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.