Things I (Don't) Want

I’ve realized that I talk a lot on this blog about the things I do want (a job), so I figured I should write an entry detailing some of the things that I don’t want. Here goes…

1. I DO NOT want to be Lindsay Lohan.

Let’s face it, the girl is a mess and has been for some time now. Before she was headed to rehab (again) or sobbing in court (again) she was drunkenly walking into cacti (really, Linds?) and starring in an ABC Family made-for-TV movie. Usually I love a good ABC Family movie (Love Wrecked and Beauty and the Briefcase never disappoint and I’m sure the upcoming Revenge of the Bridesmaids starring everyone’s favorite washed up Cosby cutie Raven-Symone will be met with much critical acclaim) but Labor Pains (the ABC Fam cinematic gem that I’m sure little LiLo thought was going to revive her career) was just bad. There really is no debating that.

What’s troubling though is not that Lindsay is a mess, because as I have tried to prove that’s pretty old news, but the fact that she has no idea she’s a mess. Like most 23 year olds are on their third trip to rehab and wear alcohol-monitoring bracelets like they are Chanel’s new must-have accessories for summer…right?

Perhaps most disturbing though is a declaration from Lindsay’s mother that “Lindsay actually wants to open up her own rehab center here [in LA] and a couple across the country to help other kids and celebs so they don’t fall through the cracks in this town.” Call me crazy, but that sounds like the worst idea EVER. That would be like if BP decided to open a wildlife sanctuary or if Michael Vick started a doggy day care. The two things just do not compute; they are on opposite ends of the spectrum.

What Lindsay needs is a good, solid trip to rehab. And not some establishment with promises or kisses or rainbows in the name, girlfriend needs a legitimate facility that won’t pamper her bony ass or enable her to do further damage to herself. While she’s at it, it may do her some good to ask for a new set of parents also, because the ones she has now are clearly clueless. Maybe Brad and Angelina are looking to adopt again!

2. I DO NOT want to be subscribed to the Just Salad e-mail list anymore.

For those of you unfamiliar with Just Salad, it is a dining establishment that allows you to order a salad or create your own by choosing from a wide array of additional ingredients. They then take your salad, toss it, and chop it up with a giant machete. It really is delicious, and if you pick the cheap toppings, not too expensive

My only problem with Just Salad began yesterday morning when I received an e-mail from them. Usually these e-mails advertise a new salad that I should try or a new lo-cal dressing, but this one was different. Very different. The people at Just Salad were starting – wait for it. Wait for it. A dating service. When I first read the e-mail I thought that it had to be a joke, but then I remember that people rarely joke about salad, it’s a serious food. And Just Salad really was advertising a dating service based solely upon the toppings one chooses to put in his or her salad. Call me a pessimist, but I don’t believe the foundation of a relationship should be built on salad toppings. What would you even say? “So I see you like tomatoes in your salad.” I think the conversation would begin and end there, seeing as that is no way to begin a relationship.

(NOTE: I know I stated above that I don’t want to subscribe to the Just Salad e-mails anymore, but that’s actually a lie. Their salads are so delicious that I am willing to overlook their incredibly misguided foray into the world of organized dating. But from now on just stick to salad, okay?)

(NOTE #2: For all those that are curious, I like mixed greens with corn, dried cranberries and walnuts with balsamic vinaigrette, lightly dressed.)

There you have it; two things that I don’t want (but really only one thing I don’t want and one thing I do.)

Jobs, however, are ALWAYS welcome!

Now Hiring?!

Some of you may think that being unemployed means that I have little to do in a never ending amount of time, and the truth is, when I was newly unemployed I thought this too. After all, how bad could it be to not have to get up at 7 A.M., and watch your favorite shows when they actually air? The first week was nice, sleeping in, catching up on all the T.V. I was too busy to watch during the semester all while basking in the glow of my recent graduation, but the novelty wore off pretty quickly. What was once luxurious and enviable soon became boring and pathetic; thus began Job Hunt 2010. (Note: Even if my search extends into 2011, it will still only be called Job Hunt 2010 because anything indicating a longer time frame would be too depressing.)

