Day 19: Dreaming, Eyes Wide Open

Now here is an outfit I would actually wear on a normal day. I'm calling it, "Dressing By Heart," because in the end personal style should emanate from your soul and should feel as natural as, well, singing in the shower. This is a soul outfit for me. As a matter of fact, I own a shirt much like this one, and similar jeans and jewelry. I have a bag that could substitute. The shoes--well they're still in daydream category. I'd probably just wear my black, pointy flats or black boots, even though the heels look amazing. I figure that until I a) live somewhere where other women wear heels with jeans, b) have a job that would allow me to wear jeans to the office, or c) have enough money to buy whatever shoes I want, I'll stick with flats for the simple reason that they're easier. But that's why I have this blog, right? To daydream.

Speaking of dreams.... Fairy tale weddings. Love at first sight. Someone to be with until the end. This is the stuff romantic stories are made of. It is also the subject of our next episode.

After two of Miranda's mutual friends announce their engagement after knowing each other only a few days, they proceed to plan the perfect wedding. The ladies--all but Charlotte, of course--nearly declare war on romance. Carrie wonders how two people can "know" so soon, when after months with Big, he has only just lent her his spare toothbrush. Miranda feels invisible, since the new groom had been staying in her apartment when he met his future wife. Miranda was hoping he would fall for her, not her friend. Samantha sleeps with a man she bedded 15 years ago. She comes to the conclusion that she has had sex with all of Manhattan and that she must now get married or move. Charlotte feels encouraged by the newly-engaged couple. When she meets a nice groomsman, she gets swept away by the idea of love at first sight--until the guy's father grabs her ass, and the guy defends him.

One moment sums up the entire episode. The four women are standing ready for the bouquet toss. The camera slows. The flowers glide through the air, headed straight for Carrie and the gang. Who's going to catch it? Charlotte? Carrie? Miranda? Samantha? Well, no one, as it turns out. The flowers fall on the floor in front of them. None of them go for the bouquet. Nobody wants it. It's a great moment. I laughed out loud. I wanted to jump for joy. To me, it signified that they have all realized in their own way that the fairy tale is a set-up.

I've been pretty clear about my cynicism (or at the very least healthy skepticism) about marriage (or at least weddings). It is likely impossible to have been engaged twice but never married and not feel like some part of it is just a sham. I still believe in love, of course. But I used to completely believe in every single bit of romantic fluff that crossed my path--including the fairy tale wedding and love at first sight. I still believe in the "'till the end" part. My skepticism only reaches so far. But the others? Naw. Attraction at first sight? Sure. Hope at first sight? Definitely. But not love.

And the perfect wedding? Not in the way we're taught to believe. A perfect wedding would happen on account of a couple's love together, as an expression of that love--not because of invitation designs and bridesmaids' dresses. The perfection is between the couple, and it doesn't matter if they get married on a beach, at City Hall, or in a dump yard. Before, I believed in the perfect wedding so much that I planned two before I was even sure I wanted to marry the men I was planning them with. Now, all I care about is loving the man.

Part of the wedding myth is that it brings a happily-ever-after ending. Yet, there really aren't endings in true romance. Each day sees the coming of each night, the beginning of a year sees the end of that year, but love's story doesn't end. It keeps retelling itself every day until the people part ways or die. And if a story has no ending, how can it have the perfect ending? When Carrie and Big leave the wedding, she decides that she's happy just going home with him at night and taking it day by day--even if the storybook finish isn't in sight and they're not on the big wedding bandwagon. It's as if she accepts that they're perfect for each other, and that's enough. Anyway, in the end, no one remembers the wedding. But they do remember the moments full of love. And that's what I'm here to believe in.

In an interview, the REAL Carrie, SJP, said that when you're young, grand gestures mean so much--what he got you for Valentine's Day, where he proposed. When you're older, you realize that the small gestures are what matter most. I can imagine this being true. Does he tuck your kids into bed at night? Does he field calls from your parents? Does he take out the trash? If he treats you like dirt in front of your friends, who cares what he got you for Christmas? If she says she'll love you forever but never lets you pick the movie, is that cool? Everyone has their deal-breakers, but the point is that love is a series of little moments of loving--and fighting. It isn't a fairy tale, with a tidy ending and no messes. But that doesn't mean it's not perfect. As Hank says, a perfect couple is where the two people are exactly what the other needs and wants, and they wouldn't change a thing.

For those curious readers, I am still job searching. After working in Montana and taking a month off from the depressing task of browsing Craig's List each and every day, I feel rusty. It is hard to get out of bed in the morning. If I didn't have Bela, I probably would have gone crazy by now. In a way, it's my own fault. I could be working at Panera or a coffee shop for minimum wage. At least I would be out of the house and not complaining. I could also be submitting resumes around the clock, never giving up, taking breaks only to eat and shit--like I was doing during the first few weeks of moving here. But I'm not. Instead I'm buying dog food, washing dishes, and writing. I'm lucky if I submit three or four resumes a day, and I'm getting picky. I'm looking for that illusive job that pays at least $10-13 per hour, provides health insurance and growth potential, and won't leave me wanting to kill myself at the end of the day (ie. no waitressing). It's not going well.

