Ohh, baby, employ me. Employ me harder. Unh.
Maybe this is the wrong place for this posting, but I am a firm believer in the principle that propriety is inversely proportional to SLEEP-DEP.
So I moved up here from the Bay Area, for various reasons -- for one, you can pay the rent on a minimum wage job.
I completely ignored the UTTER IMPOSSIBILITY of finding a minimum wage job. Since they pay the rent, everyone wants one. I'm working on school, but it's going to be two more years at least before I get my bachelor's degree.
Then I will be qualified to be a bachelor.
I think draining the pasta by holding the pot upside down with the lid open just a crack already qualifies me as a bachelor. (I'm female.) And stirring everything with a fork, and eating chunks of semi-sweet baking chocolate at 4:30 in the morning.
To say nothing of all the dirty socks.
Well, it's not as if there are NO jobs. I could be a receptionist . . . I do type 75 WPM, and am better with computers than your average high school computer instructor . . .
. . . anyone have a time machine so I can go off and collect three years of experience? no? too bad.
Retail seems out of the question -- what happened to the high turnover rate? Did all the consumer electronics stores suddenly add free Valium to the health plan in order to retain their employees?
. . . (Maybe they're hiring the undead now. Look into that nice young salesman's eyes very closely. Shhh. Try VERY HARD not to smell of brain!)
I could go work in a factory. But then I'd have to have arm-strength, instead of repetitive stress injuries. I don't think they're re-growing limbs yet. Alas.
. . . besides, I'm a vegetarian, and I think trying to process fish would make me throw up.
I wouldn't mind being a stripper. I'm quite young, and I almost have the figure for it! But I don't intend to drive again for quite some time. Rolling down a sloping divider and onto the other side of the highway, barely missing a railing at 70 miles per hour, in a little plastic Kia will do that to you. (Hey, I didn't explode.) And without a car, it's a little difficult, no? Who's going to be waiting for me at the bus stop and how hard am I going to need to smash his face in? Maybe I should learn to shoot a gun . . .
. . . I'll gladly send naked pictures of myself to anyone who sends fifteen bucks. Heck, if ten of you promise to send fifteen bucks, I'll set up a website, and you can paypal for admission.
My missed connection: a job.