Once upon a time in the land of a million hopes and a billion lost dreams, there lived a small, fragile girl with big, icey-grey eyes, icey-blonde hair, and enough falsely contrived charm to captivate and entrance even the coldest of hearts. She turned heads walking down the street, turned heads on the subway, and was never at a loss for dates out at the expense of whatever boy she was currently letting pursue her. She lived with her boyfriend of five years in a tiny apartment in the East Village, and regularly cheated on him in the hopes that one day, one of the dudes she was fucking on the side would provide her with the break she had been waiting for since she was 18. Her boyfriend, an aspiring musician, was consistently faithful and saving money wherever he could in the hopes that he could one day provide his girl with the life he believed she deserved. He worked three jobs to pay the bills, take her out to nice dinners whenever he had a night off of work, and put money in his savings account for the engagement ring he was planning to buy her for their upcoming anniversary. He was madly in love, and blind to her true nature, despite the fact that his closest friends saw right through her and regularly warned him as to their suspicion that she was not faithful in the least and a manipulative and conniving bitch.
The girl was an aspiring actress who just couldn't get a break. She busted her ass waiting tables and doing bottle service at hot club where she was regularly hit on by New York's finest douche bags, and often met the guys she let take her out and slept with in return for favors. She was a slut in the most basic sense of the word. While her boyfriend was up all night working at the 24/7 diner around the corner from her apartment, she could either be found flirting and dancing with an older gentleman getting bottles at the club where she worked, or out on the town at another club, grinding on some other old dude in return for lines of blow in the VIP section. She didn't really feel much at all these days- it could have been from the years of rejection and having her hopes and dreams of becoming a star on the silver screen shot down time and time again, or it could have been from the grade A cocaine going up her nostrils on a nightly basis...either way, she was numb and lived her life in a blurred haze of drug use, alcohol consumption, and rich men that gave her what she wanted as long as she was hooking up with them. She had learned years ago how exactly to shut off her feelings. She couldn't remember the last time she cried, and she couldn't remember the last time that she was truly happy without the aid of synthetically manufactured drugs or the thrill of a ride in some investment banker's hot car. There was no real punctuation, just a daily routine of sleeping late, working a little, and partying hard, the same routine day in and day out was growing old, just as she was growing old, and life as she new it was growing old.
Once upon a time, she had been sweet and her charm had been genuine. Once upon a time, she had also been madly in love with her boyfriend, the way that he still loved her even now. Once upon a time, she never could have fathomed falling so far from grace and cheating on him, she never could have fathomed nights of doing free lines in return for a BJ in the men's room. Now, as she stood on the corner of 14th street on a busy Saturday in Union Square where she was going to meet with her agent to discuss an upcoming independent film she was going to be featured in, something triggered her memory. As she stood waiting for the light to turn, cars and cabs and bikes buzzing by in a flurry of movement, she stared into space and remembered the very first time she had stood waiting to cross the street when she was going for her first consultation with her current agency. She was a different person then; her dreams were so high, her standards were higher. She was hopeful and not run down. She thought with her heart and her mind, and she wasn't fueled so much as she was now by her desperate desire for fame and wealth. These were the days when she didn't give a fuck about being able to skip the line at the hottest night club, these were the days when she didn't even know what a Birken bag was. The days when her grey eyes weren't ice cold, but warm and sparkled with that brilliance that can only be seen in the eyes of someone who is pure of heart.
The crowd of people around her started to move forward across the street, and she awoke from her daydream and began to cross too without looking either way. As she stepped off of the curb, a rogue bicyclist clipped her and she jumped back and gasped in shock.... "Jesus Christ, watch where you're fucking going!" she screamed after the mexican delivery boy whom simply turned his head to look back on her before he sped off down the street.
After her meeting, she went home to chill for the few hours she had before she her next appointment- a date with a 42 year old financial analyst who wanted to take her to dinner and out on the town in his sick Mercedes SUV. She was sitting on the couch watching re-runs of Sex in the City, when her boyfriend came in the door, fresh from rehearsal with his band. "Hey Babe, how was your meeting?" She turned to look at him, a vile look of disgust taking over her otherwise pretty face, "Take your fucking shoes off Jimmy, Jesus! I am tired of cleaning up after you, I'm not your mother!" she said, and then went back to staring at the tv. He leaned over to unlace his converse. "So, are you working tonight? If you aren't, my friend is playing a show at the Rosewood- we should go." Again she turned her gaze from the tv and looked at him, the same look of disgust coming across her face, her grey eyes cold and steely, "I fucking told you- I work EVERY night this week.... I go in at 9." "Oh, Excuse me for not remembering your schedule on top of my own..." he said as he opened the fridge and scoured it for an readily edible piece of food to fill the hole in his stomach after another long day.
Later that night, as our main character was getting ready for her 'date', she found a baggie of coke she had stashed away in her underwear drawer. She looked behind her to make sure the bedroom door was closed and that Jimmy was occupied with his computer. She unscrewed the hidden coke spoon pendant that hung around a gold chain on her slender neck and did a bump before placing the rest back under her collection of lacy thongs and heavily padded bras. She put on her highest heels and took a look at herself in the mirror. She stared at her own reflection; her eyes seemed dead despite the cat-eye eyeliner and metallic shadow she had used specifically to make them stand out. She puckered her lips to apply a final coat of lipgloss and ran her fingers through her hair. She thought about the fact that she was no longer 20 years old, and the late nights of partying hard were slowly beginning to take a toll. The appearance of fine lines on her forehead and the dark circles she so expertly concealed under her eyes were a tell-tale sign of her frequent drug use, lack of sleep, and constant stress she felt at hiding the fact that she was regularly hooking up with other dudes all whilst trying to keep these secrets from getting to the attention of her naive boyfriend, who now sat playing Call of Duty. "Fuck the Chanel bag, I better ask for botox and collagen injections later... " she said to her reflection before she turned to walk out the door. "Will you be home late tonight?" her boyfriend asked without looking away from the tv, "I can wait up and make you your favorite mac and cheese if you want." "No, I might spend the night at a friend's house since she lives right next to the place where I have that audition tomorrow." I'll call you when I'm out of work though." She turned to walk out the front door as Jimmy called after her, "I love you, make sure you have someone walk you out of work, I don't like you leaving the club with so much money on you alone." "I will- see you tomorrow." And with that, she closed the door behind her and ran down the three flights of stairs to the street below where she expected her date to be waiting.
