To care or not to care, that is the question

I have been battling this thought a lot lately... Even when starting this blog, I was worried that I was going to become too vulnerable and considered making it a private site of personal thoughts for myself (this is coming from a girl that has made her sister swear that if tragedy ever struck early she would immediately erase her google history, THEN call 911). I knew if I let people read this, I would be criticized for my thoughts, ridiculed about my writing style and worse of all... be judged. I am extremely indecisive when trying to figure out if I should care more about what people think or give a shit less. My first real experience battling this concern came at age 9; I was riding around in my sick huffy bike when the boy down the street came over to talk to me, I never felt completely comfortable on this 2 wheeled contraption, not sure why but I thought I peddled weird and was pretty insecure about it. I thought about showing him my "no hands" skills but instead decided to stop abruptly; my hands became so sweaty from the anxiety of making sure I was acting “normal and cute” that they slipped off the handle bars and I went face first into the gravel. Not only did I scrape my favorite oversized NKOTB pin and rip up my nice new white jacket, I did worse, I bruised my ego. It went full circle though; when I was 12, I stuffed my bra and forced the same boy to kiss me in front of my garage during a game of flash light tag. He lives with his boyfriend now, about 45 miles north of home. Boy, I showed him.

So anyways, what is the “what you think compared to what others think” ratio when judging your own personal character? I hear a lot of people say that it only matters what you think about yourself, yet I think I would feel pretty shitty if I knew others thought I was terrible person and made voodoo dolls out of spite of me. But I also have always been one to go against the grain and I’ve never settled for less than what I thought to be pretty awesome. So, a person in my position, I assume, should think more about what I think than what others think. Unfortunately I am a thinking being, a thinking being that thinks way to much. But I think I am going to make a conscious effort to think more of my thoughts and less of others. On a side note (old habits die hard) please don’t tell my old neighbor I stuffed my bra that day. I still believes he thinks I grew a cup size in under 8 hours.

“Yes Sir, you have to take your shoes off too”

Some people don’t like going through security, I mean, think about how ridiculous the process is. Don’t get me wrong, I totally understand why we have to go through this ordeal; you can’t trust a grown adult with a pen cap and a hula hoop these days. But it’s like waiting to go through security at a state-of-the-art penitentiary, not that I have ever been processed to serve life, but I’ve seen Shawshank Redemption a few times and it seems eerily familiar to my airport experiences. Except when I get off this flight there will be no box of money under that out of place lava rock that will lead me to a boat in Paradise (I am assuming).

Some people don’t like going through security. Well, I loathe it, I absolutely loathe it... It’s like people lose all sense of their surroundings and become lost and utterly confused as to what they are doing or how they got there. The man in front of me was told 4 times to take his shoes off and remove his belt, then each time he went through the metal detector he was oddly nonchalant as he emptied his pockets time after time; first of an old nail, second a pocket knife, and third, what I thought to be..... scrap metal?!? At this point, I am assuming he can not possibly be serious, until he got extremely upset when they tried to take his swiss army knife away. So turns out, he was just a complete idiot... I guess now he will have to find another tool to help remove tiny pieces off of random metal objects.

Now that I am finally out of security I hit up the book slash candy slash knickknack slash rape my wallet store. After 1 pack of gum, a trashy magazine, and combos I am already 16 bucks in the hole... Awesome, I can’t wait to go people watch and wait until they call my zone. Damn I am sweaty.

It’s a red eye, so almost everyone is sleeping... Other than me, my body rejects any form of comfort and ease. I am sitting here unbelievably uncomfortable. I tried sleeping once and all I did was count how many times I had the thought “OMG, I am so unbelievably uncomfortable”. Then as I yawned the person in front of me sneezed. Perfect timing buddy! I’m sure I have some sort of body decaying infection now, way to spread the love...

Oh good, there are babies on the plane. That should make for an awesome 5 hour trip.

Cubicle Monkey

I think there should be a rule that you can only eat soft foods if you are in a cubical set up, because every time I hear the girl next to my cube open her zip lock container I have to brace myself. After months of study and research I have narrowed it down; she is going to eat 1 of 2 things, rock candy or shards of glass. I know that for the next 20 minutes I will not be able to concentrate on any single thing while she chews on her own teeth, and apparently it is not work appropriate to bring ear plugs to a job where you have to be "phone ready". I have mind stapled her mouth shut on several occasions.

I hear the average cube size has shrunken to about 5x6; which I believe 100% considering if I spread my arms far and wide I can almost touch each wall and I am only 5'2", with average length arms in proportion to my height (I think). I am sure I look ridiculous sitting here in a pterodactyl stance but I am really concerned about having the proper amount of breathing room in here... Thank goodness for this 3 sided semi-fuzzy wall barrier that protects me from the outside world. I am pretty much invincible in here, no one can see me (unless of course they stand up and/or walk past my missing 4th wall). And although the guy sitting across from me can not see my actions, if he pays close enough attention he can count my key strokes and figure out my wpm. Which I am pretty sure he has.
It amazes me that as grown adults we risk our lives and sanity to wake up before we want to, put on a less than comfortable work appropriate outfit and drive recklessly through traffic, all to rush into our tiny little work cage and sit like monkeys.

We leave one place to go to another place to pay for the place we just left... Weird.

Eggs anyone?

"Could I be a Jewish Egg Donor?", I seriously pondered this question when opening my computer today to look and see if by some chance there were any outstanding job posts on Craigslist, as per usual- there were not. However, the escort business seems to be in the up and up despite the recession; not that I was ever considering becoming an escort (although Tiger seemed to really be into them) but you have to admit, it's a curious world out there when you have a Gucci bag with no money in it or a Mercedes with no gas... Anyways, "Could I be a Jewish Egg Donor?" This statement made me realize that I really must be hitting a brick wall while trying to figure out where I stand in turning around my career; or as I would like to think, starting my "real" career. Not that I have anything against Eggs, Jewish Eggs, or Donors of any sort; just when evaluating where my life would be when I was planning it at age 12, giving up Christmas along with my baby eggs weren't anywhere in my plans.
I have done just about everything I have wanted to do up to this point; I have lived in 7 cities and 8 states, attended two Universities, drove across country twice, went sky diving, flew in private jets, stayed at 5 star resorts, traveled, bought a Mercedes, started a business and dyed my hair about 13 different shades of reddish blonde brown; all as I perched my 28th year on earth. I say this not to gloat, but to remind myself to not take things for granted and to make sure I keep myself humbled and grounded; because now I'm realizing at 28, while my friends are getting married, having both Jewish and non Jewish babies, and buying houses; I am struggling to get a living room put together and find a place of employment that will not make me want to blow my brains out when my alarm goes off every morning.... I do not want to take away from the many others that are loathing in this immense amount of recession pain, if anything, I am just jumping on the bandwagon. I think back to when I thought I had it all, and that right there is what has stunted my growth in the "now". So, time to whip out my resume, beef up my cover letter, turn on the charm and start all over...
If misery loves company, or if you will at least get enjoyment out of my misery; join me on my journey of the never ending interviews, Craigslist posts, resume title changes, and possible egg donations. Because I will be damned if I spend a whole year slinging copy machines.