People all over the world, join hands, start a love train, love train

Guess where I didn't want to join hands with anyone?
The Rock Island Metra train at 8:23 am yesterday morning.

Here begins Part One of the tale of my travels to my very first big girl job interview...

8:00 am: I arrive at 103rd street station 23 minutes early (thanks, dad). And yes, I did have my dad drive me, solely to save me the embarrassment of trying to parallel park Lenny in one of the residential areas. Trying to park that road sofa is truly impossible, which is why I usually just throw him into park wherever I please and pray the police will assume some meek 95 year old woman just misplaced her vehicle...

8:10: I mosey on over to The Coffee Shop (creative, I know), encountering the CUTEST little old man in a camel color suit. Slay me. I wanted to just pack him up into my bag and keep him safe forever. I also manage, in the 3 minutes, 30 seconds I was there to spill creamer all over the counter and burn the entire roof of my mouth with what was apparently lava flavored coffee.

8:15: Sitting on a bench in my skirt suit, accompanied by giant black "Jackie O" style sunglasses, listening to the "Evita" soundtrack (hey, you can take the girl out of the theater, but you can never take the theater/diva/natural inclination to stand on a balcony and sing to the invisible Argentinian masses out of the girl). I am anxiously awaiting the train, not out of excitement, but out of pure anxiety. I hate when trains approach the station because they are so incredibly loud and fast that I just panic, despite taking the train over 100 times in my life.

8:25: Two minutes late. Thanks a lot, Metra. I situate myself in a nice little seat, hang up my blazer to avoid wrinkles, and begin to thumb through a 9 month old Shape magazine I found in my night stand earlier that morning.

(Disclaimer: I often find that my life is very much akin to that fairly new MTV show "Quiet Library." For those of you who are not familiar, the premise of the show is to document the stamina of contestants in how long they can stay quiet while being asked to do hysterical tasks. It really is quite funny. Alas, my life is very much the same--being put in situations alone where I have to endure insane people/events around me and not be able to comment or laugh. )

8:27-8:50: The train conductor obviously lets all the oddballs at every stop know where I am sitting so they can surround me and subsequently make me blush for the entirety of the trip. My personal favorite:Oh yes, ladies and gentleman, that is not only a calf length tube sock and black pleather sneaker, but also a real nice diamond patterned pair of tights. This woman only comes in second place to the young lass who audibly sang the entirety of "Bohemian Rhapsody" in the seat in front of me, but I could not get it on video to post here. This woman, who I've affectionately named "Sneaks," also gets the gold medal because she a.) put on her tube sock and pleather gym shoes on the train and b.) removed said items from a Thomas the Train tote bag. Yes, I said it--THOMAS. THE. TRAIN. Where do these people come from? Wherever it is...I'm so glad they exist.


9:03--The train pulls into the station. Sneaks sprints off down the aisle, naturally, since she's clearly training to be the front runner in the Chicago marathon. The lead singer in the Queen cover band is asleep and murmuring to herself in her seat as I gather my things to embark upon Chicago.

I put on my sunglasses. I smooth my hair. I'm ready to take this city by storm...

Until I stepped clear out of my high heels in the train station, as if I had been raptured and taken to the heavens.

To be continued...

"Well let me bring you back to the subject, Pep's on the set"-Salt n' Peppa

As I sat last evening on a giant lime green school bus, in an electric green shirt (I'd like to call it a nice combination of neon and kelly hues), trying to stop my friend from setting me up with what seemed to be our 16 year old bus driver, I fully realized a potential fork in the road that is my destiny...

I could have a reality tv show.

Let me backtrack to how this came to be...

My eyes popped open yesterday morning, glistening with a mixture sheer delight, fear, and uncontrollable itching (this is not at all related to my emotional state--I had slept with my contacts in for the fourth night in a row and actually thought my eyeballs were going to actually spontaneously combust from dryness-induced friction)--for it 'twas the morning of one of my very best friend's bachelorette party. This party, without question, had the potential to be a night of glory. For one, twenty-two women in matching lime green t-shirts were going to board a LIME. GREEN. SCHOOL. BUS. Lime green, people. If that isn't a key ingredient in a hypothetical "You're going to embark on an excellent adventure" party fondue recipe (everyone loves something melted. Let's be real.), then I don't know what is. Secondly, the bride is my life twin:
We look alike, we think alike, and have gained the ability to have conversations through a series of hand motions and eye movements. It's an interesting talent. We are also in the process of writing a book of our trials and tribulations ( coming soon to a bookstore near you!).

ANYWAY, as I observed my surroundings while at this party, as I had just finished karaoking the B-52's smash hit "Loveshack" with the bride's brother (who happens to be my best friend), I very seriously realized how obvious it is that I need a television show. Mind you, at this point I was laying on the bow of a boat that was in the middle of the bar mulling over how wonderful it would be to be a.) a mermaid or b.) the lady who is carved into the front of pirate ships...

