The One with the End of an Era

I was going to call this one either "The One with a Fall From Grace" or "The One with the End of a Love Affair" or "The One Where I Lose the Love," and then I realized that both of those would make it sound like I was on either side of some kind of extramarital affair or getting a divorce or something, which I'm not.

When I wrote this post, I meant everything I said.  Everything about the love I've always had for everything in the Jane Pratt universe, and how Jane magazine was the raison d'être for most of my adolesence and childhood.  How I looked up to Jane, and how it was my absolute biggest dream to be able to work for her.

You know how, at some point, you realize your parents aren't perfect?  You realize they're not perfect, and it's so effing disappointing?

The last two days have been like that for me.

You might accuse me of being melodramatic, and that's cool, but the xoJane community was like. . .my people.  Smart, snarky people with opinions beyond "OMG, I totes need the new Marc Jacobs bag or I'll, like, LITERALLY DIE."  It is the damn hardest thing in the world for me to make friends, so when I find a community, whether online or in the 3-D world, that I can connect with, it's huge.  And I had that.  But I don't think I do anymore.

Without getting into the logistics of all of it, I think it all boils down to the fact that I've realized that Jane herself. . .doesn't really care.  She cares about the money, and she cares about the clicks, but she doesn't much care about the community of people that, for the most part, were brought together because of the common interest of Jane or Jane's big sister, Sassy. 

She has always been known for her celebrity name-dropping (Did you know she's former lovers/ currentBFF with Michael Stipe?  And that she slept with Drew Barrymore?  And that she's also BFF with Courteney Cox?  We all know.  Because she talks about it ad nauseum.)  but apparently, that also bleeds over into the not-so-celebrity people, the chosen few that are part of the in-crowd.  The ones that get fawned over and acknowledged like they were real-life best friends.

Am I jealous?  That this woman I've looked up to for literally more than half my life won't respond to my (obviously hilarious) life observations and (thoughtful) questions?  A little, yeah.  But it's so much more than that.

I can't have respect for someone who looks the other way while her beauty director and "health critic" gets herself so wasted on drugs every night she writes long, rambling diatribes about her "rock and roll" lifestyle (with a beauty product recommendation thrown in for good measure at the end) and who, after the aforementioned BD/HC quits (Yeah, quits.  Wasn't fired.  Quits to write for the Vice website.) hires a new Beauty Editor that her readers and commenters literally, literally BEGGED her to not hire, for a miriad of very valid reasons.  And when she hired her instead, just basically said, "I love her and you need to be nice!" without addressing any of the reason why the readers, the REASON for such a site, were so against it.

I'm tired of the constant tearing-down in the comments section and the authors' own Twitter feeds.    I'm tired of being a part of a community where, a year ago, I felt like I was an active part of and that I was being heard as a person, and now, I'm just not.  It doesn't help that Disqus has added a "downvote" option and that it's anonymous.  People are just mean.  I think facebook has been correct in not adding the "Dislike" option.  That would get really ugly really fast.

So I'm quitting.  I'm throwing in the towel.  At the very least, I'm taking a hiatus.  Maybe I'll be back.  If I see Daisy Barringer tweet that she's written something, I'll probably read it, but avoid the comments section.  There's enough negativity in the world, and I'm working hard enough to keep it out of my own life.  It's hard, you guys.  I'm not naturally a glass-half-full kind of gal, but I've legitimately been trying harder to not. . .drink the Haterade.

Maybe you're reading this and thinking, "Damn, Sarah.  You're too sensitive.  You're making a big deal out of nothing."  Maybe that's your opinion, and that's cool.  For me, it's like I've just lost my best elementary school friend.  It's just not fun anymore.

I guess this means I'm going to need to find real-life people to talk to now.  God help us all.

The One with My xoJane Post

Those of you who have known me for a long time know that my legit career aspiration was to work for the now-defunct Jane magazine.  I can actually credit my mom for how I discovered Jane magazine. . .she'd read an article in the newspaper about different types of girls, and how the more traditional girls read Cosmopolitan, but the more off-beat, quirky girls read Jane.  "Have you ever read Jane?" Mom asked.  I hadn't, but I immediately got a subscription, sight unseen.  Us quirky girls, you know, have got to stick together.

And then I fell in love.

