Initially, it was a holiday in Canada, some guy (ok labor leader Peter McGuire) saw it, came back to NYC, and organized one.  Fast forward to congress pushing it through.  According to Wikipedia, it’s a day of rest and parades.  In NYC it seems, it’s a day where my laundromat is closed, the subways suck and a few crazies come out.

I was sitting, ever so quietly on the subway reading my history book enroute to a job interview.  Yes, a job interview on Labor Day.  Sounds a bit off, no?  Regardless, enroute from Brooklyn to Upper East.  The 4 was crowded, as it often is.  There is this obnoxious music playing–a cross between early Britney Spears and some song from my hs pom pom routine half time football show.  And the music is getting closer.

I keep reading, thinking how I may just move cars.  But I have a seat…

People get off and the music noise crap presents itself infront of me.  A man, wearing all red.  Carrying….

I know what you are all thinking.  Carrying a beat up boom box right?

Nope.  Carrying this:

WFT.  I mean, really buddy.  YOU HAVE AN IPOD.  You are clearly not selling it, cause you just keep playing it loudly in front of me.  The entire train at this point is giving you death looks.  I will personally give you a pair of headphones as to not play that righthere.

Plus, isn’t that like almost $500?  WHY are you walking around with it on the subway?

Following Bose guy (I was contimplating breaking it.  Just gave him the death stare and he moved away a bit.  I really can be intimidating) I hear a subway preacher.  Making the bing bong noise of the subway cars opening and closing.  And repeating all of the phrases like: Stand clear of the closing doors.  Mind the gap!  If you see a supicious package or activity on the train…Why all on the 4 train?

And finally.  On the same Brooklyn to Upper East 4 line, performers.  Subway performers fall in one of two categories:

1) Amazing.  I empty my change out of my wallet, generally I’m not a cash carrier, but if I have it I definitely give it. 

2) Dear god make it stop. (AKA the saxaphone guy on the yellow line.  Buddy.  A subway CAR is not the time nor the place to blow the sax.  Thanks.)

Thankfully, these guys were amazing.  Drums, witty remarks and RESPECT a la Aretha Franklin.

Getting off the subway was better…

There is a truck selling cupcakes.

Sweet god, go now to check these out.  AMAZING.  Mini Red Velvets that are DELICIOUS for only $1.  Hazah!

http://www.cupcakestop.com/index.html

Go.  Find them.  Watch out for Bose guy and Bing Bong.

I promise this lament won’t go on long.  I’m sleepy from late night show and early morning class.  Plus I’m tired of being so neurotic about this, so I’m going to change focus a bit…to food.  Yes.  I have a problem.  We will get into that.

Before food!  A very tiny part of me wonders exactly why I decided to make such a huge life change during a recession. I mean, it’s not like I was in a financially ok career to begin with, but for real, I could be making $20/hr as a meeting and event planner instead of combing Craig’s List for part time/one time jobs until my teaching schedule gets rolling.

I mean, the women I worked for were slightly (ok, fully) evil and souless, and I was there for two years so I was at the end of my rope, and I was called pretty and stupid, and my job was threatened almost every day because of the shitty economy and their stocks going down and the swine flu and me being too happy….

OK I think I just needed to get that out of there.  The larger part of me, however neurotic it is and worried about finding some paying work this week, is now beating down that tiny voice…”Shut up shut up shut up!”  No regrets, right?  All in all life is LOADS better since I’ve left the 8th level of hell.

I’m enjoying life a whole lot more than I did when I was acting…I mean, I’m still acting.  I just did a staged reading with an Equity company I would have given a limb to work with a few years ago, I’m still with the dinner theatre and I still have a comedy show almost every weekend.  But I’m not actively pursuing it anymore. 

I’m really really enjoying school too.  It’s funny, after being out for so long (AHEM, 7 years.  Left college after 2 years.  Good choice.) I’m really enjoying class discussion, reading, etc.  And I’m just doing two core classes this semester.  So hazah on all fronts!

On to bacon.  I’ve been eating a lot of salads lately.  No, I’m not worried about weight (my mom can hear laments about weight thousands of miles away and currently, as I’m writing this, she is saying I’m too thin).  But I like salads.  Fancy salads.  Delicious cheese and fancy veggies and meats salads.

Now, generally speaking, I like cheese a lot.  Especially goat cheese….oh cheve..you are my delicious lover….

Moving on…and wiping drool.

