what the funk?

Funk-ed up retail. Yay or Nay?

2009-10-08T06:51:00.000-07:00

It has been brought to my attention that I suck at blogging regularly. You're all correct, and I apologize profusely for my lack of dedication to my craft. It's not that I don't want to tell you the sordid details of my existence, it's more the number of people I could potentially piss off if I was honest about all of the crazy shit that happens in my life.

I've been told that I should start a blog about my work. Not necessarily about what I do on a daily basis, because I don't want to bore you with my tales of standing around aimlessly, hiding my venti caramel macchiato from my manager and texting anyone who will entertain me when no one is looking, but rather about all of the strange incidents that occur within the walls of Bloomies.

I'll give you a little taste of the weird, strange, and downright disgusting, and you tell me if you'd like to hear more, and I will incorporate "Funk-ed Up Retail" into my daily (yeah, right) bloggings.

And away we go...

One of the first eye-opening experiences I had was learning about the going-ons of the men's bathroom on my floor. Believe me folks, its not your typical public restroom (or maybe it is, depending on what you're in the bathroom for). There's a website for men looking for anonymous gay sex. It's called cruisingforsex.com, and it's chock full of interesting (public) places to find a glory hole or two. Taken directly from the website, this is the add for the men's bathroom on the first floor of Bloomingdale's:

>> Lenox Square, 3393 Peachtree Road NE, Buckhead. Cruisy toilet in Bloomingdale's mens department. Add Comments

New comments added September, 2009:
"Easy to suck a cock through the toilet paper holder between the stalls."

It's gross, yes, but I guess it's the nature of the beast. After all, I do work at Lenox.

Next, there's "Coke Girl." Apparently, she works at Aveda in the mall, and every day she saunters through our department to use the restroom. Not a problem because our bathroom is often inhabited by mall employees whose stores don't have a private restroom, and there are plenty of people who take advantage of our clean (minus the men's room, of course) facilities. Blonde stringy hair and a 24-inch waist actually weren't what gave her away as a cokehead. It was her schedule. Everyday, like clockwork, she makes four to five visits to the bathroom, walking like a woman on a mission, head down, avoiding eye contact (so of course I choose to stare at her and shake my head disapprovingly). One day I follow her into the bathroom to witness her routine: Pee, flush, (wait for it) snort. Did I just hear her do a bump? I verified the story with a coworker who said she heard the same series of events. Awesome. Sex in the men's room, cocaine in the women's. Classy establishment we're running.

Shortly after the discovery of Coke Girl came (no pun intended) an incident of underage public sex in the Polo fitting room. Overheard by a customer, two 14-year-old white trash children were exploring exhibitionism, and not very quietly. Our 6'7", 350lb, ex-college football playing security guard politely escorted them out of the store. Housekeeping immediately went about sanitizing the entire fitting room, but I'd still avoid the third stall if I were you.

I once walked into the restroom and witnessed a homeless woman sitting on the counter washing her feet in the sink. Numerous times I've seen dog-owners let their maltipoos and puggles (and whatever other ridiculous miniature hybrid dogs exist) shit on the floor and then just walk away as if its perfectly commonplace to let someone else step in your dog's feces. I've been asked "where yo' boyfriend at?" more times than I can remember. I once helped a male customer into a fitting room, and he (intentionally) closed the door and started changing with me still in the room. I've met more creeps, jerks, douche bags, and assholes in the last five months than I did my entire four years at the University of Georgia (and that's saying something).

Above and beyond all of the crazy and weird is just the day-to-day activities that keep me wondering why the fuck I do this job. So if you want to hear more, let me know.

Don't call it a comeback...

2009-07-13T18:04:00.000-07:00

After three longs month, I've finally returned. You've probably been concerned about my absence (and if you haven't, eff you)... The long and short of it is that my laptop broke, I got a job, and I moved, and sadly that combination left little time for story-spinning. Fortunately, things have settled down and my new laptop is ideal for blogging. So prepare yourself for an update on the last three months of my life.