She looked around for the matte black SUV she expected him to be waiting in. She got out her phone to send him a text and was looking down she heard a horn beep. She looked up as the SUV pulled over to the curb. She put her phone in her pocked and smiled as she headed over to climb into his car.
FAST FOWARD THREE HOURS....
She is drunk now, has already made three trips to the ladies room to blow lines of coke that her date happily provided her with, and is again staring into the mirror to reapply her lipgloss. As she puckers up and pulls out the wand, she hears a group of girls behind her snickering and turns around to see what they're laughing at. One of the girls in the group- a tall, model-thin brunette stops laughing long enough to look her dead in the face and say, "Whore." She puts away her lipgloss and and walks out back into the blaring music and dark of the club. As she approaches the table where her date has a bottle set up, she sees another girl sitting next to her date with her long legs draped over his own. She panics at the sight of this as her heart begins to race. "WTF?" she thinks to herself as she decides to turn around and walk away. "Fuck him, I'll find someone richer and hotter to go home with." She sees a promoter she knows from the club where she works and joins his table, smiling and dancing with a martini glass in her hand. He gives her some molly, and she gets even more fucked up than she already was. Her heart is racing and despite the fact that she is sweating profusely, she continues to dance. She climbs on top of the couch with a bottle of Chandon in her hand, and takes a sip from the bottle as she gyrates and moves in sync with the heavy base of the blaring house music. She feels her body overheating as she sways to the music, but she doesn't care. Fuck it- nothing matters anymore. She takes another swig from the bottle, and looks back over at the table where her date is still sitting, the same skinny bitch still draped over his lap. He makes eye contact with her across the crowd, and she takes another swig of champage. Suddenly the world starts to close in and everything around the edges goes black. She attempts to sit down, but it's too late. She collapses onto the bench, spilling champagne everywhere. She is dead.
The end.
Monday, December 2, 2013
Sunday, December 1, 2013
Happy and wasted (aka, the way life should be)
Dear Readers,
I know that i have been negligent with my posts these last few months, but life is looking up. I usually only prefer to write when I am the saddest, because that is usually when I am the saddest and I need to express myself because I will go crazy if I don't. However, I am currently very drunk, with my boyfriend, whom I very much like, having one of the most wonderful Sunday nights off. You should be very jealous. If you are not jealous, you should be. Life is very good, minus the job that I hate. But that is a minor detail that can be fixed. I am just happy that I am not sad. I am happy that my boyfriend is awesome. I am happy that despite the fact that I am crazy when I don't sleep (which is often), I am generally happy and not suicidal. Despite the fact that I am probably 10 lbs. heavier than I was in the Spring time, it is because I am happy and eating great dinners with my bf. And even if I am heavier, I don't care because I am happier. Ps. I need to update the general info I have posted in my profile, because that was my old BF... and my old life. And life today is different and better. I feel like an adult. A good adult life. that is fun, and fresh, and full of possibilities.
Love Kelsey,
LOVEEEEEEE ME.
I know that i have been negligent with my posts these last few months, but life is looking up. I usually only prefer to write when I am the saddest, because that is usually when I am the saddest and I need to express myself because I will go crazy if I don't. However, I am currently very drunk, with my boyfriend, whom I very much like, having one of the most wonderful Sunday nights off. You should be very jealous. If you are not jealous, you should be. Life is very good, minus the job that I hate. But that is a minor detail that can be fixed. I am just happy that I am not sad. I am happy that my boyfriend is awesome. I am happy that despite the fact that I am crazy when I don't sleep (which is often), I am generally happy and not suicidal. Despite the fact that I am probably 10 lbs. heavier than I was in the Spring time, it is because I am happy and eating great dinners with my bf. And even if I am heavier, I don't care because I am happier. Ps. I need to update the general info I have posted in my profile, because that was my old BF... and my old life. And life today is different and better. I feel like an adult. A good adult life. that is fun, and fresh, and full of possibilities.
Love Kelsey,
LOVEEEEEEE ME.
Monday, November 11, 2013
Winter is Coming
Time is moving at a rate that is entirely too fast for me to keep up with. I have been working at Mollister for almost a month now, which blows my mind since it seems as though I just started last week. I'm still doing door at Highline on the weekends, and spend days off catching up on cleaning and laundry and spending quality time with my boyfriend whenever I have a night off and/or don't have to be up at the ass crack of dawn to go to work in the morning. I haven't written an entry in quite some time because I've been too busy to process my thoughts and lack the energy to sit here and write when there are better ways I could be spending my energy (ex. eating, going out, etc.). Since I now have a slightly more reliable source of income, I am planning on doing some serious winter shopping for myself (I need approximately one billion items to make up for the lack of shopping I did this fall) and doing a few improvements around the good, old apartment (yes, a dreaded trip to Ikea is in the near future... thank God Red Hook has a lobster pound which makes the trip out there a bit better). It's finally time to let go of the hanging star lamp above my bed that can only be described as a something that looks like a relic from a Calcutta brothel. Furthermore, my down comforter has taken some serious abuse since I moved here. It has had coffee spilled on it numerous times, and I've cried on it countless times, thereby staining it with black mascara. So shameful.
