A Somewhat Sober Life

While most of you know my weekday schedule consists of a rousing combination of slaving over an elliptical and banging out cover letters until my fingers bleed, my weekends are a different story.

Some weekends I go out, and some weekends I don't.  The weekends I don't go out (read: "party") or consume alcohol (read: "get blackout") are becoming more and more infrequent.. and I'm fine with that.  In fact, I'm generally pretty happy that I'm not getting drunk all of the time.

Now, if the college pre-quel version of my current self heard that I didn't want to consume alcohol on a regular basis, she'd be like:

HUH?

Ask any of my friends from college... or don't, because I'll tell you myself: I would get blasted, hammered, wrecked, juiced, and absolutely shit-faced every single weekend.  This would happen at least on both Friday and Saturday, generally on Thursday, and sometimes on another random weekday night as well.

I wasn't introduced to the wonders of alcohol until my freshman year of college (yes, I was a very lame, tame high-schooler).  As I would learn, many of my colleagues in bacchanalia already had years of experience under their belt.  This didn't mean they, too, didn't get drunk beyond belief - they did.  Nonetheless, they had some experience under their belt.  I, on the other hand, did not even know how alcohol tasted.  The first time I drank (which was also the first time I got drunk, of course) it was off cheap vodka mixed with some rank-ass energy drink my then-friend's father owned stock in.  I stumbled, I puked, I cried... and I continued to do that for four straight years (and thensome).

I loved alcohol.  I loved how it made me feel, the way it made jokes seem funnier, the way it made me feel like I could say or do things I'd never do sober.  I loved wondering whose mouth my tongue would end up in that night, and I loved spending hours at brunch the next day re-hashing all of the dumb shit I did (oftentimes others who hadn't blacked out would be the ones to recount the story of my night for me).  I additionally spent a lot of time cringing over drunk texts I had sent, hookups gone bad, off-campus parties I had been rejected from, and the five slices of pizza I had eaten at 4 a.m.  Probably worst of all, I spent a lot of my time hungover (and my hangovers were hangovers - completely useless and puking for an entire day).  But none of that was enough to ever make me seriously consider stopping (save for the frequent yet empty "OMG I am never drinking again").

After graduating, my barometer for a good weekend was still whether or not I went out and got drunk.  On the rare weekend I didn't drink I would always feel a strong sense of disappointment.  Being sober meant being boring, and I was too young for that... right?

It has only been recently, upon moving home a full two and a half years after graduating, that I have realized that my weekends do not need to entirely revolve around alcohol.  The process was gradual, but after spending a few consecutive weekends not drinking (don't forget - I'm broke) and feeling pretty damn good about not spending any time with my head in a toilet, I realized that maybe I could make drinking less of a steady relationship and more of a friend with benefits.  Instead of finding reasons to drink, I let the reasons find me (i.e. a birthday party, a holiday, etc).  When I do drink, sometimes I get drunk and sometimes I don't.  I still struggle with keeping my consumption under control when I do drink, which is a big part of the reason why I just don't initiate drinking as much anymore.  But, I can tell you, there are so many benefits to a more sober you.  Por ejemplo:

- You save so much money.  Bars are expensive, drinks are expensive, that round of tequila shots you bought for your co-workers was damn expensive.  Your bank account will thank you, and you can spend more money on shoes, or books, or that waffle press you've been eyeing.

- You won't consume hundreds or thousands of calories every weekend.  Drinks can be yummy, but my gut is worse for the wear after ten beers.  It's simple: drinks have lots of calories, and if you don't drink, you won't be consuming all of those extra calories.  When I do indulge in some fries or dessert, I don't feel as bad about it when I know I've been laying off of the rum and cokes.

- Less hangovers.  I probably don't need to explain the appeal of not feeling like a piece of shit, do I?  Clear-headed Sundays are a beautiful thing.

- More quality time - with yourself, with your friends, with whoever.  You can create memories that you will actually remember... or you can just stay inside and touch yourself; the world is your oyster.

While I am far from ending my attachment to the bottle, our relationship has evolved to a healthier place.  As fate would have it, this weekend is St. Patty's Day and my friends are having an all day drink fest at their place.  Will I get wasted?  Maybe.  Alas, waste-case or not, I am going to commit to fun this weekend.  After all, I am 24, you guys.

A Lesson in Rejection

I didn't get the job.  Like many others that have come before me, Harvard rejected me.

There were a slew of mantras I kept telling myself (and everybody else) after my second interview:  "I won't be devastated if I don't get it," "If it doesn't work, it doesn't work," "I don't even want it that bad so it's not a big deal."

