Tonight I was waiting in the subway station as I do nearly every day when I have to work downtown (yes, I still live in LA, for those of you who are questioning my riding a subway). I like taking the train because it's fast and I can avoid traffic. I hate taking the train because of the people on the train. There are 50 different varieties of homeless people, from the ones that sleep across two seats and smell like piss to the ones that decide to make the captive audience their personal donation fund, walking back and forth spouting the same bullshit about needing change.
There are elderly Asian women and teenagers of all races, tourists and locals, people like me who have jobs downtown and people who were just given a Metro card on their way out of the county jail. Despite the cast of characters, I've never once felt like my personal safety was in jeopardy or that I was likely to be robbed. However, there are plenty of people, both crazy and "normal," who try to talk to me. I don't like this. Usually I put my headphones in with the cord attached to nothing inside my purse just so it looks like I'm listening to something so people won't talk to me.
I left my headphones at work today. It was a deliberate decision, not an accident - I thought "why roll them up and put them back in my purse when I won't use them until I am at work again tomorrow?" This was a bad decision.
It was 8:30pm and the metro station wasn't full like it is in rush hour. I walked down the stairs and stood waiting for the train as I played Candy Crush on my phone. There was a homeless dude sleeping on the bench, a group of mid-twenties black kids with skateboards and big headphones, and an older woman who may or may not have been homeless but was wearing a knit cap on top of a hood, which was just weird.
I'm going to address this because it exists and it's relevant to the story: I am not racist. I'm not "scared" of black people. I don't pull my purse closer to me when I see a group of black kids. I take all my cues from the way people act, regardless of race, and base my actions on that. In fact, the woman with the double head-warmer had a sketchy look in her eyes and kept getting close to me so I decided to avoid what I feared might be a potential pickpocket and moved away from her to stand near the group of black guys because they were simply talking amongst themselves like normal people.
I'm playing Candy Crush for about two minutes when one of the guys approaches me. I look up, and he says something I can't hear because a train is coming through. I ask him to repeat it. It was something along the lines of "You look pretty." I politely thanked him and went back to my game. But he kept talking. Telling me how nice I looked, how he thought I was just super cute, how he loved my hair. I thanked him again, because I do honestly think he was being sincere and I didn't feel threatened by him - just uncomfortable to be singled out.
It, to me, was the same as someone whistling at me on the sidewalk, or catcalling me as I walk by. I shouldn't have to justify what I was wearing, but for the record it was jeans, a long-sleeved striped shirt with a high collar, and a gigantic shawl/scarf wrapped around me for warmth. It was possibly the least slutty thing I could've worn. While he wasn't being vulgar at all, he was only talking about my looks, over and over again. Then he went a little further and started full on talking about how we should hang out, how I should take his number, how he wanted to touch my hair. Other than the hair touching part, nothing he said was really over the line. I think he just honestly thought that was how you get a girl to go out with you.
Now here's the caveat - had this guy been a white guy, I would have shut him down with snark in a hot second. If you're bothering me and making me uncomfortable, I have no problem walking away and being a bitch. This goes for people on the street, on the train or in a bar. However, I felt like I needed to be nicer because he was black. I didn't want him to think I was racist, or that I was rejecting him because he was black. I have witnessed friends who were either hit on in a vulgar way or catcalled by a black guy and when they ignored him (because his comments were inappropriate and warranted no response) they'd yell "Oh it's cause I'm black, huh?" as we walked away.
I was rejecting him because he made me uncomfortable. Because I have no interest in meeting a potential date in a subway station. Because he treated me like I was just something to look at. Because my polite refusal to give him my number didn't deter him. Because I have severe social anxiety and don't like to talk to ANY STRANGERS. Because he either couldn't see or ignored the fact that I was getting progressively more uncomfortable. Because he would not leave me alone.
When the train came, I got on a different car than he did, and he yelled "You want me to come sit with you?" I shook my head no and quickly found a seat next to an older woman. I felt so vulnerable because I let it go on so long. I was angry at myself that I let race factor into my decision not to stand up for myself in the likely bitchy way I wanted to. And because of that, the comments started to make me feel like less of a person. Not a 3-degree-holding attorney, but a delicate flower that exists only for the amusement of men.
I almost had a panic attack on the train. I felt like I wanted to cry and throw up at the same time. It was tough to hold the tears til I got to my car 10 stops away. Was I weak? Was I racist? Why am I so uncomfortable with people? Why did he choose to talk to the one person in the train station that had crippling social anxiety? Why do I look approachable?
I've been catcalled and I hate it, but this was like catcalling a captive. I couldn't escape. I was trapped.
Why do men think this is okay? How can you not tell you're making me uncomfortable? Why do you keep going until I want to scream "GO AWAY"? Why do you then think it's okay to get angry with me?
Is there somewhere other than Asia where this is not a thing? Because Asia's awfully far away. Maybe I need to get back in the courtroom in my suit and fuck some shit up. I don't know, but something needs to change.
Monday, November 9, 2015
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
THE 7 TYPES OF FACEBOOK STALKING
We all Facebook stalk. It's just a thing we do. But Facebook stalking isn't just for that guy or girl you're hoping to date - there's a whole slew of different reasons to stalk:
1. The classic "I have a crush on you so I'm going to look at every photo of you from today back to when Facebook began even if it takes all damn night"
2. The "you look like you got plastic surgery and I'm going to go back through your photos to find out when the drastic change occurred and how long you've successfully hidden it" - the best is when you find conclusive proof and show your friends how great you are at sleuthing.
3. Everybody's favorite "who the hell is that girl/guy in your photo and are you dating them?" Why do you have no relationship status up? She's not in your profile pic, she can't be that important. Maybe she's just a coworker but I'll be damned if I don't find out more.
4. "Are you pregnant or have you just gained weight?" The key for this one is looking for alcohol in photos - is she the only one without wine in that girl's night photo? Bottle of water at a music fest when everyone else has beers? Preggo, for sure.
5. "You blatantly photoshop every picture you post of yourself so I'm going to find one you're tagged in by someone else and figure out what you REALLY look like." Inches off the waist? Hair longer? Eyes that are a cartoonish color of blue? I haven't seen you in years but I'm going to find out what you're hiding.
6. The "very subtle name change (i.e. from Sally Jones to Sally Marie with no last name) and many recent pictures alone that seem to indicate you got divorced" - of course you have to go see if they still have their wedding album in their photos, that's the key.
7. "We just started dating and I want to see if you're a complete psychopath/who my competition is/if you're a raging alcoholic/etc" Hmm, so you dated that girl in 2009, she's only a 6. How come every pic of you has beer in it? Why do you have a beer in your hand at a baby shower? Maybe that's a red flag, combined with the picture of you passed out with a penis drawn on your face and the one where you can see how nasty your apartment is in the background...
