Hall of Shame

My job requires me to look through hundreds of resumes per week. Living in Los Angeles, we get quite a few applicants who bless us with a headshot of themselves. Why they feel like this is necessary for an admin position paying $12-15/hour I'm not sure. But who am I to turn down an opportunity?? Perhaps they feel that they are SO attractive that I will have to call them for an interview? False. I will post you on my blog instead though. Which when you think about it- is a much better prize. Fame will feed you. Fame will always feed you. Below are some less offensive headshots. I call this category "I'm white so maybe I'll have a better chance of getting hired:"

I think you should know that homeboy on the right also mentions that he wrote a song called "Pillow-fights and PDA" as well as the classic hit "Like a Beacon of Light"....seriously. Have I mentioned I really enjoy my job?

Below is one of my favs:

 Ummmmmmm Bitch, are you in a BAR?!? I obviously support your right to drink, but really??? On your RESUME?? And don't think that side boob action does anything for me. As I've mentioned, I consider myself to be a gay man. Keep it classy, girl.

This next one wins hands down. Why you ask? Because she only submitted a picture... a full body picture....that her daughter took... in her bedroom.... And this is why I love her.

Monday

I am completely repulsed by people who say things like "oh you have a case of the Mondays?" Ugh. If by that you mean am I still slightly hung over, I didn't have time to shower this morning (woke up at 7:35am when I have to leave by 7:50am- true story), and I just realized that I shaved my left leg twice (last night when I did take a shower) and not my right leg at all.... then yes, I most certainly do have a case of the Mondays. Or I would just say that I'm freaking tiiired- no need to give it a cute name. No one has ever accused me of being a morning person. In fact, (this is embarrassing) the only reason why I ever remember my cell phone, my breakfast, my morning drink, my lunch, my mid-day apple, a bra- is because my amazeballs boyfriend is a morning person. He recently chased after my car through our neighborhood to give me my cell phone- The mission was not a success (I was busy doing my makeup) but the act of heroism is still very much appreciated.

I am the first to admit I would be a complete disaster without the aid of this badass multitasker. But here is my question- how do I repay such selflessness? I originally thought that I was just having a tough first week adjusting to my new early start (8:30am), but 4 weeks later it's quite clear that I will be requiring his services daily. (If only I could work in a sponge bath into the equation...) My go-to move, and the most obvious is to repay him with mind-blowing sexual favors... But with my recent hygiene issues, I can't help but feel that he's the one doing the favor. So what do to? If I had any readers/followers I would seek your advice.... but I'm pretty I'm the only one who reads this diary blog. Which is kind of nice in way. I should enjoy this time before the fame and the fans start pouring in and I can't so much as order a cup of coffee without being accosted. I can say anything I want I suppose. Muslim people still scare me when I'm on an airplane and my right eye is slightly droopy. Also, I don't like horses.

Maybe the greatest gift of all would be to just shower. Every. Goddamn. Day. Bah the crazy things people do for love...

Mean Girls

Often before embarking on a significant new adventure- whether it is the first day of school, the first day of work, or my first time in a new local ice cream shop, I often fantasize about all of the amazing friends I will make in my new environment. I dream about all the future happy hours we’ll go to, venting about our frustrations, attending each others’ weddings, and how honored I’ll feel when they inevitably ask me if they can name their future children after me.



Imagine my surprise when my new co-workers were NOT tripping all over themselves to get to know the new girl. I even had my opening line for my neighboring cubicle buddies… “Hi there- nice to meet you. I look forward to listening in on all of your conversations (finish it off with a big smile and a quick laugh)” Who wouldn’t be love-stricken with charm like that?! Fucking my new co-workers that’s who. I even got in trouble on my second day. How is that possible? I answered a client call when I was supposed to pass it to my boss. Well how the Christ am I supposed to know that??? The client asked for me by name (well technically he asked for the new blonde girl in the temp division, but still).

There are 5 people in my division- 2 supervisors and 3 admins. Yours truly is an admin. One of the supervisors – let’s call him James- is pretty cool. I’m technically his assistant. He is a 50 year old gay New Yorker who works out every day. He’s a bit of a diva, but I can definitely handle some gay drama. Homosexual is my first language and I proudly consider myself to be a member of the gay community (never mind that I’m technically a woman dating a man). The Miss Ladyboss on the other hand- let’s call her Kristan- is a different story. Homegirl is clearly not a fan. Let’s just say she’s not picking up what I’m throwing down, she’s not buying what I’m selling, she’s not smelling what I’m stepping in… you get the point. Bitch doesn’t like me. Which, quite frankly, would be understandable after she got to know me … but when I start a new job I am 100% class for at least the first 6 weeks. I don’t throw out any curve balls (racist jokes, coming in late, sick days, curse words, drinking on the job, etc.) I’m agreeable, helpful, and quiet. What’s not to like? Oh, and I think that it’s important to mention that I am attractive.


Get this (you may want to grab a tissue)-The other day I was walking back from my lunch break all by my lonesome and who do I see giggling and headed to lunch???? All my cubicle neighbors. Yeah, every single one of them. They literally frolicked past me and I’m pretty sure I heard one of them ask another if she can name her future child after her. Tear. I felt like such an outcast- like the fat kid at prom or worse- like an African American probably feels every time he enters a bank.

Honestly though, I can get over the lunch thing. I’m new, they already have a routine, etc, etc. But this is how I really know I’m not in danger of winning any popularity contests… A few days ago Kristan was (loudly) asking everyone around us if they wanted coffee. She was going on a Starbucks run and apparently was very proud of this. She asked all of my surrounding neighbors if they wanted anything. She asked anyone who walked by. Did she ask me? Certainly not. Did I want something? Yes, yes I did. But she did walk right by me and let me know “she’ll be right back.” Ouch. Message received. And while I was typing this she just asked the other admin if she wanted water. Um hello?? I’m parched up in here.