Other than my messy bed spread, life has been going rather smoothly as of late, punctuated by awesome nights out, awesome dates, and the occasional not so awesome night of sloppy drunkenness (yes, ladies and gentlemen, I still don't know enough to eat before drinking). I am no longer doing Pinterest boards for Renegadechicks.com due to the lack of free time, however, I am going to continue writing a weekly article for them since it is something I love to do. I've also been doing a lot of cooking lately, which is also a nice change since I didn't cook anything for about four months of my life and lived off of salad, highline chicken tenders, and booze. It's nice to have someone to cook with/for again, and he even cooks for me too... which is nice.
Work on my book is finally nearing completion, which is also pretty awesome since it has been a work in progress for the last two years of my life. I am not even sure what I intend to do when it is finished, but I like to imagine in my little head that I can get it published and live off the royalties for a few years (I'll keep dreaming). I am thankful that unlike Highline Ballroom, Hollister doesn't have a family meal with chicken tenders and french fries that tempt me on a nightly basis, and that the stairs I take in the store about 30 times a shift have been getting my buns back in shape. I was nearing kardashian territory for a while it seems... don't want to go back to those days ;)
I sadly don't think I am going to make it home for Thanksgiving this year, since Mollister is now open on Thanksgiving day.... looks like I'll be cooking my own fucking turkey this year. So sad. I don't even think my little oven can accommodate a proper turkey, so I guess it will have to be a stuffed Cornish Hen instead. HOW FUCKING DEPRESSING. I'm going to have to get wasted and/or high (jk... or am I...? ) that night to forget how sad I am that I'm not stuffing my fat face with my aunt's brown rice stuffing or my pumpkin pie. First I missed Easter, now Thanksgiving... what is next? Christmas? I'll fucking kill myself if I can't spend Christmas at home. I am planning on going home for a couple of nights on the Sunday/Monday prior to Thanksgiving so I can finally see my friends and family.
Another Halloween has already come and gone; this year I was Lisbeth Salandar (from 'The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo'). I spent the entire day working at Mollister and then worked door at Highline, but at least I had the chance to dress up. The costume was pretty awesome... no one even recognized me at first, so I'd say it was a success. I haven't taken any gratuitous selfies lately, so unfortunately no pics of the costume will be posted... sorry, I know you all love my sexual selfies ;) jk. I cannot wait to go home for a couple of days though... I haven't seen my friends in FOREVER, and I miss Bijou so much it's absurd. The one thing I truly miss about Highline (apart from the chicken tenders), are all of my friends. I haven't been out for a casual drink with girlfriends in weeks. It blows. Now when I have a night off or get out of work early, the friends I made at Highline are working there. I just need some girl time... is that so much to ask for?
Other than my messy bed spread, life has been going rather smoothly as of late, punctuated by awesome nights out, awesome dates, and the occasional not so awesome night of sloppy drunkenness (yes, ladies and gentlemen, I still don't know enough to eat before drinking). I am no longer doing Pinterest boards for Renegadechicks.com due to the lack of free time, however, I am going to continue writing a weekly article for them since it is something I love to do. I've also been doing a lot of cooking lately, which is also a nice change since I didn't cook anything for about four months of my life and lived off of salad, highline chicken tenders, and booze. It's nice to have someone to cook with/for again, and he even cooks for me too... which is nice.
Work on my book is finally nearing completion, which is also pretty awesome since it has been a work in progress for the last two years of my life. I am not even sure what I intend to do when it is finished, but I like to imagine in my little head that I can get it published and live off the royalties for a few years (I'll keep dreaming). I am thankful that unlike Highline Ballroom, Hollister doesn't have a family meal with chicken tenders and french fries that tempt me on a nightly basis, and that the stairs I take in the store about 30 times a shift have been getting my buns back in shape. I was nearing kardashian territory for a while it seems... don't want to go back to those days ;)
I sadly don't think I am going to make it home for Thanksgiving this year, since Mollister is now open on Thanksgiving day.... looks like I'll be cooking my own fucking turkey this year. So sad. I don't even think my little oven can accommodate a proper turkey, so I guess it will have to be a stuffed Cornish Hen instead. HOW FUCKING DEPRESSING. I'm going to have to get wasted and/or high (jk... or am I...? ) that night to forget how sad I am that I'm not stuffing my fat face with my aunt's brown rice stuffing or my pumpkin pie. First I missed Easter, now Thanksgiving... what is next? Christmas? I'll fucking kill myself if I can't spend Christmas at home. I am planning on going home for a couple of nights on the Sunday/Monday prior to Thanksgiving so I can finally see my friends and family.
Another Halloween has already come and gone; this year I was Lisbeth Salandar (from 'The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo'). I spent the entire day working at Mollister and then worked door at Highline, but at least I had the chance to dress up. The costume was pretty awesome... no one even recognized me at first, so I'd say it was a success. I haven't taken any gratuitous selfies lately, so unfortunately no pics of the costume will be posted... sorry, I know you all love my sexual selfies ;) jk. I cannot wait to go home for a couple of days though... I haven't seen my friends in FOREVER, and I miss Bijou so much it's absurd. The one thing I truly miss about Highline (apart from the chicken tenders), are all of my friends. I haven't been out for a casual drink with girlfriends in weeks. It blows. Now when I have a night off or get out of work early, the friends I made at Highline are working there. I just need some girl time... is that so much to ask for?