The first thing I ever had published in a magazine was a little blurb in the beginning of the magazine.  They'd asked a question. . .something about money going toward sports in schools.  I can't even remember.  But I'd e-mailed in my response and they published it.

They also had these columns called It Happened To Me that paid somewhere between $50 and $100 to people to just tell stories about. . .crazy or weird or strange things that had happened to them.  My plan was, I was going to write one of those, Editor-In-Chief Jane Pratt was going to fall madly in love with my writing style and offer me a job as soon as I graduated college.  It was my plan.

Then Jane Pratt left Jane magazine and Brandon Holley took her place.  At some point, and I can't even remember why, I'd e-mailed the magazine, and Brandon Holley herself e-mailed me back.  Brandon was no Jane Pratt, but oh my God, the editor of the magazine of my dream job had e-mailed me back.

Then, in the summer of 2007, I was a newly-minted college graduate, working a temp job at a pharmaceutical company, waiting for my Big Break, when my friend Ashley e-mailed me with the news.  She was a graphics major in the journalism school at UNC, so she was on these journalism-related listservs. 

"Just saw that Jane magazine is folding," she said.  ":("

And just like that, Ashley ruined all my hopes and dreams and aspirations.

(Just kidding.  I'm just shooting the messanger.)

So I did some Yahoo!ing (you know, before Google was a way of life), and although it was very cloak-and-dagger and very mysterious, it was true: My beloved Jane, the goal of my life, was going under.

Admittedly, the quality had taken a drastic, drastic downturn in the previous few years.  I'd even let my subscription lapse for a while after Jane Pratt left.  But. . .it was Jane.

Fast forward some years, and Jane Pratt has started a new online venture, xoJane.com.  It had a rough start, I think, but then it caught on.  There are lots of different voices on the site (Personally, I'm madly in love with Emily and Daisy, even though the latter has caused some. . .uproars.)  There are some really bitchy voices within the commentors, but there are also some very lovely people.

And they still have It Happened To Me.

I think you know where this is going.

I wrote this.

It was terrifying and exciting and awesome.  So far, the comments have been supportive.

And I like to think it's my one step closer to having Jane Pratt discover me*.






*It should be noted that I applied for a job with xoJane, but I never heard anything from them.  It's just as well:  I'm not sure how D would have felt about moving to Manhattan.

The One With The Girl Who Distracted Me From Writing

I've fallen drastically, desperately behind my NaNoWriMo numbers. I'm approximately a week behind, and with this kind of project, it's really hard to catch up.

I'm also working on another project. . .a food blog, so I can keep this one for my day-to-day, and that one for food-related things. Once I have a spare few dollars, I'll buy the domain name I want, and then I'll be in business. So if you're not so much interested in food, you can read that one instead. If you're not so much interested in me, you can read that one. Win-win.

(Although, come to think of it, I don't think that you'd be reading this if you didn't have at least SOME interest in me. But I think you know what I mean.)

Part of the reason I've fallen so far behind on my writing is because I've been reading. I started the "Millennium Trilogy" a while back, and have finally gotten to the third book. It took me a while to read the first, ("The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo") and I finished the second one ("The Girl Who Played with Fire") yesterday. Today, I started "The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest," and once I finish this one, I'm not 100% sure what I'm going to do with myself. Write, maybe.

The second book had a weird effect on me, actually. It was a really good book. . .but I wanted it to end. I wanted to be finished with it so I could start on the last one. It was good, but I think probably about 100 pages could be cut from it.

Let's see, what else has been distracting me from what I need to be doing?

Food Network. I've been addicted to "The Next Iron Chef" for the last few weeks. It's pretty obvious who's going to win (I HATE when shows make it so obvious who's going to win. . .especially when said person has ALREADY HAD a show on the network) but my favorite guy is still in the running. D accused me of having a new boyfriend, and he may or may not be right. This guy is awesome and badass. Also, he made a dessert last week inspired by his girlfriend's favorite sweets (Aww!) and made his grandmother's potato recipe for one of the challenges. (AWWW!!!) I also looked up his restaurant in New York, and checked out the menu. Super-delicious sounding. Also super expensive.

Speaking of delicious food in New York. . .I don't know if any of my readers are in the Manhattan area, but has anyone ever been to the Antique Garage in SoHo? Apparently, they use word-of-mouth for their advertising, so I'm guessing there wouldn't be any billboards or anything.

