My life. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, my life is no longer a drama... it's pure comedy at this point... a comedy of errors. I am like a modern day Lucille Ball in a modern age version of I Love Lucy. I think my feet are broken from wearing heels all day and stomping around NYC in this 82 degree/90% humidity shithole. My face looks like a greasy pizza, spotted with a fresh breakout, because this is how Jesus likes to do me when I actually
The fourth interview of today was added yesterday afternoon. I got a call back from a blogging job I applied to with Rebelcircus.com/blog/ and I was super fucking stoked. As you all know (if you actually read this piece of shit blog) my main goal in life is to get paid to write. When I heard back from such a cool site, I was elated... I wasn't going to blow this opportunity. This is the first interview I've actually given a fuck about in a while. This is something coveted and something that is a step in the right career path for me. The guy who called me said he wanted to meet today (Tuesday) at 12 noon. Near the end of our phone convo, he confirmed my email address and said that he would send me the address of their offices and a confirmation via email. I had an extremely busy day at work yesterday and didn't really think twice about checking my email. This morning, however, when I woke up and still hadn't received an email detailing the interview address etc., I called the guy back. His phone went straight to voicemail so I left a generic "Hey, I never received the email yesterday that you were going to send with the address, so I was wondering if you could please let me know." This was a solid 2.5 hours before noon when I was due to meet him. I did the next feasible thing I could think of and google searched 'Rebel Circus NYC offices.' My search yielded what seemed an appropriate address, and so I figured 'Fuck it,' he said noon... I'll just fucking go since I found the address myself.
Long story short, I show up to a building on 37th street, go up to Suite 405, let myself in, and find a showroom with two very confused women working on assembling garments. One turned and asked "Can I help you?" at which point I realized this was a very different Rebel Circus than the one that I was looking for, and said "no, I think I have the wrong place" before quickly seeing myself out and booking it out of the building. I then did the next logical thing and google-searched "Rebel Circus" again. The next link I clicked on was the company's review on Glassdoor.com, and THIS is what I found... YIKES. Good fucking thing I didn't actually go to a real interview and accept a real job with them. I guess everything happens for a reason... right? RIGHT?!!!! Oh God... Please say it's so, there must be a reason for how shitty everything has been going despite my best efforts.... Please keep in mind this is the ONE interview I was supposed to have today that is actually one that will help me further myself in the way of how I'd like my ultimate career path to go. Total fucking bust. So after this, I only have a serious of hostessing/serving interviews to look forward to. Hey, at this point, I will take anything that pays my bills and gets me out of Mollister (aka. 666, aka, Hell on Earth).
So then I go home and change for my next few interviews, because the one hostessing job I have an interview for has specified that I should wear all black and heels. Ok, easy enough. I borrowed a black top from my sister since all of my black tops are slutty crop tops at this moment in time. The top is sleeveless and kind of tunic-y shaped with pleated black chiffon and a high neck with a key hole. I wear it with my skinny, cropped black chinos from the Gap and some fawn-colored platform sandals, and it looks fantastic. Even my boyfriend (who might as well be an Italian fashion critic) confirms it looks great. "Very classy" he says- to get his seal of approval is pretty hard. So I go to my next interview, a rooftop, and am basically handed the job. Then I go to Bryant Park to wait for my next interview, which happens to be at a very VERY, VERY upscale French restaurant right on the park that JUST opened. I walk in feeling confident. The place is fucking gorgeous. The interview seems to go well enough; we chat about the fact that I work for Mollister and he worked for the same company (as a model, no doubt in my mind). He asks me about my writing, etc. etc. I feel as though the interview has gone swimmingly. I walk out of the place confident as hell.
I am on my way to Highline to refresh my makeup before my last interview at 6pm. As I'm walking down 16th street, my hand grazes the hem of my shirt. Hmmm, "why does it feel so fucking heavy?" I think to myself. I explore the hem a bit more and feel elastic... then I realize it's a sleeve... a sleeve dangling down the side of my fucking "sleeveless" tunic shirt. WTF. I realize I actually have TWO sleeves, hanging on the inside of my tent-shaped shirt, and that the elastic bottoms of each sleeve are hanging out of either side of the shirt. HOLY FUCKING SHIT. Here I am thinking the shirt is sleeveless and thusly wearing it as such all damn day out in public, when in reality, it is a cold-shoulder/rennaissence type top with the sleeve that is supposed to start half way down my arm. I suddenly feel like a fucking idiot and wonder how many people have noticed, and if the dude from the last interview was actually smiling at me because I'm a complete fuck up who doesn't know how to dress herself. I sometimes wonder if I will ever be a real woman. Like, will I ever wake up with my shit together, money in the bank, a job that I like, and not have chipped nails, broken heels, acne on my face, and frizzy fucking hair? Or will I be a perpetual 14 year old- awkward as fuck and always unkempt in some way? Even when I look put together from afar, if you get close enough you'll see I have clumpy mascara, flyaway baby hairs, chipped nails/polish, stains on my shirt, two much concealer on a zit, etc. Why can't I be like one of those perfect, manicured ladies who lunch? I think even if I had all the money in the world I couldn't be that perfect because my body just wouldn't allow it. I think I'm a mess for a reason.
Oh well. This is my reality.
Update:
I did NOT get the job. :D :D :D :D
