And So It Is

And for an update. It's been 7 months. I suppose there's something to say.

Work is life. I 'd be lying if I said I didn't love it, though. I've never been one who can sit still anyway. Working 60+ hours a week--every week--has it's drawbacks, most certainly, but I'll take it over idleness. I also feel like my job provides me with a sense of purpose to an extent, and that is enjoyable as well. I've been promoted since my last post, which is insane to think about since I was only last "promoted" to management in September. I, with my team, of course, am essentially in charge of all activity in the Pittsburgh market for my company. It really is in every way my dream job. I could stick around in this for a long, long time--fate allowing.

Separating my personal and professional lives is a complete impossibility. Firstly, because my job takes so very much of my waking time, but also because much of my social life revolves around a group of work friends.

From Buku to Bukowski life has been pretty interesting. I have such little free time that it's always an adventure just deciding how to spend it. Fortunately working in promotions has so many social perks. Last night I found myself at a dub-step show in the South Side in relation to my job. So after the work was done I hung around for the show. The allusive Caleb Pass did not make an appearance, which put a damper on the night, but an unexpected run-in with a delightful acquaintance and making nice with the bar and security staff proved enjoyable, even fulfilling. The headliner, Buku, is also a friend of mine which is reason enough to stick around and show support (or just act remarkably exclusive being "in").

In the downtime, I have found comfort and familiarity with Shiraz, my cat, and Bukowski poetry. For my birthday, Ethan gifted me a collection, Burning in Water Drowning in Flame, which may very well be my favorite work I've been introduced to in many years--pre-graduate school, even. Humor me as I indulge myself. An excerpt:

the other night

an old worker

grey and blind

no longer useful

was retired

to the Outside.

speech! speech!

we demanded.

it was

hell, he said.

we laughed

all 4000 of us;

he had kept his

humor

to the end.

From "the workers."

In life there is much humor and much grief. Purposeful people are those who see the correlation. There is, no doubt, much sorrow that comes with understanding.

I had a dream last night. I had multiple sub-dermal piercings throughout my back, which were being removed by hand in some shop that resembled no place of business of which I've ever been familiar. I bled a little and became nauseated when they removed one from my lower side. It bothered me so much, that the mirroring one I opted to leave in. At this point, a man I knew began to tell a story from the corner of the room about hunting with his friends and his friends' dogs. Appearing from nowhere, as elements are wont to do in dreams, was a caged hound. The man removed the dog from the cage and proceeded to shove the barrel of a rifle into the animal's hindquarters. And fire.

I woke up so disturbed that even though last night's events kept me up past 3am and it was only the early waking moments of dawn, I could not return to rest.

Sometimes I wonder if the poetry is doing it to me. But then I remind myself that it pales in comparison to the cruelty of life.

I'm Thinking About Writing a Book

A lot of books, actually. I mean, I've got shit to say. And, like my mom says, if Sarah Palin can write a book, anything can. (And I do mean anything.)

Specifically, though, I think I'm going to write a book about my experience as a young, intelligent, American woman, graduating with a Master's degree and her quest to land an entry-level, 30K a year job (the meat of the book being all those part-timers in between). I mean, after my interview today I could potentially have 5 jobs. And still, still, find myself completely unable to take care of myself. I mean, I live a home (no rent, no utilities, and most of my food is paid for), and my dad pays for my health care and car insurance, and my mom has paid for all of my medical care over the past nearly year and a half (because insurance doesn't cover anything you actually need, unless you want to surrender yourself to a live of misery and lies).

Currently, my jobs are: spokes model, barista, test prep instructor, and Census taker. I'm thinking of applying to train to be a bar tender a few nights a week and am interviewing to be a "photo booth attendant" (I see potential for a lot of chapters to be written with that one) this afternoon. That would be six--SIX--jobs. Come on, America. You really need to do better than that.

Of course, I could just save up all of my material for one long, unpublishable memoir that no one would ever read. The story of my life could be edited to be very entertaining. I mean, let's be honest, shit happens to me that just doesn't happen to other people, especially when you throw Julie and Caleb stories into the mix. But then, as was already stated in the description of such a book, no one would be able to benefit from my insightful perception of our existence. Wouldn't want such a treasure going to waste, now would we? ;)

All in all, this job hunt has been an adventure all its own. And whether or not the story ever makes it way to the pages of a New York Times bestseller, it's certainly a tale to take note of, even if I'm the only one taking notes.

Ode to Soy Milk

Aight, here's the deal. There are two reasons to give up dairy, and here they are.

