$78

Today I put my frog suit on, jumped from one job application to another, and caught no flies.

Unless flies are just a metaphor for frustration and despair. In that case, I’m full.

Days like these always start by checking my bank account and realizing that I missed the Chewy.com shipping reminder and have just spent $90 on cat food I didn’t need.

Last week I decided that I very seriously need to crack down on my finances. Set up an IRA, check my balances every single day, get back on the student loan train, not spend money on tacos and Frose, yadda yadda.

Since the key to having more money is making more money, I got up at 6:30 last Monday morning and applied for bar jobs, tour guide positions and temp work. By Friday, I got through the rounds with a tour guide company which now seems to have blossomed into nothing, decided that my schedule doesn’t really allow me to bartend right now after all, and nearly cried in a temp agency when they told me “12-13 dollars per hour.”

I also decided that setting up an IRA was too confusing, and I told myself that I had enough in my account for now and I’d be fine and didn’t need to check everyday.

I’m not irresponsible. I’m very organized, highly neurotic and concerned for my future. However, when you don’t have money, checking your bank account is like being tied to a chair and forced to watch a horror movie. I guess you have no other choice but to watch.

So I can say I logged into my bank account this afternoon and immediately yelled “run, idiot, run, he’s gonna stab you.”

AKA: $78

 

Thus triggering my money panic routine which goes like this:

  1. I will get a job in an ad agency or something.
  2. I look through copywriting jobs and think about what my life would be like if I made at least $30,000 / year.
  3. I tell myself I have no experience and/or marketable skills and decide to move on.
  4. What about social media?
  5. I tell myself that I have no followers on Twitter or Instagram and therefore nothing to prove and also I hate social media.
  6. Ah, administrative work! I start with colleges and universities.
  7. I imagine what the job would be like. The beloved children’s book character Amelia Bedelia races into my mind and I imagine myself accidentally breaking machines, fucking up travel itineraries, crying and watching Excel how-to videos on lynda.com, and getting a firm talking to in an office while sweating through an ill-fitting pencil skirt and a thong. For some reason.
  8. I decide I am too scared to work as an administrative assistant.
  9. I curse myself for spending 10 years of my life pursuing acting.
  10. Oh wait, I am an actor with 6+ years of teaching adults with developmental disabilities, at-risk and homeless women and hundreds of kids ages 3-15. I go to Playbill.com.
  11. I find the perfect job and then realize I have to write a cover letter.
  12. Quick! I see if any of the previous cover letters I have written will suffice.
  13. Nope.
  14. I tell myself that most places prefer you to have an MFA, which I think is a waste of time, and that I’m not diverse enough and therefore don’t deserve to teach our youth.
  15. This is a good transition into brand ambassador work.
  16. I go to Craigslist and consider applying for the job with the headline “No nudity required, promise!” for about the 600th time.
  17. I tell myself that I am worthless and stupid and I probably won’t be able to connect to the monologue I am doing in class tomorrow even though I have a high emotional IQ and that is about all I have, which makes me an extraordinarily overdramatic person who has a hard time falling asleep at night.
  18. The dog outside begins to bark so I spent time cruising around for new music on Spotify and I hate everything and wonder what is wrong with our youth, why do they listen to this absolute crap?
  19. I remember that writing makes me happy and sometimes posting a self-deprecating blog post perks me up.
  20. I scold myself for not writing more blog posts.
  21. I realize I could have spent all that time looking for auditions.
  22. I think about emailing my mangers to tell them I’m done acting. But then I realize I have no back-up plan.
  23. Here we are.

Dudes, I could have spent the whole day playing around with setting my sock fuzz on fire instead of all this crap and it would have been way more productive.

And in an ironic twist, I have to stop typing so I won’t be late for work.

I’m babysitting tonight, which means I’ll get to hang out with a child who could probably afford to pay off my student loans- but at least I will get to shut my brain off and use my imagination for a few hours, which is something that I am, in fact, pretty good at.

But first, I have to feed the cats and replace the litter in the box with real paper money.

The Stranger and The Muffin and The Train

This is a tale of love and loss.

Cole and I sometimes joke about how old and boring we are, you know, like people do? People are always talking about how old they feel!

Nobody ever gets out of bed in the morning and declares, “OH MAN. I feel so YOUNG today!” Kids don’t even do that!

We are both 26, but we are seriously, seriously boring. What saves us is that combined, we have the ultimate sense of humor. You should see us come up with secret handshakes, you guys! Last night, in our kitchen, we pretended not to see each other so that we could practice a new handshake. Cole was on his phone and I was whistling, and walking in a circle around the table.

