I am a chooser, therefore I am a beggar.

Craigs List.

Amusing, entertaining, useful. I have been searching for a serious, full-time job for quite some time. Now, as my internship winds down and I am staring summer right in the eye, I have decided to look at more short-term options. After looking at several reputable websites for a summer job and receiving multiple letters of rejection, I decided to turn to the black dragon, aka, Craig's List.

So much of it you know is fake or a scam, and any smart person can surely tell the difference. While I started looking "just for the craic," I soon found a job that didn't look too bad. A receptionist was need from 12:30-5:00 and needed to dress up. Details listed were answering phones, etc. Now, normally these postings don't say where they are located, for their own safety.

Curious, I wrote them an email asking if I could get more details, such as where it is located. A nice lady emailed me back, explaining the times needed once more, and that I would need to help direct guests, take phone calls, and arrange flowers. I thought this was odd and immediately looked to her signature tag on the email.

She was hiring for a receptionist in a funeral home. I was shocked, and then I thought, well that wouldn't be too bad, I suppose. Then I really considered it. Everyday, I would see a dead body, and I'm not even a doctor. Okay, so even if I could handle that, every day, I would be going to a funeral. Every day, surrounded by crying people.

I shared this with Joe, who had an identical reaction to me- shock, then reassurance that it wouldn't be "that bad," and that "people don't really die in the summer." My humorous anecdote is this: at Victoria's Secret, I also wear black, so there wouldn't be any need for new work clothes!

That was yesterday. Today I received another email from the lady saying that there was an overwhelming response to the position and that if I still wanted an interview, I ought to secure it now. To those reading who are maybe in a different generation, where jobs came more easily, I beg of you to take heed.

The moral of this story is that while the saying goes "beggars can't be choosers," I think that saying is inverted and also causal for me. I am a chooser, therefore I am a beggar. And if being choosy means I hold out for something that doesn't involve death, I think that's okay. I think.

"Girls" V. 2 Broke Girls

I recently was told I should check out the series "Girls" on HBO. Out of curiosity and faith in HBO I did check it out. However, I did so after viewing 2 Broke Girls: Season 1. I must say that while it is nearly an identical plot, the differences are vast.

You could say that a pessimist would watch HBO's "Girls," while an optimist would 'opt' (pun intended) for 2 Broke Girls.

Over at HBO, there are harrowing similarities to my life and the life of the character Hannah in "Girls." I, too, recently was dismissed from an internship- left with no place to go. Also an English major, also lacking what the world calls a "career path." Similar upbringings and similar parental styles, at that. I was haunted by the script; thinking who has been following my friends and I around all these months, writing down what we say? While it did have a freakishly accurate depiction of a recent graduate trying to make it in job land, there is no doubt it is intended for a voyeuristic audience. No girl, my age and in my position, would put herself through the agony of watching bad things happen to characters just like us. It's like waking up and immediately being forced to stare in the mirror. Everyone knows we'll spend hours in front of the mirror when we look good.

So, we wait until Sex and the City reruns come on after the show and live vicariously through them. Or, we flip the channel to CBS and take a second to laugh at ourselves with 2 Broke Girls.

While it sounds ridiculous, I know I am not the first girl I've heard say this of the show: "It gives me the courage to be poor." 2 Broke Girls is a caricature of our experience, something to laugh at, something to inspire us. At its core, it gently preaches the value of ambition, hard work, and that everything will be alright in the end. While over on HBO, we are watching girls complain about no longer receiving money from their parents, on CBS we are watching 2 girls attempting to make the most of it by working their day jobs, night jobs, and building a dream.

Sure, granted this is a cheese-tastic summary and my praise of a sitcom is a bit disproportionate and grandiose. I'm sure there is a professional TV critic out there who wrote this very review with the opinions reversed. Well, 50-year-old-man/woman, YOU are the voyeur. As for me, the "broke girl," the girl who just got let go from the internship, I'll stick to my optimistic sitcom and indulge escapism.

A tall drink of friendship

While my corporate job has done its best to destroy any modicum of creative spirit I maintain, I do think it is important to write creatively from time to time.

Today, the thought I simply cannot get out of my head is a tall, cold pint of Guinness. Namely, I want to sit with friends for hours at a quiet pub in Belfast and drink 4 or 5 pints of the black stuff. Talking about things like cooking, politics, and just anything that comes to our minds.

While in Belfast, I went out on a lot of dates. While I wasn't interested in them 99.9% of them, (with one very special exception) I think what I enjoyed was just sipping a Guinness that somebody else paid for, listening to, and telling stories with people I thought I'd never meet in my lifetime.

Today I'm craving not only the bitter-smooth taste of Guinness, but I'm craving the no-rush, casual intimacy of a pub. What I want is to sit with someone- an old friend or new- and say to each other, "I am in no rush. Let's talk, I know you've got interesting things to say."

I want to celebrate being excited about something. To talk about subjects not just because we are studying them, but because we care, and because we believe these things matter on this earth, no matter how big or small. I think that's really what I'm craving.

In the Mean Time

Did you know there are two definitions of the word "Intern?"

a. A student or a recent graduate undergoing supervised practical training.
b. To confine, especially in wartime.

Well, it may not be wartime, but I can definitel say I've been confined in the meantime. And oh, how the time is mean.

I do think that "career path" is a very luxurious term, and forgive me, a bit of BS. I've had little to no choice on my "career path," which has been less of a path and more like hitchhiking. Not to be dramatic (but hey, I'm blogging, so why not?) but this internship has left me on the sketchy outskirts of town, clutching my bag as the bus comes to a stop saying "oh...no..."

I've listened to this poem a hundred times before, just wanted to make a record of it here so I never forget about it. If you haven't heard Bob Dylan's poem about Woody Guthrie, and you've ever struggled, ever, you'll be happy that you did.