Now my days are spent making lists. Making lists of people I know and people I want to know. Making lists of production companies and job websites. And so on and so on. Somewhere in my furry of list making and cover letter writing, it dawned on me that I could use an assistant. Now bear with me here, I know it sounds ridiculous for an unemployed person to employ an assistant, but despite my work situation (or lack there of) I actually have a lot to balance and manage. Making sure you send the right cover letter to the right company is harder than you may think after you’ve sent out a few dozen and can no longer remember exactly what you’ve applied for in the first place. Trust me.

Don’t even get me started on the fact that in the throws of my unemployment I can’t even find the time to get my haircut. I keep waiting for the perfect day where I know I’ll need a break and a chance to get out of the house, but preferably on a day when New York City doesn’t feel like its’ in walking distance from the surface of the sun and a torrential downpour won’t be looming over my newly quaffed head. If you could see my hair right now, you’d know I’ve had little luck with this plan.

The way I see it, there are two significant benefits to my hiring an assistant.

1. I would be more balanced and less crazed, and if I was channeling my inner diva I could even ask the poor guy or gal to hold an umbrella over my head so I can get that haircut I so desperately need.

2. If I employ an assistant, that means I would be rescuing someone from the boredom and monotony that I know so well. This really isn’t as beneficial to me as it would be to someone else, but I’m willing to overlook that.

The only real (and some may say significant) downfall to hiring an assistant is the fact that I have very limited funds with which to pay him or her. And these funds are only shrinking since they have no way of replenishing themselves aside from employment or a winning lotto ticket. At this point, I’d say it’s a tossup as to which one of these scenarios occurs first. Bets are welcome.

If the "Real Housewives" Can do it...

Don’t get me wrong, I think the “Real Housewives” franchise is ridiculous, but I also kick myself if I miss an episode of the New York or New Jersey editions. As I watched the tail end of New York’s season, I must admit that I was a little dumbfounded. How any of these women (maybe with the exception of Bethenny) now have “careers” as television personalities is mind-boggling. Let’s take a look at the craziest bunch of housewives one by one, shall we?

Ramona is an emotional roller-coaster whose grasp of the English language deteriorates in proportion with the amount of wine she’s consumed. (Mountain out of a hole mill, anyone?)

Sonja is new so I don’t have much to say about her other then the fact that I loved when Kelly and Ramona were having it out on that yacht and all Sonja kept saying was that she wanted to see Hooters girls. She seems to know just how to lighten the mood, which has become increasingly necessary among these ridiculous women.

Jill is so concerned with how she’s perceived; that she seems to have lost sight of the fact that no one really cares about her, at least not anymore.

Alex clearly needs to spend more time parenting her children and less time trying to find herself (or her arm or any other limb) in the NYT Style section, because her son’s “systematic bullying” of that hamburger at the end of last season was just uncalled for, even if he can sing twinkle, twinkle little star in Latin.

Even though Bethenny’s biting insults could sometimes make Don Rickles cringe, she’s funny and she seems to be the only Housewife that can dish it and take it. It also helps that she has a career.

Luann needs to drop this Countess business and focus full-time on her budding singing career. The lyrics to Elegance is Learned are reminiscent only of the great Bob Dylan, and I’ll be dammed if she lets that talent go to waste.

And then there’s Kelly. I sincerely don’t know how that woman functions seeing as coherent thoughts are clearly beyond the realm of possibility for her. You know it’s pretty bad when your 10-year old daughter has to teach you how to make a pancake. Even my own culinary ability extends to that point.

The point of this post though wasn’t really to analyze the Housewives, although that has been fun. As much as I love watching their catty drama, I’ve realized that it’s a bit of a slap in the face to those who are really earning a living. And those of us who are trying to (wink, wink.)