Thursday, October 10, 2013
More Changes
I finally got a full-time job with benefits- and you'll never guess where ; ) : I will be going back to my roots as a Hollister manager starting this coming Monday. It's pretty ironic that the job that made me want to move to the city and pursue something more creative and never do retail again has been my saving grace exactly one year after the fact. I guess desperation will lead you to do crazy things; like re-applying at the job you willingly left. Despite the fact that work at Highline has been pretty dismal these past couple of months, and despite the fact that all I have wanted was a better, full-time position where I'm not taking people's food/drink orders, I am now feeling these weird twinges of fright, anxiety, and uncertainty over leaving the place where I've been working for the last ten months of my New York life.
Work at Highline has definitely been attributing to my crazy as of late; with my erratic sleep schedule, terrible nights where I make only enough money for a glass of wine and cab fare, nights where I am injured on the job or forced to do heavy, manual labor (lifting chairs up the stairs), or just nights when I am SO fed up of waiting on ungrateful customer's for shitty tips that don't nearly compensate for the degradation I feel as I fight my way through a crowd carrying a heavy tray of hors d'ouvres dressed like a little boy in a button up shirt and flats. Despite all of these reasons for hating my job, I love pretty much every last person I work with. It takes me a while to warm up to strangers, and it takes me months of working with someone for me to warm up enough to the idea of socializing with them outside of work. It seems that I've just made friends with the majority of my co-workers, and now I will be leaving them and starting over. I will definitely make an effort to continue hanging out with the girls I've made friends with at Highline in the future though. Even on the shittiest nights at Highline, I took comfort in the fact that we were all in it together and I'd always have someone to go out with and commiserate over a drink when whatever terrible show or event finished. I wonder if I will have that at my new job... probably not since I'm sure the majority of my employees are underage. We will see what happens.
I am pretty stoked to have that sweet employee discount again. Lord knows I need some new jeggings in my life lol. And, I will probably lose a decent chunk of weight since I won't be binge eating out of anger after a long night a work, or because I have access to those nasty, Highline chicken tenders and pepper jack cheese that I love so much. TG... I really need to get my former body back... I had a real wake up call the other night when a white dude shouted to me that he "liked a white girl with a booty." I think the other reason I am so scared of leaving Highline is that despite the fact I've been dying to have a more consistent schedule, the schedule I am on currently allows me plenty of time for dates and outings with my boyfriend, and I have the same schedule as the majority of the people I am friends with at this point, since most of my friends are people from work. I'm stoked to finally have a better job, but I don't want my relationships to suffer since things are going well right now. Who knows though; in reality, I'm quite positive that this job will be better for my relationship, since I won't be such a crazy bitch after another bad night at work all of the time. Seriously though, I sometimes leave my current job wanting to stab any person who gets in my way or looks at me wrong; that place makes me pretty miserable and I fear I sometimes take it out on the wrong people.
On a final note; I want to start making a little Rolodex of business cards I am handed from people at work and call it: "Business Cards from Perverts." I will photograph the business cards and write the little story/pick up line that goes behind each and every one. People have issues....
On another note, I wonder if I will ever get to go home again.... I haven't been home since the first weekend in September and probably won't be able to request time off of work since I'm starting a brand new job. I miss my son (Bijou) and baby (Ceely). I wish I could carry Bijou around all day in a baby bjorn.... what is wrong with me?!
And on one last note, I MUST finish my book. This has been dragging on too long now. I need to get it finished, published, and live happily ever after on the royalties like Elizabeth Wurtzel before me.... the end.
Work at Highline has definitely been attributing to my crazy as of late; with my erratic sleep schedule, terrible nights where I make only enough money for a glass of wine and cab fare, nights where I am injured on the job or forced to do heavy, manual labor (lifting chairs up the stairs), or just nights when I am SO fed up of waiting on ungrateful customer's for shitty tips that don't nearly compensate for the degradation I feel as I fight my way through a crowd carrying a heavy tray of hors d'ouvres dressed like a little boy in a button up shirt and flats. Despite all of these reasons for hating my job, I love pretty much every last person I work with. It takes me a while to warm up to strangers, and it takes me months of working with someone for me to warm up enough to the idea of socializing with them outside of work. It seems that I've just made friends with the majority of my co-workers, and now I will be leaving them and starting over. I will definitely make an effort to continue hanging out with the girls I've made friends with at Highline in the future though. Even on the shittiest nights at Highline, I took comfort in the fact that we were all in it together and I'd always have someone to go out with and commiserate over a drink when whatever terrible show or event finished. I wonder if I will have that at my new job... probably not since I'm sure the majority of my employees are underage. We will see what happens.
I am pretty stoked to have that sweet employee discount again. Lord knows I need some new jeggings in my life lol. And, I will probably lose a decent chunk of weight since I won't be binge eating out of anger after a long night a work, or because I have access to those nasty, Highline chicken tenders and pepper jack cheese that I love so much. TG... I really need to get my former body back... I had a real wake up call the other night when a white dude shouted to me that he "liked a white girl with a booty." I think the other reason I am so scared of leaving Highline is that despite the fact I've been dying to have a more consistent schedule, the schedule I am on currently allows me plenty of time for dates and outings with my boyfriend, and I have the same schedule as the majority of the people I am friends with at this point, since most of my friends are people from work. I'm stoked to finally have a better job, but I don't want my relationships to suffer since things are going well right now. Who knows though; in reality, I'm quite positive that this job will be better for my relationship, since I won't be such a crazy bitch after another bad night at work all of the time. Seriously though, I sometimes leave my current job wanting to stab any person who gets in my way or looks at me wrong; that place makes me pretty miserable and I fear I sometimes take it out on the wrong people.
