Things I think about while not looking for employment

I know, I'm getting lazy with my writing--in terms of quantity, frequency, and quality. I guess I can fix the quantity and frequency part, but not when I've rediscovered crepe paper streamers and Jack has been out of town and I want to make sure his room is properly decorated in hot pink and yellow streamers when he gets back. But, it's hard to want to fix my quality of writing--especially as it just devolves into a series of lists of various topics. I can't help it--lists are such an efficient way to write! I blame it on my youthful lapse into obsession with the works of Nick Hornsby and the novel, High Fidelity, in particular, for wanting to create top ten list for every minutiae of your life. Besides, I'm hoping that writing bad posts that rely heavily on lists could be my "thing", my "voice" for this blog. Why yes, I like to skim from the bottom of the pond of mediocre work ethic.

And so, without further ado, here is my newest list of things I've been thinking about while not halfheartedly searching  for employment in a tiny and stagnant job market.

-"Is the kettle whistling? I swear I hear it's whistling." And so, with near lack of regular human interaction, I believe my brain is starting to lose it. This morning, as I boiled water in the kettle for a cup of coffee I always wonder why I need to drink, I could have sworn I heard it whistling--despite the fact that I had just put a kettle of cold water on the stove not two minutes before. I checked on it twice more before I decided that it really wasn't whistling and I should just go and look at things on the Internet.

-Speaking of things on the Internet, I spend a fair amount of time (while not searching for employment or watching mind rotting television) perusing gossip and celebrity fashion blogs and I find myself wondering how long it would take and how famous I would have to get to step out looking like Lea Michele at some Elle party. I'm not a fashion-y person, but I'd like to think that I put myself together enough to be presentable and I'd like to think that Lea Michele is, perhaps, the same way. But how does someone get talked into wearing something so sheer, so much like underwear, out in public? Would fame affect the way someone approaches fashion? Sometimes I like to buy things just because they're weird enough that I find myself liking it. But could I, someone who is mostly rational most of the time, be convinced to wear a sheer, belted caftan over a bra and panty ensemble?

-I am seriously considering launching into my Plan B Employment Plan if someone doesn't doesn't offer me a job soon. Plan B being that I open an Etsy store that sells awesome posters that I've screen printed by hand. (Oh, I haven't told you? I have it in my head that screen printing shall be my new hobby. Suck it, sewing and knitting.) But the most important thing to consider before starting out on this new venture is WHAT THE HELL AM I GOING TO CALL MY COMPANY? Nevermind that I should first look into some sort of start up capital to sustain myself through the initial building phase. Or how much I could conceivably do by myself that would make it a viable effort. No, I need a snazzy name for my newest pipe dream. And so, if my friends have any suggestions, I would be happy to take them (you will not be compensated, however).

Hey! I'm turning old.

I love Exploding Dog.

It was my birthday! For the first time, in a long time, I celebrated by myself. The first birthday I had to spend mostly by myself was my freshman year of college--I had just moved into the dorms and started school and I didn't want to be THAT person that loudly celebrates their birthday. I did, however, register to vote. I also got my foot cut up by a door because some poop head wasn't paying attention and swung the door into/onto my foot and opened a gash that left me bleeding and hobbling to a convenience store to buy band aids. Although I was partially at fault for choosing to wear flip flops to class but, to be fair, it was college, I was toying with the new sense of freedom unencumbered by high school dress code guidelines--I was living on the edge. And that was my 18th birthday.

I did like my birthday this year, because I actually managed to keep myself fairly busy--unlike any other day in the life of an unemployed. I made rice krispies treats (with sprinkles in them for a bit of panache) and chocolate chip cookies for my neighbors for driving me around when I had last minute errands and Jack was off at work with the car. Then I sat down and watched my DVR'd episode of Gilmore Girls--and it was one of my more favorite episodes (Season 6, Episode 9: The Prodigal Daughter Returns). I also made a quick dinner for one of the officer wives, who had just given birth a few days before, as part of a meal plan the other spouses had set up. After I dropped off the dinner, one the way back home, I picked up a tiny ice cream cake for myself. Finally, I settled in for a night of Dancing with the Stars with chicken strips and fries for dinner.

The day felt good and I enjoyed doing the little things for my neighbors and the officer wives. It might be the wisdom of years lived creeping up on me, but I do like the idea of making my birthday a day of service--or just doing something for someone else because damn, it fucking feels good. I've now realized (or at least I am old enough to admit this to myself) that I enjoy volunteer work and doing things for others, not because it helps to foster a sense of community, to bring people together, or that it is consistent with the idea that helping each other out is just what a civilized society does because we all live in the same community, but because I get a serious high off of people saying, "Thank you for what you do. You're so awesome." Seriously. It's better than crack and just as addicting.