1. The classic "I have a crush on you so I'm going to look at every photo of you from today back to when Facebook began even if it takes all damn night"
2. The "you look like you got plastic surgery and I'm going to go back through your photos to find out when the drastic change occurred and how long you've successfully hidden it" - the best is when you find conclusive proof and show your friends how great you are at sleuthing.
3. Everybody's favorite "who the hell is that girl/guy in your photo and are you dating them?" Why do you have no relationship status up? She's not in your profile pic, she can't be that important. Maybe she's just a coworker but I'll be damned if I don't find out more.
4. "Are you pregnant or have you just gained weight?" The key for this one is looking for alcohol in photos - is she the only one without wine in that girl's night photo? Bottle of water at a music fest when everyone else has beers? Preggo, for sure.
5. "You blatantly photoshop every picture you post of yourself so I'm going to find one you're tagged in by someone else and figure out what you REALLY look like." Inches off the waist? Hair longer? Eyes that are a cartoonish color of blue? I haven't seen you in years but I'm going to find out what you're hiding.
6. The "very subtle name change (i.e. from Sally Jones to Sally Marie with no last name) and many recent pictures alone that seem to indicate you got divorced" - of course you have to go see if they still have their wedding album in their photos, that's the key.
7. "We just started dating and I want to see if you're a complete psychopath/who my competition is/if you're a raging alcoholic/etc" Hmm, so you dated that girl in 2009, she's only a 6. How come every pic of you has beer in it? Why do you have a beer in your hand at a baby shower? Maybe that's a red flag, combined with the picture of you passed out with a penis drawn on your face and the one where you can see how nasty your apartment is in the background...
Friday, September 11, 2015
I. AM NOT. A SCREWUP.
Ok, let's get something clear. I am not a screw up. Sure, I feel like it sometimes, but let's look at things in perspective. I am not addicted to drugs. I've never been arrested. I do not live in my parents' basement. I have, at one or more points in time, been gainfully employed and been good at what I do. I have attended and graduated from not one, not two, but THREE top 50 universities.
But I'm unemployed. So all of the above go flying out the window and I'm officially a terrible person who is lazy, incompetent, untrustworthy, dishonest and doesn't deserve happiness of any kind until I can be a functioning member of society. Well guess what? That's not MY decision. Someone has to hire ME. Do I wish I could walk in to Barnes and Noble and say "Hey, I'm gonna start working here today, hope that's cool with you" and walk out with a check and hopefully a discount on books (duh)?? YES I DO. Can that happen? NOPE.
Since everyone seems to think I make terrible life decisions, let's go through them individually.
1) Going to law school
Never once did I regret this. Not even when I was trying to not be a lawyer. Law school gave me confidence, knowledge, and the ability to form logical and coherent arguments that have helped me immensely in the years since I graduated. Not only that but I made fabulous friends with whom I still keep in contact. It was an amazing experience regardless of what my potential career might be.
2) Moving to Kansas City
If anyone DOESN'T know about the toxic work environment I left when I quit the prosecutor's office in Texas and moved to Missouri then those people are not allowed to judge ANY PART of my life. And although I moved without a job, I got one within a few weeks, passed the bar, and was hired by my second prosecutor's office within three months.
3) Moving to LA
Here's where people get on my shit. "Oh, you shouldn't have moved to LA without a job." I left my job at the prosecutor's office in January, and I didn't move til July. Guess what I was doing all that time? JOB HUNTING. People aren't super willing to hire someone who can't come in for an interview the next day because they have to catch a plane. They also don't want to pay moving expenses, not that I ever expected that. But I also didn't expect that I would HAVE to move in order to be considered for jobs, which was something that I talked about with my parents at length and they agreed I had a better shot if I was local.
Do you know how many people move to LA without jobs every year? Probably more than any other city in the WORLD. And many of them don't even have degrees, let alone two.
I tried SO HARD to get a job here not being a lawyer. SO HARD. Hundreds of applications. No calls. I did film extra work when I could get it and attempted retail (but the way I was treated by my boss wasn't worth $10/hour and it cost nearly that much to get there from my apartment). When I got my document review jobs, I was angry they were in law, but I kept them because they paid money. The nature of said job is that it is NOT STEADY. However, comparing $30/hour for a few weeks a month versus $10-15 for a steady part time job is a no-brainer when it comes to how much money I could make, so I stuck with the less-reliable work that could pay my rent in one week.
4) Going back to school
At the time I saw no other option. I had stuck myself in a very specific corner of a very specific field and I had no experience doing ANYTHING else. No one would hire me. It took two years of looking for jobs before I realized I had to go back to school so I could get some skills and the career services office and networking potential I needed to get a job.
Regardless of whether or not I intend to do PR ever, grad school was a very necessary turning point in my life - I would never have been diagnosed with PTSD if I hadn't had panic attacks my second semester (thanks, accounting) and I wouldn't have been able to get on the right medication and therapy to finally figure out that it was not LAW that I was averse to, but the fact that I had been severely bullied at my first job so badly that it actually affected how I performed any job after that.
So going back to school was necessary for my diagnosis and subsequent recovery process. Despite my uncertainty, I still applied to HUNDREDS (yes, I kept some count) of marketing/PR jobs all up and down the West Coast. I didn't even limit myself to LA. I was being very open about moving, getting a new job, starting over...well that shit didn't happen.
When I was called in August of last year to work on a doc review project for $32 an hour, I jumped at it, knowing I could still apply for other things and leave if I got a real job.
5) Taking the bar
Ok guys, this is where I got my shit together. Getting my shit together means forming a plan, having a path and an idea of what I am going to do with myself, readying myself for potential jobs, studying my ass off (about as much as I did for Texas, which was a decent amount) for two months. This is where you cannot judge me anymore.
When I took the Texas bar, I was completely unemployed. I spent the whole time either studying or laying by my pool. 90% of the time I was studying for the California bar, I was employed full time. Yes, employed. So I studied AND worked AT THE SAME TIME. If that's not NOT LAZY, I don't know what is. People seem to forget the employed part because it coincided with the other big event in my life.
Now that the bar is over, I have to wait. I don't choose to wait, I HAVE TO. I won't know if I passed or failed until November 20th, and NO ONE will hire me before that. That is not an exaggeration. Because of how hard the CA bar is and the low pass rate, literally no one will hire me as an attorney until I have confirmation that I passed. I had friends in Texas who had a job immediately after the bar that just trusted they would pass. That doesn't happen here. Ever.