My sexified versian of Hollister.... ;) This is how I'd choose to fashion my Hollister clothes were it up to me.
On a final note; I want to start making a little Rolodex of business cards I am handed from people at work and call it: "Business Cards from Perverts." I will photograph the business cards and write the little story/pick up line that goes behind each and every one. People have issues....
On another note, I wonder if I will ever get to go home again.... I haven't been home since the first weekend in September and probably won't be able to request time off of work since I'm starting a brand new job. I miss my son (Bijou) and baby (Ceely). I wish I could carry Bijou around all day in a baby bjorn.... what is wrong with me?!
And on one last note, I MUST finish my book. This has been dragging on too long now. I need to get it finished, published, and live happily ever after on the royalties like Elizabeth Wurtzel before me.... the end.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Fuck the L train... and the JMZ too
I know I've said it in pretty much every entry that has been written since I moved to NYC last October, but Jesus Christ... I have reached the end of my rope. I apply for about 5 jobs on average each day; more when I am home doing nothing, and less if I am busy... but, regardless, when you consider the average number of jobs I apply to each day, that is a lot of job applications that have been going out over the course of weeks and months and the past year of my existence. Half the shit I apply to isn't even a job that I really want (ex: all of the terrible retail jobs I've been applying to); it's just something slightly better than my current shitty job as a server (I am going to need benefits come February when I'm off the rent's insurance....). I am pretty sure I've caught pneumonia in the last week from work, and I am currently running a low-grade fever (ie. I'm feeling crazier than normal), so it only adds to the misery (and the humor) of my situation. The entire thing is truly comical at this point. I cannot even cry anymore; when I consider the entirety of my current living situation, all I can do is laugh. I am truly living a modern day Dicken's Tale (granted I have a roof over my head and food in my fridge). I was forced to stand in the rain for four hours this past saturday in a pair of five inch heels as I inhaled the fumes of a hundred cigarettes and tried to stay dry under the scaffolding of a Western Beef grocery store, all the while getting hit on by a disgustingly, muscular meathead. Now, if that isn't humorous, I don't know what the fuck is. I now feel like my lungs are filled with fluid, and my head is on fire, but at least my morale is high (relatively speaking). I have shit to live for.... regardless of whether or not I have a decent job. Yes... there is more to life than a job. I have come to the realization after listening to Maya Angelou's poem, Phenomenal Woman on repeat one night (don't ask... I was PMSing and the only thing that could calm my frazzled brain was that poem), that I am a woman whom is worthy- worthy of love, worthy of a decent job, worthy of everything I am willing to work for. I don't care if I'm not 5'10" and 90 lbs anymore.... I don't care If I don't go out to the coolest night clubs and do lines of blow in the bathroom and hang out with low grade rockers and models and actors, I don't even care if I work at such a shitty job, because I know that somewhere down the road, something is bound to pay it forward if I keep trucking onward. I am like a modern-day Cinderella.... just waiting to be saved, but not by a man... by a fucking JOB.
It has been a tumultuous couple of weeks since I last wrote (but who am I kidding? My life is always pretty tumultuous, at least in my mind... ;) ). My weeks have been punctuated with random job interviews, nearly landing a paid internship that I REALLY REALLY wanted, getting absolutely wasted (although I'm convinced it was actually roofied) after finding out I did not get said internship, working at my shitty little job about two nights a week (SO many dark days), and going out for drinks to forget about my shitty little job. Yes.... I am living the American dream ladies and gentleman.
Other than the ongoing job hunt, things are good. Things would be nearly perfect if my job situation were better. There is always tomorrow for dreams to come true though. Sigh. Work at Highline has been utterly depressing as of late. The place is windowless, and now that the weather is growing colder, coming out at night into the fall air makes it that much worse. I feel so repressed when I am in there. I constantly feel like I'm someone's bitch when I'm waiting on rude and cheap people... busting my ass for a 15% tip on a $40 bill is not worth my time. I know, I know, I know... I should be thankful that I even have a job. And, I am fortunate enough that I adore pretty much every person that I work with... however, I feel as though I'm losing a bit of my soul with every shift I work at that place (yes, I am dramatic... nothing new there). I have to get out before my soul is gone completely. I feel myself becoming meaner and angrier every day, and I don't like being that way, because that is not who I am (a little bitchy sometimes, but not mean).
On a nicer note, Halloween is quickly approaching, and we all know that I LOVE dressing up. This year, I have decided to be Lisbeth Salendar in 'The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo." I want to be someone totally badass and still sexy.... but sexy in a non slutty way. Plus this is a fun departure from my normal, ultra feminine look. I am stoked... I just need some plans ;)
A little bit of stage makeup wax goes a long way.... What a chore it is to wax out and conceal brows as dark as mine!
Now I just need to lose about 15 lbs (jk), acquire some fake piercings (I wonder where or how I can fake a nose ring...) and get some TEMPORARY black hair dye (you know... the kind that washes out).
A pretty severe departure from my normal, girly self and from the Halloween costumes of Yore.... I love it. Halloween costumes of Yore
Sunday, September 8, 2013
A Modern-Day Dickens Tale
The year is 2013 and the location of our story is New York City, but it may as well be the year 1837 in a grimy section of industrial London. The rich get richer as the poor get poorer, and everywhere one walks, it is increasingly evident that in a city where the streets were once-upon-a-time said to be 'paved in gold,' poverty and filth have reached a modern-day high. There are vagrants of all ages; old veterans missing legs beg for money in broken-down wheelchairs on street corners, and young, twenty-somethings addicted to heroin sit in the doorways of empty storefronts with cardboard signs begging for help. Even in borough neighborhoods where there is new wealth and gentrification has wiped out the indigent populations and places of business that are being replaced with major names like "Whole Foods," "Starbucks," and "Urban Outfitters," homeless people and drug addicts have made there way out of Manhattan and into these neighborhoods to beg for money from the nouveau-riche.
