Working Weekend

Meredith and I are working all weekend this weekend.  She’s working the worst shifts at the restaurant and I’m working this weekend long event for work.  We’ll both be standing the whole time, running right round baby right round like a record baby right round, round round and both be super stoked about life.  I love working through the weekend.  Dancing through life, just like these obgs!

Things to Do Once I Finally Have a Permanent Job

1. Visit friends and family back East.

2. Quit my job at the restuarant and, ergo, quit my 3-4 times/week smoking habit.

3. Find Jon and Kate in Pennslyvania and offer to take like, 2 of the 8 off their hands.

4. Buy a leather jacket.

5. Learn how to skateboard.

6. Turn Roomie Madoff’s bedroom into a meth lab.

7. Visit Duke in Paris.

8. “Visit” the cast of Lost in Hawaii and trick my way into a starring role for the final season.

9. Get a Wii.

10. Get Shia Labeouf to be my boyfriend.

11. Travel more.

12. Organize peace on earth.

A Note on Checking Out Babes

Summer’s winding down, so for most of the country, hemlines are getting longer, and blustery air will soon require more layers, leaving more to the imagination.  But here in San Francisco, the weather seems to only be getting warmer, and public checking out more gratuitous.  I don’t mind…much…anymore…  But seriously? Show a little discretion. Like, okay, we both know what you’re doing, and there’s no way the objection of your wandering eye’s affection doesn’t know you’re checking her/him out, but c’mon, First Rule of Checking Someone Out: Don’t Be Obvious.

Checking some one out is supposed to be a brief encounter between your eyes, and that certain someone who caught your eye.  Emphasis on brief.  That means no eye lingering, no head swiveling, no cat calls.  Just your eyes.  Quick glance.  You’re done.  As stated in Troy Patterson’s recent article for Slate, “A Dandy’s Guide to Girl-Watching”:

“Although we believe that girl watching has it all over bird watching, we feel that these two hobbies do share one important feature. They are both genteel. They both respect the rights of the watched … A girl watcher never leers, nor does he utter any sound which might betray his joy.”

Amen.  Questions? Concerns? Tips? You can read Troy Patterson’s article HERE.  You’re welcome.  Especially to that guy on Geary and Grant who full-body-swivel checked out that poor little hipster girl who was wearing not even short shorts.

The Roaring 20’s

Is anybody really doing what they want to do, or are some just better than others at faking it?

I Hear the Chicken Wings at Hooters are Phenom

Now that the OBG temp job is over, I’m trying to figure out how to spend my days until I find employment again.  Here’s what I’ve brainstormed so far:

• Move to Eastern Europe and finally join that traveling Gypsy band that I’ve been talking about for years.  And when I say Gypsy Band, I mean a literal band.  Like, with instruments, and singing and shit.  I think I’ll play the tambourine.  Or, if that’s taken, the mandolin.  But only if I can’t play the tambourine.
• Marry Macauley Culkin.
• Buy a Snuggie.
• Get into Polygamy
• Finally learn how to skateboard <– This one’s actually tops on my list.
• Donate my eggs.
• Watch every Kevin Costner movie ever made, starting with Water World.
• Start reading the Twighlight series just so I can learn what these dang kids are so crazy about.
• Lunches at Hooters
• Adopt an African baby
• Learn the choreography from “Everybody (Backstreet’s Back)” by the Backstreet Boys
• Buy a pair of these shoes in three different colors
• Threesomes

This is an open list, meaning I’m open to suggestions.  Got any? I’ve got lots of time to hear them…

My So-Called 20’s

 

The 20's is more like an episode of "My So Called Life" than "Friends"

Remember how when you were in high school, and you felt like you were so grown up? You and your friends could finally drive yourselves to the mall, you stole alcohol from your parents, and nothing was more fun than finding places to makeout with your boyfriend/girlfriend?  Of course you weren’t really grown up, you were just faking it; only at the time, you were too immature to realize it. Post-college 20’s feel kind of like adolescence all over again — except this time you’re painfully aware of the fact that you’re not really grown up at all, just faking it.  And oftentimes, badly.

 

Post-college is kind of like a series of bumbling movements — you’re stumbling up, more than you’re growing up; you get a new apartment, maybe a new job — but you’re not really sure what you’re doing with either.  You’ve moved on from the world of cramming for tests, and writing epic papers, but now you’ve got a whole new set of worries to be anxious about.  It’s like all the sudden the world expects you to be some mature, responsible “Adult”, and really, the only thing college has prepared you for is how to bullshit a 20 page paper, and how to shotgun a Natty Light.  There was no class called Budgeting 101.  Or, Intro to: How To Not Fuck Up on the Job.  Certainly there was no seminar called Working 9-5 Will Drain Your Soul or Sometimes Life is Kind of Lonely.

But everyone tells you post-college is the time where you focus on “building your career — time to get serious now!” So you slave away at a job that you maybe kind of hate, definitely don’t love, all with the grand idea that you’re “embarking upon your career”.  That is to say, the stupid job you have now will eventually lead you to the job of your dreams — ten years down the line — and then: cue the never-ending bongo party!  

Except, half-way to the bongo party, the Quarter Life Crisis hits.  The Quarter Life Crisis is about feeling ill-at-ease.  It’s about feeling uncomfortable, and dissatisfied with the path life is leading you down.  And compounding this, is a creeping sense of loneliness.  You feel like a failure because everyone else seems to be leading really sweet, really fulfilling lives, while your life isn’t even a maraca party.  Of course they’re not.  You may even know this on an intellectual level, but it feels like you’re the only one.  And then, you’re 15-years old again, angsty and butt-hurt because you’ve been left out of the cool clique of successful 20-somethings.

I’m calling for an end to the Let’s-All-Focus-On-Our-Careers movement of the post-college world.  Because you know what made college so great? What made us all look back so fondly on our days at university? Was is the shitty “beer”? The seminars on Marxism? I mean, maybe (weirdo…) but I think you’ll agree with me that it was your posse.  That group of friends who you could count on to commiserate with you over pizza, or in the library, or even over a round of shots.  Where’s the post-college posse?  If you’re lucky, you may have moved to a town with three, maybe four close friends.  But really? Four friends? Didn’t you used to have like, two — three times that many in college?  Where did the posse go? If you don’t believe me, count up the number of people you hang out with on a regular basis now — and be honest.  I’m talking about the number of people who you legitimately hang out with on a regular basis; the people you could call up any time of day to do something with and it wouldn’t be weird.  How many of those do you have? Enough to be considered a posse?

This is why I’m calling for a Return to the Posse.  This is a new movement.  Where, instead of just trying to hang out with your small crew of friends, getting drunk and trying to trick someone into hooking up with you at the end of the night, you try to meet a new group of friends.  Have these friends join your friends, and voila! Instant posse! Isn’t that how you met your crew way back when? I don’t advocate having a posse just so that way you can announce “rollin’ mob deep” to your new friends via text message, but because isn’t focusing on your friends way more fulfilling than focusing on your job? Jobs come and go, but friends will always have ridiculous stories to share.  If you think, well I don’t need new friends I like the ones that I have, rubbish! You have two.  You have two friends. You know what’s better than two friends? A posse of friends. Cue: the never-ending bongo party!