Maybe part of the problem is that I'm tired of jobs. I want a career. One day last month, I counted all of the jobs I've had. At 27 years old, I have held 22 jobs, most of which had very little opportunity for advancement--temp agencies, landscaping, customer service. Some did. I could probably be baking wedding cakes, teaching English, or managing an office right now. But I'm not.

So, in light of this, while I job hunt, I am also preparing to take the GRE. Who knows why. I don't know what I would study in grad school. I am hoping that six months from now, I will be able to make that decision. Until then, I may just have to waitress.

I hope you'll be back. I will.

Day 4: No Sex...

...and the City, I mean. We did watch one, but then we spent 3 hours discussing it and related topics. So now I'm kind of burnt out. Hank watches them all with me now, but just to save him face, I will hold forth that he hates every minute of it. It was the one about why married people hate singles and visa versa. Kinda lame. I think they should all just get along.

So I am in a better mood today. Why? I couldn't tell you. It certainly isn't because I found a job. Or even a job prospect. I think it may be that I received my copy of THE LUCKY SHOPPING MANUAL in the mail today. And maybe that I ordered pad thai and summer rolls with peanut sauce for dinner.

While scarfing my food and leafing through the guide on wise skirt buying, I started to feel that old familiar feeling crop up. Excitement. It has been a few days now. For the past week, I have devoted each day to a different career field and have spent my time applying for all the positions I qualify for. This translates to spending up to four hours sitting on a couch and barely moving more than one finger (to cut and paste resumes, etc). Fun. I mean FUN. I mean FUN!

My "excitement" these days has consisted of warming up my cold cups of decaf coffee and taking my dog out to poop. The only thing that saved me last week was Hank getting two days off from school due to excessive snow. Even though he was sick, we got to flirt at various times throughout the day and take some walks together. Actually they were like forced marches, with Hank saying, "You know, you're really not supposed to exercise when you're sick, because your cells are focussing on walking instead of beefing up your immune system" or something very close to that. But mostly he was studying, and I was pasting resumes.

Today was different. Maybe Friday always holds a special aura over us while we do mundane tasks. "I am washing dishes...but it's Friday," we think, our minds almost bursting at all the possibilities Friday holds. "I may be broke and jobless, but it's Friday," was today's version. To celebrate Friday, I took a long walk--a four-mile long walk, in fact, because Bela and I got lost and went a mile too far. It was a sunny, slushy day, and my bouncy feeling wasn't even ruined when a Jeep (purposely?) sped through the puddle right next to us spraying muddy crap everywhere. "People can sure be assholes, but it's Friday," I said aloud.

Basically I just said "Screw it" to the job search today. Some days I find it's necessary in order to retain sanity. Since Hank was back at school, I was extra lonely. After four weeks of sitting alone in the house talking to no one but my dog and my mother for eight-hours at a time, my mind starts to do funny things. Today, I actually thought mice had chewed through the wall, because I heard little scratching, tearing noises coming from above the piano. Then I realized that the mirror I put up with industrial strength velcro was just coming off--and was about to fall on the piano in fact--so I fixed that and resumed breathing.

I am trying to get a piece ready to send off for potential publication. I have little hope. But I feel like with certain things it really doesn't matter how much hope you have. You just have to have skill and give it a shot. Better to save the hope for things that are actually probable or don't depend on skill at all, like having a baby someday, which I hope to do.

I'm going to watch a movie. Because I can. So there. I may not have enough money to buy dog food tomorrow, but that is entirely beside the point.

Goodnight. I hope you'll be back. I will.

Day 3: Naked

It's been a few days since I wrote here. I have decided to keep this as more of a diary or journal, not a blog. It's too much pressure (and too depressing when you don't have any followers) to have blog.

The last episode of Sex and the City I watched was the third one--fitting since this is day three--and it had to do with "modelizers." Since I've never actually met one of these men, I don't know what they're like. It isn't a type of man I have ever dated. I've dated nice guys and rebels but not really the weird, fetish-driven guys.

But instead of talking about the show, I just want to talk about the day and life.

I woke up at 9:30. I am still looking for a job and under the impression that I'm going to have to start looking seriously in unconventional places. Like the grocery store. Hmm.

I did not get the bridal receptionist position. Neither of the two I interviewed for actually. I didn't even get asked to work at Starbucks. All of the sudden, they didn't have a position open at that store, but I should keep trying back every few weeks or so. I feel so disappointed in myself. And bored. And yet strangely unmotivated, which leads to more disappointment. That's the hardest part. At least when you have a job that sucks, you can complain about the job. I can only complain about myself. Because my job is finding a job, and every day I don't find one is one day where I haven't succeeded at work and--the worst part for me--have nothing to show for the entire day. I hate this. I had better job prospects in Peru. And it was fun work. I love teaching. It makes me feel like I'm doing something meaningful with my time, even if I don't always enjoy it or it takes a lot of energy...both of which are true.