There are mothers addicted to crack and dads dealing weed toting around their 18-month old child with them on late night drug runs. People who live on welfare and food stamps producing more babies that they cannot afford to take care of because they lack the education to make good decisions regarding birth control and their own bodies. There are educated people with college degrees who were promised that if they did everything correctly (ex. graduate high school, go to college, get a degree, and get a decent job upon graduation), they'd make it just fine in the "real" world. These are now the majority of people who are not employed and find themselves not only looking for work, but also lacking health insurance. These are people from decent families, who did everything that they were "supposed to" do, and now cannot afford to go to the doctor for something as simple as a case of strep throat because they don't have health insurance. Without insurance, a person is fucked. People without health and dental insurance go untreated and get sick since a doctor's visit is around $300 out of pocket. Health insurance is hard to come by too, since it is only offered through a full-time job with benefits, and those types of jobs are few and far between.
Despite the fact that it is the year 2013, and modern technology has eliminated the open sewers of the 1800s and half of the diseases that once addled the population, dirt and germs are rife. Antibiotics have made certain strains of bacteria resistant and cancer and heart disease are on the rise. Foods are sprayed in pesticides, genetically modified, and packaged in plastics. Preservatives and manufactured additives cause disease and obesity. The streets are lined with rotting, festering garbage bags where disease carrying flies breed and swarm. There is litter all over the sidewalks and streets despite there being a garbage bin on almost every city corner. Sewer stench rises from the grates on every street corner, and the metro is one of the filthiest and most unreliable in the world- a dark, underground world of filthy, crumbling tunnels where legally insane vagrants accost the riders of the metro, perverts masturbate publicly on late night trains, and a young women is not safe after the hours of 12am, unless she is armed with pepper spray or a switch blade.
It is also a day and age where jobs are few and far between, let alone the types of jobs that can lead to actual, lifetime careers. An entire generation of young people freshly out of college are unemployed, underemployed, or employed at jobs where they cannot possibly make ends meet. Many of these young people are forced to move back into their parents homes because there is no way they could survive on their own given the state of the economy. A loaf of bread costs $3.40, a gallon of milk is $4.00, a gallon of gas is $3.80, a one-way ride on the metro is $2.75. The average cost of a shitty, studio apartment is $1,500 a month. The only way that these young people can make it on their own is if they went to school for medicine or law. They will also be fine if they were born into a wealthy family where they inherited money, were passed down a lucrative family business, or were able to afford a top school like Yale or Harvard, or if their family has connections to people in the industry of their pursuit, or if they one the genetic lottery and therefore make a living modelling. If you were one of the unlucky ones that was born into the working class, went to a state school, studied a field in the creative arts, or has no business connections upon which to get you started, then you're fucked unless you have good luck or the drive or Bill Gates. Simple jobs that anyone could land in the 1980s are now highly competitive. In New York City, a restaurant service job usually requires an applicant to submit a headshot in addition to their actual resume.
Yes, this is the setting of our story, and the heroine is a young women named Clarissa. Clarissa works three jobs just to make ends meet. She pays for rent, transportation, basic food and occasionally some entertainment... just so she doesn't kill herself from living such an exhaustive and mundane existence. She was forced to put her student loans on hold... the student loans she took out to go to college, in order to get the degree she thought would help land her a decent job. She is now $30,000 in debt for seemingly nothing. Clarissa is one of the many twenty somethings that did everything by the book: she had a top GPA in high school, belonged to several extracirricular clubs, did sports, went to a decent college, maintained her top GPA throughout college, graduated with honors, and found herself FUCKED. She was lied to by parents, teachers, and mentors who promised her that if she worked hard and received good grades and involved herself, life would pan out just fine after college.
Since graduating, she has worked a series of dead end jobs just to pay her basic bills. None of these were jobs that were particularly relevant to her career in fine arts, or jobs that allowed her any creative freedom at all. In fact, they were jobs that had no benefits, paid a less-than-livable hourly wage, and made her want to commit suicide behind a desk or at a check out counter in a retail store. She has applied for upwards of 500 jobs since graduating college 2.5 years ago. She had a handful of internships while she was still an undergrad, however, since graduating, half of the "jobs" she comes across are unpaid internships in art galleries. She would love to work in an art gallery, however, she cannot work another unpaid job when she has to eat and pay rent. She works in a popular retail store, where she is stripped of her identity and instructed what to say, what to wear, and how to do her hair and make up on a daily basis. She works weekends as a bartender, where she is hit on by all sorts of douche bags and made to feel like someone's bitch as she pours drink after drink for all of the lucky ones that get to party on Saturday nights. She also submits weekly articles on modern art for an online art publication...however, she doesn't get paid for that, it is merely for personal gratification and so she can continue doing something that is creative and relevant to the field she wants to end up in.
Clarissa is constantly financially stressed and always considering a lucrative career as a stripper in the back of her mind when everything else seems like a waste of time and energy for hardly enough money.
Now for Clarissa's happy ending:
Clarissa goes to Wallstreet to apply for a new job as day time bartender. She gets hired and works two days a week at said bar. She meets a rich investment banker on his lunch break one day who is smitten with her naivety and innocence and her mind. She goes out on several dates with him and she is smitten with his money and his charm. He buys her breast implants and proposes marriage. She also realizes he is an unstable, emotionally abusive asshole with a serious coke problem and he is never home since he's always working (aka... fucking his secretary). Clarissa is able to quit her shitty jobs and do art, however she hates her life more than ever.