There are many many jobs out there that I am qualified for and can apply for once I pass the bar. It is not my fault that the graders take 4 months. It is also not my fault that the doc review job I had ended the week after I took the bar and they haven't had anything new since. I do not control the ebb and flow of document review.
As for people telling me to get "any job," let me break it down for you - I either a) leave everything on my resume and don't get called back or b) take everything off my resume and don't get called back because I have a gap of 11 years (assuming I keep college on there). What the fuck was I doing for 11 years? Was I in prison? Was I in a mental hospital? What am I hiding? Do you see why they wouldn't want to even bother with me when they have Tom who has a very straightforward resume that says he worked at Best Buy and Coffee Bean?
Also LA is PRIME for people without degrees having way too many skills in a certain area - see: waiting tables. When I first got here, every single place said they wanted a year of experience to wait tables, some even to HOSTESS. That's because there's too many actors who have been doing it for 10 years and are really damn good at it to hire someone like me and have to train me and then watch me leave in six months when I get a "real" job. Bartenders always need 5+ years experience. I'm not shitting you guys. The most competitive industry out here is the service industry because people work in it for years before they move back home realizing they're never going to "be discovered."
I'm sorry you don't agree with my "lifestyle choices." I'm sorry I don't own property, or have a retirement account, or even a savings account. I'm sorry I don't fit the correct mold of what a 33-year-old should be doing. I'm sorry I bitch on Facebook. That doesn't mean I'm looking for your opinion of how I should live my life, I just need to vent. Or maybe someone would see it and be like "hey, my job has a part time opening, I can put in a good word" - THAT is helpful. Or "I'm sorry you're having a tough time, it'll be over soon."
Let me tell you something. My parents, despite all that I've needed them for way past the time I should have needed them, are PROUD of me. They tell me this. I tell them I'm a screw up and they tell me I'm not. My grandma is PROUD of me, and trust me, that woman would tell me if I was screwing up.
You know who matters? They matter. They know what I've been through and how hard I've tried at everything. They've seen my whole journey for 33 years and know EVERYTHING. They have the right to judge me because they have all the information - but they don't. They just love me. And a certain few special friends who have been at least understanding throughout this whole thing, you don't know how much I appreciate you.
But I'm unemployed. So all of the above go flying out the window and I'm officially a terrible person who is lazy, incompetent, untrustworthy, dishonest and doesn't deserve happiness of any kind until I can be a functioning member of society. Well guess what? That's not MY decision. Someone has to hire ME. Do I wish I could walk in to Barnes and Noble and say "Hey, I'm gonna start working here today, hope that's cool with you" and walk out with a check and hopefully a discount on books (duh)?? YES I DO. Can that happen? NOPE.
Since everyone seems to think I make terrible life decisions, let's go through them individually.
1) Going to law school
Never once did I regret this. Not even when I was trying to not be a lawyer. Law school gave me confidence, knowledge, and the ability to form logical and coherent arguments that have helped me immensely in the years since I graduated. Not only that but I made fabulous friends with whom I still keep in contact. It was an amazing experience regardless of what my potential career might be.
2) Moving to Kansas City
If anyone DOESN'T know about the toxic work environment I left when I quit the prosecutor's office in Texas and moved to Missouri then those people are not allowed to judge ANY PART of my life. And although I moved without a job, I got one within a few weeks, passed the bar, and was hired by my second prosecutor's office within three months.
3) Moving to LA
Here's where people get on my shit. "Oh, you shouldn't have moved to LA without a job." I left my job at the prosecutor's office in January, and I didn't move til July. Guess what I was doing all that time? JOB HUNTING. People aren't super willing to hire someone who can't come in for an interview the next day because they have to catch a plane. They also don't want to pay moving expenses, not that I ever expected that. But I also didn't expect that I would HAVE to move in order to be considered for jobs, which was something that I talked about with my parents at length and they agreed I had a better shot if I was local.
Do you know how many people move to LA without jobs every year? Probably more than any other city in the WORLD. And many of them don't even have degrees, let alone two.
I tried SO HARD to get a job here not being a lawyer. SO HARD. Hundreds of applications. No calls. I did film extra work when I could get it and attempted retail (but the way I was treated by my boss wasn't worth $10/hour and it cost nearly that much to get there from my apartment). When I got my document review jobs, I was angry they were in law, but I kept them because they paid money. The nature of said job is that it is NOT STEADY. However, comparing $30/hour for a few weeks a month versus $10-15 for a steady part time job is a no-brainer when it comes to how much money I could make, so I stuck with the less-reliable work that could pay my rent in one week.
4) Going back to school
At the time I saw no other option. I had stuck myself in a very specific corner of a very specific field and I had no experience doing ANYTHING else. No one would hire me. It took two years of looking for jobs before I realized I had to go back to school so I could get some skills and the career services office and networking potential I needed to get a job.
Regardless of whether or not I intend to do PR ever, grad school was a very necessary turning point in my life - I would never have been diagnosed with PTSD if I hadn't had panic attacks my second semester (thanks, accounting) and I wouldn't have been able to get on the right medication and therapy to finally figure out that it was not LAW that I was averse to, but the fact that I had been severely bullied at my first job so badly that it actually affected how I performed any job after that.
So going back to school was necessary for my diagnosis and subsequent recovery process. Despite my uncertainty, I still applied to HUNDREDS (yes, I kept some count) of marketing/PR jobs all up and down the West Coast. I didn't even limit myself to LA. I was being very open about moving, getting a new job, starting over...well that shit didn't happen.
When I was called in August of last year to work on a doc review project for $32 an hour, I jumped at it, knowing I could still apply for other things and leave if I got a real job.
5) Taking the bar
Ok guys, this is where I got my shit together. Getting my shit together means forming a plan, having a path and an idea of what I am going to do with myself, readying myself for potential jobs, studying my ass off (about as much as I did for Texas, which was a decent amount) for two months. This is where you cannot judge me anymore.
When I took the Texas bar, I was completely unemployed. I spent the whole time either studying or laying by my pool. 90% of the time I was studying for the California bar, I was employed full time. Yes, employed. So I studied AND worked AT THE SAME TIME. If that's not NOT LAZY, I don't know what is. People seem to forget the employed part because it coincided with the other big event in my life.
Now that the bar is over, I have to wait. I don't choose to wait, I HAVE TO. I won't know if I passed or failed until November 20th, and NO ONE will hire me before that. That is not an exaggeration. Because of how hard the CA bar is and the low pass rate, literally no one will hire me as an attorney until I have confirmation that I passed. I had friends in Texas who had a job immediately after the bar that just trusted they would pass. That doesn't happen here. Ever.
