Seeing my gynecologist at the grocery store.

Despite my initial post-graduation plan of having a fantastic job lined up for me, I still have yet to find legitimate employment beyond my 35 hours a week at the YMCA ( Read more... )

"You know, Liz," he drunkenly slurs at ear-shattering decibals, "Most fathers would be disappointed if their first-born was a daughter."

"I would," interjects my uncle.

"But I'm not," my dad continues. "You're my shining star."

Once, or perhaps twice if he or she is feeling particularly insistant, [random deity] will grace me with a sign from above that I have completed my sentence, and my soul-crushing days at the YMCA are through.

Recently, I read an "article," or more accurately, a propaganda piece, with an ominous byline like "Monster.com," or some other irrelevant, ( Read more... )

If asked to envision what the 7th layer of hell would be, immediately, a vision of myself, with a forced smile and an ID scanner in hand, standing behind the Member Services Desk at the YMCA projects itself  upon my frontal lobe.

After 17 months of customer service hell, fake smiles, crying and generally being treated like shit, I think I finally ( Read more... )

Dear Dad,

You're welcome for the money that kept you out of jail the weekend of my birthday. Oh, it's okay, you don't have to say thank you. I know it was my savings and graduation money, but you obviously needed it more, especially since, and I don't want to toot my own horn here, but especially since I'll be making a whole $8.50 an hour at the ( Read more... )

I  think missing both of my classes on the first day of school will end up setting an appropriate tone for the remainder of the semester. God knows last semester wasn't enough to make me want to go back to spending quality time in the bathroom with my purple Lady Bics.

I've really wanted to get back into writing here, especially now that I don't do anything concerning writing creatively anymore, but I don't have the time or the energy. I did want to at least come back and write a recap of this miserable year, because there's so much fantastic material, but I think that material would be better suited for someone ( Read more... )

I got my first job Wednesday.  My first real public relations position, at a real organization, with business cards and a desk, and everything. My official title is "Public Relations Specialist," which sounds so fucking amazing, I can't even handle it.

Monday morning, I awoke grumbling as my phone alarm, snuggled up against my ear because I fell asleep with it clutched in my hand, blared into my eardrum. It was 7:15 a.m. on my first day off in 15 days (Is this illegal? Will someone please let me know?), and I was forced to get up at this ungodly hour because I've once again fell into the habit of ( Read more... )