I Need This Job, oh God I need this Part!

Tomorrow is my third interview for an administrative assistant position for a non-profit medical center. The third and final showdown. To come so far and to compete with only my words and my charm.

I have this job, I know I do. This job belongs to me and I would kill for it. . .

Well not exactly kill for it. I would enjoy finding out that I have a REAL job for the first time in my life. An adult job at that! Oh, all I need to do is ace this interview. It's between myself and a second competitor.

I wonder what he is thinking, What his talents are. Is he more powerful than I? Does he have skills that surpass my ability to do mindless office work? Are his social graces better than mine? Of course these things can't be determined, but I must wonder.

I will sleep and wake to shower and shave the face. I have the dry cleaning all set and my tie is pre-set in a Half Windsor Knot. . .

Good luck.

Hopes Up and Go

These days of leisure couldn't be more filled with nothing. Yet, it always seems like I am trying to accomplish something. If I wasn't, I wouldn't have ridden my bike over the Brooklyn Bridge multiple times this week.

I was traveling for some reason. Perhaps it was just to save money, or to get exercise, to cleanse my mind. When I ride my bike there are thoughts that I have at my disposal that I normally feel I wouldn't. Feelings of raw emotion. The wind blowing into your eyes and making them water. You are listening to a song on your iPod and wondering: is it the wind or the song that makes me want to weep? or is it the simple fallacy that I experiencing a real moment in this bike ride. Being in the here and now. I am actively moving towards nothing. Towards something that I can't for tell and never knew was going to happen.

I weep. I feel tears falling down my face as I peddle across the bridge. Tourists get in the way and I want to run them down. The lanes are clearly separated, but they insist on standing in my biking lane. This brings me out of my reverie and dreams. My pathos have been haulted.

I am trying to keep a demeanor of optomism, but with these lack of callbacks and third interviews. You hear of people who are moving away. Even the Israeli is moving back there. He's failed and I love it.

New York City harbors the residence who can make it. People who leave it are banished, never to return. They couldn't figured out the game that is play. I sometimes wonder if I've yet to figure out this game. I've met enough people, but the game aspect of it seems so odd. What rules am I playing well?

Rant done.

Working 12 Hours. . .

I am alive, I have been temping from noon to midnight for the last week. It has not left me feeling very invigorated. I wake up at 9 to go to the gym before work and then do data entry for 12 hours. If you can imagine what 12 hours of data entry must be like, then you have the most boring personality. . . ever. I am grateful that I can listen to my iPod, and catch up on all the musicals I have been ignoring for the past months. I listened to Bravo Giovanni (finally) and am obsessed with this flop and with a young Michelle Lee. Who is more masculine than I will ever be.

I have a second interview on Tuesday. It came as a surprise to me and I am hoping for the best. I would like you to hope too. I spent all Friday thinking of what it would be like to have a normal work schedule, as well as a salary, not to mention working for a non-profit company. To be able to get stable work during the recession too will also make me just feel merry. I sit for hours (12 to be exact) and constantly hear other temps discuss their hopes to have real jobs. I see the temps who are swallowing pride and working for this company. Spending all day removing staples and entering data. I don't want that to be my life for ever. I would like to have the respect that comes with being a fellow employee, not just a temp.

Hallowaning

Halloween was actually very mild this year. Most of my friends went to the other coast to celebrate. Since I'm in that dating mood I have been spending it with the Construction Worker. It's all very calm, but the nights go until 3/4 AM. In these days of unemployment, it is fun, but slowing down is in order. He does pay for most of it, which is kind and I appreciate. I do throw in cash every now and then.

Yet, dating the Construction Worker is like having a discount card. I can have a nice meal for 20 bucks instead of $50. I can take taxis home for 5 bucks instead of 30. Of course there is more to him that I like than that.

We went to two mild parties and a bar that was crowded. I asked this homo if he was Bea Arthur and I won the prize of his company to the diner at 2 AM. He was drunk and it was the end of the night. He took of his Dorothy apparel and was wearing gold la-may underneath. Was this supposed to be his sexy outfit underneath? He had a voice that was borderline grating. Now, I am not one to judge people's vocal inflections. I of the loud mouth and the obvious comments. He also was drunk and I was not, yet I was wearing short shorts and here I am making judgements.