There are many many jobs out there that I am qualified for and can apply for once I pass the bar. It is not my fault that the graders take 4 months. It is also not my fault that the doc review job I had ended the week after I took the bar and they haven't had anything new since. I do not control the ebb and flow of document review.
As for people telling me to get "any job," let me break it down for you - I either a) leave everything on my resume and don't get called back or b) take everything off my resume and don't get called back because I have a gap of 11 years (assuming I keep college on there). What the fuck was I doing for 11 years? Was I in prison? Was I in a mental hospital? What am I hiding? Do you see why they wouldn't want to even bother with me when they have Tom who has a very straightforward resume that says he worked at Best Buy and Coffee Bean?
Also LA is PRIME for people without degrees having way too many skills in a certain area - see: waiting tables. When I first got here, every single place said they wanted a year of experience to wait tables, some even to HOSTESS. That's because there's too many actors who have been doing it for 10 years and are really damn good at it to hire someone like me and have to train me and then watch me leave in six months when I get a "real" job. Bartenders always need 5+ years experience. I'm not shitting you guys. The most competitive industry out here is the service industry because people work in it for years before they move back home realizing they're never going to "be discovered."
I'm sorry you don't agree with my "lifestyle choices." I'm sorry I don't own property, or have a retirement account, or even a savings account. I'm sorry I don't fit the correct mold of what a 33-year-old should be doing. I'm sorry I bitch on Facebook. That doesn't mean I'm looking for your opinion of how I should live my life, I just need to vent. Or maybe someone would see it and be like "hey, my job has a part time opening, I can put in a good word" - THAT is helpful. Or "I'm sorry you're having a tough time, it'll be over soon."
Let me tell you something. My parents, despite all that I've needed them for way past the time I should have needed them, are PROUD of me. They tell me this. I tell them I'm a screw up and they tell me I'm not. My grandma is PROUD of me, and trust me, that woman would tell me if I was screwing up.
You know who matters? They matter. They know what I've been through and how hard I've tried at everything. They've seen my whole journey for 33 years and know EVERYTHING. They have the right to judge me because they have all the information - but they don't. They just love me. And a certain few special friends who have been at least understanding throughout this whole thing, you don't know how much I appreciate you.
Sunday, August 30, 2015
IS IGNORANCE ACTUALLY BLISS WHEN IT COMES TO ONLINE MEDIA?
I was in line at Whole Foods today when I did something I hadn't done in a long time - something I used to do nearly every time I was at the grocery store. I picked up a physical copy of Los Angeles Magazine and tossed it in with my hummus, crunchy hippie bread and sliced mangoes. I just saw my secret best friend and life idol Mindy Kaling on the cover and decided at least one article of the many needed to be read.
Since the "dawn" of new media, I've always kept with the old ways. I still read physical books, would watch TV news programs when I had cable and always enjoyed a lighthearted beach read with Cosmopolitan or Glamour. When I graduated from undergrad in 2004, Facebook hadn't yet been opened to my school (the University of Texas) for more than perhaps a month, and the new "trends" talked about in my advertising classes were that of movie theater advertisements and even commercial text messages. Even these ideas were somewhat offensive to me - was nothing sacred? Would I be sold something at every turn in a few years? It's actually worse than what I imagined.
While I'm not bombarded by branded toilet paper or receiving unsolicited text messages from car companies, the new way of getting information really and truly is driving me crazy. I was worried about advertisements, but I had no idea what I was going to be dealing with was the unfortunate access to all humanity - including the racist, idiotic, uneducated and infuriating masses to which I had never been exposed.
I used to enjoy reading the news online. It would be one of the first things I did when I arrived at work or on a break during law school, to catch me up on current events and get a general glance at what was happening in the world in case someone decided to pull out some political trivia at lunch and I didn't want to look like a giant moron.
Now I hate it. I haven't gone to the homepage of an online news site in months, likely because everything is already splashed across Facebook for the world to see. I don't get to pick and choose articles by title; I cannot avoid the pictures and headlines that follow the cute video of my friend's new puppy. The worst part isn't even the article, it's the COMMENTS.
I moved to LA to be around like-minded people. So far, it's been working out well with regard to actual physical humans in my proximity. Sadly, however, the bigoted, intolerant embarrassments of humanity I sought to escape by hiding out in a liberal haven have been able to follow me - through the glorious world of the internet.
A typical "morning" (in quotes because during phases of unemployment, the time I wake up is rarely in the actual morning) for me starts with checking my email (jobs) and checking Facebook (friends who live as far away as Abu Dhabi and Singapore). Unfortunately, after a mere twenty minutes of browsing, I'm already stark raving mad by the time I get up to brush my teeth. In between the vacation photos and life updates, I sometimes stop to read articles that look interesting. This is a giant, GIANT mistake.
No matter what news site it comes from or what the topic is, inevitably the comments section will make me hate humanity. Since they're hidden behind the protective wall of the internet, the racists, homophobes, gun nuts, right-wing crazies, Jesus freaks and general trolls start spouting off inane bullshit that is not only horrifying but generally has the spelling and sentence structure of a seven-year-old's book report. I try so hard to avoid the comments, but it's like a train wreck that sucks me in. By the time I put my phone down and actually step out of bed, I'm infuriated and pretty much hate the world.
Yes, I may have an anger management problem. Yes, I probably shouldn't worry about what other idiots are posting on the internet. Does that help me stop? Nope, sure doesn't - because it's THERE. I generally leave most comments sections grateful for LA County gun laws because I'm milliseconds away from buying an assault rifle and killing most of the people I just saw post inane shit on the internet.
So when I sat on my couch this evening and picked up my shiny new LA Magazine with lovely Miss Mindy on the cover, I was in for a surprise. One of the first articles I read was about the airBNB and rental crisis in LA, with the article mentioning differing viewpoints. I felt myself getting anxious and didn't understand why. When I finished the article and turned the page, I felt an odd sense of relief. I just read an article about a somewhat controversial subject and I didn't have to hear ANYONE ELSE'S OPINION. It was a magnificent feeling. The next page wasn't filled with angry, unsolicited comments that strayed so far off-topic that you forgot what the article was about, it was, in fact, a lovely fashion spread of clothing and accessories that each individually cost more than my rent. But in comparison to the feeling I got whenever I finished an online article and even just glanced at the comments section, I will happily indulge the editors' obscenely priced idea of fashion - especially because it's also not followed by a diatribe from readers about body image and the lack of plus-sized models.
Everyone's entitled to an opinion, I just strongly prefer not to hear it.