I went up to New York last year (two years ago?) with a friend of mine and his dad, because he was checking out NYU. We randomly came across this run-down looking, really pricey restaurant and had dinner there. Since that day, I've wanted to be on that Food Network show, "The Best Thing I Ever Ate," because the dinner I had that night. . .I haven't been able to get it out of my head. I had this thing called the Shrimp Casserole. I'm aware that the word "casserole" brings to mind a heavy thing with maybe cheese and breadcrumbs and stuff like that, but this was like nothing I've ever had. It was light and flavorful and I may or may not be having a foodgasm right now thinking about it. The most incredible thing I've ever put in my mouth. (That's what she said.)

Anyway, I thought of that again today and told D that sometime within the next year, I need to get back to New York and have this thing again, $24 price tag be damned.

(I'm a little worried about starting a food blog. I feel like 75% of my life is taken up by eating, thinking about, and making food, so I'm not going to have anything else to talk about here.)

So what about all of you out there? What's the best thing you've ever eaten?

The One With My Birthday

Saturday was my birthday. It was also the JDRF Walk-a-thon. We got up. . .7-ish and then promptly went back to sleep. Got up again about 8:15. Registration started at 8 and the actual walk didn't start until 10:30, so we weren't late or anything. By the time we got there, the crowd had died down a bit, and registration didn't take long.

Apparently, there were about 7,000 people there. I, personally, didn't reach the goal I'd set for donations, but with that many people, I'd be willing to bet the foundation made quite a bit of money.

We walked 2 miles, with music along the way, and then were provided Jersey Mike's for lunch. The weather? Perfect. All in all, an awesome event. I also saw one of my teachers from high school who had a baby like a month ago. Cutest. Baby. EVER!

We then went home and rested briefly before going to Mom's house to have dinner with the fam. we went downtown to Hi5. Everything on the menu is $5, so it's a good place if you don't have a ton to spend. Mom and Johnny had never been there before, Katie was the one who introduced me to it, and D and I used to go weekly, at least. (Before the, you know, no money thing happened.)

After dinner, it was back to Mom's. She hadn't taken her daily walk yet, so we waited for her (Read: we took naps) until she got back. And then it was time for cake.

Let me tell you about this cake. You know how I make a lot of cakes, right? How baking is kind of my thing? For my birthday, D made me this cake that blew me and everyone else away. Check it out:

Holy crap, you guys. It's a cake! And a stack of books! How effing awesome is that? He made the entire thing from scratch (except, you know, a cake mix.) Made the fondant, built it so it stayed. . .and it was delicious. So awesome, awesome, AWESOME cake.

Then, presents! Money from the parentals, and Katie gave me these:

She made that plate. Or, designed it.

Also, D gave me a kitchen apron that I can't seem to get a good picture of. . .it's black, and has a little V-neck and is pinstriped. I'm sure it will be making an appearance in future posts.

After we left Mom's, we stopped by Dad's to give him a book of cake and to hang out for a while. It was during this time that we watched the "Rocky Horror Picture Show" version of Glee. I've never seen RHPS, but I've had songs from it stuck in my head SINCE Saturday. ("Toucha, Toucha, Toucha, Touch Me," "Dammit, Janet," and the Time Warp song are the ones that have been stuck there.) I've heard from many people that they didn't like the episode because of the "sanitized" changes that were made to lyrics, but having never seen the show, none of it bothered me.

Since then, I've had a Lady Doctor appointment (thanks to an irregular Pap) that has set me back $500 that's going to take me 20 years to pay off. (Thanks, no insurance.) And I still love my job.

Also, I've prepared a whole chicken for the first time. It was horrifying, but if I tell you anymore, it'll ruin this week's French Friday entry.

Oh! And I'm also taking part in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), the point of which is to write a 50,000-word novel in 30 days. I'm up to speed so far, but it's only day 3. We'll see.

The One Hundredth

It's been like two weeks since I've been here (actively writing, at least) and there's not a lot I can say about it, really, except that I haven't had a lot to talk about that people would want to hear about.

I used to have an "online diary" (they weren't called blogs back in the day) back in high school/college/whatever and it was emo-tastic. If I was fighting with someone, I wrote about it (subtly, passive-aggressively, obvs). If I was being all unrequited about a non-relationship, I wrote about it. If I had a bad day, I wrote about it. It was all there, in black and white (and purple) for the entire world to see.

