28

So I have made the decision to get another job. Although I am getting my shit together in almost every other area of my life, working out, eating right and such; I am still super broke. Don’t get me wrong I am not quitting the magazine sales job, as I have committed that I will give it a solid go; I am simply finding something else to substitute my income. With so many expenses on the horizon; Coachella is coming up, we need a website for our catering company and my wish list of clothes is growing by the minute, I am beginning to feel the pressure. This week was fucking a hard one, the hardest in while, my finances were as tight as a nun’s cunt (super tight); so I made the decision to go ahead and look for number 28.


You know when magazines compile a list of the “Best 30 under 30” of super twenty-something achievers? Well I am going to compile a list: Bianca’s 30(jobs) under 30. At the rate that I am going I will be at 30 by 26. I haven’t even put writer on the list of jobs, which would make it 29, but who’s counting? It’s funny, just this past December, my friend Travis was home for Christmas and we were talking about work and I said very confidently, that I would never apply for another job. I was blinded by the busy catering season and naïve to the fact that what goes up must come down; and, down came the number of catering jobs. I know that a slump is typical in January but this week I was hurting.


This morning I woke up, baked delicious bread and prowled the online community for some gainful employment. And as much as I would love to find a writing job; there aren’t any. There was one posting and it was for a political contributor; but all I know about politics is I am liberal and Stephen Harper is a fucking asshole with a small penis (as that would explain everything), so I passed on that one. I could go back into serving, but in my old age I have gotten way more brassy and I can just see myself losing it on some dickhead and his wife; so serving would be my last resort. I could do retail, but standing around, fluffing shit and telling people “no those jeans don’t make you look fat” and restraining myself from saying “ the jeans are fine, it’s your ass that looks fat” might be more of a challenge than I am willing to take on. If all else fails I could turn tricks, because the cash is just so damn good but there is that whole dignity thing I would have to wrestle with. So to say I am picky would be gross understatement.


I have given myself until the end of next week to find something. With my glowing personality and ability to bullshit with the best of them I feel that timeline is more than doable. I have always been a master in the art of the interview; I can swindle anyone into hiring me. I was a weight management counselor for fuck sakes and I was also 40lbs overweight at the time; just to give you an idea of my skills. You don’t amass 28 jobs at 24 years of age by being shitty at interviews.


So it looks like the book that I am writing, about my many adventures in the land of the employed, is about to get one more chapter.

New

It occurred to me, this morning, that I am still very new at my job. Well, it didn’t occur to me, so much as it smoked me in the face, in the form of an asinine mistake. I fucking hate being new, hate it. Just to give you some back story; I sell ads for a magazine, and I will freely admit, that I have never been a great sales person. But, it’s for a food magazine and I want to write…it makes sense. A foot in the door if you will. My first hurdle was learning how to sell, which I am slowly getting a grip on; but, goddamn it, it’s not happening fast enough. I keep making mistakes and mistakes make me feel and look like a fool. Christ, I am also still new at this writing thing too. I just want, so badly, to be great. I know that things take time; but, for heaven’s sake, I am 24 and I am not getting any younger. I’m just tired of being new at things, it is the most uncomfortable feeling there is. The feeling of not knowing what hell I am doing, it's keeping me awake at night. I have been “new” all bloody year. All those stupid job changes over the past 12 months has made for a perma-newness that I simply abhor. It is as if I enjoy torturing myself, I’m a masochist. I must be. For fuck sakes, this tunnel is still so dark. Where's the light??

I’m broke, I’m stressed, I’m new and I want nothing more than to devour a steak.

Fuck.

F.M.L.

So I quit that really great cooking job and got a really great reception job. They type of job that offered me the freedom to read and write, lots of computer time and all the holidays one could ask for, it was exactly what I wanted! It went really well, all last week, while I was training, then today...I got fired. They said I wasn't a good fit and they needed someone "more proactive". She was really nice about it , but "FUCK!!!" I got bills and now I gots no job. I suppose this is karma, because I quit that really great cooking job like a jerk and now it's back to bite me in the ass. This is the 4th job I have had this summer and I really thought that this one was gonna stick. I have maintained relatively optimistic that my job situation was going to improve and just as I thought it was finally getting there, the proverbial rug has been ripped from right under me. I'm that person whose ship comes in, but I misplace my ticket and get left on the shore. For the first time in a long time, I am really really scared of what is to come. I own a catering company with my best friend, but it's new and we certainly aren't making enough money to do it full time and not get behind on lifes unavoidable...bills. At this very moment, as I have JUST been fired, I have no solutions running through my mind, all that is there right now is FML, FML, FML.