

Can my heart take this kind of anxiety?
Does it have a choice?

Survival...

Things you will need to keep sane:

Canned sustenance
Hope and or a good plan
Good friends
Patience
Low standards
An active imagination
Negotiation skills
Laughter
The knowledge that talking to yourself is not a symptom of anything

With all of the above, you can survive. Whether you're on unemployment, part time employed or living off of savings.
Good luck.
You're not alone.

Hey, work on your six pack. Low caloric intake plus targeted excersize equals sculpted waistline.

Attempts at employment...So to speak. Vol II

It was 2009 and I heard a call to action.
Black Jesus had spoken and it was time to get off of the couch.
By this time, the recession was in full swing. Every month, the unemployment numbers were worse.
Layoffs were detailed in headlines on every channel.
I watched my savings dwindle. I had been on a few interviews but no one was calling back. I would occasionally talk to friends who would tell me they were out of work also.
I got the New York Times and scanned the two inch by two inch classified section.
There it was.
Like a shining beacon in a sea of black and gray. I circled it with a red pen and dashed for the computer.
“Send your resume.” I chanted loudly until I was finally all ready, cover letter written, email open, resume attached. I clicked send and crossed my fingers.

The next week, the phone rang. I had landed an interview in the energy industry. I looked the company’s website up and wondered what I was in for.
Ten people sat in chairs that lined the perimeter of the wall street office of a Canadian originated energy service company. Insiders call them escos. I was basically in a cattle call interview for the next Enron.
They blew smoke up my ass about the average income of their sales representatives for the rest of the week. I was happy to bend over for it too. I knew that as much as they were speakking theoretically, that you really can capitalize on any opportunity if you bust your ass. I started to think of who I could bully and cajole into doing business with me. I had a list compiled in my head and I was ready to hit the ground running. I had learned my lesson.

Then, I hit a snag.
They pulled me aside one afternoon after the group had been dismissed from training. There was a management position they were hiring for and wanted to know if I was available and interested. My ears perked.
The recruiter was leaving. She had been the most professional person I had encountered in my short time there so far. The manager, who had been running the “training sessions”, was clearly out off his depth. The man was an idiot. So when I heard that the recruiter was leaving, I was slightly concerned that a lot of responsibility must be on her shoulders and that she was probably carrying this guy.
I had been out of work for so long, I didn’t care if I literally had to carry him around the office. I needed money.
I was interviewed, my resume scoured and then invited to dinner. The regional manager was in town from Canada. Dinner was a tradition.
Three of the top sales reps and I sat in the lobby on a bitterly cold night, waiting for a car service. After we got in the cars and drove the three blocks (not kidding) to the restaurant, I found myself sitting in front of an old haunt.
In the years between real estate and my current unemployment, I had found success selling wine in the restaurant industry. This was a restaurant that I had sold to. I knew the owner.
Unfortunately, the top sales rep for the energy company knew him also. He was already a client.
Booooooo.
I was the only woman at this soiree. We were served generously and I realized quickly that the oatmeal I had eaten more than six hours ago wasn’t absorbing the vodka I was drinking at a satisfactory rate.
I stopped. The rest of the party kept on drinking. And drinking. And drinking.
By ten, I was ready to hop on the subway home.
“You’re coming to the club with us, right?”
Suddenly, everyone was asking.
I had no idea there was an after party. I looked around at the group of men I was with. None were under forty.
Some were married and wore their rings, some were married and I only knew because someone else told me. I was younger then these men by a range of fifteen to thirty years.
I rain checked on the club offer. They wanted to go to a club I hadn’t been to in two years.

Why would I go to a club with a bunch of old, drunk, loud men who were clearly looking for action?

I was given cab fare and was happy to leave.
The next morning was an important morning. I had set my mentor up with an appointment at a restaurant. He was supposed to meet with the owner at 10 am to discuss his energy bills. They assign you a mentor so you can learn from them. Obviously.

This is how the process was supposed to go:
The first week, you make calls and set appointments for your mentor gathering as much information as you can so they can hit it out of the park.
Once the two of you collaborate to close five accounts in this manner, you start making appointments and accompanying your mentor so you can learn how it goes once you’re out in the field.
This whole time, your income is totally dependent on your mentor being successful.