That said, if they’re looking for a new Housewife, I’m all ears. Despite the fact that I don’t have a spouse or a house. Hmm. I should really just cross “cast member of Real Housewives of New York” off my list of prospective jobs…

My first Job - Kind Of...

As I mentioned, last week I had the pleasure of being called to jury duty for the first time. After I finally found my way to the courthouse, I was directed to a large, drab room with chairs, which functioned only as a depressing holding pen. I’ll admit that at first I was less than thrilled to be sitting in a courthouse at 9 A.M. with a room full of people I didn’t know, but at least I wasn’t there because I had been charged with a crime. Once I resigned myself to the fact that not only did I have to be there, but I also didn’t really have anything better to do with my time, I allowed myself to take in the experience.

The first day, a guy named Larry headed our jury room. Initially, I really wasn’t sure what to think of Larry because he painstakingly went over the instructions for every jury related scenario possible, and unlike other jury room leaders, informed us that he would not be showing a movie. Yet, as soon as he informed us that he felt his life was exactly like the movie “Groundhog Day”, I knew we would be fine. Larry had the ability to simultaneously take his job seriously while also not seeming to care at all, and I find that to be an extremely admirable quality.

On principal, the experience is really interesting. New York City is one with millions of people, and jury duty takes a sliver of those millions and sticks them in a room together for two days. (I’m surprised no one has tried to make a reality show out of this yet.) The result is pretty much emblematic of New York itself; a room full of people from different backgrounds all trying to get out of there as quickly as possible so they can get on with their lives. (Oddly enough, I managed to run into someone who lives in my building, and someone I went to high school with.) Yet when I looked around the room, it was interesting while also strangely sad to know that I would probably never see any of these people again. We would have this one, shared experience, and then we would go on living our lives completely oblivious to one another.

I can’t say that I’m eager to be summoned to jury duty again, but the experience wasn’t as monotonous as I thought it would be. I also made $40/ day for my two days of service, which is $40 / day more than I have made any day since graduation…

Parents Give the Best Advice, Don't They?

Earlier this week I had the utmost privilege of being called for jury duty at N.Y.C. criminal court. (This ordeal needs its’ own separate post which I’ll write some time in the next few days.) Seeing as I have never been arrested or charged with a crime, nor do I find it necessary to stalk the cast of Law and Order, this was really my first journey into that section of lower Manhattan.

On the morning of my first day of service (jury duty, I learned, lasts a minimum of 2 incredibly exciting days; like the weekend but without any fun) my Dad attempted to give me directions once I got off the subway. The following is, unfortunately, a direct quote…

“If the big, tall buildings are on your left, walk the other way.”

As I’m sure you can tell, these directions were extraordinarily helpful. Lois and Clark should be ashamed of themselves. Just to give some perspective to those who live on a farm or in the woods somewhere, New York City (or any city for that matter) is generally a place where one can find a myriad of “big, tall buildings”; it’s kind of our thing. Therefore, this statement was about as useful to me as giving BP a q-tip and telling them to fix their mess already.

Luckily for me, my Dad noticed my confused look and suggested I type the address of the courthouse into Google Images so I would recognize the building. This is ultimately what led me to the correct “big, tall building”, so I decided to forgive him for his feeble, earlier attempt at offering me assistance.

If you thought the parental involvement ended there, you’d be sorely mistaken. As I begrudgingly headed out the door, my Mom told me to have fun with the same level of enthusiasm you would have when telling someone that they just won the lottery.

On a (slightly) more serious note, my parents have been really supportive throughout my life, but especially during my job search. While it sometimes seems like they won’t be satisfied unless I hide behind a shrub and stalk Lorne Michaels in Rockefeller Plaza, or have Les Moonves holding on line 1, I know they just want me to be happy and get a job.

Hey, I went to jury duty didn’t I? That’s a start…

CORRECTION!

