Untitleable

Sooooooooo (drum roll please) I got a job! Actually, I got two jobs! Recession my ass, it just takes a little effort people! And I'm obviously kidding, I don't want angry, unemployed psychos coming after me for mocking their troubles: I'm sure you're doing all you can. Carry on, soldier. In the midst of all my rejoicing at having a ligitimate reason to get up in the morning (besides the strawberry pancakes that my mom has been making, pancakes with a deliciously permeating aroma that comes wafting into my nostrils at the crack of noon and lures me, bleary-eyed and starving, to the kitchen to partake in their fluffy, buttery, syrup-covered ecstasy), I realized that all my employment goodness starts on the fourth of July, a holiday I was looking forward to spending in Tallahassee with my fabulous collection of friends. Now, as the princess cries into her money and wipes her ass with flakes of gold, I realize that I have nothing to complain about: I have an income and in times like these I should be licking my employers shoes clean at the end of the day, not whining that I don't get to go get drunk with my bffs. And in a strangely mixed up Body Snatchers sort of way, I'm glad that I'm not going up to school again to have a reunion with all these incredible people that I spent a few of the most unbelievable years of my short life with. It's too soon. Now, ye of whom I speak, do not distress. My motivation for these thoughts are not as simple or rude as they sound. College was a surreal, almost dream-like experience that can never be replicated or duplicated, nor should it. In its moment it was nearly perfect, everything happened as it should have and in most cases things happened in a manner that no one in even their most vividly altered state of mind could have imagined. It's tragic to say, but I think I've moved on. Not saying that if I was still in school I wouldn't bump this responsibility notion to the curb, ditch work which would ultimately end in my termination (been there, done that) and drive my happy butt up to my beautiful apartment and relish in the debauchery until my toenails fell off (done that too). But I've started something new, something that I want to do, something that's going to give me a new sense of satisfaction, at least for the next few months. My state of mind has changed. I did the partying, staying up past sunrise, living my life from Thursday to Sunday lifestyle and I had a blast. But even Kegger Barbie needs to grow up and get her M.D. one day. I like the direction my new, slightly less crazy and slightly more responsible self is going (please note the usage of the word "slightly" and appreciate its connotations). Now that I'm not strapped down with classes I feel less need to rebel so avidly and frequently. I'm finally calling the shots in my life and deciding what the next adventure is going to be. It's strange and terrifying as all get out but it's the most exciting thing I've ever attempted. And what made me get here is all the years I spent in school yearning for my freedom. And the people that accompanied me along the way, those who allowed me to sit, stand, or fall down next to them while they tripped along their own path, are frozen in my mind in a cryogenic state of utterly blemish-free perfection. When I left high school for college I was a complete wreck: I cried for days and feared that I would never find anything or anyone as fantastic as what I had had for those four years. My first semester at school was a catastrophe because I was so stuck in another place to which nothing could compare and I never gave anything a chance to compare, at least not at first. I couldn't adjust to what was happening and resented my situation for being so beyond my control. From that situation came a few incredible friendships that have lasted to this day, and as time passed things only became more amazing and my circle of friends grew and grew until it became a family. Finally, my fear of change and my anxiety because of it decreased and I found myself again, only better and much more able to adjust than my angsty teenage predecessor. Because of the people I met and the situations I found myself in (and a few times, found my way out of) I figured out life from a different perspective and started to be enchanted by change and the idea of new prospects. Life went from being stomach churning (not butterflies, think food poisoning) to remarkably electrifying. Now, as I'm setting out on this exhilarating new adventure, I have those people and those memories to remind me that even though things may suck at first and look bleek and foreboding, there's that stupid silver lining that will eventually give way to the sun, and happiness will not be permanently evasive. Going back would be incredible, but if I'm unable to feel that feeling one more time, I have all these new ones to remind me of what I had and to encourage me along my way. Now, as Dorothy skips down her yellow brick road into the sunset and the theater lights ignite the tear-stained but utterly inspired audience faces, I must comment: if I could find a way out of all this working bullshit I'd rapidly invent an instantaneous transporting device and zap myself into my old backyard quicker than I could blink, nothing could break my stride, nothing could hold me down, oh no. It's just that knowing I can't is heartbreaking. But, finally, instead of yearning to be where I can't be I'm just elated that I can say that's where I once was.

