I’m currently on the market–job market that is, and it’s looking pretty bleak. Don’t get me wrong, there are interesting jobs out there…just not where I currently live. And if there are excellent career options, they are the employment equivalent of Where’s fucking Waldo.
I skim the job postings on the various websites…and it’s boring, and I’m bored. At least, we are mostly beyond the days of dropping resumes off; I’d rather punch myself in the face and set myself on fire than pound the pavement with freshly printed copies of my resume in a little manila envelope. Now you can apply for jobs in your pink bathrobe and no one will judge you.
Most of the ads are condescending: ‘looking for highly motivated dishwasher’, most are hastily written–spelling mistakes aplenty, unless there are new and exciting opportunities for a ‘made’ or a ‘sever’. Bitch please. And enough already with the capped letters and exclamation points. After a healthy search of the websites, I made the conclusion: the more exclamation points, the worse the job. So when you see URGENT!!! NEED SEVER FOR GRAVEYARD SHIFT AT LONELY TRUCK STOP!!!! It’s probably not going to be a good gig.
For me, I just want to be fabulous, but on a professional level. I want to be paid handsomely to do yoga, read literature and have coffee with friends. I would blog about being so deliciously amazing, and I would have cards made that said:
This would confuse people, because there would be no contact information, but they would know that I was sort of elusive…which makes me even more fabulous, don’t you think?
I would eventually teach courses and write an enormous series of books on “fabulosity”–which is a subject I will be identified as for generations to come. People would nod slowly, solemnly at mention of my name: “She really was fabulous” they’d say.
Of course, in my later years, I may get a little too fabulous; the fabulosity will effervesce like champagne fizz, eventually eating away at my brain. I would make outlandish demands–everything must be white! water at room temperature! must play “Who’s that Lady?” by the Isley Brothers whenever I enter a room!
I may even start to dress like the Isley Brothers.
But the transition would be subtle—like young Liza Minelli:
Into…having the ability to see ghosts, and realizing it while on the Home Shopping Network amid selling from my own line of sequin jacket and tank sets for just three easy payments.
From there is will be a Minnelli mudslide into my Norma Desmond, “Sunset Boulevard” phase.
Beyond the boulevard will be nothing but fur coats and safety pins, tap dancing at inappropriate and stray raccoons running through the house.
And it’s going to be fabulous.
Images Courtesy of Google