1. It's bad for you. No, really. It's bad for you. Think about it for a second. No animal (outside of humans) drinks milk after infancy. And no animal drinks the milk of another animal. The following stats vary depending on what study you read, but it is true that humans have a lot of trouble digesting dairy. Nearly 40% of Whites are lactose intolerant. And the percentage jumps significantly for Latinos/Hispanics, Africans/African Americans, and others identifying as Black, and Asians (with nearly 90% of Asians having difficulty digesting dairy products). People say, "Oh, it tastes good. I love milk. I can't live without cheese..." Well, yeah, I get it. We've been raised with it. It's in most prepared food and, especially when you consider butter, it's very difficult to avoid. But none of that is evidence to the contrary of my point. Oh, and that, Milk, it does a body good bull shit? The FDA has an interest in dairy farms doing well, not in our health. Now, I know that's going all conspiracy theory. But seriously, what's the last drug they approved that didn't cause strokes or destroy your liver? In a for-profit world you gotta take responsibility for your own health and education. Government organizations aren't going to do it for you. (No, conservatives, that's not to be taken out of context and used as an argument against universal health care. We can have that discussion at a later date.)Bottom line: soy for your health.

2. Animal cruelty is very bad. Now, if you're not interested in this, or don't care about this point I can't make you. But, if that is an issue to you, so much so that you're interested in not eating meat, then you really want to go vegan, not simply vegetarian. Animals are treated with horrific cruelty at mass dairy production facilities (and egg collection facilities--again, another conversation), just as bad as slaughter houses, and arguably worse being that in dairy production they're used over and over again. They are pumped so full of hormones that milk literally fills their entire bodies because there is no place for it to go. It seeps out of orifices including their eyes. Their utters are never disconnected from the machines that pump them, and they become open sores which ooze puss and infection. Not only is the pain excruciating, but this is also a bullet under point 1. It's unhealthy for the people who drink it. It is estimated that around 95% of milk on American grocery shelves has detectable traces of puss. Makes you think twice about the milk mustache.

So, for these reasons, soy milk and soy in general as a replacement for dairy is a healthy and morally responsible choice. Here's to soy milk. Woo hoo.

(P.S. Caleb I love you, and your rants. Seriously. I'm also just passionate about certain things.)

Vegas (cont.)

Now where were we? Ah, yes. Just about to get to the good part. (Oh, that's right, we haven't arrived at the good part yet.)

The record label party was a little long in coming. Which actually provided us with more good times and entertainment. Lisa and I split up and I accompanied The Fashion to a sophisticated little lounge area where I introduced t.b. to Framboise (and scolded him for having never tried it living so close to Belgium). We laughed more, and joked more. Sports Center was playing overhead which lead us to an interesting conversation about sports (American sports are either boring: baseball; or make no sense: football--but you don't use your feet). Of course, being from Europe, he was a huge 'soccer' fan. And when I asked him what his plans were upon returning to Denmark he said he had a court date.

"For what?"

"Punching a cop in the face." (At a football/soccer game)

He told me the story and I laughed like hell. Then I told him my near D.U.I. tale. And we toasted numerous times to various things.

Party time.





Everything you know about record label parties from movies, TV, E! True Hollywood Stories, and celebrity interviews is absolutely true. All of it.




They rented out a club in Mandalay Bay where there were scantly clad cocktail waitresses buzzing about fulfilling your every whim (and glass). Open bar, a burlesque routine, live band, dance floor, drug use...you name a sex, drugs, and rock & roll cliche, it was present and going strong.

We partied hardy throughout the night. I never slept on Friday and made it to the airport successfully with Lisa for our 12pm flight, which was, of course, packed, and we stand-by fliers were stuck until 2 when we made it out to Philly arriving near 10pm East Coast time. We bummed around the airport making desperate attempts to grab some sleep, but even with having slept only 3 hours the past two nights the atmosphere of that place was so terrible that neither of us could get in more than about 30 minutes without one of the 47 florescent lights, the deafening classical music, or CNN's Black in America programming bringing out much deserved rest to a screeching halt. (Phuk Philly)

Our flight departed at 7:30am. I got about 4 hours in before having to get up and get to Dara's Charity Benefit on Mt. Washington. It was a lovely evening, which I was surprisingly not that tired for. Caleb was a minor trouble maker which brought a smile to my face, and I got to see someone I hadn't seen in 5 years who I worked with at Jumonville.

But, really, nothing else can compare to Friday night. I mean, the past couple days I've practically been in withdrawal, just going through the motions because it's probably going to be a while before I can top that trip, specifically that night. So, for now, I'm off to clean up and ready myself for the start of a fall semester.

Here's to living every moment to the absolute fullest, taking risks and chances, never caring what another person thinks, and doing it "my way."