Since the "dawn" of new media, I've always kept with the old ways. I still read physical books, would watch TV news programs when I had cable and always enjoyed a lighthearted beach read with Cosmopolitan or Glamour. When I graduated from undergrad in 2004, Facebook hadn't yet been opened to my school (the University of Texas) for more than perhaps a month, and the new "trends" talked about in my advertising classes were that of movie theater advertisements and even commercial text messages. Even these ideas were somewhat offensive to me - was nothing sacred? Would I be sold something at every turn in a few years? It's actually worse than what I imagined.
While I'm not bombarded by branded toilet paper or receiving unsolicited text messages from car companies, the new way of getting information really and truly is driving me crazy. I was worried about advertisements, but I had no idea what I was going to be dealing with was the unfortunate access to all humanity - including the racist, idiotic, uneducated and infuriating masses to which I had never been exposed.
I used to enjoy reading the news online. It would be one of the first things I did when I arrived at work or on a break during law school, to catch me up on current events and get a general glance at what was happening in the world in case someone decided to pull out some political trivia at lunch and I didn't want to look like a giant moron.
Now I hate it. I haven't gone to the homepage of an online news site in months, likely because everything is already splashed across Facebook for the world to see. I don't get to pick and choose articles by title; I cannot avoid the pictures and headlines that follow the cute video of my friend's new puppy. The worst part isn't even the article, it's the COMMENTS.
I moved to LA to be around like-minded people. So far, it's been working out well with regard to actual physical humans in my proximity. Sadly, however, the bigoted, intolerant embarrassments of humanity I sought to escape by hiding out in a liberal haven have been able to follow me - through the glorious world of the internet.
A typical "morning" (in quotes because during phases of unemployment, the time I wake up is rarely in the actual morning) for me starts with checking my email (jobs) and checking Facebook (friends who live as far away as Abu Dhabi and Singapore). Unfortunately, after a mere twenty minutes of browsing, I'm already stark raving mad by the time I get up to brush my teeth. In between the vacation photos and life updates, I sometimes stop to read articles that look interesting. This is a giant, GIANT mistake.
No matter what news site it comes from or what the topic is, inevitably the comments section will make me hate humanity. Since they're hidden behind the protective wall of the internet, the racists, homophobes, gun nuts, right-wing crazies, Jesus freaks and general trolls start spouting off inane bullshit that is not only horrifying but generally has the spelling and sentence structure of a seven-year-old's book report. I try so hard to avoid the comments, but it's like a train wreck that sucks me in. By the time I put my phone down and actually step out of bed, I'm infuriated and pretty much hate the world.
Yes, I may have an anger management problem. Yes, I probably shouldn't worry about what other idiots are posting on the internet. Does that help me stop? Nope, sure doesn't - because it's THERE. I generally leave most comments sections grateful for LA County gun laws because I'm milliseconds away from buying an assault rifle and killing most of the people I just saw post inane shit on the internet.
So when I sat on my couch this evening and picked up my shiny new LA Magazine with lovely Miss Mindy on the cover, I was in for a surprise. One of the first articles I read was about the airBNB and rental crisis in LA, with the article mentioning differing viewpoints. I felt myself getting anxious and didn't understand why. When I finished the article and turned the page, I felt an odd sense of relief. I just read an article about a somewhat controversial subject and I didn't have to hear ANYONE ELSE'S OPINION. It was a magnificent feeling. The next page wasn't filled with angry, unsolicited comments that strayed so far off-topic that you forgot what the article was about, it was, in fact, a lovely fashion spread of clothing and accessories that each individually cost more than my rent. But in comparison to the feeling I got whenever I finished an online article and even just glanced at the comments section, I will happily indulge the editors' obscenely priced idea of fashion - especially because it's also not followed by a diatribe from readers about body image and the lack of plus-sized models.
Everyone's entitled to an opinion, I just strongly prefer not to hear it.
Monday, August 10, 2015
MY SPARK OF MADNESS
A year ago I was sitting in a windowless room with four other people staring at a computer in a bored daze when one of my coworkers announced "Robin Williams is dead."
I refused to believe it so immediately I began my own internet search for news articles, which had just begun popping up without having a complete story to report. I read all of them. Things became more clear, the press started getting more information, and I had to suddenly come to grips with the fact that my lifelong idol had taken his own life.
About an hour later, it was reasonable to believe someone was leaving for lunch, so I silently picked up my things and left. I drove home from Century City over the hills back to Sherman Oaks, and as I began the descent with the view of the Valley in front of me, something came on the radio that just made me lose it. I don't remember what it was. I got home and just cried.
I ended up emailing my boss and saying I had family issues which was why I left, because who's going to actually believe someone needs to go home when they find out a celebrity has died? I couldn't cry in public, and I took the next day off too.
My love for Robin Williams can be summed up in the post I wrote once I put myself together enough to form complete sentences (When You Lose Your Hero). I could rewrite the same thing over and over, or I could show how my life has changed because of that day.
Last year, I had graduated from USC with a master's in PR, expecting to get a job in marketing or communications. I had been unemployed for over two months while applying to (literally) over 100 jobs in multiple locations on the West Coast. I was lonely, miserable, completely broke, and finally ended up taking a temp legal job that had started the week before this happened solely to make ends meet.
I began questioning what I really wanted to do with my life. I had wanted to be on Saturday Night Live ever since I was way too young to be watching it, and my only creative outlet was this blog. I'd been so miserable for the past few months that I couldn't even find anything funny to write about. I knew something needed to change. I considered going to Korea to teach English, which was my way of running to a fantasy world I saw in Kdramas and where I didn't have the same problems I had at home. I'd move there and become someone else. Or I could stay here and become the real me.
By Christmas, I had decided to start taking improv classes at Second City, a place I'd heard about since my youth which was basically the "breeding ground" for all of SNL's most beloved - Aykroyd, Belushi, Gilda Radner, Martin Short, Chris Farley, Mike Meyers, Tina Fey - the list is as long as this post. It'd always been something I wanted to try, but I never really thought of actually doing it until last year.
Now, eight months later I just finished my first class in the Second City Conservatory, a program that you have to audition to get into, and am so much happier than I was. Not only have I found something I love to do, but I found a place I can be myself - every last weird face, noise, curse word or unicorn reference I have in me. And I've found there are people like me in the same way. We're like the Island of Misfit Toys, and we're all perfect for one another. My mom calls it "group therapy" because I'm always so happy on the days I go to improv class.
I also just took the California bar exam, but not for the reason one might think. I didn't "re-find my passion for the law," I just realized that my passion (improv) requires money and the best way to make it was doing something I was already experienced in and qualified to do. So instead of a $40k marketing job, I need a decent-paying legal job that can fund my interests, unless (or until) my interests can fund themselves.