This got me thinking.

I am constantly surrounded by a myriad of characters who make up the plot of that is my life. I honestly cannot say I associate with anyone who is normal or mellow. Rather, my life looks like an episode of some sort of Real World/Celebrity Rehab/Golden Girls compilation. What better career could I possibly make for myself than making use of my lovely associates and creating what would obviously be a smash television hit. I'd like to have moments as memorable as Teresa flipping the table on Real Housewives of New Jersey, emotions as raw as Kimora Lee Simmons anger over not having enough gold-plated bangle bracelets in "Life in the Fab Lane," and enough popularity to keep gaining new versions of my same television programs a la Kirstie Alley's ability to star in an identical show with (going on) 4 different titles.

I fancy this show to be something along the lines of the movie "The Truman Show," where I am just constantly filmed. And lucky for me, with the rising popularity of the movie musical, I can sing showtunes to my heart's content (Get excited for that, readers. All Showtunes. All the time.).

My ultimate goal, from this, is to replace Chelsea Handler on E! when she decides she has had enough. I can slip right into those Jimmy Choo's of hers and harass comedians and celebrities alike.

If all else fails, I could fit into the show "Mob Wives." I've got a whole head of dark hair, quick wit, and enough bronzer to rival any of those women.

p.s. I have a job interview Tuesday...

"I'mma let you finish. But Beyonce had one of the best blog posts of all time." -Kanye West

I am using this post as a disclaimer for all future blog posts--if only Kanye's disclaimer had been a little better than "I'm really happy for you...BUT," the world might be a little different and Kanye wouldn't have to wear those sunglasses that look like prison bars--a prison named "Everyone Hates You."

I digress...

The following describes all of the odd linguistic tools I use in addition to subject material that will be completely moot if not explained:

-- : I enjoy the use of the over-extended hyphen (I'm sure it has a name. I haven't taken a grammatical class since 7th grade...talk about successfully avoiding that within my major). I think it makes everything infinitely better when I can extend a sentence beyond any reasonable length.

... : The same goes for ellipses. I could kiss the person who invented the ellipses. What a fantastic idea.

Lenny: Oh, Lenny. Where do I even begin. Lenny is the name of my beautiful 1998 maroon Buick LeSabre. He has velveteen seats, a broken tape player, and a new back window as a result of a baseball bat-smashing incident. If I was going to be stuck on a desert island, Lenny would be the one item I would bring with me. It truly is a love affair that will last a lifetime (or until I can afford a black, camel interior Toyota hybrid vehicle....sorry Lenny, but a girl has got to move up a la The Jeffersons.)

Violence: I have this tendency, when I think something is cute or endearing, to exude phrases such as "I'm going to punch you in the face" or "You're so cute I'm going to throw you down a flight of stairs." Completely inappropriate, painfully descriptive--that's my style.

Musical Theater: I'm sorry, but if you don't love a good showtune, you're barking up the wrong tree. Liza? perfect. Patti Lupone? Even better. The crazier they are, the more talented they are and the drunker they are, the more I like them.


So, my dear readers, whenever you are confused, please refer to this post and you will begin to understand the oddities of my mind.

"One small step for man, One giant step toward unemployment."-Neil Armstrong

Okay. So maybe Neil Armstrong did not exactly articulate that exact quote. But half of it is correct and I'm looking at that as a glass half full situation. Sue me for utilizing comedic effect.

So here I am, a four day old graduate being thrust out into the real world of job searching (and by searching, I mean finding 20 postings, applying for 20 positions, and hearing nothing back), bills, and gaining two new roommates (fondly known as Kathie and Kevin Sheehan-my parents). Here is what I've learned thus far:
-I majored in a subject that did not prepare me at all to find a career. Great.
-I am most looking forward to buying a suit to wear on interviews. I want to get an old giant cellphone to use to complete my look of "Early 90s woman on the go"-- complete with black nylons and gymshoes, of course.
-I don't have Bravo or the Lifetime Movie Network in my cable package at home. This is a huge incentive to find a job.

My greatest fear at this point in time is pulling up to a job interview in my lovely 1998 Buick, Lenny. For anyone who has been in my car, it is a delight, as it is a sofa on wheels. However, it also tends to give outsiders the impression that I am either a.) in a gang or b.) a 95 year old woman. Obviously, either impression will inevitably hinder my obtaining gainful employment.

This begins my dilemma--where do I find an employer who wants to hire a saavy, sarcastic, slightly awkward, seasoned writer with a panache for the outlandish and outstanding?


Maybe we'll find out. Or maybe I'll be selling hot dogs in the local park by my house.