The boomerang: Dangerous Weapon, Harmless Plaything or Oracle of the Future?

An afternoon with the ol' boomerang yesterday... the heat is unbearable and I refuse to leave the shade until the last minute. One throw, that's it, I'm too hot for this crap. But the boomerang has the power of the potato chip: I can't resist compulsive tendencies after the first bite. My objective: to throw with considerable force 45 degrees into the wind at perfect gradient, then stand still and wait for the glorious moment when it soars right back into my gentle, loving hands, like magic, like the world has meaning and order and symmetry.

Fucking thing never soared back. Alas, life is chaos and destiny is a cruel joke. In the park - as in life - we have no way of knowing what we're going to get when we let go of the boomerang, what plans it has in store, whether this chiseled weapon will return out of love or with the intent to slice off our head. In actuality, it has no intent at all. It's an inanimate object made of wood. Instead, one is forced to ask: Did I intend to slice off my head, deep down inside? I'm embarrassed to say that I kind of feared the boomerang in the past, like my future would be revealed if I touched it or something - I mean, there's quite a bit of potential meaning for a piece of wood that's thrown high in the air, only to return! No crystal balls this time, but I did learn one truth: Some things just won't come back full circle, even if you think you want them to.

Alone Again

JBO came back last Sunday - he had been gone for a month - but he left again today, leaving me alone for another 3 weeks. I wonder what I'll do with my time, this time, since something tells me I won't go through the hours of TV and bad chick-flicks again. I'm different. I've changed. I still have a few big tasks to attend to, actually. And my little brother is coming to D.C. next week for his first big trip out of the small town where we were born. Still, three weeks is plenty of time for... life to happen, I guess. Look at all the living that's happened since I went to Buenos Aires in April. And in three-week increments, coincidently. July 15th... it's a lot to look forward to.

Interview Tips: Selling Yourself

I had a JOB interview today, out of nowhere, and I guess I could blame the last-minute nature of the meeting as to why I'm sure I came off as a dork, but that would be typical and stupid. You'd think that after 8 months in constant "job seeking" mode that I would be an interviewer's dream, ready with oodles of bright and thoughtful answers to typical interview questions and gems on how to "wow" potential employers tucked up my conservative, pressed sleeve. Actually, I didn't do badly - I have the experience and the job is a perfect fit. And then I was asked to list my strengths. Christ! Listen, I have strengths, I have loads of strengths, really good strengths even, and I know this is typical interview crap. But for some bizarre reason, my splendid ego loves to book it at the first glimmer of any abrupt disclosure. How can we not compare interviews to the experience of meeting those people at bars who ask all the personal questions he or she has no business asking after knowing you for only 5 minutes--age, occupation, birthplace, net worth--so it can be decided whether to shoo you away or give you the big break you were looking for? What's wrong with getting to know each other, hanging out a bit, going for a walk or two and maybe watching a movie to see if you have similar tastes?

I've never been able to sell myself. My mom could barely get me to smile when I was in the state pageant at age 6; I avoid giving personal highlights to anyone I haven't known at least 2 to 5 years. I feel like a floozy when I sell myself, which is not a terrible stretch of reasoning, people. Truthfully, I don't know if interviews, as they are, even work, and I've been on the giving end several times. Which is probably why the expression "It's not what you know, but who you know" exists... first impressions don't seem to be enough these days. But more importantly, there's this to consider: If I get the gig, it would last 27 weeks. 27 weeks! That's, like, a real job! Which is not a bad promise in light of the most special bout of cabin fever I've been nursing over the last couple of weeks. But I'll worry about that later. I'm off to the west coast in a couple hours to see my family and eat well and watch Lost. Nice. I also have a meme to pass on....