In May, my internship ended with JEZEBEL. After five long months (three of which I knew there was no future employment to be had), I couldn't have been happier to leave. I found that it was a lot easier to work for free when there was the hope of getting a job at the end of the torture. When I finally spoke to my editor (who is a real peach, lemme tell ya), she made clear that when the internship was over, so was my time at the magazine... At that point I began the big girl job search.

For as long as I can remember, I swore I would never work retail. My justification was that I wasn't going to college (and getting two degrees) to be a sales associate at some second rate boutique. It took me a year after college graduation to finally succumb to this horrendous economic state, and apply for a retail position. My first stops were the Bloomingdale's and Nordstrom websites. I figured if I was going to stoop to retail, at least I was going to do it right. (Sidenote: For anyone reading this who works retail, please don't be offended by my attitude toward the profession. After being within the field, I have a newfound respect for my fellow sales associates, and begrudge you nothing for working retail too.) Shortly after sending in my applications, I scheduled interviews with both stores and found myself in an unfamiliar situation: Both were interested in offering me positions.

After weighing the pros and cons of positions at both stores, specifically the ridiculous difference in pay between the two, I opted for Bloomingdale's. I started working in the men's department in mid-May, and was thrown into the deep end without so much as a lesson on sizing, product knowledge, or how to work with complete douche bag know-it-alls. And while at first I was frustrated by the lack of preparation I got, I have to say looking back that on-the-job training is some of the best. I taught myself how to measure a guy's neck size and sleeve length, both of which are important in determining shirt size (another tidbit that might have been crucial to know before I started selling dress shirts). I learned all about the differences between Canali, Zegna, Boss, and Abboud, and quickly picked up the concept of inter-selling (bringing your customer to more than just your own department, so that you can sell shoes to go with that suit he just bought, and a pair of jeans to wear when he gets off of work and meets friends for drinks at the Tavern). Now, two months in, I find myself happy to be in the men's department, as opposed to frustrated and confused like I was at first.

In addition to the new job, I've undergone another significant change in my life. Like any normal 23-year-old, moving out of your parents' house is an important step in life. Now, I got lucky. I very easily could have been stuck at home for another year (as if one wasn't enough), but thanks to Craigslist and an overwhelming need for independence, I was able to find an incredible place to live so that my parents can once again be empty nesters. One month ago, I moved into an adorable house in Virginia Highlands with two friends, and I honestly couldn't be happier. Yes, I'm now completely broke (having to buy a new laptop so that I could blog for you obsessive freaks didn't help with my financial situation), and yes, complete independence has its disadvantages (i.e. no more mooching off of mom and dad's refrigerator), but I wouldn't trade it for anything. I live less than 15 minutes from work, a mere hop, skip, and a jump compared to my previous commute of nearly 40, I'm walking distance from the center of Virginia Highlands, and when I come home, no one judges me if I want to drink half a bottle of wine while lounging on my screened-in porch. All in all, life is pretty damn good.

Fact: Working for free can be fun.

2009-02-16T08:09:00.000-08:00

In my entire life, I have had maybe four jobs that I actually got paid for, minus the occasional "freelance" styling job or PA gig. I worked as a gift-wrap girl, a cashier at a chicken finger restaurant, and even sold massive amounts of Pad Thai working at Mama Fu's. Yes, it was as glamorous as it sounds. Every remotely respectable position that I have ever held has been unpaid (a fact that I hope to soon remedy). My newest "volunteer" venture is remarkably wonderful though, and I don't even mind working there for free. Allow me to elaborate:

A month and a half ago, I started working three days a week as an editorial assistant at JEZEBEL Magazine. I graduated from college with degrees in Fashion and Journalism, so working for a fashion magazine is pretty much ideal. There are honestly very few things about this job that I don't like. At the current juncture, I actually can't think of anything at all.

Every day when I walk in there, I experience something new. I get to do actual work, and the work actually means something there (as opposed to making cold calls and feeling completely replaceable). On my very first day, I was actually writing. I called my mom on my way home in complete and utter disbelief. What a great internship! They were actually taking advantage of all of the skills I had instead of dumbing me down and making me feel entirely overqualified. It's a very refreshing feeling, let me tell you. Since I've been there, some really awesome things have happened to me.

