Ah...unemployment

People seem to be intrigued that I have stayed unemployed for such a great length of time, as if I prefer this lifestyle or something. I get a great deal of the classic, and frankly annoying, comments of "must be nice" in that sing-songy tone that is only intended to imply that my life is crazy good and I should feel sorry for them because, wah, they have to go to work 5 days a week. Because yes my dear friend, it is nice not having a steady income and have to rely on Uncle Sam to barely pay my bills each month. Oh, and it is so lovely to send out over a hundred (that is not an exaggeration) resumes, portfolios, applications, cover letters and the like to either get no response at all, or better yet a lovely letter telling you about how you would be a perfect fit, have killer qualifications, but they really just don't care to even bother interviewing you.

I know I shouldn't be complaining all that much, and that I should be grateful that at least I don't have a mortgage to worry about, kids to feed, I have my health, blah, blah, blah, but I have had to make some adjustments that make it hard to look at the glass as half full. It's not easy when you aren't able to feed your shoe habit the way you are accustomed to. It's also highly discouraging to choke down my well (ugh) whiskey and diet, get chased by damn wasps while washing my own car (finally decided I live in Oregon and who cares), buy my $4.50 hair color (that's after the double coupons), or have to actually budget in a Taco Bell splurge, because there is nothing like an occasional double beef burrito to keep you regular.

Bottom line, it is "nice" to be able to sleep in as late as I want, mooch of my parents more than usual, not shower for 3 days if I so desire, spend hot summer days at the river, volunteer, and have time to read a good book a week. I have to be honest though, as much fun as it is to see how long you can go without shaving your pits, I would much rather be meeting up with friends for happy hour to have a much needed bitch session about how unappreciated I am at work and how much better I am than half the people there. Come on, everyone says or at least thinks that, so don't be judging me. If something doesn't "come along soon" (another comment that makes me want to whistle and skip) I may end up finding my calling as an unemployment support group leader. We'll meet up at the pub with the $1 Pabst beers and kareoke, so we can at least drown our sorrows with cheep beer and bad music.

Hola, how much?

As many of you may know, I am currently seeking a job beyond honing my fabulous cooking skills, reliance on government funding and being a damn good social (and highly educated I might add) butterfly. So when I ventured out last night to down a few at the local pub my buddy works at I was expecting a night of bad karaoke, strong drinks, local drunks and non-thought provoking conversion - not an unconventional, albeit slightly enticing, job offer.

The older I get the less I am shocked by people, so when a very middle-aged Latino entered the bar, we'll call him Señor Suave for fun, I wasn't at all shocked that he wanted to talk to me. I was however a wee bit shocked at what he wanted to talk to me about. What started out as a very interesting conversation about his family history (his family lived in the Los Angeles area when it still belonged to Mexico, kinda cool) and the general bar-friendly chit-chat that means nothing really, was very quickly turning into the very first solicitation for my services.

Apparently my slight interest in Señor Suave's life translated to him thinking I would actually consider being taken on as an, um, personal assistant of sorts. Thankfully since the conversation was all taking place in Spanish I was the only one privy to my being cheapened. So according to my dark, wrinkly suitor, I was to be outfitted in all the expensive clothes I would want, have use of his Mercedes convertible and even get a flat in the Pearl. I don't know what offended me more, the fact that he thinks I would actually want to live in the fakeness and un-authenticity that is the Pearl District, or that I appeared to be someone that would consider such a thing as being "paid" for sleeping with a man. Oh but wait, I wouldn't have to sleep with him, he promised me, he was just looking for beautiful (aw shucks), young woman to have good conversation with. Ha, yeah right, what am I stupid? I could forsee the requests for a junior high school style hand job in exchange for the new Hermès scarf I would have never before looked twice at, before becomming a kept-woman that is.

Funny thing is, beyond my getting asked to be a hooker of course, that when I told my mother about this her first question was "Well was he at least good looking?" Really? Really mom? As if that would make a difference and then maybe, just maybe, I should have at least considered the poor guy. Okay, maybe it would have, I can't lie.

To Whom It May Concern:

For those who have been in the job application mode lately, you may get a kick out of this, and for those not, well you may get a giggle as well. You see, I keep getting these fabulous rejection letters from potential employers telling me how great I am, but no thanks. So, I think we should start sending them out for all types of rejection, because come on, why limit it to just the job market?

Dear potential boyfriend/girlfriend,

I would like to thank you for taking the time to apply for a position as my potential significant other. You have an excellent history of not cheating, a great background in commitment and are fluent in great conversation. However, after much consideration I have decided to interview other men/women for this position.

I will keep your application on file for future positions if the other idiot that I decide to choose happens to not work out, or I get extremely drunk and call you at 2am, whichever comes first.

Sincerely,

Miss/Mr. Jerk