My Best Friend, The Boob Tube

I've just USED television to comfort my loneliness after cleaning, cooking tofu for the first time and drinking a bottle of wine had nothing to offer. The cat and I just watched an hour of Seinfeld, and I swear, I'm going to sleep like a well-milked baby, a well-wine'd youngster. Earlier, I listened to an episode of "This American Life," where David Rakoff attempts to watch 29 hours of television and reveals that people who watch steady episodic television might get the benefits of actual "friends" by staying tuned... well, quite an interesting offer, until you need someone to call the authorities because you've died, alone, in your apartment. Even the cat became calmer when I switched to Seinfeld from public radio, I swear to god. Obviously, every other human being in the country watches television nearly every night (29 hours a week, according to TAL), so who am I to complain? I watch a ton of movies, but as David says, those movies-people are not the same as Elaine, Jerry, George and Kramer, who I've known for years, thanks! The drug-like trance I got tonight reminded me of another needy time in my life.... when I first came to D.C. and I had just left my then-boyfriend in Seattle and thought I was going to die. Were it not for That 70's Show. Sitting in the friend's cousin-who-I'd-never-met-'s apartment, I watched those funny people and wondered what it was like to be happy. No knitting or reading could sooth that sad little girl, and in later retrospect, I wondered--Was that a moment when TV saved me? Well, that sounds stupid... I mean, it's the boob tube. Isn't the real answer for tranquility meditation or writing or volunteering for world peace? Oh god... the Tira Bank's talk show is going to make depressed, un-sexualized couples "touch" each other in the green room with a therapist on hand.... this is so depressing....

A Bad Smell in the Apartment that Won't Go Away

I'm nearly positive something died in my apartment a few days ago because I could smell a pungent, death-scent every time I walked past the door to our home office on the way to the loo. JBO is in Australia playing with koala bears and I'm stuck here dealing with dead, bloated carcases. That outburst was "anger" three days ago, followed by "denial" on Sunday when I played bocce ball all day, then at last "acceptance" yesterday when I got a friend to come over and stand there in case I freaked out at the sight of rotted rat guts. We looked everywhere. This is the longest time I've been alone in this apartment - 3 weeks - and I (of course) wonder what this incident says about me, my self-sufficiency and general ability to be alone. I suspect that months of working alone in the apartment all day is advancing a disconnectedness that is getting exceptionally morbid, especially when evenings alone and dead bodies are added. For example, I wonder if I'm in a weird horror film where the star will eventually find HERSELF dead and bloated under the floor!!! But seriously, I don't think all this alone-time is good for me, and yet, I love it. The cat laid next to me the whole night and whenever I opened my eyes, her head was up... which was obviously a sign of someone in the apartment or something diabolical happening, so I didn't sleep. Today I cleaned out the whole apartment and I still can't find where the smell is coming from!

Nothing like a Drunk on the Sidewalk to stir Philisophical Thoughts on Existence

A friend and I were sitting outdoors at a bar on 18th street last night when a man in a wheel chair had in one way or another shimmied down to the sidewalk in front of it. A few people attempted to help him back in the chair and we could see the guy was tanked... evidenced by the way he waved his hand around and his head flopped from one side to the other, and in the lack of complete shock or terror from the people helping him back in the seat if it were serious. We couldn't tell if the people helping him into the chair were his friends or strangers offering a hand. The man was older, maybe in his late 60's, wearing a camouflage green button up shirt and hat. We drank mojitos. My friend said to me, what should a person walking by do in that kind of situation? I said if I were a man, (since I, as a cute girl, avoid drunk guys at all costs, even in bars) I would go up and ask him if he was okay, make sure he's conscious, and if he was, help him to a nice patch of grass where he could sleep it off. We've all been drunk before, after all. Yeah, and maybe ask if he lives close by or if you could call someone. What else is there? He recommended calling someone. Call who? The police, the paramedics, 911. Well that's a bit severe and doesn't that turn into some sort of petty offense, like public drunkenness? I said. And he's a grown man, after all, probably a POW even, give the guy a break. But he was in a wheel chair, and maybe that made the difference. Left on the foul streets of Adams Morgan, he was also likely to be robbed or pissed on or abused in one way or another; plus then, you have all those people standing around with thier deep fears of guilt who must "do the right thing" with nowhere to put their good deeds. It's hard to know what the "right thing" to do is, I said, and we--as in our generation-- lack any kind of social mores that would have helped previous generations pick one or two of the tried and most-accepted (therefore least offensive) options in this kind of situation instead of everyone taking a crack at it for themselves based on their own limited experiences and judgment because we all have a mind of our own even if we're actually a complete idiot. I slurped a bit more of my drink. "What's best for him" can be subjective, so why doesn't he decided for himself? Doesn't he at least deserve a say? Maybe what's best is we just sit here and drink and think nothing of it? Another swig. Existentialism has resulted in idiots taking charge, I ponder to myself. The paramedics and fire department came and picked him up, and we ordered another drink before heading to the Prince Dance Party at Chief Ikes.

