Ushering in a New Decade. . .

It's early on New Year's Eve day. I'm listening to Taylor Mac singing songs and thinking back on the year and looking to the future. In 2010, I will look for a job. I've lost and regained motivation, but now it's with a deep skepticism.

Reading Maya Angelou has been good for my soul. Inspiring to read about a woman determined, but she fell so many times. Ups and downs to the extreme. She went along trying. It inspires me to try. Even though times are different. She always wanted a second son named Iguana. So I believe that I am Maya Angelou's long lost son. We have so many similar feelings.

My resolution is to have a job. A simple request, that has proven so difficult and unfair. I will persevere and do what I must do. As Maya's mother used to say, "It's it's worth it, then it's worth working for." Something along those lines. . .

I accomplished my soul flushing this year. I found a doctor. I temped. I found therapy. I graduated. I got a kitten and a boyfriend. This has been a productive year indeed. It's the small rewards that make life worth working for.

In The New Year

Oh the new decade is almost upon us. It's the end of the tens and into the teens. A Depression takes time to begin, but once it's started we'll all look back at 2009 as the starting point. I spent two and a half hours in an office today, going through trials that most normal people will never experience. Seeing the people who live in the lowest of the low already. Knowing that I could be one of the few right now, but perhaps soon enough, there will be more.

I have one more day in the apartment until I return Upstate through Sunday. Oh holiday of holidays. Escape? Hardly. Reminder of failures? Possibly. I will return to a temporary job and then more in between jobs. With the New Year I hope for new jobs, that last and are worth working for. I ask for stability as it's been happening, with perhaps a little less worry. These are optimistic requests. I hope they are granted and not made difficult.

In the Depression, was I depressed? Nowhere, near. I meant a big financier. . . and I'm here!

Jewels. JEWELS!

This week from 9 AM to 8 PM I spent working at a famous jewelry company. What did I do you wonder? I put tags on the jewelry, wrapped it in tissue paper and then put it in a plastic bag. For 10 hours a day. I lost my voice this week, so I sat there and listened to music mostly. I enjoyed the voicelessness as a way to not have to be nice to the people there. I'm embracing this whole temp lifestyle. Meaningless jobs, for long hours and being paid more than it's worth. It takes a little swallowing of pride, but once you get passed that, the money is fun.

I handled jewelry that was so fucking expensive.


This little number is worth $10,900. I was so close to strapping it around my dick and blaming the beep on my belt buckle when they searched me on my way out. That's more money than I will probably ever have at one time. It's also so tacky looking. I remember the days when a diamond was a diamond. You didn't need 15 other gems on it to show how wealthy you were!

This coming week is the holiday season. My grandfather is in the hospital, he had surgery. Followed by a second emergency surgery. In between those surgeries, he apparently had a few strokes. 'tis the season!

Hanging On By a Thread

There are good times and there are down times. There are the high times and small times. This is the time of year where everything dies. Where seasonal depression is created and pushed onto people. Where the pressure for holiday spirit is around, but you really do not feel it.

I got a call from my job, well the job I've spent the last month interviewing for. The homo-receptionist called to let me know they would hire me. Yet, the union is pressuring the office to hire someone in their Union. So I'm in limbo. I was accepted and rejected in the same breath. There is hope, but it will take time. With the possibility that I may lose out, cause a union is pressure and loyal. . .in difficult times. In these oh so difficult times.

Then in the same breath, I went to my fair hearing yesterday. Iguana took the stand to fight for his right to not pay $2,004 dollars. That he allegedly owed the government from one month of working. I made a time line printed out and was planning my speech in the waiting room. 2 hours of waiting, being the last white boy in an office filled with the poorest of the poor. I watched a man dry out a huge stack of newspapers on the bench. I could only guess they were his bedsheets or he was going to recycle them for money. I could only wonder.

To hours of waiting for 5 minutes of actual action. I sit down and take out my time line. Across from me sits a black woman, who once again can barely speak English. The judge turns on his phone and begins speaking legal jargon. I'm taking in the scene and wondering if I should cry or not. Do the poor black women with head wraps sit in this chair acting humble or yelling out, "I let him suck my titty so he'd love me!"

Then the judge informed me that a notice had been sent from the office telling them to ignore the existence of the $2,004 debt notice. A wash. A complete wipe. Months of worry and anticipation for one sentence. I danced out of the room and performed my best rendition of Singing in the Rain. We must celebrate the good moments.

Seeing Family

I saw some aunts and cousins last night. We went to a expensive dinner in an overrated restaurant in Time Square. Then we saw In The Heights, which I noticed really failed to impress anyone in my family. I enjoyed it, but I could tell no one was jumping for joy. I think the show was a little to fast moving. Speaking in hip-hop lyrics can get very confusing to a crowd from Upstate. Not to mention the entire vocabulary that is confusing to them because they "no hab-la S-pan-yol". My one aunt, who doesn't prefer crowds made us wait until the entire mezzanine leave before we could get out of our seats. Then when everyone had gone, we walked out and ran into a crowd. "They wanted to rush out! Now we have to wait!"

My family's logic is based on fantastical ideals. Do people actually sit in theaters until everyone has left? As I left them, once again that ONE aunt had to say, "We're so lucky to have your aunt Sue here so we can keep in touch with you." I promptly left on the next R train that came to the station.

Am I the only person in that family. The only one. Who has ever wanted to leave? Is there some kind of curse on my family? Isn't that the typical path for the homo-relative. They leave home and rarely see their family. So I feel a little liberated over the whole thing. Not so much pressure anymore.

A Moment to Type

"I'd like to dedicate this song to the bartender, B***e, who I spent 25 intimate minutes with in the bathroom last year. . ." That's how I opened my version of New York, New York this year in New Orleans.

It was a mild year. That moment though was a good closer to the vacation. It was a small enough bar, filled with enough locals that I think I'll be remembered by both the bartender and those people who go to sing karaoke for a little while.

I sit here eagerly awaiting a phone call, that at 8 minutes to five, I am pretty sure won't come. Do I wonder if that means I got the job? Or that they have told someone else. Is no news good news? It upsets me that I haven't heard anything, though I'm trying not to take it personally.

This game tires me and one cannot be expected to have much more motivation than I have been putting out there.

No news is good news. . .no news. . .

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.