I don't give a you know what about how level your head is or how confident you are - being rejected from a job does not feel good.  You might be fine, and it may not be that big of a deal.  Nonetheless, you will not smile when read that you that you are "not the right match" for a company or that the job was offered to somebody else.  I have since had another interview and subsequent rejection (in fact, I just got the email two minutes ago... "We wish you the best of luck with your job search."  And I wish you the best of luck in fucking yourself).  So, I am 0 for 2.  Is this normal?

I have never been well-equipped to deal with rejection.  What is a clearer "You just aren't good enough" than not getting a job, or not being accepted into a college you wanted to go to, or failing a test?  In college, when my professors would pass back graded papers I would immediately flip mine over and hide it in my backpack until I was ready to deal with discovering what my grade was (and thus what my teacher thought of me; not my intellect, not my writing skill or knowledge on a subject, but ME).  Sometimes I wouldn't look at my grade until the semester was over, thus sacrificing my professor's valuable critique for the fear that I got a horrible grade.  Thing is, the grades I got were never bad.  I suppose I just couldn't deal with the impact a potentially bad grade would have on my psyche and self-esteem.

Needless to say, I was not happy and I spent the rest of my day with a lump firmly planted in my throat.  I had to inform all of my friends and family members who I had asked me to keep them updated that I didn't get the job (a lesson learned; for my most recent interview I told far less people); rejection sat heavier than a meatball sub in my stomach and, as if that weren't enough, it was washed over with a good helping of embarrassment.  (Add to to-do list: Eat meatball sub.)

BUT.  As Kelly Clarkson once told me, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

Taking Kelly's words in stride, I knew that the only solution to feeling better was working harder.  I gave myself the rest of the day to grieve/nap/cry/eat three bowls of ice cream.  The next day, though, I hit the job search with a vengeance.  And I felt a little better.  A few days later, I was offered an interview at an art consulting firm.  I am fresh on the heels of finding out I didn't get that job, and while yes, I am disappointed, I am also okay.  Finding gainful employment is going to be an uphill battle.  To be fair, nobody said it was going to be easy.

Fueled by my rejection-induced rage, I have created a bit more of a schedule for myself.  I go to the local library every weekday for at least four hours to look for jobs and craft cover letters.  I started volunteering with a local arts organization.  I am working on a painting that I'm being commissioned to do.  I am still unemployed, but I feel that I'm slowly and steadily walking down the right path.  It's two months into my job search and I am feeling more optimistic than ever.

Though I am certainly not a firm believer in the idea that everything happens for a reason, I can't help but think that my bad luck will dissolve when I find something that is perfect for me.  And that will be so sweetly satisfying I won't care about company x,y, and z that thought I wasn't good enough.

Now, time to find a meatball sub...

A Day In the Life

A couple of posts ago I brought up one of my favorite questions that people ask my unemployed ass:

So what do you do all day?

This is what an average day looks like for me:

1.  Wake up (not to an alarm, but I generally wake up prior to 9:00 anyway - early enough, IMO)

2.  Eat breakfast

3.  Go to the gym

4.  Shower

5.  Eat lunch

6.  Look for/apply to jobs

7.  Figure out what to make for dinner and go shopping for ingredients if necessary

8.  Make dinner for my family

9.  Veg out (read/chat on the phone/watch a movie/catch up on TV shows/etc.)

I check for jobs on about fifteen different websites every day.  If I feel that I've been relatively productive in the days prior and/or if I don't see any new postings that interest me, I won't apply to jobs that day.  It took me a while to learn that that's okay.  Keeping up with postings is important, because I feel that applying ASAP after a desirable job is posted can only help your chances.  Some days, though, the stars of the job universe don't align.  Take it as a sign and do something else.

What kind of "something else," you ask?  Well, being a master of brokeassness, I am also a master of fun, easy, and generally free things to do.  My go-to activities are: going on walks (it's exercise, it costs nothing, it clears your mind; a no-brainer, really), going to the library (unless you hate free knowledge the library is the best place ever.  Books, DVDs, magazines.  This week I watched a movie I've wanted to see forever [The Squid and the Whale] and read a biography on Frida Kahlo all thanks to the library), and cooking (not free, but generally pretty cheap and a nice thing to do for your mum and/or dad who's had to work all day).

What I also find very easy is giving a "like" to the pages of local arts organizations and small businesses on Facebook to keep abreast of events and sales (hey, nobody said you couldn't window shop).  For bonus points, check out events at local universities.  So many of them are A. Free B. Open to the public and C. Really interesting and informative.  When I lived in LA (and back then I had a job) I went to many an event at USC.  Oftentimes they'd have a free reception after the event, sometimes even with booze.  FOR FREE.  WHAT BEATS FREE BOOZE, YOU GUYS?

Phew.  Anyway.