Quitting the Gym, At Last, the Unemployed Girl Gets Realistic

Today, I'm heading to the gym to end my membership, which is something I have been dreading since unemployment. I think I looked at my gym membership as a sign of some stability in my life, some level of security, some level of accomplishment, combined with a love for elliptical and the unease of losing the corporate rate that somehow never disappeared. Maybe I looked at the gym as an office, some place I could go to every day, a place I belonged? I'm over it now. A sympathetic but practical voice says, "It's okay, it's time, you'll live." On to bigger and better things. I've rekindled old passions that I abandoned when I moved to DC, when I was too overworked and young and exhausted and ambitious to do anything else. Yoga, rock climbing, dance. Okay, so I'm not exactly going to be saving money. But maybe the money alone isn't exactly the point. Maybe what's more important is what it gives back, and though the gym gave me a good dose of dopamine and the promise of a good bod, it didn't give me a life outside of my job/jobless identity. You know how I was saying that people don't have much of an identity in DC other than their work? Yoga may not be the answer to everything either, but I know it's a solid part of who I am, and knowing that, and giving it it's fair share of attention seems worth a shot at bringing me closer to figuring out what I want professionally and who I am as a whole, if that makes sense. This is my once chance to rebalanced my life before I really get into the heat of it, so I'm kind of pissed that it took so long to get here. I also wished I had picked up hobbies that were free. More cutting of the nonessentials, as I get closer to figuring out what the nonessentials are.

Oh Hell - Another Identity Crisis

From the lack, and random assortment, of postings you've seen on this blog in the last month or so, you may have figured out that I'm currently in the middle of what some people call an "identity crisis." An identity crisis is a moment in ones life when one is uncertain about his- or her-SELF due to a change in aims or role in society. As a mostly-broke professional who must practically flaunt herself daily to find ways of making money while still trying to hold on to some level of integrity and "artistic" expression... who is young, inexperienced in her new career, alone most days, cute (just to throw that in there) and locked in a sunless basement apartment... a change of aims is so common that a regular identity crisis is practically fucking guaranteed.

Am I jobless or not? Am I a selfless journalist or an ego centric? Am I a writer or a filmmaker? Should I go back to programming or stick with production? Is my favorite movie Chinatown or Wings of Desire?

I've heard that certain individuals who function well in a state of chaos will... um... seek trouble. But when I think of life in that unhappy job, I can't believe leaving it was more destructive than staying, or that change is a bad, or that learning to be myself and comfortable with it isn't necessary, just because it can really suck to feel so confused and to be poor. It's just temporary, after-all. But long-term temporary, no doubt.