I made a delightful salad tonight using the usual salad veggies (romaine, onion, carrot, grape tomatoes, cucumber) and in a pan I worked up some chopped Boar’s Head Bacon (I don’t skimp on food.  Clothes yes, makeup yes,  food no) Gala Apples, Onion and Fresh String Beans…and some balsamic (again…my lover) and it was delightful!  Probably not the healthiest of dinners…but I can pretend the veggies made the bacon healthier by association.

I’m a food addict.  And ice cream.  Especially Ben and Jerry’s, but I’m not picky.  Just don’t give me that fat free/low fat/low sugar/vile chemical stuff and tell me it’s “just as good”. 

No regrets right?

When people come to visit me in NYC they seem to be one of two kinds:

1) The great tourists whose only fault is walking slow and taking pictures of the buildings, lights and subway turnstyles.  I get to eat at nice places I’ve wanted to try (because, generally speaking, I’m either putting them up or they are related me in some way, which means I don’t pay) and we all experience the “fun” touristy things (like pedicabs.  AMAZING!)  I like these folk.

2) The tourists who I have no words for, the ones who commit acts that embarrass themselves and everyone around them.

Now, I was an actor/am still a comedy performer, so I don’t get embarrassed all that easy.  That being said, I’m a flaming liberal and when people take pictures of homeless people down in the subway…I really have nothing to say…out loud.

Case in point:

Her: LOOK AT THIS GUY!  Wow he smells, honey take a picture! **This person is NOT related to me.  I feel I have to clarify that. 

Him: Oh dear, I think I have to turn my flash on my expensive camera!

Me: (internal monologue) Are you kidding me??? 

Her: We have to show this to Carol.

Him: Well, lets make sure I get a good shot.

Me: (internal monologue) You might be the biggest fools I’ve ever met.    You commented earlier that George W. Bush “looked so much more like a president than that Obama man” and you think that it’s a great tragedy when someone gives up acting “because you can make so much money acting”.  Lady.  US Weekly this is not.  Want to see my debt from headshots, haircuts, clothing, costumes, classes, reels, books, trades, airfare for auditions?  Please, stop giving me your unsolicited opinions on how I live my life, how liberal I am, how I arrange my apartment as well as how small it is.  I am fully aware I pay $1200 for an apartment that in any other city in the US would be half as much.  When I come to YOUR city I don’t tell you to remove your “Palin in 2012″ sign and that your kitchen looks like a 100 year old lady decorated it.  No.  Not my business.

Me: (What really left my mouth) Lets take a cab to the sushi place!   

Because really, what isn’t fixed by sushi and fried ice cream? 

Lesson of the day: Be tourist type #1.  Or I will be the tour guide that brings you to Far Rockaway and says “Ok, good luck getting back!”

Yum

Yikes.  I’ve been out of action for a bit.  Quick recap of the insanity that was my life in the past, oh, month.

1) Bad bad bad bronchitis.  Almost pneumonia bad.  Finally went to the doctor and got a nice antibiotic

2) Crazy Summer Camps.  Enough said.  This contributed to #1 getting worse

3) Almost sexual harassment suit with job.  Got paid though.  So no sexual harassment suit.  Did they know how close they came?  Not sure actually.

4) Bubble Wands.  All that needs to be said about that one.

Bane of my muscles.

5) Awesome vacation

6) Back to unemployment.

Wow.  I summed up the last month in six bullet points.  Oh, one more:

7) Acting is stalking me.

Yeah, that sums it up.  No matter.  I’m back, healed (aka not coughing up a lung or pieces of lung), and back on commentary.  Yowza.

So I’m in a Mastercard commercial.

Ricola Cough Drops  0.99

Hawaiian Punch Popcicles  2.49

Dulseum Cough Syrup  10.99

Having a good portion of the train stare at you during a coughing attack: Priceless

A few more days the doctor is getting my Mastercard.  BAH.

Hi.  You don’t know me very well, I’ve only been here for almost three years.  The first few were not so bad, I mean, yeah, platforms smell and are hot, sometimes trains run off schedule and occassionally, I know why the car I walk into is totally empty while all the others are full.  But you’ve taken me where I need to go, you are blessedly cool when it’s hot outside and I have read MANY great books on you.  Also, I’ve become friendly with one of your children, the bus.

Unfortunately, this is not a letter filled with praise.  Over the past few months, I feel you are taking me for granted.  I have been threatened with a huge jump to over $100.  I understand the smaller jump of $8 was much better, but I was under the impression that your child, the subway, would operate at the very least, the same level pre-rate hike.  This is not the case.

