freedom -- how's that workin' for you, baby?
The last entry I wrote was shortly before the time that I was let go from the PR position and all the things that came with it. Some client releases were pushed back, their accounts suspended until they had the money to pay us, and since they weren't paying us, my boss couldn't afford to keep me on the team. So I stayed working for himat the cheese shop for a little while, covering only the bare minima of all my bills, but really making negative moneys while I searched YET AGAIN for sufficient work.
Fast-forward through yet another tough July and August -- funny that, I was unemployed in July and August of 2014, too -- where the first couple weeks were spent buffing all the dents out of my resume YET AGAIN, fighting the initial depression that always comes from being fired/laid off, making myself feel less useless and dysfunctional by cooking up projects (both practical and creative) into which I can delve. Just before my (big triple-decade) birthday came an influx of potential jobs.
I spent a week training with the inaugural staff of a Mediterranean lunch spot in downtown Culver, only to completely blow off the restaurant's grand opening in favor of a job interview scheduled that same day. Good thing I ended up getting the job, because I definitely lost that restaurant gig after that. I didn't really know I was going to get that job when I went for the interview, but I pretty much knew afterward.
I took a typing speed test prior to the interview, and they found my results (107awpm) were so horrifying that they asked me to replicate the results in front of them. I did them one better and beat my previous score by 4awpm while they watched me. GET TO KNOW ME BYIIIIIITCH! :evil laughter:
So now I've entered the normcore world of Los Angeles, working the 40-hour M-F week, suffering daily through an illogical beast of a commute -- merely eight miles, ONE GHASTLY HOUR. And naturally the day begins too early for me to bear. I do data entry and admin assistance at a graphic arts supply distributor in Culver City. It is EVEN MORE BORING than it sounds. People be like "ooh, you're in the arts part of Culver City!" and I'm like NO, not the gallery, the boring warehouses by La Ballona and the Steps. I really have no idea how people with desk jobs do it. This much sitting still is paradoxically exhausting. I have to fight my ADD and fatigue hard. It feels like school only worse because there's money on the line.
I have no peers at work -- that is to say, no one here is a childless Gen-Y premillenial pissbaby with a Peter Pan complex, so they probably are ill-equipped to wrap their minds around how awesome I am. Ha! My team is mostly aging parents, settled down and buttoned down and turned-down (as in "for what?!") with a small few of them in the warehouse who may be younger or just as childless as I am. For the most part, the in-office team is from a business background, demonstrating little to no understanding of the difference in workflow and attitude/lifestyle between this life and the retail/food universe once formerly mine (and let's be honest, it's very possible that it could be my life again in the future). I like most of them, for the most part, but I don't think I'm genuinely bonding with anyone here, and I doubt I really will despite all the break-room small-talk and boss-is-out gossip sessions.
As far as tasks and professional mentality goes, I am adjusting -- perhaps a bit slower than I would like to admit, but definitely faster than I adjusted to the wonky grassroots PR life. It helps that my boss here is absolutely nothing at all like my terrible piece-of-shit former boss, except that they're both white guys from Culver City. I just don't want to kill this one, y'know? And that's an important difference. I feel like I'm being communicated with on the level here, like I am respected and people believe in me. They shouldn't. They really shouldn't. But I'll take it.
In completely different news, Halloween weekend was effing brilliant. Despite Saturday being the absolute best day for Halloween to fall on, ♥Cam and I spent it -- and the following Sunday -- at home recovering from a hard-partying Friday night with LA's sexiest and strangest at the best bacchanal in town. If you know Her name, then say it, don't slay it ^_~ One of the best parties I've ever been to, hands down, and that's important for Halloween now that we don't get to do the big backyard bash for Dylan's birthdays anymore. The bigger parties by these folks are always damn good, and the costume shenanigans made this one some serious next-level shit.
And speaking of next-level shit, I highly recommend you read the riveting tale of Zola and Jess and their "hoe trip" gone awry -- if you haven't yet, of course. It's a long one -- make the time, and get to the end. This shit is easily one of the most fascinating things to happen to Twitter in a very real sense, leading Vice to call it Twitter's "very own Citizen Kane" in this piece discussing the wild debacle from a sex-worker's perspective. While it isn't 100% true, some very large and very important parts of it have been corroborated by the Washington Post.
If you're into social justice reads, especially on the topic of intersectional feminism, check out this blog post that asks the same question that I did, especially after reading the WashPost addenda -- why isn't Jess being implicated for her role in the prostitution ring?
Welp, it's been cool talking to you, all no one of you out there. I'll be around again, now that I sit at a computer all day. Again. We'll see how long this lasts.