Reality Check: Stevie Wonder

First of all--Let me tell you how much I love Stevie Wonder. That dude is the shit people... he's happy just singing, playing the hell out of a piano or harmonica, and spreading the funk. "Sir Duke" will cheer up any gloomy, wet day, guaranteed, friends. I walk differently listening to Stevie Wonder, I don't buy things I don't need listening to Stevie Wonder, I just keep it REAL listening to Stevie Wonder, you know what I'm saying? And "In the City"... shoot, that's good stuff. This idea of "real" has been at the forefront of a few weeks of traveling without a job and visiting to two very different but similar places: Buenos Aires and New Orleans. Complex, I know. What's real? (For me anyway, at this point?) Stevie Wonder. We'll go from there.

Obeying the Argi's sense of time

In the span of one week, I turned old, finished a short video and moved to Argentina. I had been told that as a freelancer, I should forget planning two months ahead of time because that "now" moment might move you to another country for three weeks. the key, I gathered, was to go with it... who knows if I'll be able to take that other trip I was planning in May anyway? what if I'm working then, what if I'm dead?

I planned to post from my lovely, adoptive city --a sort of jobless on assignment-- but let me tell you a little something about the porteno (the term for the Buenos Aires city dwellers) and their sense of time. In five days, I've progressively stayed out later at tango milongas, began to eat after midnight, avoided (or conveniently forgot) the most obvious of errands (getting a new set of keys), and am now sleeping until noon. Lunches take two hours and if my friend and I are not going to order desert, we should be sure to show our regrets to avoid that "Americans" look.

I've come to Buenos Aires before, but for work, and with all the American comforts of my swank hotel--highspeed internet, good food, air conditioning, a shower basin... yup, our shower is a curtain and a drain in the floor next to the toilet. Of course, I never thought of the these items as comforts, but standards, right? Not quite so. For highspeed internet--which my friend has worked to get set up for two weeks--we've got to be willing to haul a laptop to a corner cafe (it's not exactly a good idea to walk around with a mac laptop) and wait for the battery to run out before a full day's work is complete. So I think, why work?... let's go have a te... because that is so easy to do. Work is definitely not encouraged, and I'm going to say it's outright frowned upon. Seriously... it's like swimming against the current! Well... I could get used to this. And with the exchange rate as good as it is here, this is a jobless haven. It's true... I've met tons of jobless ex-pats. I must be in the jobless capital of the world!

More on assignment from Buenos Aires... next time I can get an internet connect.

Working Makes Me Fat

I’m sitting at my kitchen table in my bathrobe and slippers, hunched over my laptop with increasingly bad posture, my enlarging ass sinking further into a crappy and uncomfortable wicker chair that I hate. I’ve been working for the last two weeks, which a throbbing temporal vein and bad case of tendinitis can attest. What the hell was I thinking? - I think. I had it made. I was happy. I worked hard… to maintain the bod at the gym, to flex my intellect with klassical novels (Count of Monte Cristo), to entertain my soul with blog sites, and to eat cream pastries at cafes as I strategized my “next steps.” Somehow one of those next steps worked out and now my achy back hates my guts. I can no longer deny an undeniable truth: working hurts and makes me fat. Seriously…while working 15-hour days out of town last week, I ate McDonalds twice. Twice! In two days! I haven’t eaten McDonalds since before that kid got his head stuck in the Hamburglar playground equipment. I haven’t eaten partially hydrogenated oils for at least a couple of years, and now all those free-radical-clearing drinks I’ve been chugging lately have gone to shit. I knew my qi (chee) was pathetic when I had a job but I though that was from years of negative-energy build up, I thought I beat all that, I never thought two weeks on two pots of coffee a day would bring me back here. A thought: Is this a message? Yeah, well, I’ve learned my lesson! Except…um, it is nice to have money. But if I’m a beached whale on painkillers at the end of two more weeks, I’m reevaluating this whole making-a-living thing.