Last December I got a frighteningly gigantic tattoo that I had wanted ever since Robin died. A quote I'd seen in many of the tributes to him - "You're only given a little spark of madness. You musn't lose it." I was given that madness, and I hadn't used it in years. He had sparked it in me as a child, and I knew I had to step up to the plate and turn my life into what I had always wanted for myself. Even though I had figured out I wanted the tattoo shortly after he died, I knew I couldn't get it before I was ready or I'd cry through the whole thing. One night in December as I drove home, I just stopped in to the tattoo shop I'd researched, alone, and had it done. A couple of the artists talked about him when they walked by and saw what I was getting. The big, burly guy getting something added to his body of art (literally) even wanted to see it. The whole place kinda changed tone for a second as I looked at the finished product. It appeared that Robin Williams really did touch everyone in some way.
Sometimes it takes a tragedy for you to realize what's important. A job is a job, and it's there to make money - if you love it, great, you're lucky - but if you don't, you can still do what you want to do and find a job that can provide the resources to continue to follow your dream. I couldn't let what Robin had made me dream of doing just fall away in the background while I tried to look for meaning in a "real job." I realigned my priorities and, despite still being broke, I'm happier than I have been in years. I belong to something. I'm finally being me.
RIP to my hero.
I refused to believe it so immediately I began my own internet search for news articles, which had just begun popping up without having a complete story to report. I read all of them. Things became more clear, the press started getting more information, and I had to suddenly come to grips with the fact that my lifelong idol had taken his own life.
About an hour later, it was reasonable to believe someone was leaving for lunch, so I silently picked up my things and left. I drove home from Century City over the hills back to Sherman Oaks, and as I began the descent with the view of the Valley in front of me, something came on the radio that just made me lose it. I don't remember what it was. I got home and just cried.
I ended up emailing my boss and saying I had family issues which was why I left, because who's going to actually believe someone needs to go home when they find out a celebrity has died? I couldn't cry in public, and I took the next day off too.
My love for Robin Williams can be summed up in the post I wrote once I put myself together enough to form complete sentences (When You Lose Your Hero). I could rewrite the same thing over and over, or I could show how my life has changed because of that day.
Last year, I had graduated from USC with a master's in PR, expecting to get a job in marketing or communications. I had been unemployed for over two months while applying to (literally) over 100 jobs in multiple locations on the West Coast. I was lonely, miserable, completely broke, and finally ended up taking a temp legal job that had started the week before this happened solely to make ends meet.
I began questioning what I really wanted to do with my life. I had wanted to be on Saturday Night Live ever since I was way too young to be watching it, and my only creative outlet was this blog. I'd been so miserable for the past few months that I couldn't even find anything funny to write about. I knew something needed to change. I considered going to Korea to teach English, which was my way of running to a fantasy world I saw in Kdramas and where I didn't have the same problems I had at home. I'd move there and become someone else. Or I could stay here and become the real me.
By Christmas, I had decided to start taking improv classes at Second City, a place I'd heard about since my youth which was basically the "breeding ground" for all of SNL's most beloved - Aykroyd, Belushi, Gilda Radner, Martin Short, Chris Farley, Mike Meyers, Tina Fey - the list is as long as this post. It'd always been something I wanted to try, but I never really thought of actually doing it until last year.
Now, eight months later I just finished my first class in the Second City Conservatory, a program that you have to audition to get into, and am so much happier than I was. Not only have I found something I love to do, but I found a place I can be myself - every last weird face, noise, curse word or unicorn reference I have in me. And I've found there are people like me in the same way. We're like the Island of Misfit Toys, and we're all perfect for one another. My mom calls it "group therapy" because I'm always so happy on the days I go to improv class.
I also just took the California bar exam, but not for the reason one might think. I didn't "re-find my passion for the law," I just realized that my passion (improv) requires money and the best way to make it was doing something I was already experienced in and qualified to do. So instead of a $40k marketing job, I need a decent-paying legal job that can fund my interests, unless (or until) my interests can fund themselves.
Last December I got a frighteningly gigantic tattoo that I had wanted ever since Robin died. A quote I'd seen in many of the tributes to him - "You're only given a little spark of madness. You musn't lose it." I was given that madness, and I hadn't used it in years. He had sparked it in me as a child, and I knew I had to step up to the plate and turn my life into what I had always wanted for myself. Even though I had figured out I wanted the tattoo shortly after he died, I knew I couldn't get it before I was ready or I'd cry through the whole thing. One night in December as I drove home, I just stopped in to the tattoo shop I'd researched, alone, and had it done. A couple of the artists talked about him when they walked by and saw what I was getting. The big, burly guy getting something added to his body of art (literally) even wanted to see it. The whole place kinda changed tone for a second as I looked at the finished product. It appeared that Robin Williams really did touch everyone in some way.
Sometimes it takes a tragedy for you to realize what's important. A job is a job, and it's there to make money - if you love it, great, you're lucky - but if you don't, you can still do what you want to do and find a job that can provide the resources to continue to follow your dream. I couldn't let what Robin had made me dream of doing just fall away in the background while I tried to look for meaning in a "real job." I realigned my priorities and, despite still being broke, I'm happier than I have been in years. I belong to something. I'm finally being me.
Thursday, August 6, 2015
HELLO, I'M A 33-YEAR-OLD WOMAN-CHILD
It occurs to me on various occasions that I'm an adult. When my parents were my age, they already had been married for five years, owned a home, and made the decision to stop having fun and start having kids. Most of my friends have "real jobs" and "disposable income" and have "paid a lot on their student loans." I sit on the floor of a studio apartment eating popsicles and watching XFiles reruns. I am not a successful adult.
Really the only people that consider me an adult are members of the government (dude, 18? 21? No WAY those people are adults), children, criminal defendants, theme parks (I do NOT need to pay that much more for a ticket, thank you) and baseball parks that refuse to give me the "kid's" promotion because I'm "over 15."
I enjoy studying for the bar exam because it's like school and not work. I have had real work, for like two and a half years, and it was weird.
I considered myself an actress playing a part. Every morning I would wake up and put on my lawyer costume (a suit and heels), drive to the courthouse, pretend I was a mature professional, interact with other adults awkwardly and eventually get to go back home and put on yoga pants and an ancient sorority tshirt while watching Family Guy.
When I was a prosecutor, I never let the real me come out. The real me is not "appropriate for a courtroom" or really any place that doesn't serve alcohol. I blame the fact that I haven't gotten a "real job" (after trying to not be a lawyer) because people can see I'm putting on an act in the interview. I really want to talk about cat videos and say "fuck" a lot, but I have to pretend that I'm "able to control myself" and "won't embarrass the company." Instead of the real me, they get nervous, formulaic me so I won't scare the everloving shit out of them and thus am relegated to the pile of other nervous, boring people.