First, my boss is one of my sorority sisters, and although we were never really friends while in college (she is two years older than me), I find myself glad, if nothing else, that I got this internship so that we could rekindle our friendship. She is incredible, and I can't imagine doing this job without all of her amazing support. I often epitomize the saying "there are no stupid questions, only stupid people," and even when I ask something retarded, she still makes me feel valid, and proud that I was smart enough to ask instead of making a dumb mistake. She has challenged me, given me the opportunity to prove myself, and for that, I am truly grateful.

On that same note, the work that I have gotten to do has been pretty exciting. Maybe not for the seasoned magazine veteran, but for someone who continually is trying to break into the field, its a big effing deal. I have done everything from writing to copy-editing, and I've even caught a couple crucial fact-checking errors. I'd like to take a moment to thank my English teacher mother for instilling good grammar in me. I think my bosses would probably thank you too. I have run errands (even smoothie runs, which amazingly, I do not mind in the least), made copies, and sorted and collated. And I've loved every second of it. Most recently, I spent my days helping style the products for the upcoming Spring Fashion issue. My boss was thrilled to have my help (a fact that she made abundantly clear, and I again thank her for letting me know that I was appreciated) and I was thrilled to be there.

Another perk of working for JEZEBEL is that our office is right next door to the offices for 680 The Fan, an AM sports radio station in Atlanta. Just a week or so into my time at the magazine, one of the producers for Chuck and Chernoff, one of the station's talk shows, came into the office seeking a fashion advisor to go on-air with the guys. My boss was busy, so I was nominated for the task (my fashion degree helped), and they brought me into the studio with Matt and Chuck. Allow me to tell you a little more about these gentlemen... Matt is 31, Chuck is 41, and they are both nice Southern boys. Naturally, they loved me.

The talk started with my qualifications for doling out advice about clothes, and then Chadd, the wonderful producer that he is, had to point out my age. Chuck asked, and I told them that I was "almost 23." Now, allow me to say that I really was about to be 23. And I truly feel that saying I was 22 really wouldn't have done me any justice. Granted, I made my own bed so I had to sleep in it, but those guys just wouldn't relent. Until my actual 23rd birthday a couple weeks ago, I was known as their "almost 23-year-old friend from JEZEBEL." Since that first little spot on the radio, I have been on with them three other times. Somehow I even divulged that I am single, and they are currently in the process of trying to find me a nice Jewish boy.

So, basically that's my life right now. I loathe the beginning of the week, pray for Wednesday (when I finally am back at JEZ), and find myself not wanting to leave come Friday afternoon because I know I won't be back until the following Wednesday. For an unpaid position, I sure love doing it. I guess if you have to work for free, you might as well enjoy what you're doing.

If you'd like to check out my work in the newest issue of the magazine, the January/February issue is currently on newsstands. Check out page 75 for some doggie couture written by yours truly.

Who needs independence when you can live at home for free?

2008-12-30T20:06:00.000-08:00

It has been brought to my attention that I haven't posted in quite some time. I'd like to thank those of you who actually want to read about my more-often-than-not boring life and have requested that I keep you in the know. So, here goes nothin'.

About a month ago, I started an internship with a tradeshow production company. Basically, if you have ever been to The Mart in Atlanta, we recreate something like it in Miami, but way cooler, obvi. For those of you not in (or interested in) the fashion industry, a tradeshow is an opportunity for brands from all over the country to come together in one location (in this case, South Beach) so that retailers can come and see what those brands have to offer. The retailers then place orders with the brands at wholesale prices, and then, voila! Everything shows up in time to be sold to the (un)suspecting public at twice the price the retailer paid for it.

So this is a relatively small company I am working for, but I am not the only intern. In fact, I think there are more unpaid interns than there are actual employees. I am one of seven minions who got suckered into working for free (so I feel slightly less bad about it). Since we started, the majority of the work we have done has been going through shoeboxes of business cards (some more than 4 years old) and determining if the contact info on the card is correct, and then if it is, putting them in our database. This seems like a pretty straightforward task, but somehow this process took 7 interns almost 3 weeks to complete. I choose to blame this too on the economy. Here is why:

The economy has gone to shit. Shitty economy equals businesses closing. Businesses closing equals extra work for me. Why? Because if I call the phone number on a business card and it is disconnected, I have to spend an extra 20 minutes trying to Google the nonexistent company to see if they are actually defunct or if their number has just changed (and 99% of the time, it isn't the latter). So I spent a good chunk of the last month becoming best friends with Google. We're on a first name basis.