A Manifesto for the Happily Unemployed

It appears I'm still just an unemployed newbie, a pup at little more than four months weening on little income and loads of insecurity. According to this article in the WCP, seasoned jobless professionals really do exist out there! It's hilarious, and disturbing?, but does ring a certain truth to the wacky, ironic logic that is joblessness. Namely, life is too short to go on putting 10-hours a day into a job that you hate, that hates you back, and leads to the deterioration of your mind, body and soul. It is possible to live on very little. And doing what you really want, and snatching the time to do it by any means possible, may be more a contribution to society than running the corporate rat wheel so you can buy another flat screen TV. I don't plan to never work again (I've got a paying gig right now, as a matter of fact) but remaining without office, boss, or business-casual flare doesn't seem quite half-baked these days. It might just pay off in the end.

Photo of the Day: Margaritaville

The last couple of weeks, I've had dreams of Miami--the February destination that was one of my business trips over the last three years. (Note: For the job I left.) I never realized how much the guilt-free ways of that sunny, manicured town balanced the conservative and calculated ways of DC. Seriously, the day I came back from the South Beach for the first time, I sat at the outdoor seating at Sparky's, surrounded by my usual concrete solace, and realized how much I had gone to the drab and dreary, black-and-white dark side. The lounge couches and billowing tapestries at the Delano and private parties at the Versace mansion were my secret (though very slight) sin, and my salvation. But ever grateful: the margarita at Lauriol today is doing the trick. I recommend it to anyone who can take a long lunch, or a day off, for your health's sake.

Funny How the Days Go By

Today, I made appointments and plans for Friday, confirmed times and locations, and said to people, "Okay, see you tomorrow!"

Of course, today is Wednesday and it took until about 1pm to figure it out. How silly! But maybe you can understand what my life is like. I would say that it is in fact more difficult to keep my activities and my hectic schedule in order than the average office person who can rely on someone else to reference the time of day or day of the week. In other words, you have activities that take place around you that can give you helpful markers. I, on the other hand, have only garbage pick-up days to rely on, and I haven't taken the garbage out in weeks (thanks, BF!). All I'm saying is a jobless person must work pretty damn hard to keep all this straight.

Hello, I'm Addicted to Facebook

In the past two months, with the slightest bit 'o extra time available in my--ahem--flexible schedule, I have steadily been sucked into the vacuous black hole of time and space that is Facebook. My attachment is deep and true, and insatiable. Flixster, Super pokes, and Wall Postings have replaced any real human interactions I could be having... yeah, well, and thank god for that! But has my dependence gone too far? Do I need an intervention?

Here are twelve questions all Facebook junkies should answer to get wise on whether you, as do I, suffer from this completely ridiculous problem.

PLEASE ANSWER YES OR NO TO THE FOLLOWING QUESTIONS

1. Have you ever decided to stop [Facebooking] for a week or so, but only lasted for a couple of days?
2. Do you wish people would mind their own business about your [Facebooking]-- stop telling you what to do?
3. Have you ever switched from one kind of [Status Update] to another in the hope that this would keep you from [seeming boring]?
4. Have you had to have an eye-opener [of Facebook] upon awakening during the past year?
5. Do you envy people who can [Vampire Bite] without getting into trouble?
6. Have you had problems connected with [Super Poking] during the past year?
7. Has your [Wall Posting] caused trouble at home?
8. Do you ever try to get "extra" [Pokes] at a party because you do not get enough?
9. Do you tell yourself you can stop [Facebooking] any time you want to, even though you keep [Movie Trivia Challenging] when you don't mean to?
10. Have you missed days of work or school because of [Facebooking]?
11. Do you have [Wall Post] "blackouts"?
12. Have you ever felt that your life would be better if you did not [Facebook]?

Speaking of networking site issues, did you miss out on International Delete Your MySpace Account Day?

