Ummm. So I thought about writing some bullshit about how people run off to college with the thought that their degree will get them everywhere in life and help them change the world and that no one sees themselves getting a job doing something completely menial and stupid after they graduate and blah blah blah. But I think one of my goals for this whole 'fucking up my life and doing a bunch of new shit with myself,' is to try not to be pretentious and convoluted for no fucking reason. Not build up some stupid bullshit story for the sake of making a pretty entry that follows some structural arc or whatever. Because let's face it--I'm not a very good writer. I'm sort of banking on being honest.
So, three things:
1. I got a job last week. Two, in fact. One is at a coffeeshop.
My boss told me I finally 'earned' a hat. Clearly, I'm very enthused.
The other is babysitting for a family on the Upper West Side.
The two girls I babysit, ages 5 and 6.
And there goes my sociology degree.
I thought about riding the unemployment wave for a little bit longer, especially since I had just enough money to live and couch surf for another month, but the idea of not having a job was too overwhelming, so I decided to send out a bunch of resumes and hopefully take on a part-time job. However, I'm just about the best interviewer/resume writer there is, and I had two jobs lined up in about three days. Hopefully they won't realize that I'm about 1,000 times better on paper than I am in person. Only just 500 times.
2. I may or may not have found an apartment. However, the apartment may or may not be the sketchiest apartment I've ever been to. After working three days in the coffeeshop, I happened to mention that I was looking for a place, and this dude named Terry said that he was looking for a third roommate. His place is in Bushwick, which is where I've been looking, so we agreed that I should come see the room. I go, I see it, and it's in sort of a shitty neighborhood, but the room is nice and his other roommate, Aaron, seems nice enough, and I think, "Ok, this could work for me." Then Terry goes,
"Have you ever heard of the Basement in Brooklyn?"
No, I say.
"It's this underground music venue that plays shows once every two weeks or so in a basement. Different acts and stuff, but a good vibe always." He then begins to drift ominously in front of a door near the back of the apartment that I assumed was a storage closet.
Ok, sounds cool...
"Well, the basement is our basement."
The somewhat sketchy, and by somewhat I mean totally, 'fake' bar.
He opens up the door, which leads down to a dimly-lit open space, with artwork and doodles all over the walls. In the corner, there's a drumset, amp, and microphone set up, and Terry continues to talk about all the different acts that have been in and out of the basement and how he makes a couple of extra bucks by bartending the gigs.
At first I mentally flipped the fuck out. The idea of weirdo musicians and their groupies hovering in and out of my apartment at all hours was not something I was looking for. Not to mention that I'm definitely that person on the subway who is making nasty faces at the douchebags who play their iPods just slightly too loud so that I hear their trashy Kesha songs, so having to listen to what I'm sure would be a string of God-awful local bands would drive me up a wall.
But then I gave it a think. And I thought, "Isn't this exactly what I've been looking for? Won't this apartment be filled with crazy adventures, new people, and fun stories?" After freaking out for about three minutes, I realized that I couldn't have had a better apartment situation land in my lap if I tried. So after sitting in their backyard, drinking some sort of strawberry concoction that Aaron made and planning with Terry to put up a white sheet so we can screen movies outside, I told the boys that I'd be down to live with them. All I have to do is sign the lease and I will no longer be homeless.
3. This is the bottle of wine I bought last night.
At least it's a Spanish wine. Or at least a blend of Spanish wines...
I finished about 3/4 of it yesterday. Didn't recork it, didn't refrigerate it, nothing. What am I doing with it now, at 6:00 pm on a Monday? Taking swigs from it, of course.
Sometimes I tell myself that now my life is super cool, but I'm pretty sure it's secretly the opposite of what is cool.
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