Calling myself to make sure my cell phone works.
Having a great conversation with someone and then they seemingly fall off the face of the planet, never to be spoken to again.
Pathetically calling and emailing said people: “Hi, um, remember me? I had a really great time last week. Give me a call when you have a chance.”
The inevitable “it’s not you, it’s me” talk.
No, I’m not dating, I’m job searching.
Next to dating, job searching is the most demoralizing exercise in futility IN THE WORLD. The main difference being that dating IS NOT NECESSARY. Some guy not calling you back? Screw him! Plenty of fish in the sea. No need to make yourself look like a desperate sad sack. And really, who needs a man anyway? With a job, though? Like, for money to pay for things such as food, clothing, and shelter and to get important things like, oh I don’t know, HEALTHCARE? And especially when it’s a really great job? Bring on the Ben & Jerry’s, sweatpants, and Lifetime.
If you can’t tell, I’m having a very difficult time with this whole employment thing.
On the very low-wattage bright side, I’ve had some great interviews for some amazing positions with some fantastic companies; in this economy in this city, in the industry I’m focusing on, that in itself is a huge accomplishment. I’ve had some very close calls, some things that I’ve been very, extremely optimistic about, that have just fallen through due to “timing” or “budget” or “fit”. What’s rough is that it’s never a “you’re too stupid to work here” or “we hate you” or “um, yeah, no thanks” falling through kind of thing. It’s always a “we really, really like you BUT . . .” sort of thing.
Which leaves me with one burning question: is it better to have the super-rich, charming, hot guy reject you after you’ve fantasized about your lavish wedding, amazing home, and have named all seven of your perfect babies . . . or be rejected by an average guy who you didn’t really even consider getting a dog with, much less having kids with, in the first place? Tough call.
Maybe, as seems to be the case in dating, I should be more of a bitch. Less friendly, less nice, more stand-offish and . . . smoldering. I shouldn’t be the cute girl in the nice, fashionable, yet respectable outfit. I should be the girl in the slutty clothes, smoking a cigarette. I should be mono-syllabic. I should roll my eyes. I should speak with a Russian accent. In short, less of this:
And more of this:
I came to New York with so much optimism, and though I’m loving living here (reinforced today by a very long walk through the Meatpacking District, Greenwich Village, & Washington Square Park), I’m in this anxious purgatory that won’t allow me to feel completely settled. I was so excited at the prospect of working in a creative industry, doing something that I really enjoy, and moved here with a couple of seemingly solid potentials that never came to fruition.
So I had been dating my dream job recently, and today I got the “it’s not you, it’s me”, “I’m just not really ready to be in a relationship” call. I’ve been lucky in love, thankfully, and am not fully familiar with the whole “heartbreak” thing. It sucks.
In life though, I didn’t settle for Boring Blah Waste of Life, Inc. and eventually a super-rich (you know, in a poor sense), charming, hot guy hired me. Tonight he even made me dinner and bought me ice cream and Oreos.
And really, that’s all I’m asking for in an employer.