State of My Life Address

Sitting at Tryst today, again, drinking bloody good coffee to finish up some writing before going to the gym and then heading out to hear Bush go on about loving america. Which reminds me... I remember a particularly ridiculous Bush S.O.T.U.A. day when I cried a lot at a bar after drinking many martini's. It was, in all truth, only somewhat connected to what was being said on television, therefore I had disappointment coming from many directions and suffered an all-around particularly pathetic state-of-my-life. Remembering this embarrassing little affair (thank god the bartender who handed me tissues that night soon left said bar, taking with him the only witness account!), it's hard to not look in the mirror each time this year and consider the present and how it compares to this day, one year ago. Let's see... unemployment has gone up, economic outlooks are spotty at best, but growth levels are good and could expand exponentially in short time. Morale is sensational all things considering, enterprising and educational investments are up, technical and trade stocks continue to rise. Personal investors are seeing the payoff of a delightfully less-bitchy me. Health and haircut are the best they've been in ages. All in all, a pretty fucking great State of My Life. Aside from Bush, of course.

Library, Meet Jobless

I got my very first DC library card yesterday. i wanted to get out of a weird funk from a very complicated week of ups and downs... you know, when you don't know which direction to go next. so i went to library. I showed my Nexflix envelop to prove my address and picked out the "adventure" style library card, though I saw too late that I could have chosen a green frog "hop into your local library" design. i asked a lot of stupid questions... "how do I find a book, some sort of decimal system?" and "does this mean I can reserve books online?" I imagined the librarian pegging me for a youngster from the digital age who's never entered a library, and wondered if we're only ten years away from this being a reality. I picked out a book I've wanted to read but haven't since I don't have a pay check to split with Kramers, as I used to. an acrid blend of sweat, body odor and something coveted deeply for years by the carpets filled all porous space including my new coat. a small price to pay for free literature.

I got a job this week, or a "gig" to be more appropriate, for march. I've been asked a lot by friends what this means for Jobless Girl in DC. I reply hastily that absolutely nothing has changed, this isn't a real job, I have to get projects to stay jobless, yada yada, don't you get it? obviously, it's complicated. A jobless manifesto should clarify everything... yes, yes... it's time.

A day before New Years, drunk, in the back of a cab. I wondered, "What will the new year bring?" My cab buddy and I hoped it would include a lot of Beirut.

Between Here and There

An excerpt from my holiday season, at the National Christmas Tree fiasco on the Mall: “Do you see the size of those 'yule logs' burning in the fire pit, they must be redwoods!”

At the moment, I'm dealing with holiday coma. It's a mixture of having painfully over eaten, the mightiest stress hangover EVER and red-and-green blitzed-out delirium. This is my pathetic way of excusing the lack of posts in the past month, though I've said it all before.

The truth is, I've written at least two drafts of posts that were each triggered in reaction to severe holiday stress, and well, each time it's come to 'publish post', I haven't been able to bring myself to press the orange button for the terror of their sheer hostility. I imagined happy Christmas people dressed in Christmas tree pins and wearing Santa clause hats reading my posts and wishing I was never born.

This is not my favorite time of the year, so instead of scandalizing you with my rants and frustrations, I will simply keep my mouth shut and hope you had a nice holiday.

Maybe once in the safety zone of a new year, when all things cheery are forgotten, I'll publish my posts and we can, in retrospect, realize we all dislike the holidays, in joyous togetherness.

Back "home"?

the cat and I would take our breakfast outside today.

it's funny... how one person can live very different lives, depending on the surroundings. I have two - three, if you count this blog - and maybe more.

gliding into your new/old self again after a brief adjustment period - in those desperate moments when current friends, possessions and cityscapes are missed - can be confusing as hell and feel right simultaneously.

where do I belong? can I miss and hate a place at the same time?

I took a trip home this week--a term split between two cities (well, one is actually more a town than a city). I travel a full day to get to my parent's house, out in the middle of nowhere.

I say "middle of nowhere" in comparative terms. compared to where I live now, compared to my other home-city, because middle of nowhere can accurately and quickly communicate this to you people who live in cities, like me. My family wouldn't think it's middle of nowhere and I never thought so growing up; and I didn't feel that while I was there this week, loving every minute of it.

what does this mean? I have no freaking idea. just something I was thinking about, now that I'm back.