When I'm unemployed, other than trying actively to remedy that situation, I have no idea what to do with myself. I'm seriously like a child, but I live 1500 miles away from my parents, all alone, and have managed to keep both myself and my cats alive (and two plants!).
Seriously, how do I do it?
I have called my parents to ask how to bake a potato. MORE THAN ONCE, BECAUSE I FORGOT. It's not like a cake, potatoes don't come with a little sticker that tells me how long to bake it, it's not MY fault.
I've left my debit card in ATMs not once, but TWICE. One of those times was yesterday, and I had to wait until today for them to get it out of the safe for me. Because of that, I did not have ONE DOLLAR to see a required show at Second City. I WALKED AROUND MY COMPLEX FOR 15 MINUTES LOOKING FOR PEOPLE'S DROPPED COINS. I AM NOT SHITTING YOU. When that failed, I took a nap, because I'm an adult.
I do my laundry about once a month because I wait until I have no pants left. Then for the next week, I draw my outfits from the pile of clean laundry on the floor of my apartment because I HATE putting it away because I DON'T HAVE ENOUGH DRAWERS.
Sometimes I open my fridge and all I have is an egg, some water, maybe some hummus and various condiments. The grocery store is likely still open, but because I hate interacting with people and going to places where I have to push around a large cart down small aisles and generally get anxious, I go to In N Out. I'm actually angry that there aren't more types of food that have drive thru windows. CHIPOTLE I'M LOOKING AT YOU.
I may or may not use Hello Kitty stickers to mark the times I use the gym on my calendar. I may or may not have a LOT of unused Hello Kitty stickers.
If it was feasible and not painfully expensive and unhealthy, I would either microwave or eat out for every meal.
No matter how long I have to do it, I can never wake up before 10am without snoozing my alarm 4 times. Except for the bar exam, but a) I had adrenaline working for me and b) I didn't have to wear real pants.
I made my bed today for the first time in months, only to get under the covers and take a nap ten minutes later.
I bought a coloring book (IT SAYS IT'S FOR ADULTS, OKAY?) and markers at Barnes and Noble and now I color while I watch crime shows on Netflix.
I only want a job so I can make enough money to take vacations from said job.
I have to text my friends to ask them what kind of accessories I should wear with a certain outfit because I was not given that part of a female's brain. I know something is important or formal if I'm not allowed to wear flip flops. I only learned how to dry my hair and brush it at the same time four years ago. I own and wear a shirt that features a cat eating noodles with chopsticks. CATS DON'T EVEN HAVE FINGERS.
Yet somehow, some way I'm not 1) dead, 2) in jail, 3) on probation, 4) living in my parents' basement, 5) 19.
I feel like I should finish this by asking how to "be an adult" but honestly, I can fake it when I need to and being a grown up looks SUPER lame. And by that I mean being a workaholic who has no time to enjoy herself and too many responsibilities (children) so that life just becomes the same thing, day in and day out. But I also don't want to be a 23-year-old and expected to use terms like "on fleek" or "bae" and not be taken seriously as a person by anyone. I guess it's nice to have an on/off switch - I just prefer my adult switch to be off.
Really the only people that consider me an adult are members of the government (dude, 18? 21? No WAY those people are adults), children, criminal defendants, theme parks (I do NOT need to pay that much more for a ticket, thank you) and baseball parks that refuse to give me the "kid's" promotion because I'm "over 15."
I enjoy studying for the bar exam because it's like school and not work. I have had real work, for like two and a half years, and it was weird.
I considered myself an actress playing a part. Every morning I would wake up and put on my lawyer costume (a suit and heels), drive to the courthouse, pretend I was a mature professional, interact with other adults awkwardly and eventually get to go back home and put on yoga pants and an ancient sorority tshirt while watching Family Guy.
When I was a prosecutor, I never let the real me come out. The real me is not "appropriate for a courtroom" or really any place that doesn't serve alcohol. I blame the fact that I haven't gotten a "real job" (after trying to not be a lawyer) because people can see I'm putting on an act in the interview. I really want to talk about cat videos and say "fuck" a lot, but I have to pretend that I'm "able to control myself" and "won't embarrass the company." Instead of the real me, they get nervous, formulaic me so I won't scare the everloving shit out of them and thus am relegated to the pile of other nervous, boring people.
When I'm unemployed, other than trying actively to remedy that situation, I have no idea what to do with myself. I'm seriously like a child, but I live 1500 miles away from my parents, all alone, and have managed to keep both myself and my cats alive (and two plants!).
Seriously, how do I do it?
I have called my parents to ask how to bake a potato. MORE THAN ONCE, BECAUSE I FORGOT. It's not like a cake, potatoes don't come with a little sticker that tells me how long to bake it, it's not MY fault.
I've left my debit card in ATMs not once, but TWICE. One of those times was yesterday, and I had to wait until today for them to get it out of the safe for me. Because of that, I did not have ONE DOLLAR to see a required show at Second City. I WALKED AROUND MY COMPLEX FOR 15 MINUTES LOOKING FOR PEOPLE'S DROPPED COINS. I AM NOT SHITTING YOU. When that failed, I took a nap, because I'm an adult.
I do my laundry about once a month because I wait until I have no pants left. Then for the next week, I draw my outfits from the pile of clean laundry on the floor of my apartment because I HATE putting it away because I DON'T HAVE ENOUGH DRAWERS.
Sometimes I open my fridge and all I have is an egg, some water, maybe some hummus and various condiments. The grocery store is likely still open, but because I hate interacting with people and going to places where I have to push around a large cart down small aisles and generally get anxious, I go to In N Out. I'm actually angry that there aren't more types of food that have drive thru windows. CHIPOTLE I'M LOOKING AT YOU.
I may or may not use Hello Kitty stickers to mark the times I use the gym on my calendar. I may or may not have a LOT of unused Hello Kitty stickers.
If it was feasible and not painfully expensive and unhealthy, I would either microwave or eat out for every meal.
No matter how long I have to do it, I can never wake up before 10am without snoozing my alarm 4 times. Except for the bar exam, but a) I had adrenaline working for me and b) I didn't have to wear real pants.
I made my bed today for the first time in months, only to get under the covers and take a nap ten minutes later.
I bought a coloring book (IT SAYS IT'S FOR ADULTS, OKAY?) and markers at Barnes and Noble and now I color while I watch crime shows on Netflix.
I only want a job so I can make enough money to take vacations from said job.
I have to text my friends to ask them what kind of accessories I should wear with a certain outfit because I was not given that part of a female's brain. I know something is important or formal if I'm not allowed to wear flip flops. I only learned how to dry my hair and brush it at the same time four years ago. I own and wear a shirt that features a cat eating noodles with chopsticks. CATS DON'T EVEN HAVE FINGERS.