I just went back, actually, and looked at that old journal. I did want to share this one entry I made. I've changed names (because OBVIOUSLY), but everything else is still the same. It was a letter to my boss at the time:

Dear Boss,

I understand that you're older and sometimes don't get references that other people get. I can understand why, that time you told me I could take a laptop to a press conference and write the story on the way home, you didn't understand why Carrie laughed when you said I could "whip it out" on the way home. I get that. I get why you don't know what "the shocker" is. I get that, too.

But, dear Boss, the expression is "chewed out." If you do something wrong, someone might "chew you out" for it.

That is why I would recommend never, ever repeating what you said to me today, which is that, because of the High School Letter Incident, that you would be "eaten out by the school system superintendent guy."

I'm just sayin'.

Love,
Sarah

OK, THAT was funny. I remember that, too.

But the entry immediately following that was about how going out to dinner with two couples sucked. (I was, clearly, single at the time.) And then there was a survey. And then there was a direction to my newest blog (the one before this one), because I was trying to get away from the desperately depressing downer of an "online diary" I was keeping.

I KNOW that you don't want to hear about it, and the reason I don't recount everything negative that happens is because, one, I don't want everyone knowing. I think that's simple enough. There are a lot of wonderful people that come and read, and I love you all for it. But there are also people who are just trying to keep tabs on me, to know things about me, so they can, potentially, use it against me in the future. (You guys? If you want to stay more hidden, use a computer with a different IP address. Just FYI.)

I also know that when there are blogs that are all doom and gloom, you lose interest. Personally, I've lost a total of 3 readers along the way, and that always happens after I write something about bad things going on. So I pretty much know my audience.

But on this, my 100th posting, I just wanted to say that I'm still here. I'm still here and I'm trying to get back on track. I love my job, and I have a birthday coming up, and we'll just see how it goes.

Cheers. Here's to 100 more.

The One With a Letter to Cosmo

Dear Cosmopolitan Magazine,

I got an e-mail from you today informing me that my subscription to your fine magazine (Also known as "you") only has "a few issues left." I'm guessing this means 5 to 6, since I haven't been a subscriber for THAT long.

I should note here that I did not pay for my Cosmo subscription. No, since I drink ungodly amounts of Diet Coke, I had amassed many Coke Rewards points, and I used 200 of them to subscribe. I'd been purchasing issues of your magazine for a while (the "on-again" part of my on-again, off-again relationship with Cosmo), and thought that the $5,093.94* I'd paid in Diet Coke might be about equal to a subscription.

I thought (even though I KNOW better) I'd be getting a magazine that has been around for decades, and which has helped countless** women through the trials and tribulations of life, sex, and everything else that comes with it. Being that it's been fewer than 3 years since I began on my journey of sexing, I thought that maybe, just maybe, Cosmo could help me catch up with my wiser, more sexually satisfied peers.***

The only thing that I've gathered from reading the "tips" Cosmo puts forth each month is that guys like girls who are into some weird stuff. You also say, every 3 issues or so, that jiggling a man's balls back and forth, as if shaking a pair of dice, is the quickest way to bring him to orgasmic bliss.

"Not so!" say several men I've inquired about this to and also a few articles and blog posts scattered about. It seems that treating your man's boys like you were employed by a Vegas casino is actually quite a BAD idea. Shame on you, Cosmo. Millions (?) of women are looking to you for advice, and you, in turn, are attempting to render their men infertile.

Your "Confessions" section? It's the same story, told over and over and over again! The men will always cheat on their significant other (rarely caught) and the women all either perform some kind of auditory bodily function, get their period, trip, or say the wrong thing in front of their "crush." Either that, or they're caught by their roommate/parents/boyfriend/girlfriend/etc. whilst in the throes. I feel like most of these "confessions" are made up. Yeah, sure you're "Lacy, 25, Columbia, SC." You're probably more like Edgar, 43, Columbia, SC.

The (next to) last thing I have to say involves the utter (apparent) laziness of your staff when it comes to cover stories. During 2009, there were two issues, approximately 5 months apart, that had the EXACT SAME "catchy" headline on them! I don't remember the specifics, but I know it had something to do with Foods That Will Make You Live Forever. Exact same wording. Even the cover art was similar! I can't remember the colors, but it was the same ones, just reversed! If the March issue was blue with orange letters, the August issue was orange with blue lettering. Do you not employ people to NOTICE things like this?****

But worse than all this, Cosmo, worse than the fake confessions and the terrible sex tips and the lazy editing, is one of your cover stories this month.