If all else fails, you can start a lame blog that you show to nobody while still holding onto hope that somehow it will become larger than life because your writing is witty and relatable and relevant.

So, the next time somebody asks me what I do all day, I will hand them a business card with a link to this blog post on it.  Oh, and on the opposite side of the card it will say, "FUCK OFF."  Inquire within if you'd like a few.

It's All Happening

It happened.

I had an interview.

Pinch me.

About a week and a half ago I got an e-mail from a woman at Harvard, where I had applied to a job that I barely remember applying for.  I set up a time, had my interview this past Monday, and just yesterday I was contacted to come in for a second interview.  A few things to note, have I:

1.  I was through the roof when I got that first e-mail for an interview.  Naturally, I called and texted all of my closest friends, my sister, my mom and dad, and my dead grandparents to let them know the news.  Then I let them all know how it went.  And then I told them when I got e-mailed for a second interview.  I experienced a range of responses, from a simple yet sincere "That's great!" to ecstatic, jumping up and down, hands over the mouth congratulatory glee (thanks, Ma).  In spite of everybody's continual support and request to be updated as news came along, I couldn't help but wonder if it was somehow inappropriate or just "too much" to be sharing all of my new news.  For some reason I have a hard time remembering if any of my friends kept in touch about the unfolding of their job searches.  Of course I would never be anything but supportive, but upon further pondering I wondered if maybe they didn't share for a reason.  The only real snag I immediately see in sharing moments like this is the uncomfortable situation that arises when you interview but subsequently don't get the job (take one insincere "I didn't really want that job, anyway," repeat times twenty).  Nonetheless, an interview is surely a small (or big, or huge) success, and I wanted to share it with the people who are closest to me.

2.  Shortly after my "OMFG SOMEBODY WANTS ME" ecstasy faded, I was struck by a panicked thought: "What the fuck am I going to wear?"  I suppose some people have a standard interview outfit;  I do not.  My last job was casual, which meant I wore my interpretation of casual, which meant leopard print and five inch wedge sandals with socks.  Needless to say, I haven't gone shopping for a pair of professional pants since... well, ever.  You say "business casual," I say "fucking shoot me in the face."  Anyway, I'll worry about professional dress when I actually get a job.  Luckily, I have one white Ralph Lauren oxford that I got from TJ Maxx a while back.  I paired that with a pair of black pants my mom picked up for me, also from TJ Maxx (seriously, thanks, Ma).  I figured black and white was a classic combo - in spite of not having much character, the outfit couldn't be judged too harshly, right?  The harshest judgment came from my father, who informed me that I looked like a waitress.  This did not help my pre-interview jitters.  Anyway, next time I'd like to wear an outfit with a bit more character (easier said than done, but I think that showing a bit of personality in a tasteful way can't hurt).

3.  I will never be okay with interviews.  Never.  I am self-aware enough to know that I am not natural around people I don't know and can get pretty awkward around people I do know.  Self-deprecation aside, I don't think that anybody who knows me would say that I am particularly charismatic or charming (not to say I don't have my moments;  those are just not defining qualities of mine).  I wasn't all that nervous for the interview, partly because this wasn't my dream job, partly because I knew that I was at least a little over-qualified, and partly because I am very aware that nervousness is not a kind friend during an interview.  Though afterwards I couldn't help but fixate on answers I could have made stronger or details I could have included to sell myself, I walked out of it feeling that it had gone well.  And apparently, it did.  My best advice for going into an interview is to view it as a conversation more than a question and answer session.  I butt in (when appropriate) with a quick question or two, not only because I actually had questions but also because it showed that I was engaged.  Smile. Have good eye contact.  And always have some questions for the end.  Basically, don't over-think it.

So, I survived.  I'd be lying if I said I were happy to have to do another one (c'mon Harvard, aren't your standards notoriously low?), but knowing that they liked me (or in their words, were "favorably impressed," barf) helps ease my nerves a bit.

And that is all for tonight.  Happy Nemo 2013 to all mah nor'easters!

And what do you do?

Opinions.  I have come to learn that everybody has plenty of them when it comes to the job hunt.

"Don't worry, it only took me two weeks to find a job.  Craigslist."

"I applied to hundreds of jobs and only got one interview.  Turned out the executive director went to the same college I did."

"You've only applied to twenty jobs?  You should have sent out at least 100-200 applications by now."

"How'd I get an interview?  The normal stuff: my resume, my references...  Also my dad called a guy he knows."

And my response to everything is generally some variation of: "..."