I've made an erroneous, some may say unforgivable error.

In my previous post, I mentioned that my Dad takes a fanny pack with him when we travel. It has come to my attention, however, that my Dad has no use for a fanny pack. As my Mom eloquently stated, “I don’t let him out of the house with a fanny pack…anymore.” It should be noted though, that my Dad does travel with a belt that he can and does clip various things onto, because it is obviously vastly more efficient than a measly fanny pack. Clearly this is the lesser of two evils...

Now that we’ve cleared up that debacle, let’s continue onto the next post.

Pet Peeves - Part 1

One of my favorite shows is “Late Night with Jimmy Fallon”, and it’s not just because I interned there, although that may have swayed my opinion slightly. Jimmy sometimes does a sketch where he dresses up like Robert Pattinson, climbs in a tree, and discusses things that bother Robert. Not surprisingly, the sketch is called “Robert is Bothered.” In the past, things like Valentine’s Day, sharks, Snickers, and even “New Moon” have bothered Robert. If you haven’t seen any of these sketches yet, I highly recommend Googling them; there’s some really funny stuff.

In the vein of Robert is Bothered, I have decided to come up with a list of some things that bother me.

1. Shorthand texting
I’ll admit to doing this sometimes when I’m in a rush, but there is no excuse for receiving a text like “Cn’t w8 2 c u!” It doesn’t look efficient, it just looks dumb and it makes you look dumb for sending it. It’s okay to shorten the occasional word, although if people wrote the actual word instead of a 2, they might finally learn the difference between to and too…

2. Tourists in New York City
This can probably be widened to tourists in general, but I live in New York City so I’ll use that as my reference point. For starters, tourists walk too slowly. Why, do you ask? It’s probably because they take pictures of everything. The buildings are tall, I get it, but that doesn’t mean it’s necessary to photograph every free-standing structure from Rockefeller Center to Canal street, and there is certainly no need to look like an extra from a Richard Simmons workout video while doing so. The straw that broke the camel’s back was when I was eating in a restaurant with my sister and witnessed a tourist take out her camera so she could take a picture of the hamburger she was about to eat. Last I checked, hamburgers are not a particularly unique food, and the thousands of McDonalds restaurants worldwide are proof of that very fact. To be fair, my own father is somewhat similar to the tourists I have been referring to, although in his defense he has never photographed a hamburger. But if there is a majestic tree in the distance or some ancient rock formation, he whips the camera from his fanny pack faster than the oil currently spewing into the Gulf of Mexico. This is why, while on family vacations, I try to stay 10 feet away from him at all times.

3. Ridiculously unhealthy food
America has long been a haven for unhealthy food and gargantuan portions, but with the recent introduction of things like Coldstone’s PB&C Shake (a milkshake with peanut butter and chocolate that’s equivalent to eating 68 pieces of bacon) and KFC’s Double Down (a sandwich with bacon, cheese, and two fried chicken fillets instead of bread) it’s easy to see why the French hate us. With the exception of Jacques Cousteau, I’m not a big fan of the French, but I agree with them on this front despite the fact that I also think the PB&C Shake sounds delicious. However, there is a silver lining to this morbidly obese cloud; the Double Down can be made with grilled chicken instead of fried chicken, welcome news to those of us watching our figures…

4. Equally ridiculous names
Someone just relayed a story to me about a little girl named Na-a (pronounced NAH DASH AH, of course) and that name is nothing short of ridiculous. Symbols should never be a part of one’s name, and there is nothing left to do but blame the awful pop singer Ke$ha for this stupid trend. It is also not okay to name your child Phinneaus, Apple or Banjo. Even celebrities should stay away from giving their offspring names that make them sound like they’re a character from The Odyssey, and names that are nouns.

Here’s hoping that whatever job I do eventually land will not involve a tourist named Banjo who says “g2g ttyl!” while wolfing down a nice 2,010 calorie PB&C shake.