Thursday, July 27, 2006

But Will You Pay Me For It?

I'm finally doing it. I'm selling myself. As someone who's had a "pay the bills dammit" job for almost eight years, I need Need NEED another option. I love movies and want to write and produce them some day (soon?), so I decided to peddle myself to every local magazine with an entertainment section and some without. I've gotten two possibles out of four, but it's obvious I'll need to solicit a lot more before being able to blow my current joint.

This is hard. I've spent so long in this comfortable hatred of my nowhere, brainless job that the idea of actually doing something I might possibly enjoy is quite terrifying. How will I handle real deadlines? Can I cope without playing on the internet all day? Will I get burned out on actual work? Is there any chance that journalism at a small Midwestern paper/magazine will pay a 31-year-old with no current experience the way said 31-year-old now needs to be paid? I have no idea what I'm doing. Staying still is so cozy. And takes no effort at all.

Now, though, I'm stepping to the edge and trying to jump into something new. I craft the perfect cover letter, rework the resume, put a photographic portfolio online, research local media and then send my shit out. 2 outta 4 ain't bad for the first round and I cannot stop now. I vow to send out four more this week.

Ideally I'd get paid to: sit, sleep, watch movies, listen to music, write, read, watch tv, eat, read fashion magazines, read scripts, photograph stuff, make collages or dowhateverthehelliwant wheneverthehelliwant.

So, for the universe, here's what I believe I need to be happy in a job, in no special order:

1) Flexible hours (If my shit is done can I please just go home?)
2) Creative freedom (I have to have my voice, plain ol' who-what-why-when-where-how just doesn't do it for me.)
3) Self-governance (Just let me work, people.)
4) Loose dress code (What do you mean I have to wear pantyhose in the summer?!)
5) Relaxed atmosphere (I know there's some pressure involved, does this really mean we can't laugh?)
6) Money (Don't look at me like that, I'm not talking about a LOT, just more than I get now. I don't think an extra $2,000 per year is too much.)

Ok, UNIVERSE. I'm doing my part. Set me up someplace nice.

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Hi! How Are You!

I'm ready to leave work, like, forever. But only if someone will declare me independently wealthy so that I can enter into pursuits without worrying about, you know...What's it called? Oh. Yeah. MONEY. And like, PAYING FOR STUFF and shit. I know. I keep saying I'm going to fly right, but dammit people! I HAVE WANTS. Not to mention a nice chunk of credit card debt. And bills. You all remember those, right? They're irritating but basically mean you have a roof over your head and food to eat.


That's what I have until payday, which is next fucking Tuesday. I'm an idiot, so the only reason I even have that is because I transferred cash from my limited savings account. If it weren't for my luxurious 401k I'd have about $300 total dollars to my name anywhere ever.

My boy is similarly spendy in his ways. Though I must say, for someone who only spends his money on food, video games and carabiners, the amount he manages to rid himself of is astounding. Anyway, together right now we are worth about six hundred dollars. Wait. That's only if we sell ALL OUR EARTHLY POSSESSIONS. Including ourselves.

We had a discussion last night. He's getting a severance check for being laid off from his dream job (poor boy) almost three weeks ago. I wanted to make sure he'd try to hold onto to it. Our biggest expenditure is eating out, something I rarely did before dating him. I tried convincing him that going back to his idea of only eating out a couple times a week and at mainly cheap places was for the best. He seemed kind of offended. Maybe even pissy that I would suggest he wasn't good at taking care of money. Even though he admitted he's not so great in that area, you know how it is. You never want to hear it from someone because then it feels like criticism. But we agreed on three meals out a week, with cooking and leftovers filling everything else.

I just don't want to end up still paying for an apartment at 40 because I couldn't get my shit together enough to afford a house.


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