On one hand, it's helpful to get advice from different people, particularly friends of mine who have recently gone through the job search.  It's nice to hear from somebody else how trying the experience can be, that I could potentially hear from an organization weeks or even months after I've applied.  Nonetheless, everybody's experience is different.  Acquiring a job has to do with where you live, what your prior experiences are, what kind of job you're looking for, and a heaping dose of good timing and luck (on top of your personality and how hot you are, but I have absolutely nothing to worry about on either account.  What?  I have a dried up booger on my face?  Let me scrape that off).  I have to remind myself every bit of advice with a grain of salt; I can't predict how long my experience will take based on how long it took others - I can probably only assume that it will suck.

"So what do you do all day?"  This question, a favorite of many, also happens to be one of my favorites.  On opposite day.  "Well, I wake up early, look for jobs and apply for a few hours, then go to the gym, come home and make dinner for my family, and normally do a little more looking after dinner (sprinkled with the occasional cry to my mother and the consumption of mint chocolate chip ice cream in bed)"  "Oh...  Why don't you volunteer while you're looking?"  "I don't... know.  That's a really great idea! (What are you trying to say?  That I'm not doing enough?  Fuck off!)"

And you know what?  It probably is a great idea.  I'm sure it would look much better to be doing something when (...if) I interview and could be a possible "in" to working somewhere.  But I've been applying for just about month now and am only starting to find my way.  This sounds more like a convenient excuse instead of a legitimate reason, but I really didn't know how this process would be.  I thought that with a bachelor's degree from a relatively prestigious school, a good GPA, and two years professional work experience I'd be a viable candidate for a lot of jobs and land one in no time (in spite of what everybody told me).  But getting a job has thus far proven to be as difficult as everybody told me it would be.

"So what are you looking for?" A perfectly legitimate question, but once again, one that I hate answering. "Oh, you know, probably something in the arts.  I'd love to work at a museum or gallery, or especially an arts non-profit, but those jobs are few and far between, you know?"

I would love to work at a museum or gallery.  Though I haven't yet honed in on my exact career aspirations, I know that I'd like to spend the rest of my life making things.  Painting, collaging, taking pictures, or otherwise using my hands to make something that I think looks nice (and that ideally other people like, too) is something that makes me happy in a way that nothing else can.  Do I want to be a professional artist?  I have no clue.  Do I want to be a teacher?  I have no clue.  What would be my ideal job?  I HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE, OKAY?   But I figure a museum or gallery wouldn't be a bad place to start.

My story:  After graduating from college in 2010, I worked at two different non-profit immigration law offices in Los Angeles for two years (the first job was through a one year volunteer program that provided me with housing and a minuscule stipend, the second one was a bona fide job).  Both jobs focused heavily on women's issues, immigration issues, and working with a largely Latino immigrant community - all things that I was passionate about.  Nonetheless, when I was offered a promotion after working a year at my second job, I declined.  Shortly after that, I quit.  I had come to hate the office I worked in, everybody I worked with was burnt out from working long hours for crappy pay, and I knew I didn't want to be an attorney.  I didn't want to commit any more time to a career that was ultimately a dead end for me.  So I quit my job, blew all (yes, all) of my savings to live and travel in Europe for ten weeks, and just before Christmas I moved home to Boston to find work.

And here I am.  Trying to find a job that doesn't make me hate myself while also attempting to quell my daily anxieties about being living at home and being unskilled/unprofessional/unqualified/a loser.  Every day I wonder if I should just apply to the slew of administrative positions floating around on the internet.  I am qualified, I could make decent pay, and I could be artistic on the side, I tell myself.  But then I remember how miserable I was doing administrative work in the past.  That I'm not getting any younger.  That I am more innovative than I think.  So I "x" out all the "ADMINISTRATIVE ASSISTANT - $45,000+" tabs I've opened in my desperation and apply to one or two jobs that I think I might actually like doing.

If you feel as desperate as I do, or could just use a little motivation, here's a couple of blog entries I read every now and then when I'm feeling deflated: 1 & 2

Now, time to chase my dreams from this drafty corner of Starbucks.  Brrr.

My First First Post

I didn't think it'd be like this.

I've considered starting a blog for years. In college I toyed with the idea of starting a fashion blog since I was convinced that I was the hippest girl at my Jesuit college (false) and that I had the dedication it took to keep up a blog (also false; about all I could afford to dedicate myself to was getting ripshit wasted and making it to class kind of on time).  Since then I've had no lack of ideas. Thrifting for dummies blog! OkCupid dating hijinks blog! Recipes for people who don't really like touching meat blog!

Needless to say, none of those ideas really got off the ground.

Yet now, at 24 years of age, I'm starting my first blog. And to think, all it took was years of thinking about doing it. And being recently unemployed.

The purpose of this blog is to document the goings-on of my life. A diary, essentially (except with more readers than just me and my mom). At its worst, it'll be a jumbled account of my life. At its best, it'll be a jumbled account of my life that you can laugh at and maybe even connect with.

Welcome.