It was 9:45 am and the last thing had I said to my mentor before jumping into the cab the night before was, “Don’t forget about your appointment in the morning.”
I sat anxiously hoping he would call me with good news within the next thirty minutes. I was tired of eating oatmeal.
Five minutes later, a strange commotion stirred in the office a few feet away. My attention was drawn to a sound emanating from under one of the desks.
To make a pathetic story short, my mentor, in all his infinite wisdom, had decided that it would be a better idea to come back to the office to crash for the night instead of going home to sleep.
I was mortified to find him snoring under a desk.
The next series of events will shock you further.
I promise.
The discussion over dinner that fateful night in the restaurant was in great part, about me taking over for the recruiter. When word started swirling around the office that the recruiter was leaving, I assumed no responsibility for the rumor. I hadn’t brought it up at dinner and I hadn’t told anyone in the office that hadn’t brought it up to me.
Somehow, it got back to both the recruiter and the manager that I was told I had the job already.
I scratched my head. I had asked a few people if they thought it was worth it to lose my freedom. I guess that was a little presumptuous of me. But if I’m going to take a job, I wanted to know if it was worth it. Regardless of whether I actually had it yet or not. These were all people who were sloppily discussing me taking the position over dinner the night before.
I was tremendously confused.
I was summoned to the manager’s office. Here is what this ignoramus said,
“Gabe is just a sales representative. I am the manager here.”
I shook my head in agreement.
“I don’t know where he gets off telling you that the job is yours. I make that decision.”
Ok. Now it was starting to crystallize.
The quick back story is that Gabe was meant to be in this man’s position but because he was the top earner in the nation, he could not be taken out of the field. So Gabe let his presence be known as the top rep and threatened this man’s, well… man-ness.
I was caught in the cross streams of a pissing contest of the likes I had never seen before.
“Can I say something?” I interrupted.
He obliged.
“Gabe never told me I had the position. I don’t even know who told him it was offered to me. We had a discussion about whether or not it was worth it to chain myself to a desk and possibly cap my earning potential.”
Apparently this bit of information washed right through his brain and latched on to nothing. He continued his tirade about Gabe and his lack of authority. He confirmed with me that I would be working with him, not Gabe. I sat there and listened.
The meeting capped off with him letting me know that I still had not been selected for the position.
I was astonished.
I gathered my belongings and went to the ladies room to compose myself.
It was nearing time to quit for the afternoon and not being on the clock and having little inclination to sit back down at my desk, I walked from the bathroom to the elevator bank and exited the building.
As I rounded the corner to walk to the subway, I saw the manager, holding court with a bunch of the other employees from the office.
I read his lips as I approached. My name was flying out of his face as I gained proximity. Someone alerted him to my presence and he turned to face me.
“You wonder why people are talking about this? Do you? Go on and continue your conversation. Have a good weekend.”
I walked away not caring.
The next week, I sat down in the recruiter’s office and told her what had gone down. Until this time, we had gotten along just fine. She was warm and willing to share the drama of the office outright. She told me the perks and the pitfalls in prepping me to take over for her.
Now she was scowling and seemed cold.
She then gave me a pep talk and asked me how I was doing on the phones. I said I was doing fine.
Then she dropped the bomb. She wasn’t leaving after all. I sat there awestruck and dumbfounded.
She extolled the virtues of the company and told me to concentrate on my sales. I then asked her how she could expect me to go back to scheduling appointments for a mentor who slept off benders under his desk. She had no answer for that question.
I grabbed my belongings and left the office. Never to return.

I later found out that my mentor had been the person spreading the word that Gabe told me I had the job. I also later learned that he was arrested and remanded to rehabilitation for substance abuse.
Months after that, I was working for a different energy company, a less scummy one. I tried to do business unsuccessfully with a young man who was deeply connected in the “industry”. He coincidentally, represented a hotel in Manhattan that had just signed on with my new company but through my mentor. (The industry doesn’t require fidelity or non compete clauses. Many sales representatives worked with different escos at the same time.)
“No, it’s not possible. They‘re my client and they have not signed anything.”
There was an investigation. It turns out that my mentor had been forging signatures the entire length of his six month tenure. All of his accounts were fraudulent. He is now being sued for thousands and thousands of dollars.

What... a mentor.

Attempts at employment…So to speak. Volume I

For some, this unemployment game is new. For me, not so much.
I’ve been marginally “employed” for four years now.
When I became an independent contractor, leaving the stability of a meager biweekly paycheck and benefits, I would have no idea what I was in for.
As much as I loved the idea of earning my keep, of being responsible for my successes and failures, of trusting my abilities, I would never have guessed the degree of difficulty.

I spent many years toiling away at the daily drudgery of selling a number of things.