UNTAMED VA-JAY-JAYS

you proclaim.

Untamed va-jay-jays.

First of all, Cosmo, just because Oprah says something, that does not make it acceptable to USE, much less put on the cover of a national magazine.

Underneath the "catchy" title, it says "Guess Which Sexy Style Is Back."

I'm not. . .really sure. Because (and Cosmo, I hope I'm not stepping on your toes by assuming you took basic high school Biology), a "va-jay-jay" (or, you know, a VAGINA!) is INSIDE a woman's body. So I'm not entirely sure what you mean by an "untamed" vagina, unless you're referring to the campy horror movie, "Teeth," which portrays a girl whose vagina has teeth ("vagina dentata") and which bites off a man's ManBits whenever she has The Sex with them. Pretty good flick.

I'm guessing this isn't what you mean, though, and again, SHAME ON YOU for confusing people who, let's face it, are, by a high majority, not that intelligent anyway, by insinuating that a vagina is something that can somehow be. . .well, groomed (or not) much less tamed (or, you know, not.)

All of this, Cosmo, is why I will not be paying for your services anymore. I'd say you'd changed since the days I used to sneak into my mom's room and read her copy of Cosmo, even though she said it was far too old for me***** but actually, you have not. You're exactly the same. And that's where the problem is.

Love, kisses, and untamed va-jay-jays,

Sarah

*Estimated amount

**You COULD count them, but that would be a giant waste of time. Just estimate.

***They WERE more satisfied. I'm doing just fine, thankyouverymuch.

****Um, I'm a former editor looking for a job. CALL ME!

*****Sorry, Mom.

The One Where the Next Generation is Effed

I read this article on CNN.com today called "Parents, do you know what these texts mean?" and it had the following examples of 'text speak':

"N2 2CB. WBU?" which means "I'm into hallucinogenics. What about you?" (Obviously, someone ON hallucinogenics came up with this.)

"WTG 4 a \%/" which means "Want to go for a drink?" (I actually figured this one out on my own. It was literally the only one for which I was able to do that.)

"%*@:-(" which means "Hung-over and got a headache." (To me, this one says, "Marge Simpson is having an especially bad hair day.")

"ctn pos. tdtm l8r k? :** :"" apparently means "Can't talk now. Parent over shoulder. Talk dirty to me later, OK? Returning the kiss." (WHAT? I'd heard of POS before [which, to me, will ALWAYS stand for Piece of Shit], and l8r I understand. But. . .I don't even know. I think this actually means "Sorry, my cat is currently walking across my keyboard.")

"No 420? Wiyp?" means "No weed? What is your problem?" (I got the 420 reference. But I don't understand the Wiyp? part of it. We KNOW what the problem is. No weed. [Excuse me. No 420.])

"LM4a~~#ZZZZZZ>" means "Let's meet for a joint." (I honestly don't get this one AT ALL. Can someone explain it to me?)

OK, OK. I get that teenagers (and. . .pre-teens) all use this nonsense and call it communication. What killed me was this part of the article:

Once you get the hang of the language, you can try your hand at translating a real message found by Susan Shankle and Barbara Melton, co-authors of the book "What in the World Are Your Kids Doing Online?"

The message reads:

"1 w45 50 j4ck3d up |457 n16h7. 1 5c0r3d 50m3 cr4ck 47 7h3 p4r7y 50 1'd h4v3 17 f0r 70n16h7 4nd 70m0rr0w, 4nd 7h3n J1mmy 700k 0ff w17h 17, 7h3 455h0|3! 1 4m 4|| j1773ry 4nd n33d 70 m337 up w17h y0u 70n16h7 4f73r my p4r3n75 7h1nk 1 4m 45|33p. c4n y0u m337 m3 47 b0j4n6|3'5 47 m1dn16h7 ju57 f0r 4 f3w m1nu735? 1 ju57 n33d 4 |177|3 4nd 1 c4n p4y y0u b4ck 0n m0nd4y, 1 pr0m153."

Oh my God. OH MY GOD, my EFFING BRAIN just EFFING EXPLODED.

Admittedly, when I was first reading through this, I actually got the basic gist of the message. Once you read it for long enough, you get the basic way it goes. But still.