Yet somehow, some way I'm not 1) dead, 2) in jail, 3) on probation, 4) living in my parents' basement, 5) 19.
I feel like I should finish this by asking how to "be an adult" but honestly, I can fake it when I need to and being a grown up looks SUPER lame. And by that I mean being a workaholic who has no time to enjoy herself and too many responsibilities (children) so that life just becomes the same thing, day in and day out. But I also don't want to be a 23-year-old and expected to use terms like "on fleek" or "bae" and not be taken seriously as a person by anyone. I guess it's nice to have an on/off switch - I just prefer my adult switch to be off.
Monday, July 13, 2015
EATING HEALTHY SUCKS BECAUSE...
It's not the food. Healthy food can be (and in the case of my meal plan, IS) good.
It's not feeling hungry all the time. I got over that in about two days, and honestly I'm perfectly satisfied with the amount of food I'm eating now.
It's not that I'm craving cookies. Ok, I WAS craving cookies, and I may or may not have eaten a couple (TWO but it was TWO DIFFERENT DAYS. ONE COOKIE EACH), but that craving has finally subsided as well.
It's not that I can't have fun at parties. I had a lovely time at a party on Friday, and I didn't stuff myself with food as I usually do when I drink booze (with diet Coke). People who know me know I don't even like booze that much so it's a great excuse NOT to drink.
It's because I. FUCKING. HATE. COOKING.
Before I started this diet/exercise plan, I didn't care for cooking. I found it a mere annoyance, but also realized sometimes it could be fun. I don't put baking in the same category as cooking - I used to love to bake and not particularly care to cook. Now I have an active (and growing) hatred of cooking. Why?
1. I have to cook EVERY DAY. The way the meal plan is structured, I always seem to be preparing something, whether it be multiple servings of lunch that I'll take to work or a dinner I'm going to eat right away. Even though I get 2-4 portions out of each cooking batch, IT SEEMS LIKE I AM NEVER NOT COOKING. JUST ONCE I'd like to heat something up in the goddamned microwave and sit on my couch and be eating within 2 minutes.
2. If I have to chop another fucking onion I'm going to throw myself in front of a bus. Every goddamned meal takes onions, AND I LIKE THEM but SWEET JESUS half my day is spent chopping them. Or bell peppers. Or bok choy. OR EVEN FRUIT. I'm developing carpal tunnel in my cutting hand. There's a reason I pay more for the pre-chopped broccoli and cauliflower - I just wish there was a pre-cut option for every goddamned fruit, vegetable, animal, meat substitute, or whatever else I have to eat. I will pay top dollar for you to come over and fucking cut all my produce for me.
3. IT'S TOO HOT. Maybe it's just me, but having the stove and the rice cooker and the crock pot and a curling iron and a mechanical cow and a flame thrower all on at once makes me sweat like a dirty old man. I have my AC on and it's 70 outside because my apartment has taken on the ambient temperature of whatever the fuck is on my stove.
When my meal plan says something like "Snack: apple and cashews" I get so fucking excited because there's no prep involved. I've never been excited about a goddamned apple before. Bake chicken? Fuck no, that shit's going in the crock pot, where I can leave it and go do something. That and I've never baked a piece of meat that didn't turn out too dry, undercooked or shitty in some other way.
Here's a list of things I like better than cooking:
studying civil procedure
cleaning the litter box
driving on the 405
going to the dentist
cleaning my apartment
waking up to go to work
not being able to eat cookies
looking for parking in West Hollywood
sitting next to a hobo on the train
having a hangnail
doing laundry
However, cooking still tops:
anything to do with needles
being around children
the existence of Justin Bieber
Country music
90% of the drivers in LA county
people with ironic handlebar moustaches
Arkansas
It's not feeling hungry all the time. I got over that in about two days, and honestly I'm perfectly satisfied with the amount of food I'm eating now.
It's not that I'm craving cookies. Ok, I WAS craving cookies, and I may or may not have eaten a couple (TWO but it was TWO DIFFERENT DAYS. ONE COOKIE EACH), but that craving has finally subsided as well.
It's not that I can't have fun at parties. I had a lovely time at a party on Friday, and I didn't stuff myself with food as I usually do when I drink booze (with diet Coke). People who know me know I don't even like booze that much so it's a great excuse NOT to drink.
It's because I. FUCKING. HATE. COOKING.
Before I started this diet/exercise plan, I didn't care for cooking. I found it a mere annoyance, but also realized sometimes it could be fun. I don't put baking in the same category as cooking - I used to love to bake and not particularly care to cook. Now I have an active (and growing) hatred of cooking. Why?
1. I have to cook EVERY DAY. The way the meal plan is structured, I always seem to be preparing something, whether it be multiple servings of lunch that I'll take to work or a dinner I'm going to eat right away. Even though I get 2-4 portions out of each cooking batch, IT SEEMS LIKE I AM NEVER NOT COOKING. JUST ONCE I'd like to heat something up in the goddamned microwave and sit on my couch and be eating within 2 minutes.
2. If I have to chop another fucking onion I'm going to throw myself in front of a bus. Every goddamned meal takes onions, AND I LIKE THEM but SWEET JESUS half my day is spent chopping them. Or bell peppers. Or bok choy. OR EVEN FRUIT. I'm developing carpal tunnel in my cutting hand. There's a reason I pay more for the pre-chopped broccoli and cauliflower - I just wish there was a pre-cut option for every goddamned fruit, vegetable, animal, meat substitute, or whatever else I have to eat. I will pay top dollar for you to come over and fucking cut all my produce for me.
3. IT'S TOO HOT. Maybe it's just me, but having the stove and the rice cooker and the crock pot and a curling iron and a mechanical cow and a flame thrower all on at once makes me sweat like a dirty old man. I have my AC on and it's 70 outside because my apartment has taken on the ambient temperature of whatever the fuck is on my stove.
When my meal plan says something like "Snack: apple and cashews" I get so fucking excited because there's no prep involved. I've never been excited about a goddamned apple before. Bake chicken? Fuck no, that shit's going in the crock pot, where I can leave it and go do something. That and I've never baked a piece of meat that didn't turn out too dry, undercooked or shitty in some other way.
Here's a list of things I like better than cooking:
studying civil procedure
cleaning the litter box
driving on the 405
going to the dentist
cleaning my apartment
waking up to go to work
not being able to eat cookies
looking for parking in West Hollywood
sitting next to a hobo on the train
having a hangnail
doing laundry
However, cooking still tops:
anything to do with needles
being around children
the existence of Justin Bieber
Country music
90% of the drivers in LA county
people with ironic handlebar moustaches
Arkansas
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