Clarissa has a seemingly perfect life to friends and family back home- she is beautiful, gets to work from home doing what she once loved, and is provided for by her intelligent and hard-working husband. They have a sick apartment, a sick car, and take vacations around the world. However, behind closed doors, Clarissa is in a state of turmoil. She sold out on finding real love just because she new that by marrying him, she would be taken care of in this uncertain world. He belittles her everytime they fight because he went to Yale and she went to a state school. He reminds her of how she looked before her nose job, lip injections, $600 hair treatments and breast implants.... and how she was working as a day time bartender. He goes out and fucks 18 year old models and club-coke-whores while she sits at home on saturday nights crying over a bottle of wine with her paintbrush in hand and a blank canvas before her.
Clarissa looks in the mirror and wonders what happened to the sweet, naive, hopeful dreamer she once was. When did she become a materialistic, plastic bitch who sucks dick for Chanel bags and champagne dinners? Poor Clarissa.
Clarissa goes in for liposuction after she finds nude photos from an 18 year old Russian model on her husband's iphone and dies while under anesthesia.
The end.
There are mothers addicted to crack and dads dealing weed toting around their 18-month old child with them on late night drug runs. People who live on welfare and food stamps producing more babies that they cannot afford to take care of because they lack the education to make good decisions regarding birth control and their own bodies. There are educated people with college degrees who were promised that if they did everything correctly (ex. graduate high school, go to college, get a degree, and get a decent job upon graduation), they'd make it just fine in the "real" world. These are now the majority of people who are not employed and find themselves not only looking for work, but also lacking health insurance. These are people from decent families, who did everything that they were "supposed to" do, and now cannot afford to go to the doctor for something as simple as a case of strep throat because they don't have health insurance. Without insurance, a person is fucked. People without health and dental insurance go untreated and get sick since a doctor's visit is around $300 out of pocket. Health insurance is hard to come by too, since it is only offered through a full-time job with benefits, and those types of jobs are few and far between.
Despite the fact that it is the year 2013, and modern technology has eliminated the open sewers of the 1800s and half of the diseases that once addled the population, dirt and germs are rife. Antibiotics have made certain strains of bacteria resistant and cancer and heart disease are on the rise. Foods are sprayed in pesticides, genetically modified, and packaged in plastics. Preservatives and manufactured additives cause disease and obesity. The streets are lined with rotting, festering garbage bags where disease carrying flies breed and swarm. There is litter all over the sidewalks and streets despite there being a garbage bin on almost every city corner. Sewer stench rises from the grates on every street corner, and the metro is one of the filthiest and most unreliable in the world- a dark, underground world of filthy, crumbling tunnels where legally insane vagrants accost the riders of the metro, perverts masturbate publicly on late night trains, and a young women is not safe after the hours of 12am, unless she is armed with pepper spray or a switch blade.
It is also a day and age where jobs are few and far between, let alone the types of jobs that can lead to actual, lifetime careers. An entire generation of young people freshly out of college are unemployed, underemployed, or employed at jobs where they cannot possibly make ends meet. Many of these young people are forced to move back into their parents homes because there is no way they could survive on their own given the state of the economy. A loaf of bread costs $3.40, a gallon of milk is $4.00, a gallon of gas is $3.80, a one-way ride on the metro is $2.75. The average cost of a shitty, studio apartment is $1,500 a month. The only way that these young people can make it on their own is if they went to school for medicine or law. They will also be fine if they were born into a wealthy family where they inherited money, were passed down a lucrative family business, or were able to afford a top school like Yale or Harvard, or if their family has connections to people in the industry of their pursuit, or if they one the genetic lottery and therefore make a living modelling. If you were one of the unlucky ones that was born into the working class, went to a state school, studied a field in the creative arts, or has no business connections upon which to get you started, then you're fucked unless you have good luck or the drive or Bill Gates. Simple jobs that anyone could land in the 1980s are now highly competitive. In New York City, a restaurant service job usually requires an applicant to submit a headshot in addition to their actual resume.
Yes, this is the setting of our story, and the heroine is a young women named Clarissa. Clarissa works three jobs just to make ends meet. She pays for rent, transportation, basic food and occasionally some entertainment... just so she doesn't kill herself from living such an exhaustive and mundane existence. She was forced to put her student loans on hold... the student loans she took out to go to college, in order to get the degree she thought would help land her a decent job. She is now $30,000 in debt for seemingly nothing. Clarissa is one of the many twenty somethings that did everything by the book: she had a top GPA in high school, belonged to several extracirricular clubs, did sports, went to a decent college, maintained her top GPA throughout college, graduated with honors, and found herself FUCKED. She was lied to by parents, teachers, and mentors who promised her that if she worked hard and received good grades and involved herself, life would pan out just fine after college.
Since graduating, she has worked a series of dead end jobs just to pay her basic bills. None of these were jobs that were particularly relevant to her career in fine arts, or jobs that allowed her any creative freedom at all. In fact, they were jobs that had no benefits, paid a less-than-livable hourly wage, and made her want to commit suicide behind a desk or at a check out counter in a retail store. She has applied for upwards of 500 jobs since graduating college 2.5 years ago. She had a handful of internships while she was still an undergrad, however, since graduating, half of the "jobs" she comes across are unpaid internships in art galleries. She would love to work in an art gallery, however, she cannot work another unpaid job when she has to eat and pay rent. She works in a popular retail store, where she is stripped of her identity and instructed what to say, what to wear, and how to do her hair and make up on a daily basis. She works weekends as a bartender, where she is hit on by all sorts of douche bags and made to feel like someone's bitch as she pours drink after drink for all of the lucky ones that get to party on Saturday nights. She also submits weekly articles on modern art for an online art publication...however, she doesn't get paid for that, it is merely for personal gratification and so she can continue doing something that is creative and relevant to the field she wants to end up in.