For those of you who don't speak idiot 'text speak,' the message says this:

"I was so jacked up last night. I scored some crack at the party so I'd have it for tonight and tomorrow, and then Jimmy took off with it, the asshole! I am all jittery and need to meet up with you tonight after my parents think I am asleep. Can you meet me at Bojangle's at midnight just for a few minutes? I just need a little and I can pay you back on Monday, I promise."

My first question, I guess, is this: is it all the stoners who are into this kind of thing? Because the article focused on an awful lot of drug references.

Secondly. . .WHAT is HAPPENING to writing? And reading? And speaking? As a former English major (That's another question. . .once you graduate, are you still whatever your major was? Would I be an English major, or would I be a former English major?), I love words. I love writing them (properly) and reading them (properly). And the fact that all the technology and really, really dumb teenagers we have now is rendering all that useless? Is so, so sad to me. It's also vaguely "A Clockwork Orange."

I'm worried for the day, 50 years from now, when my grandkids are writing me thank you texts notes (please, dear God, please let people continue to write thank you notes.) and they something like:

y0, 6r4ndm4, 7h4nk5 f0r 7h3 5w3473r. 17 r0ck5!!! -71mmy

(Also, if I DO end up giving my grandchildren sweaters, they will be BADASS SWEATERS! With skulls and hookers on them.)

I really am just sad about the state of things nowadays. Even when I was in high school and editing my (then) boyfriend's papers, I was like, "Why can't people WRITE?" And now we're using numbers instead of letters and pictures of Marge Simpson after a night out on the town.

I'm aware I'm probably coming across as a cranky old broad, destined to sit on the porch with her cats and shake my cane at those damn kids who WON'T GET THE EFF OFF MY LAWN!, but really? I think you should have to meet a certain standard of writing before graduating high school, or you just won't be allowed to graduate. Same with college. (And I don't mean to leave out the people who don't finish high school, or don't finish college. For y'all, I say before you get any kind of job, you have to pass a test of some kind, and if you're unable to do that, you can be given some kind of class or something.

Everything's going downhill in my brain right now, because it's kind of late, but trust me. It all makes sense. Stop writing like morons. Because every time you illustrate sexual acts with random keyboard symbols and every time you WrYtE LyKe Dis, and every time you use numbers instead of letters, God kills a kitten. And then he blames you.

The One Where I'm Feeling My Feelings

Before I get into the whole thing about the concert last night, I'd like to make a comment. I read on another blog (Oh, OK. . .it was Aunt Becky's. . .I'm just feeling like I'm referencing/name-dropping her a LOT as of late. . .) about Being Yourself when you're blogging. She talks about all the people who present their perfect-sounding lives on their blogs. People who refer to their children and significant others as "DD" or "DH," which, as I found out, stands for something like Dear Daughter or Darling Husband. I would like to clarify right now that when I refer to D, I'm not calling him Dear or Darling or anything else that makes me want to throw up like that. It's the first initial of his name, so that's why I call him that. It's because I'm lazy, not because I'm super-sentimental.

I have trouble sometimes with having Too Many Feelings. My Feelings eff up a lot of things. Between My Feelings and my OCD and That Time of the Month, I'm an emotional wreck often. The thing is, though, I don't want to be. I hate that, and I try my damnedest not to let My Feelings spill over onto my blog. At least not too often.

I don't want to bitch and moan and cry about every little detail of my life that's bugging me at any given time. That's what my middle school/high school/college livejournal was for. Also, my old Blogger blog. I don't feel like that's what people read blogs to see. I don't think everything in the 'blogosphere' should be puppies and roses and mommy bloggers who think their Dear Offspring crap Skittles, but neither should it be daggers and skulls and. . .I was trying to think of an antithesis for Offspring Who Crap Skittles, but failed. You know what I mean.

I feel like people read my blog (or any blog) because they want to (a) Be Entertained; (b) Be Informed; (c) Be Stalkers; or (d) Some Combination Thereof. Therefore, when I write, I do it first and foremost because it's what I DO. I like telling stories, and I like people saying, hey, that was funny/sad/off the chain/etc. (I don't think anyone I've ever known has used the expression "off the chain." Maybe they should.)