We live in the city that never sleeps even though we average 10-12 hours every night, depending on how bad our backs hurt. Last week we went OUT. TOGETHER. A friend was doing some stand-up at UCB, so we went to see it. On the way to the train we stopped to get “a treat.” Like old people do. We (I) bought a package of very expensive little cookies. There were three in the package. Roughly, I’d say it was about $1.25 per miniature cookie. That was the first mistake. Cole ate one of the cookies and put the rest in his pocket. I was not ready for a cookie, but I was definitely looking forward to eating one later. Mistake numero deux!

The THIRD mistake was a legit mistake, because we got on the wrong train and ended up in Park Slope! Eventually, the correct train came along and we got on it. So did a woman with a Dunkin’ Donuts bag and a bottle of Yoo Hoo. The train was quiet, and mostly empty. She sat across from us.

We were spacing off, not talking, like boring people, when we heard the sound of a paper bag and a grunt/sigh. As a female, I recognized the sound immediately. This was a “food moan.” Sure enough, our neighbor was cradling a chocolate muffin. Cradling. I couldn’t tell if she was going to devour it or tell it a story and rock it to sleep. I hoped she would do all of the above. Free theatre!

Time went by. Cole and were I discussing some boring stuff. Suddenly, something bounced off my foot. It was the muffin.

“NOOOOOOOOO.”

She ran over and picked it up. She was devastated, like any mother who has just dropped her baby on the floor of the subway. She squatted in front of us, as she put it back in the bag, sadly.

“Oh man. I’m sorry,” I said. “We know how excited you were about that muffin.”

We chatted with her about her loss. And then, in a spontaneousy burst of humanity, Cole realized he had two cookies left. (One of those was supposed to be mine, right).

“I know it’s not a muffin, but you can have a cookie if you’d like.”

By this time the woman (I should really say “girl.” She was maybe 20. I’m not sure what the girl/woman cut off is) was back in her seat across from us. Out of politeness, she acted skeptical about the cookies. And then she levitated over to us, like people do when they’re about to get a free treat, and she TOOK BOTH OF THE COOKIES.

Later, Cole noticed that she was staring at her bottle of Yoo Hoo like she had never seen the color yellow. We decided she was “high as shit.”

Cole and I got off the train and had a good long laugh! Then we went to the show and we were back to Brooklyn and in bed by 10:30.

I used to have this acting teacher who would tell us, “Every little moment has a meaning all it’s own.” Cole and I don’t need to have crazy lives like people on TV. Besides, I hit my face on the wall while I’m sleeping at least once a week. Life is full of little surprises.

Alice in Officeland.

My friend Shira needed the day off because last night was her birthday, so I am temping for her today. That means I am working in an office right now. A real, live office! There is a window, and when you look out the window, you see that it is daytime, which means that it is somewhere between 9am and 5pm.

Shira labeled 19 things with post-it notes and printed out a full page document with instructions. Then she wrote a note on the bottom of the document explaining that she labeled things. My advice for Shira is that next time she leaves a note that says she labeled things, she writes that note on another post-it, and leaves the post-it on the note. The point is, Shira labeled everything but the note.

If you’re confused, it’s because I’ve never “worked” in an “office.” One time, I had a job where I sat at a computer, but it was for a business that did birthday parties for kids, so I had the option to leave the desk and go jump in an inflatable basketball court. Which I never did on account of germs and a mild case of depression. I also did an internship at the Science Center of Iowa, and when I felt that I needed to get out of the office, I would simply grab a turtle and walk around with it and show it to kids. That was a benefit that I did take advantage of.

I actually think I would really like to work in a office, if I could mold the job around the following guidelines:

  • I can hold a reptile or an amphibian whenever I want (that’s a given).
  • There is an endless amount of office supplies that I can organize and also take home.
  • There is a kitchen fully stocked with all my favorite foods and the foods are free.
  • There is ALWAYS someone named Carol in the office at all times.
  • Live music, of course.
  • There is a tiny cushion for my forehead underneath the space bar on my keyboard.
  • The view from the window is: legendary, of course. Not only do I have a window, I have a sliding door that leads to a balcony. On the balcony there is a tree that grows money. When I pick the money off the tree, the money tells me a pretty decent joke. (Naturally, I remember this joke, and I use it at the Vitamin Water cooler). When I am finished laughing at the joke, the floor of the balcony drops out from below me, and I fall down a very long tunnel, and the tunnel has a bunch of hands reaching out from the walls like in the movie “Labyrinth,” only the hands high-five me all the way down. I land on my feet of course, right next to a gin and tonic that says “DRINK ME.” And I drink it. And then lunch is over and I go back to work.

So that’s my ideal office job, I guess!

NOTE: If you are a potential employer, and you somehow stumble upon this silly, silly post- I beg you to know that I am actually a very competent woman. I cannot, however, figure out how to leave this note on a post-it, on top of another note.