I have experienced longer waits, more cars without air-conditioning, more insanely full cars and buses.  I feel this might just be an oversight: you have a lot on your mind and a lot going on with so many people depending on you.  I understand the “track work” “emergency track work” “signal problems” even “train traffic ahead”.  I am even ok when announcements are made that could very well state: “There is a giant t-rex up ahead, we are all going to die”, but who really knows what is being said because it’s so hard to understand.  Today was my limit though, Mr. MTA.

My normal commute from work site to storage site to home is 1 hour and 15 minutes.  Today, almost 3 hours.  Why you may ask? (How cute, asking when you know the answer).  A fire in the Queens Tunnel.  Now,  I understand this is poor timing and not necessarily your fault.  But if I hear this is going on and take an alternate route to avoid any line that goes through the Queens Tunnel, please do not keep me underground in between stops for 20 minutes.  Especially the day after I watch “Knowing”.

Also, waiting 35 minutes for a train that is a whole borough different than the two that are effected by said “fire” is also not ok.  I’m also not ok with train operators asking me what stop I’m getting off at and then asking what I do for fun in between stops.

These are all problems that I feel can be worked out with a little thing all relationships need: Communication.  May I suggest a counselor?  I’d like not to break up because I begin having an affair with my bike. 

Thanks so much!

Me

I have some sort of coughing thing going on (not swine flu.  I think it’s dolphin-itis or something), which makes teaching really really fun, especially when teaching some of the wonderfully behaved children of Manhattan.  Now, not all kids from Manhattan are demon spawn.  Most are quite nice.  But it really takes one bad apple to ruin the barrel.  But that’s neither here nor there–all in all, I had a lovely week of employment.  I’m very ready for a week off.  VERY.  My week consisted of: 

“You do it.”

“But you are in the class to (said activity).”

“But it’s HARD.” Harumph.

“But you are doing so well”

“Well my mommy is paying YOU for this class so YOU have to do what I say. So do it and I will sit here and play.”

Listen, kid, your mother is not paying me.  She is paying my company, who is paying me approximately 1/100 of what it is worth to deal with you right now.  Furthermore, you are a spoiled brat, but it’s not your fault, it’s actually the fault of your mommy who stays at home but has employ a live in nanny because she doesn’t want to deal with any of this!  Of course, I say this in my head and smile.  “Well I have to help the other kids who are doing it themselves, then I will come back.  If you want to wait…”

(all the other kids) This is hard.  You do it.

Rinse and repeat.  Five half days (that felt like 12 hour days when I was done)  and many job interviews later, I’m comfortably at home and writing this blog. 

Speaking of job interviews, I went and got me two jobs this week.  I have about 10000 but like I mentioned in my first job, most are freelance-I work when there is work.  No work to be had, I eat PBJ.  It’s organic PB, but it’s still on Wonder Wheat bread.  One job started saying the same thing the job known as the awesome job for me (aka Feministy) but said that was the reason I was getting hired.  One day a week for that puppy.  Other job is for a tutoring company that I had to take a math test for.  Luckily,  I just took my math placement exam for college the day before, so I remembered all the little formulas I was studying for that.  (SOH CAH TOA…glad I remembered that one) 

So success!  I won’t be forced to get super creative for $$ in the fall…just need to get through August, since both start in September.  Granted, this is still going to be interesting, not having a full time job and just rocking the freelance route.  But hey!  I’m happier with interesting rather than mundane. 

Have a lovely weekend!

So I see AMAZING job listed on Craigs List.  Now, I’m always a little hesitant with CL jobs-for no other reason than anyone can post, and there are A LOT of crazies out there.  But this job seemed perfect: part time, 12-20 hours a week, every other weekend day, working at a super cool amazing place planning parties.  Not like drinking model parties, like educational birthday parties.  Immediate cover letter and resume tweeking and send!  Days go by…I get THE CALL. 

“Hi, this is @#$ from @$##*&(^$%#Q&.  I think you would be fantastic for the position, give me a call to set up an interview tomorrow or Friday.”

TOMORROW OR FRIDAY??  Now, I’m not a diva about planning…but it is 4:45pm.  Tomorrow is very soon–eh I thought, and called back.  Voicemail.  Ok leave a semi normal message, saying I’d love to meet tomorrow in the afternoon.