I also like writing. I like getting thoughts down I didn't know I had until they're there on paper. I like just thinking and thinking and thinking. Or doing but stemming from thinking. Does that make any sense? So not making coffee. Or bagging groceries, or just answering phones. And I will very likely be doing one of these things very soon. Why am I so gloomy and defeatist?

I really don't understand how the people who end up living their passion do it. I don't understand what makes them different from me, but they seem very different from me. I always thought I was resourceful and proactive and smart and driven. These days, I just feel like a bum.

I'm reading Sylvia Plath's novel THE BELL JAR (I've mentioned this), and that's not helping. But I will say I had an interesting thing happen today while reading in the bathroom. For the first time, I actually felt myself disassociating from the main character. It was fine when she was becoming disillusioned with life, when she couldn't choose between different possible futures, when she was depressed. But today she tried to commit suicide. And as she drifts into deeper insanity, I just find myself reading about a character instead of my potential self. It's almost like the people in the book who put her into the asylum. Really, we are all so close to insanity, but we can't relate to it too much. Otherwise that makes us crazy too. And that makes us able to do the things crazy people do. And that's not cool. Maybe it's just self preservation. So I'm the enemy for her now. I wonder if she meant for that to happen to the reader. Probably not. She probably just needed a catharsis.

Getting tired. Now that I know nobody's reading this yet, I will just say that I'll be back. Like the Terminator. We all do the best we can.

Day 2: Take Your Life Seriously

This is the sign I have put up on the fridge.

I have figured out how to put this whole blog thing together. First, I will try to watch one episode of Sex and the City a day, and I will use this space to reflect on it and talk about fashion, obsession, and love. All while indulging one of my biggest obsessions! It's perfect! This gives focus to the writing but also keeps me from watching too many episodes in one day. The bonus is that while I'm in a new city with no friends (I think if I keep saying this it will hit home and make me more social), the show will tide me over with TV friends so I don't go insane. Don't judge, people.

So...94 episodes. Plus the movie (and by the time I'm done probably the sequel to the movie, which comes out in March or May I think). That should keep me busy for a while.

Since I'm already half-way through the first season (for the second time, of course), I will need to start over. I will start tomorrow or tonight. Procrastinating on day 2, not good.

In other news, I have a job interview today. Last week's was at Starbucks. The whole thing went fine right up until the guy who interviewed me (we'll call him Joe) asked me all chipper-like why I wanted to work at Starbucks. I told him I thought I would be good at it, and that I like coffee. Lame-oh. But the truth was that I was humiliated at the thought of working there. You see, part of the problem of higher education and graduating at the top of your class is that it instills in you a mighty strong ego and sense that you can do anything you want to. So why are you working at Starbucks? That is not why you took out $5,000 in student loans (and I consider myself lucky with only that much). That is not why you've been eating Cup of Noodles for 4 years or getting only 6 hours of sleep a night. No, it all should have amounted to much more. But it didn't. That's what I didn't tell Joe. Yep, you graduate with PRIDE. And pride's a bitch.

So, my interview is at the best bridal dress boutique in Denver. Miraculously, I got the interview the same way I got an interview at the best wedding cake shop in Seattle. Cold calling. It goes like this. I think of something that would be fun, a job where I wouldn't want to shoot myself after a day of doing it, and I call all the places in town that do that. First on my list was wedding dress shops.

I guess there's a special bond between me and the wedding industry. Weddings seem so special and beautiful. All that pent-up anxiety the bride experiences (pent-up, because you can't punch anyone, and you are supposed to be deliriously happy all of the time on account of the fact that you're getting married) culminates into a day where people are looking their best and changing their lives hopefully for the better. Or maybe I'm drawn to the wedding biz because of my own quite copious experience. I'm still trying to sell my unworn dress from last year. I've already half-planned two ceremonies and made monumental cakes for two of my friends' nuptials. Whatever the reason (and I'm not saying it's healthy), I'm nervous for this interview.

I don't know what I'm going to wear. Casual skirt and belted cardigan with boots or professional-looking sheath dress and scarf with heels? Curly hair or straight? I just got cute new fish-scalely tan flats yesterday from All Black. Maybe I'll wear those. I love that label. After two years of searching for the perfect black flats (not non-stop of course), I finally found All Black's version at endless.com. Quilted patterned, professional but fun, shiny goodness. So I ordered them in my usual size 9, and when they came I nearly had an orgasm taking them out of the box. I tried them on, and much to my dismay, they felt like a size 8. Damn. No problem, I thought, I'll just order a size up. But they were now completely sold out. Double damn. So I got on the waiting list. I knew I had to give the 9s up, but they were so perfectly shaped to my foot, so light to walk on, and so mesmerizing (albeit too small), I had a hard time laying them back in their box. But I did.

Gotta go shower. I just realized I didn't talk about love, but I will save that for my first Sex and the City review. Oh this will be fun! Hope you'll be back, I will.