Well goodbye for now, I have to go get my own water while singing “All by Myself” the whole way…..

I'm a Whore.

I’ve been known to get around… a lot. I graduated from college in May of 2007 and since then I have had 9 different jobs. That’s kind of a lot considering the vast scope that I covered, and ain’t all of it been pretty. Let me take you on a journey…

...It all started when I worked as a waitress in LA right after graduation (whilst nannying on the side- and don’t ask how I got that job considering kids and I get along about as well as a tranny hooker gets along with the NYPD), then I moved to London and worked for an eye-glasses designer. I was promptly laid off and ended up working for a crazy-ass Chinese guy in South London as an internal recruiter for a telecommunications company. And I’m not exaggerating. Homeboy was batshit. I think he was in the running for the Chinese equivalent of “American Idol” (you’re welcome for this): http://www.angelfire.com/pop2/stevenpun/home.html. And I’m not a scientist or anything, but that company was fo sho set up as some sort of shotty pyramid scheme. Then, after my London town adventure, I (along with my empty wallet) moved in with my pops for 5 months while working at a fancy seafood restaurant until I scored my first REAL job. I worked for a Marketing Research company in Chicago- I was flown out to interview and everything. When they offered me $52,000/year and my own BlackBerry and laptop I knew I had made it. I was officially upper-class (in my mind) and I intended to live that way. I lived in the Gold Coast- the poshest neighborhood I could find- and rented a studio apartment. At 23, I was obviously tripping all over myself and had actual bruising from incessantly patting myself on the back… until I was laid off. Again.

THEN I moved back to LA and decided to pursue my passion for the art world. I took an unpaid internship (while cashing in my unemployment benefits) as a marketing assistant to a failing photographer. He called his work “abstract photography” but really it was just sad. After that I landed what I thought was my “dream job.” I suppose a nightmare is a form of a dream. I worked as an assistant to the owner of a high end art gallery on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. They sold works from Rembrandt, Picasso, Dali, Renoir, Monet, etc. In other words, the gallery was expensive, elitist, and pretentious. Right up my alley. Except the pay was awful, the hours were unbearable, I was constantly sexually harassed (which I used to take as a compliment prior to this place), and no vacation. And I think we all know the best part of a job is the vacation days. If that wasn’t bad enough, the owners are a 70-year old couple who are truly deplorable, disgusting people. Michael, the owner and my boss is one of the nastiest sons-of-bitches I’ve ever encountered. I’ll never forget my first week on the job- Michael asked me to transcribe a letter he had written on the back of a dirty menu from a restaurant (you know- for his “creative writing class”. My bowel movements demand more creativity than anything this guy spewed). When I went to turn it in to him, Michael pointed out that I had spelled ‘and’ as ‘adn’- clearly a typo. I made the mistake of thinking this minor error could be brushed aside. I was wrong.

He slowly looked up at me with his red veiny eyes and asked me the following question:

“Are you dyslexic?”

Me: (nervous laugh) “No, that was a typo. My apologies.”

Michael: “Are you sure you’re not dyslexic?” (Pause)

Me: “Yes, I am 100% certain I am not dyslexic.”

Michael: “Well- would you consider yourself to be an intelligent person?”

BAM. Yes, he was serious. What a prince. Needless to say, the atmosphere in that place was less than ideal. My friends in H.R. would refer to it as a “hostile work environment”. I had the pleasure of quitting that dungeon last month. Now here I am in my own little cubicle. I still have violent thoughts about that place, but they are diminishing with each passing week. I like my new job- job #9 if you will. The work is pleasant for the most part, we have floor-to-ceiling windows looking out at the LA hills. It’s nice. I’ve been here 20 days, I get 2 weeks vacation, 5 sick days, normal Holidays off, and (my fav) 1 personal day. But who’s counting? Whew- It is exhausting just to think about all of my previous places of (entrapment) employment. I need a cocktail. Happy Friday! I think I'll have a cocktial for each job I've had.

New Beginnings

I’m sitting here at my new job in my 5x5 cell cubicle, wearing an outfit that can only be described as “business casual”… I can’t help but ask myself the following question: “what the balls are you doing???”

Well… I can actually answer that question. And I feel fortunate for that because when I look around at the lemmings in surrounding cubicles- I’m not so sure they’ve even asked that question let alone are they able to answer it. So to answer my own question- what I am doing is this… I accepted whatever job would pay the most (and provided the most vacation/sick days), and I am using the shit out of said company until I have enough money in my savings to peace out. I plan to work here until I have saved $20,000 and then I am going to travel the world with my other half for as long as humanly possible. That’s right. I’m dreaming of a world where I don’t have to wake up at 6:45am (more like 7:10 after I hit snooze 5 times), leave my house in a frenzy with a mug in hand, brave the LA traffic (while doing my makeup in the car), and get home at 6:08pm with a headache. And I don’t want to wear fucking business pants anymore. It’s too Midwest- any woman in business pants looks like and IS a lesbian- that’s all there is to it. The only kind of lesbianism I’m interested in is the real kind- when I’m going through a “self discovery” phase in India and I end up tripping on acid and making out with an Indian Princess.

SO here I am. This is my 3rd week. I already have so much to vent about that I have realized the only way to make it through the next few years (or however long it takes to save $20,000) is to endlessly ridicule my new co-workers without them ever knowing about it. And so it shall be…