Day goes by.  No call back.  I call “tomorrow” (re: day of possible interview at AMAZING job)  Get in contact, make it for the next day.  I brush off some nice clothes (which is a welcome change from the t-shirt and pony combo I rock for teaching) and prepare to shock and awe with my professionalism, charisma and poise.  I get there only 6 minutes early (which is acceptable, I feel) only to hear from the desk that she just called and is running late.  Ok.  I find a seat and resist the temptation to read my chick lit (yes.  It’s my drug of choice) for fear she might be a judger of chick lit and I wanted to look super smart and pulled together.  And wait.

She is almost a half hour late, but I’m still ok.  I have a committment later that night, but I’m still fine on time.  Her explanation was that she “Was trying to get work done.”  Um, ok lady, you made the appointment at the time you did with me.  Try to get work done when someone isn’t waiting for you. 

But all is well, I’m still ready to awe.  I go into full interview mode–I’ve actually coached people on interviews and coached hr departments on interview situations-so not to toot my own horn, but I know my interviews.  The interview goes way too long, with her asking about gossip on my previous job at a high end restaurant.  I notice the time and realize if I don’t leave in about 10 minutes, I’m going to be awfully late (and that’s even with my neurotic buffer).  I politely ask if I can fill out the sheet she mentioned and we could keep talking while I worked.  If the interview goes to gossip and how rude is a certain ill-depicted magazine editor, I think it’s ok to work on a mindless form.  She was fine with it and we parted ways with her saying I could do this job in my sleep and I would be hearing from them after the holiday.

Well, I’m not sure what tipped my boat, but I got a call a week later saying that the other party coordinator wanted to meet with me.  COOL!!! A second interview! Happy go lucky dance!  Again, spiffy clothes, big smile.  Only 10 minutes early.

BOOM.

I think the world fell in at that point.  The woman was incredibly nice, in her defense.  But after she brought me to the party room, some of the first words out of her mouth were “How are you with dealing with bipolar people?  Cause we got a lot of them here, especially #$&*^$# who interviewed you.”

Excuse me? 

Thrown only momentarily, I blink and recover (hazah acting training) and state I’ve worked with all kinds and I’m very flexible.  Kinda a duck and cover, do my work and leave sort of girl.

“Well, you would be the, lets see, fourth one through here.  The last one cried cause *#&(%* was so mean to her all the time.  And I don’t know why I’m meeting with you, she is the one that has to like you more.  She likes you, but not so much you know?”

(Internal monologue:  Am I in an interview? Is this a TV show?  Why did I apply for a job on Craigs List.  Wait, what? She doesn’t like me? Why?)

The last I vocalized, and my would be co-worker at my becoming less than amazing job said, very plainly, “She doesn’t like strong women.  And you are a little too independent and feministy” *I know feministy isn’t a word.  Does she?

(Internal monologue: WHAT??? WHAT???? Wait…is that a word???)

One would think that’s just enough fun.  But it continues for almost 30 minutes, all of which I have resigned myself that even if this women called me when I was eating my last box of Annie’s Organic Mac and Cheese bought with my last 1.99 I wouldn’t take this job.  I would sooner sell an egg.  (Which, concidentially, I found out today I am too thin to do such a thing.  Drats.)  This outspoken (but very very nice) woman proceeds to tell me all the horror stories of $(%&(*#$ and how she wouldn’t be able to handle someone who wouldn’t cower and meekly take verbal abuse.

The waste of my time finally concluded with her saying “You know, I think you could handle this job!” and me laughing.  That was a week ago to the day.  No call or email.  I didn’t email thank you either, because really, my time would have better been spent laying on the couch in my no-work week.  And after licking my wounds and eating way too much movie food, I realized if that is the reason I didn’t get the job, because I’m too independent and feministy, rock on.

Go feministy!

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m really excited I’m getting job interviews.  It’s a rough world out there, I’ve only got 4 weeks of employment then crazy town.  But job interviews themselves are like a blind date.  Case in point:

Find fantastic job posting.  “It’s a perfect job for me!”  moment occurs.  All the planning for which subways will get you to work from various points: Home, out, late shows, rehearsals, late nights.  You google the place, do a bit of research.   Adjust cover letter accordingly.  Get called in (cause you of course are perfect for the job…or you’ve spent the last few days trying to make the job sound perfect for you).  Awkward planning of interview time, second guessing if saying anytime makes you sound too available–then third guessing if being specific with times makes you inflexible.  Spend time modeling outfits for your cat (insert roommate/friend/dog/fish).  Change at least 3 times.  Go to interview-give yourself WAY too much time (The N train COULD be slow.  Lets face it.)  Get there–way too early, so you walk around the block or sit at Starbucks, hoping no one notices you are not getting a drink.  Wait 10 minutes.  Ponder if 10 minutes is really too early, say f-it and go there anyways.  Last minute check: hair/makeup/teeth/breath/did I sit in something on the train/how many wrinkles are on my pants.  Stop at desk, potential dream boss comes down to meet you (8 minutes isn’t too early is it?)–awkward exchange of information–you are ready for all the tough questions like “why do you want to work here” and “what could you bring to XYZ” but not the easy ones like “what do you do in your spare time” or “where do you see yourself in a year”.  You try to practice upside-down reading without looking obvious.  The interview concludes, you shake hands, and hope for a second call.  Not a blind date?  Lets look at a few of the similarities:

1) Fantastic job posting vs. Fantastic friends meeting or knowing someone you’d be perfect with

You only know the basics.  Sure, you may really trust your friends, but really….what are they not telling you about him?  Even scarier: What are they not telling HIM about YOU?  Does he know I was an actress? Is/Was he an actor?  Is he employed?  Does he know I secretly love cheese curds and frozen custard and other fat kid Midwest foods but play it cool here in NYC?

2) Googling

You’ve done it.  Don’t lie.  You do need to know if he is a registered…anything.

3) Awkward planning of meeting time

Again, is saying you have an open schedule pathetic?  It’s not your fault you freelance and make your schedule up as you go…but if he says open too, do you look indecisive?  If you choose are you pushy and over bearing? Don’t even get me started on picking the venue.  Thank god we don’t have to do that for job interviews.

4) Upside-down reading skills

Now, there was a lot more obvious similarities prior to this one, but I think this one is important.  He gets a text while you are enjoying a pre-dinner drink/post dinner dessert and reads it, laughs, and starts writing back.  Now, I am not an advocate of snooping-I’m a trusting soul once I can spell your last name and know your birth date–but the laugh and return text with no comment like “Oh my friend Joe is so funny” or “My good friend Liz is at Shakespeare in the park” is suspect. Is it his ex?  His current?   His mom?  The other girl he is blind dating with tomorrow? His “escape plan”?  Trust me, upside down reading skills….

5) Final moments

Now, in a world of germs, Swine Flu and whatever that .01% of bacteria that my hand sanitizer doesn’t kill, shaking hands is getting as intense of  physical contact as kissing.  Did the employer wash their hands? Who did this guy kiss last? (Granted, we hope the answer is of course, there are signs all over the bathroom reminding people of what they learned in pre-k and no one special/infected…but really….)

I LOVE comic books...yeah....

So yikes!  Not real sure which I prefer.  Both awkward, both anxiety causing, both potentially leading to happily ever after.  Maybe the date if I can pick the restaurant…

Happy Sunday! =)

Not gonna lie, I’m freaked out.  I mean yeah, I start school at the end of August, but it still doesn’t seem REAL yet.  I still haven’t picked my classes (thank you department of orientation for assigning me a late date.  Really.  I will send you a thank you card from my Saturday or Sunday morning class I’m SURE.).  And I have NO IDEA where my income is coming after August 14th.  I potentially have some teaching gigs/party gigs/tutoring  but nothing is set in stone until I get the contract.  I had the job interview from hell at the most amazing place I could work at…but that’s another blog, I’m sure.  If it wasn’t for my changing heart…(country song?)

I was the typical NYC actress up until a few months ago.  I was working regularily, even in TV jobs that paid nicely.  Not sure entirely the moment it became not fun.  I don’t think of it as a break-it’s a definite change.  I’m high-tailing it out of panic attack inducing unknown to…more unknown.  But a better one. 

After a trip to the Natural History Museum (and let me tell you, I enjoy some dinosaurs), I realized I LOVE museums and would love to work in one.  But wait, I’m going back to school to be a teacher.  BOOM!  Museum Educator! Perfect!

Oooohhhh can I study you?

Running–and googling museum education jobs (I NEED A SMART PHONE):

 17,000,000 entries.

Ok, I’ll bring this down a touch.  NYC, I type with a flourish.

2,480,000.

It’s a touch right?

Yikes. 

After further research, I find that not only are museum educator jobs hard to find, but most require grad school…oh boy.  So two more years (at least…at my part time status, probably 3, and that includes summers.) of undergrad then two years of grad times $$$ per credit…

Sorry, got to go find a job.  Or donate an egg.  Or marry…hrm, maybe that isn’t the best solution.