Moving on. Now, we finally made it through the mountain of business cards, and we all got promoted (yeah, right) to new tasks. One of us (who will remain nameless) spent four days scanning brands on retail websites like ShopBop.com and Bluefly.com to see if they were in our price point and would be appropriate additions to the show. A few others (including myself) have spent more time on the phone talking to retailers. We have been calling all of the stores who came to the show in September to pre-register them for our upcoming show in March. Again, you would think straightforward, but nonetheless, it couldn't be more of a pain in the ass.

For some reason, there are people who we have in our database as having come to the show just mere months ago, and yet they have no idea who we are or what our show is. Maybe it's just me, but that makes no sense whatsoever.

Me: Hello, Nancy? How are you? I see that you came to our show in September.

Idiot: Yes, I did! It was wonderful.

Me: Are you interested in pre-registering for our March 09 show?

Idiot: Wait, what show? Who did you say you were again?

Fucking retards. I think I've had that conversation 27 times.

The other problem we are coming across is (again) the economy. Retailers who live in LA can't afford to fly out to Miami for a weekend of fun in the sun/fluorescent glow of the Miami Convention Center. It's sad, but true. Maybe by the time I get a job that actually pays, these companies will be able to attend the show again. Sigh.

There are other miscellaneous aspects of my job (all of which I prefer to calling idiot retailers and confirming contact information) but they aren't nearly as entertaining to complain about, so I will refrain from boring you.

Above and beyond my internship, I actually have some wonderful (or horrible, depending on how you feel about my blog) news. As of next week, my time for blogging will be be severely depleted. Heavens, no! Say it isn't true! Alas, it is true my loyal followers (and I love you all dearly). 'Where is the wonderful part of this news?' you may be asking. Well, I got another internship (yes, I will be doing two internships at one time). And this one is a doozie: JEZEBEL Magazine. My ideal. Be still, my beating heart. I'm actually going to get to write. For real! Not this blogging nonsense (though I do love that I get to say things like 'fuck' and not get in trouble for it).

But fret not. You can't get rid of me that easy. Honestly, just tell me you love reading what I have to say, and I won't be able to stay away for long.

Things are looking up... and interesting.

2008-11-30T05:13:00.000-08:00

Contrary to my recent (and not-so-recent) posts, there are actually things happening in my life lately. Of course we had Thanksgiving, and everything that goes along with it, but I've experienced a few intermittent adventures along the way. Come along as I regale you with my slightly more interesting life.

About a week ago, I got an internship! Not quite a job, and no, it doesn't pay, but it's one step up from Beer Bitch, so I'm happy as a pig in slop. I've only worked one day, but so far I think it might be my key to happiness. I'll keep you updated as I get deeper into it.

Last week was full of unusual sightings. First occurred as my mom and I were pulling out of the Trader Joe's shopping center. We are at the stop sign when we notice an older gentleman standing on the corner. When he moves away, we see one of those signs advertising yard work (professionally printed on waterproof stock, mind you), and our first inkling is that he has put this sign into the ground. Then, we inch closer, and I notice that the last four digits of the phone number are covered by a white rectangular sticker. We get closer still, and my 20/20 vision does not fail me as I see the word "DOUCHEBAG!" obscuring the latter part of the number.

After laughing (and taking a picture, obviously), we came tothe conclusion that this poor old man had used this lawn care service in the past, and had been slightly more than disappointed. Talk about brilliant. I want to shake that man's wrinkly old hand.

Second out of the ordinary sighting of the week occured in my neighborhood. I had noticed a dead squirrel in the street directly in front of our yard earlier that day, but really thought nothing of it, since I usually try not to think about roadkill. Later, my mom is taking the dog out, and I am upstairs getting the house ready for a showing (turning on lights, opening doors, etc.) when I look out the window and see my mom, with the dog, talking to a car at the end of our driveway. Perplexed, I try and figure out what they are talking about. I see them pointing in the general direction of the roadkill I mentioned earlier, and I shift my gaze to the squirrel, only to find something moderately larger standing over it. There, in the middle of my neighborhood in East Cobb, is a gigantic vulture. I mean, this thing was probably three feet tall, and ugly as hell. I was so shocked by it, that I actually took pictures.

