Let's play a game of catch....up.

So I'm a little behind on my blogging...my apologies. I refuse to be one of those people who writes just to write something--no one wants to hear me ramble. I don't even want to hear myself ramble--it wouldn't make any sense and I'd talk about nonsensical issues and happenings and frankly, my life is not even that interesting to have intriguing happenstances...

See. Rambling. Yikes.

Let us begin.

Ta-Da! I got an internship!

I have acquired a Marketing/Public Relations internship for an interior design firm in downtown Chicago. Exciting, right? I know. Everyday I take the train down and walk all the way to my little job.....which is unpaid.

*Sigh*

These are my thoughts:

1.) I am so lucky to have gotten an internship, mainly since my resume is not quite up to par for the field I am interested in going into. And truly, it is a great internship. I have the most wonderful and pleasant boss in the world and I just love her. Seriously.

2.) Let's pretend this is one of those adventure stories where you get to pick your own ending. C'mon. It'll be fun.

Do you know what it's like to spend 8 hours working for free? If you do, read option b. If not, read option a.

a.) Congratulations. You have always been paid for every job you have ever taken. Clearly, the universe has taken a liking to you and bequeathed upon you frankincense and myrrh.

b.) It makes you want to curl up under your little desk and have a quick weep session. You are constantly budgeting the little money that you have leftover from college to stretch out as long as possible. You are, essentially, an indentured servant.

Part of me has actually considered trying to barter with the Metra conductors about a discounted ten- ride pass. For instance, if I brought Ronald (my favorite conductor) a hazelnut turbo boost from Dunkin Donuts, maybe he'll give me a ten-ride for half the price. Or...he'll kick me off the train for trying to barter with him like a pirate.

You win some you lose some.

I could not even begin to imagine what it would be like to have an unpaid internship that you HATED. Luckily, I love mine.

"So what are you doing for income?" you may be asking me, looking over the top of your spectacles with a condescending glare.

I'm babysitting. Yes, that's right folks, I have reverted back to my 7th grade self and am babysitting for extra dough. Unfortunately, babysitting stipends lasted a lot longer when your only purchases were slushies and candles from the Icing (why I ever thought I needed 40 blue glitter candles when I was 12 is bewildering to my present self).

It gets worse.

The following is an actual conversation I had with my best friend:

(While ordering at Aurelio's)

Cashier: "That'll be $18.27."

Me (opening wallet): "I've got it. It's my treat."

BFF: "But Mol...That's all your babysitting money."

(silent pause)

BFF: "Oh god. That sounded like we were in high school again."

Why did that sound like we were in high school again? Because I practically am. I'm essentially volunteering and babysitting. All I need is my khaki skirt, black Marist polo, and Doc Marten's and I am all set.

Truth be told, I could go for a Marist chicken sandwich and a tray of fries....

"But I learned that there's a certain character that can be built from embarrassing yourself endlessly."-Christian Bale

Christian Bale would know what it's like to embarrass himself. I believe that what he gained from his freak-out heard round the world is the type of character described as "I'm-never-going-to-get-hired-again-because-I'm-crazy-so-I'm-going-to-laugh-it-off-and-not-threaten-the-lives-of-anymore-production-staff."

I, also, am embarrassing (in a much less threatening way)

I shall continue my travels to my very first job interview...now. Two weeks later. I'm typically very efficient (great information for any interested employers who want to give me a job *wink wink* *nudge nudge* *pleasesomeonehireme*), but I've been quite busy laying outside getting sun poisoning and, as a result, am now confined to my couch so I do not actually get 3rd degree burns all over my body *sigh*.

Part Deux--also known as, "I am unable to live life normally"

9:04 am--I put my shoes back on. At this point, my face is literally aflame with embarrassment. Who, literally, walks out of their shoes in front of an entire train station? Me. The answer, for any odd happenstance that one could never think of happening, will always happen to me. Talk about amateur hour.

9:10 am--I embark upon the front of LaSalle Street Station, full of hopes and wishes and a plea to successfully stay in my shoes. I begin walking toward the red line, which is where the second moment of inner-mortification begins...

(Before I get into this, let me explain one small detail. I have grown up in Chicago my entire life. Not a suburb of Chicago, not an extended stay in Chicago, but actually within city limits. This being said, it is unbelievable that after living here for 21.75 years, I have experienced none of my city. For example:

I have never been to the air & water show.
I have never been to the Thanksgiving or St. Patrick's Day parades (mainly because I was previously devoted to the southside parade, R.I.P.)
I have never gone to the Field Museum.
I have never "Biked the Drive" or taken a boat ride on the river.

I blame all of this on my parents (sorry, Mom), who constantly think I am going to be kidnapped everywhere I go. )

How does this tie in to my journey? My unintentional obliviousness to my home city also explains why I don't know how to navigate public transportation. What I'm saying is...

I have no idea where the Red Line is.
Not one clue.

9:30: IT IS NOW 9:30 AM. For the past twenty minutes, I have been walking, no, barreling up and down Jackson, trying to find the Red Line. Why Jackson, you may ask? Because my mapquest told me I could catch it on Jackson. Guess what? Mapquest LIES.

9:35: My tolerance and patience no longer exists. I am sweating and muttering profanity to myself. I no longer am giving the impression that I am a savvy business woman, but rather that I live inside a cardboard box and have actually lost my mind.

9:45: I have stopped talking to myself, recollected my thoughts, and formulated a new game plan--I'll just walk there. ( Mind you, my interview is on Grand).

9:55: I can no longer feel my feet. I am walking like a duck down State St. I stop over at a McDonalds to change into a more sensible shoe (I am perpetually prepared for disaster). I look in the mirror, smooth my hair again, and realize that my shirt is see-through and I wore a floral printed bra. I actually hate myself.

10:00: Guess what is on State Street? The stops for the Red Line. Out of principle, I refuse to get on and continue walking. Take that, public transportation.

10:15: My destination is within reach. I can hear the epic Rocky music playing as I see the sign appear before me. I contemplate doing the slow run, but realize no one else thinks I am as funny as I think I am, so I resist.

10:20: I walk upstairs to the agency reception desk and am notified that the woman I am to be interviewing with is running twenty minutes behind. Oh good. Maybe twenty minutes from now I won't be perspiring like LeBron James and can actually hold an intelligent conversation.

11:00: Interview. Panic. I am actually pulling at strings to relate my major to this job.

12:00: The interview ends. I thank them for their time. I get in the elevator, take it down, the doors open....and I step out of my heels again.


Unfortunately, I did not get the job. I did learn, however, that for my next interview, I am going to hot glue myself into my shoes.