Arrogant Idealism

One of the things I love about being 22 is the fact that when I say I have dreams and goals for my life, people don't doubt me automatically: I'm still young enough to see them through to fruition. Give me a few years and I'm sure people will start looking at me like I'm insane, or like I'm a bum who needs to get a job and introduce myself to reality. My roommate and I spent quite a bit of time discussing idealism. Our main concern with graduation was the fact that we had to enter the forbidden "real world" and start being logical and responsible and give up the notion that life could be all we wanted it to be. So when does reality kick in and idealism get kicked to the curb? I've met adults who have said to me "Oh wow, to be 22 again", in a whistful tone that can only insinuate that I know something or think something that somewhere along the way they have lost. Or that I'm only 22 and I still have time to make my dreams a reality. So where does that all go wrong? When do our dreams go from being possible to irrational? Does it all stop when the bills start piling up? Does idealism take a back seat to logical decisions when we start to weigh just what's important in life? And what exactly is important? What are our priorities and when do they start to shift? For a fleeting moment in my college career I was an English major (a field I quickly abandoned the minute the emo intellectual kid in the corner started reading poems to us about his toothbrush) and we were inundated with prose about lost dreams, abandoned hopes, wishes unfulfilled, and lives that were completely empty because of the aformentioned circumstances. But I have to sit and wonder: when do these hopes get tossed to the wayside and where does our passion for life go? Do our goals change? And if they do, why do we settle for goals that don't make us anywhere near as happy as we could be if we had just kept trying, just given things a little more effort? Those who are successful are those who never give up, never give in to failure, who keep trying even when everyone in the world says sit down and shut up. So what does it take? I've always thought of myself as possesing a sort of confidence that almost borders on arrogance. The normal characteristics associated with being a girl (for example, modesty) have never wasted their time on me, I've more closely identified with the supreme arrogance that I can only associate with guys: that idea that everything I touch could turn to gold and everything I say is probably right because it's coming out of my mouth. Thus this blog. I didn't study subjects in school that made sense or that would guarantee me a job or money right after graduation. Instead I turned to more fanciful subjects and usually just ignored school altogether, instead focusing on my social life and relationships that I deemed more valuable or practical than an education. For me, education took place more outside the classroom than in. Yet, even though I barely graduated and with no honors to speak of, with no future plans or concrete paths set for me to walk on, I still think I'm going to be a huge success. For some reason, I still think that everything is going to work out fabulously for me, that I'll be outstandingly wealthy and prosperous and that nothing can hold me down. Me. Who has no job and should be panicking at the thought of bills and rent payments and the cost of food or gas, here I sit, cool as that cliched cucumber (lord, it must be completely frozen by now) and I have not a worry in the world. So when does my idealism come crashing down around me? I don't fear authority (another problem with my arrogant psyche) and I don't think that someone banging down my door to collect for my cell phone bill is going to phase me. I just don't see what the big deal is. SO WHEN DOES MY IDEALISM END? Perhaps what I have is the making of an actual success story. Perhaps the secret to it all is some sort of irrational, arrogant idealism that doesn't get squashed by the mudane tasks of day to day living. Sure, I'm still going to be over the moon when I get the call that someone wants to pay me for some sort of skill that I possess, but only because I realize that that is just a stepping stone to what I actually perceive my life's goal to be. And there isn't a stopping point until that goal is sitting in front of me, toasting my success with a cold beer and a thousand of my closest friends. So logic be damned and let idealism rage like it's 2009. I'm bound and determined to not eat my words in ten years, so let this rant be a promise: I will be a success, if i have to claw my way through the trenches the whole way there, I will see my goals through to the end. As for now, I'm still waiting by the phone, hoping to hear those phantom words... "You're hired!"

