7 days later...
its been about a week since i had a good lj. i'm not on the iphone this time around, so i suppose my spelling and grammar should be up to snuff. after all, i'm the one who always turns in the cleanest copy.
such is a statement that remains with me, after my junior year magazine writing class with ellen. she was a harpie of a woman, but she absolutely adored me. and jim sligh, strangely enough. i think we were her favorite. i had her right after spencer had left, and maybe she recognized that since we sat next to each other on the first day, sligh and i flirted non-stop for the entire semester. he's a good kid.
san francisco reminded me a lot of boston. its only slightly larger than boston, and where we stayed (the marriott right off of union square) reminded me tons and tons of being in back bay, right next to newbury street. it started to make me homesick for my studio; being walking distance from awesome shopping and taking public transit. we took the muni/ bart, and walked all over creation-- through chinatown to little italy (mmm...little italy...) and up to the waterfront, back down and around and even took a cable car.
it scared the living bejesus out of me. and i wasn't even hanging off the edge.
i'm boring. and i know i'm boring. but i couldn't comprehend how people were letting their 10 year old kids swing randomly off the side of the car, inches from passing traffic, as we were barreling down the hill at over 35 miles per hour. i know for a fact i'm going to be the type of mom who cleans her yard of sticks, so her kids can never poke out their eyes.
but, of course, as it de regeur for when i walk more than i'm used to, my right knee has got a swollen tendon, and i can barely walk. i limp like qusimodo. quite attractive, really, especially when it is that time of the month when i really need to do laundry, and have resorted to wearing outstretched tee shirts to work. i've been huffing around samples, schlepping up and down the stairs with overcoats in my arms, while it is 100 degrees out. i'm pink and sweaty most of the time, and am mighty unattractive most of the time.
i'm happy this will only be my life for another two weeks or so. on august 1st, i'm becoming a full time copywriter for the ecommerce department, and also getting a hefty raise. they're throwing money at me so i don't quit (as my manager found my resume up on monster), but i'm still not sure if the extra cash is worthy of me staying. i'll have to see how much better an extra $500 a month makes me feel. if its more comfortable in my skin than now, then maybe i'll put up with the abuse. i can just imagine that this company is not going to get better to work for.
months ago, i told spence about the pitfalls of getting caught in copywriting. the pay is good-- very good. i'm gonna be tacky here and tell you that as a fresh-out-of-school copywriter for guess, i'm going to be making $42,000 a year. anything that an editorial position could offer me would pale in comparison. in fact, a photography trade mag called me for an interview-- but the pay is a measley $12 an hour, and the job is in santa monica. i can't afford to do it, though it would be wonderful for some paid editorial work on my resume. but i really don't want to be a copywriter. i feel so... schlocky. only if this could segue into copy work for nonprofit organizations would this make me happy. i would like to spread the word for things like the world wildlife fund, or any organization that works with autistic children.
but is the allure of getting paid lots of money for being a glorified sales girl for the rest of my life going to make me forget about what makes me really, truly happy? for crying out loud, my father supported my family for years of my life on less money than what they want to offer me to find synonyms for "happy, sexy, cool, sparkly." this is easy money. but it makes me feel slimey.
or maybe i just want to be doing slimey work in midtown manhattan instead.
i still can't get over my hatred for los angeles. its dirty. i work just outside the boundaries of skid row. its too hot. and no matter how much money you have, you're still not rich enough. miserable effing place. nothing in this place is convenient. the grocery store is never just on the way home from work. and i'm getting fat.
i had to end it with being a true girl. what else are lj's for?
such is a statement that remains with me, after my junior year magazine writing class with ellen. she was a harpie of a woman, but she absolutely adored me. and jim sligh, strangely enough. i think we were her favorite. i had her right after spencer had left, and maybe she recognized that since we sat next to each other on the first day, sligh and i flirted non-stop for the entire semester. he's a good kid.
san francisco reminded me a lot of boston. its only slightly larger than boston, and where we stayed (the marriott right off of union square) reminded me tons and tons of being in back bay, right next to newbury street. it started to make me homesick for my studio; being walking distance from awesome shopping and taking public transit. we took the muni/ bart, and walked all over creation-- through chinatown to little italy (mmm...little italy...) and up to the waterfront, back down and around and even took a cable car.
it scared the living bejesus out of me. and i wasn't even hanging off the edge.
i'm boring. and i know i'm boring. but i couldn't comprehend how people were letting their 10 year old kids swing randomly off the side of the car, inches from passing traffic, as we were barreling down the hill at over 35 miles per hour. i know for a fact i'm going to be the type of mom who cleans her yard of sticks, so her kids can never poke out their eyes.
but, of course, as it de regeur for when i walk more than i'm used to, my right knee has got a swollen tendon, and i can barely walk. i limp like qusimodo. quite attractive, really, especially when it is that time of the month when i really need to do laundry, and have resorted to wearing outstretched tee shirts to work. i've been huffing around samples, schlepping up and down the stairs with overcoats in my arms, while it is 100 degrees out. i'm pink and sweaty most of the time, and am mighty unattractive most of the time.
i'm happy this will only be my life for another two weeks or so. on august 1st, i'm becoming a full time copywriter for the ecommerce department, and also getting a hefty raise. they're throwing money at me so i don't quit (as my manager found my resume up on monster), but i'm still not sure if the extra cash is worthy of me staying. i'll have to see how much better an extra $500 a month makes me feel. if its more comfortable in my skin than now, then maybe i'll put up with the abuse. i can just imagine that this company is not going to get better to work for.
months ago, i told spence about the pitfalls of getting caught in copywriting. the pay is good-- very good. i'm gonna be tacky here and tell you that as a fresh-out-of-school copywriter for guess, i'm going to be making $42,000 a year. anything that an editorial position could offer me would pale in comparison. in fact, a photography trade mag called me for an interview-- but the pay is a measley $12 an hour, and the job is in santa monica. i can't afford to do it, though it would be wonderful for some paid editorial work on my resume. but i really don't want to be a copywriter. i feel so... schlocky. only if this could segue into copy work for nonprofit organizations would this make me happy. i would like to spread the word for things like the world wildlife fund, or any organization that works with autistic children.
but is the allure of getting paid lots of money for being a glorified sales girl for the rest of my life going to make me forget about what makes me really, truly happy? for crying out loud, my father supported my family for years of my life on less money than what they want to offer me to find synonyms for "happy, sexy, cool, sparkly." this is easy money. but it makes me feel slimey.
or maybe i just want to be doing slimey work in midtown manhattan instead.
i still can't get over my hatred for los angeles. its dirty. i work just outside the boundaries of skid row. its too hot. and no matter how much money you have, you're still not rich enough. miserable effing place. nothing in this place is convenient. the grocery store is never just on the way home from work. and i'm getting fat.
i had to end it with being a true girl. what else are lj's for?