I'm completely getting off whatever point I'd started out trying to make with this. The point is, I'm not happy with my current lot in life. But at the same time, I feel like I can't complain about ANYTHING, because I have a stack of 8 resumes I've received in 3 days, which tells me, "Hey, Sarah. Quit your bitching, because even if you don't 'feel satisfied' by it, at least you have a job."

Yeah, at least I have a job. A job that's contract, so I have no benefits and no vacation time, so if I want to, I don't know, get married and go on a week's honeymoon, guess what? That just means a week of no pay. No one gives a fuck if I'm getting married. They're not going to pay me so I can have time off to do it.

Or time off to do anything. I feel like I'm over here, drowning in my own self-loathing and self-pity, but I can't take any time off because guess what? I have bills to pay. Bills that aren't going to understand that I just need an em-effing BREAK.

But guess what? I can't complain about it. I can't complain about anything. Because you know what happens then? My friend, The Universe, decides to say, "Oh yeah? Let me REALLY give you something to complain about."

I just want to be doing something that means something right now. This job means nothing to me but a paycheck. I don't even get any benefits, so there's an extra $400 a month in health insurance. Just for me.

I'm going under, and there's not a thing I can do about it. But I can write about it, and risk turning my little Corner of the Interwebz into a Bitch Fest, alienating anyone who might have been otherwise interested and diminishing my chances that someone will happen across my blog and give me a book deal.*

So there it is, people. Take it or leave it.

*Yes, I know this is not a thing that really happens to most people.

The One Where My Job Ends Abruptly

It's been a while, yeah. I'm glad I gave up on the 100-days concept (that, I swear, I will not reference again), because I'd be failing tragically.

The awesome job I had that was supposed to take me through the beginning of the year? Gone. Apparently, the other guy I was working with and I finished everything too quickly, and there's no more work. It lasted 3 weeks.

My temp place has a couple days of receptionistism set up for me next week, but that's it for now. I interviewed with another staffing place last week, and they were going to call me to set up an interview with the actual person doing the hiring this week, but I haven't heard from them. I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that that's not particularly good news.

I started writing today. Maybe, just maybe, I can push through it and actually finish something.

D and I had dinner with my parents, my sister, and my sister's friend last night that culminated in game-playing. What should be noted here is that D and I are terrible at the game Cranium. Terrible. This is the second time we've played together, and the second time we've lost. (Together.) I'm not sure what it is, but it's just not our forte. He won a round of Pit, and someone or other won the game of Scategories. I won nothing. I should go home tonight and play Life. Maybe I'll win.

Christmas is coming up, and exactly none of you will be surprised to know I haven't bought anyone anything yet. I should probably do that this week, since Christmas is. . .next week.

I'm feeling very stuck right now. There's nothing really going on in my life, and I'm feeling quite suspended animation at the moment. I've kind of put a halt on any wedding planning because. . .well, there's no money to use with which to plan. That seems to be a necessity, from what I understand, and I don't think I can steal a cake. I've been saying I'm going to do the dishes for the last three days and they're still sitting in the sink.

I think what it is here is that when I don't have a job, when I don't have anything to do, I feel pretty useless. And I don't. Have anything to do, I mean.

So that's a short update. Don't have a lot to say, but I felt like I was neglecting the 1.2 people who read what I have to say.

The One Where I'm Going Out of Town

It has been raining like a mother for the better part of the last two days. I legitimately wore rain boots all day today. Rain boots and laundry has been the majority of my day.

I feel like this is one of those days where I need to have some kind of writing prompt. Literally nothing to talk about, except maybe the fact that I went to this restaurant my sister and her friends love, and I was sorely disappointed. The waitress was not great, the food was mediocre, and it was incredibly overpriced for what you get. I also meant to go to Goodberry's for dessert, but was disappointed enough with lunch that I just decided to go home.

I'm heading West this weekend (as I've mentioned) and I'm leaving tomorrow. NJ wants to lunch on Friday, and C and F are having me, D, and their friends over for chili Friday night. Then Saturday will be the photo shoot, and I'm not sure what Saturday night looks like. All in all, I feel like I'm going to have a pretty busy weekend. Then I have an interview for a new (temp) job on Monday.

I went to the used bookstore today as well and picked up a book of writing exercises as well as the 2010 Writer's Market, which was half-price from what you'd get at a regular store.

(Sorry this is so dull. . .maybe going West will give me more interesting things to talk about. But! This is day 3.)