Catch 22

Graduating from college in the year 2009 will go down in history as one of the worst ideas ever, right up there with giving Paris Hilton her own reality shows (yes, tragically plural) and spam (can shaped meat product? ew). It's not that I'm not glad to be done with school, but I've passed the last weeks-full of days hanging out with my parents and the most exciting social interactions I've had have been with my cats. "There are no jobs!" cries the media, yet my mom won't get off my ass about making money. Did I mention I have $300 in the bank and a $500 rent payment due in a week? Yes, I'm paying rent for an apartment I haven't stepped foot in in almost a month, because I still have a lease but I couldn't afford to live on my own anymore because I can't find a job. Talk about a fucked up catch 22. And it's not like I'm actually looking for a career or anything, I just need some shit job that won't make me want to jump out of a moving car at the end of the work day. Is that so much to ask? Capitalism is great, it keeps the motivated ones motivated and gives lazy assholes such as myself something to complain about. It pisses me off that to survive in the world I have to make money doing something that I don't really want to do so that I can buy things that I don't actually need to survive, all to distract me from my only actual purpose in life which is to reproduce. One of the classes I took in my last semester at Florida State University (Go Noles!) was "Evolution of Human Sexuality", a provocative class that explored the "theory" of the female orgasm (a hypothesis volunteered by a man, or what I like to call a clueless ass bag) and the mating patterns of various indigenous tribes in Africa. Two days a week we watched people and animals alike fornicate on a 10 foot screen and then talked about how and why. Quite riviting subject matter for horny and usually hung-over college students. My roommate and I would sit and giggle during class, all the while approaching the realization that the motivation behind everything we do (literally, everything) is to have sex and pass along our genes, and anything that isn't geared toward this is a direct result of it. This made my social life a bit more entertaining because I started to look at everything as a simple mating ritual: girls dress up and go out to advertise their goodies so guys will have sex with them. Guys brag about themselves and flash their money, if they have it, so that girls will have sex with them. People go out and lube their shy egos with alcohol so that approaching someone of the opposite sex is easier and getting someone to spend the night with them is almost guaranteed (probably the main reason why Prohibition was so unpopular). It became almost sickening watching this same scene play out over and over and it became even more nauseating knowing how often I had played into the game before I came to this earth-shattering realization, not that I wasn't having fun living in my blissful ignorance. If people just layed it all out on the table, said "Hey I'm looking for someone to complement my genetic make-up so I can produce healthy child-bearing children to pass on my genes so that my family line doesn't end with me thereby failing at the only goal and purpose of my entire existence, wanna help?", then I'd have a bit more respect for them, and they'd save alot of time and money. But I digress. The point of it all is that we get jobs to buy things to distract us. Everytime someone falls in love they preach about how nothing material can compare, that it's all just a waste without this magical thing called love. But they still work their jobs and buy their things because we live exhaustingly long lives and who can just have sex and babies all day every day for upwards of 80 years? We need a break. The problem is, all these distractions have become our main focus, sex and love taking a back seat to BMWs and 75 inch plasma screen televisions. We've turned these little breaks into our lives, breaking our backs to meet quotas and impress other people with our plumage, so to speak. The upside of the fact that I'm a girl is that I could just have sex and babies for the rest of my life and let my husband break his back so I can have a nice house and car and send Billy and Susie to summer camp every year so I can go shopping with my gal pals. The problem with that plan is that I have a brain and a conscience, so drifting through life being a consumer isn't the fulfillment I'm looking for. Which brings me back to my point: I have no job. Not only do I have no job but I also have no boyfriend to distract me from that fact and I left most of my friends back at school. Alcohol is swiftly losing its appeal and due to my limited resources any herbal refreshments that I usually partake in have become too expensive for my current monetary situation. I'm left with nothing but myself and the nagging feeling that time is passing too quickly and I'm still sitting here, writing a blog in my childhood room in my childhood home with my parents in the kitchen and I don't know where to go or what to do, and I have no money to go anywhere or do anything so I need a job so that I can live up my new-found freedom. Talk about a fucked up catch 22.