Clarissa is constantly financially stressed and always considering a lucrative career as a stripper in the back of her mind when everything else seems like a waste of time and energy for hardly enough money.
Now for Clarissa's happy ending:
Clarissa goes to Wallstreet to apply for a new job as day time bartender. She gets hired and works two days a week at said bar. She meets a rich investment banker on his lunch break one day who is smitten with her naivety and innocence and her mind. She goes out on several dates with him and she is smitten with his money and his charm. He buys her breast implants and proposes marriage. She also realizes he is an unstable, emotionally abusive asshole with a serious coke problem and he is never home since he's always working (aka... fucking his secretary). Clarissa is able to quit her shitty jobs and do art, however she hates her life more than ever.
Clarissa has a seemingly perfect life to friends and family back home- she is beautiful, gets to work from home doing what she once loved, and is provided for by her intelligent and hard-working husband. They have a sick apartment, a sick car, and take vacations around the world. However, behind closed doors, Clarissa is in a state of turmoil. She sold out on finding real love just because she new that by marrying him, she would be taken care of in this uncertain world. He belittles her everytime they fight because he went to Yale and she went to a state school. He reminds her of how she looked before her nose job, lip injections, $600 hair treatments and breast implants.... and how she was working as a day time bartender. He goes out and fucks 18 year old models and club-coke-whores while she sits at home on saturday nights crying over a bottle of wine with her paintbrush in hand and a blank canvas before her.
Clarissa looks in the mirror and wonders what happened to the sweet, naive, hopeful dreamer she once was. When did she become a materialistic, plastic bitch who sucks dick for Chanel bags and champagne dinners? Poor Clarissa.
Clarissa goes in for liposuction after she finds nude photos from an 18 year old Russian model on her husband's iphone and dies while under anesthesia.
The end.
Thursday, August 22, 2013
Where has the summer gone?
It is hard to believe that it is already the end of August... where the f*ck did my summer go?! Just yesterday it seems as though I was home for Memorial Day weekend, binge eating hamburgers in the woods around a fire. It's been a great summer, despite the fact it flew by at lightening speed. I have made a lot of changes this summer, all for the best.
The foster cats that were formerly the bane of my existence are FINALLY gone... THANK GOD. They left on August 3rd... and what a glorious day it was. It is so nice to come home at night and to not have to brace myself as I approach my door in angst, awaiting the foul odors of the litter box that once upon a time, knocked me off my feet. It's so nice not having to spend $100 a month on cat food and litter. The nicest thing, is not having to vacuum cat fir off of my furniture every day though.... such a time saver. I have decided I never want another animal until I have a huge apartment, or a house with a back yard some day. No more litter boxes... NEVER AGAIN. I still can't believe I had those cats for EIGHT MONTHS... and they didn't even let me pet them. So sad.
I have three job interviews lined up for this next week, which is very exciting...hopefully one of them works out in my favor. I will try not to get my hopes up, since that is when my hopes get shot down. I have an interview for a visual merchandiser with Billabong (better bleach my hair and hit up the tanning salon), then I have an interview for a showroom assistant with a european designer, and finally I have an interview for a PAID (yes, you heard me right.... PAID) intern position with a social media/advertising firm that is right next to Highline. Something has to work out soon right? I mean I've been here for almost an entire year now and nothing has come along in terms of a better job. I'm at my fucking wit's end. I'm still applying like a mad woman on craigslist... it's just so difficult to not be a little bit selective when you've already been through the wringer as I have. I refuse to work any more service jobs (I'm sorry, I didn't go to school to be someone's cocktail bitch), I don't really want to work retail anymore, but if there is a chance for promotion or a chance to branch out into a more creative branch within the company, I suppose it is better than nothing (especially if it pays well). I really just want to do something creative- or at least something that will open up some doors for a paying, creative position. I'm really hoping that the social media internship works in my favor.
I'm in a happier place personally than I have been in a while, so now my 'professional' (as professional as it can get anyway ;) ) life needs some tweaking and I will be golden. I will leave you with some inspirational shit I've come across in the last month. I have such a love/hate relationship with this city (if you haven't already noticed)... but finding random scrawlings of drunk people or strange stickers is one of the little things I truly love. I wish so badly I could have gone home this weekend for my friend's birthday, but when I do get a chance to go home... I need to have a major end of summer party to compensate for all of the time I didn't spend home (like I originally intended to do at the beginning of summer).
"Good dick will imprison you." Were truer words every spoken? lmao.
This little gem I spotted while using the facilities at Johnny's Bar (aka 'Bar' Bar) one night after work. As you know, I went through my first major relationship and subsequent break up and despite the fact the break up was months ago, my ex has been dragging shit out trying to convince me to come back. There have been a lot of phone arguments, savage words (on my behalf) and some anger and resentment. However, in my tipsy state, I read this... and it spoke to me. "I'm ready for a man that's good enough for me or to spend the rest of my life living happily and looking for one." I don't know what drunk bitch wrote this... but she was spot on. Cheers to her.
One of my favorite shops in this city is a home/cookware store called Fish's Eddy, just outside of Union Square. They always have the coolest stuff... I must own this cheese plate. How cool would it be to serve cheese to your friends on a ceramic artist's palette?!
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