First, real estate. I picked the wrong year to get into real estate. 2006 was the beginning of the end.
I started in the summer.
The hottest summer on record.
Everyday was in the low 100s.
I wish I were exaggerating.
I also didn’t do enough research to find out that the way the business model in most real estate firms is set up, doesn’t really aid in the development of new agents.
Essentially, they toss you to the wolves with a wide angle lens.
All of the rules and laws you learned while obtaining your license are completely tossed out the window and you will likely not make enough money to compensate the time, energy and investment you put into getting one apartment rented.
There’s a lot of luck involved in most people’s success.
No? You disagree?
I showed a very nice couple with an 18 month old a few apartments one Saturday. This is how it went.
The first apartment was on a beautiful tree lined street in Prospect Heights. I knew the neighborhood well. My mom lived a few blocks away. The brownstones were well maintained, the cars parked with good spacing between them, no loud music coming from any windows. It was idyllic.
The apartment was on the ground floor of the brownstone. It was perfect. The children who lived there currently opened the door and welcomed us playfully. Soon an adult surfaced and introductions were made.
Normally, showing an occupied apartment was a bad idea. But this family was the perfect commercial for living in this neighborhood.
It was a two dad family with three children of all colors of the rainbow. The kids were loquacious and friendly, the apartment looked lived in but not too messy.
Out of the park. Home run. Good luck so far.
When we stepped back out of the apartment to share notes, the couple raised objections to living just off of the street. They were concerned with safety.

Next on the list was an apartment building that had an intercom. It was in the same neighborhood, just around the corner and up the street. At least the safety issue wouldn’t be as much of an issue since the door to the actual apartment was on the other side of a door, a foyer, another door and a lobby.
We got to the building, which while being in the same general area, wasn’t on a tree lined street and faced a series of small businesses that were slightly dilapidated, and rang the buzzer. After a few minutes, I rang the buzzer again. The whole time I yakked incessantly about the building’s proximity to the museum, the park, restaurants, I even touted the availability of parking. After the third ring, I started to sweat.
The door to the building was locked. In one aspect, that was a good thing. This young family was concerned with safety. But I didn’t need the building to be so safe that I couldn’t show them the apartment.
As I pulled my phone out to dial the listing agent, an older lady pushing her groceries in a cart approached us. She was going home, into the building I was trying to get into! Fantastic.
We parted and allowed her access to the door. I breathed a sigh of relief. Suddenly a loud bang. I swung back towards the door, disturbed from my reverie, to find that this tiny, crouched woman had kicked the door open.
Bad luck.
The end.

Dining Set (gently used)

Dining Set (gently used)

Panic

“I’m baaaaack!”
The panic has set in. Again.
I have flour, yeast, salt, pepper, olive oil, several cans of beans, a can of corned beef I refuse to eat, and a few tea bags. That’s my food supply until I get paid again. Which will be…

It’s the second month of the 28th year of my life. I have been in this position more times than I care to admit.
I owe almost $5000 in back rent. I’ll have to put a few dollars in a flex pay account to keep my cell phone on. If I don’t, one of the opportunities I am hoping will change my circumstances may never get through to me.
I’m going to try selling off the furniture piece by piece. If I can’t sell it, maybe I can barter for something. But I don’t know what.

Food?

Antidepressants?

Drugs?

There is a constant knot in my gut that will not be untied until I feel like I have a serious solution to my current financial status.
The worse that can happen is I wind up homeless.

Aside from the back rent I owe, I’ve also racked up an additional $30,000 in debt. Everyone from the IRS to the bank or collection agency that owns my student loans wants to know when I will pay them what I owe.
It’s a fair question. A question I wish to god I had an answer for.

There are always possibilities. There are a few that I am hoping will soon bear fruit. I’m just not sure until I hear from them.

Until then, I can’t really do much.
I do push ups.
I clean, I bake the bread that is sustaining my life.
I wander around like a bum.
I probably resemble a bum in many ways.
Odor.
General likeness. (lots of fatigues)

I try to take my mind off of my troubles by listening to the radio.
I tap into some unsecured wireless network and read mindless celebrity gossip.
I strategize about what to do in case everything falls through.
I fantasize about what I would do if it all works out.
I’ll have to ask someone to take my cat.
This will be heartbreaking.
My cat is my guardian angel.
She keeps me company.
She calms me when I wake up, panic stricken, at 4am imagining the worse.
She’s my companion.
I love her.
I promised her that I would take care of her.
Forever.

Maybe god speaks Aramaic like Jesus. Perhaps it's a simple matter of a language barrier.