Luckily, he also carried the dead squirrel away.

So, yeah. Things have been a little weird, a little kooky even, around here. I could tell you more, but then what would I have to write about later?

2008-11-12T08:34:00.000-08:00

Last night I made (from scratch) roasted tomato soup. It is without a doubt the most delicious delicacy in my cooking repertoire, the top tier of my metaphorical wedding cake of recipes (I honestly don't know what that means). No joke, you should come over to my house right now and try it. You will never go back to La Madeleine for tomato basil soup ever again.

To be perfectly honest, I'm not a gourmet chef. I do very little cooking without a recipe in front of me, but I truly enjoy cooking, and I think that is the first, and most important, step. I'd like to thank my lovely college roommate for instilling this new-found love of cooking in me. She's an awesome chef and introduced me to a plethora of new things (i.e. fried catfish), a gift for which to her I am forever indebted. Thanks dude.

So now, I cook. Mostly with my dad (yes, I live with my parents). It's amazing what being unemployed does for your creativity. He has an entire binder full of recipes, most of which we still haven't tried, and foodnetwork.com is our new favorite website (2nd only to Facebook and Blogger, of course). I'm trying to find a new recipe that inspires me as much as the tomato soup (seriously, it's fucking awesome), so if you have any suggestions, I'm open to them. Let me know.

Want to do something meaningful? Try this on for size.

2008-10-27T08:39:00.001-07:00

I hyper-extended my knees in the fight against breast cancer. Don't believe me? You try walking 60 miles and see how your knees fare. That shit is hard. I may be gimping around the house for a few days, but it was worth it. Allow me to regale you with my journey:

Friday morning I woke up at 5:30am to join three thousand women and men at North Point Mall for the opening ceremonies of the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer 3Day. The walk is 60 miles, spread out over the course of a weekend, 20 miles each day. Each participant is required to raise $2,200 to support breast cancer research. The entire balagan (Yiddish for "big fucking mess") is organized by the National Philanthropic Trust, and the 3Day staff travels from one city to the next, walking all over our country in support of a cure.

We were to begin our walk at 8am, and everyone was armed for the unexpected bad weather. Yes, Georgia is in a drought, and yes, October is notoriously the driest month of the year in Atlanta, but God decided to test us with a torrential downpour (maybe slight hyperbole, but there was a steady rain all day long) on the first day of the walk. Now, let me paint a picture for you. It's 40-something degrees outside, and the rain is amazingly horizontal. I am dressed in a multitude of layers, including leggings, shorts, a dri-fit shirt, tshirt, windbreaker, and poncho. Did I mention that I have shower caps on over my socks (and duct taped to my ankles) to keep my feet dry? Before opening ceremonies even start, my shoes and gloves are completely soaked.

Opening ceremonies were emotional (and freezing) and I cried my way through them. Jenne Fromm, the national spokeswoman for the Breast Cancer 3Day, is so inspirational, and her words have me wanting to walk, even in this horrendous weather. The crowd is a smorgasbord of women and men, all there for the same reason, all with different stories to contribute to the cause. Hearing the stories gives even more incentive to walk, as if we didn't have reason enough. The ceremony ends, the gates open, and we are on our way, pushing through the rain for a cure.

I walked with my friend Sydney. She and I were, what we thought, appropriately decked out for such weather conditions. We were wrong. Apparently there are entire rain suits (pants and jackets made out of poncho material) for just such occasions. The typical poncho just does not do walking 20 miles in the rain justice. I think the only good thing about them was when a gust of wind blew Syd's poncho up over her head and we got a brief moment of laughter out of it (Sydney did not think it was as funny as I did).

About 10 miles into day one, we finally reached our lunch stop. After walking such a distance, particularly in the rain, one would pay good money to sit indoors, dry off and warm up, while eating her lunch. Sadly, no such lunch situation existed. Instead, we continued to freeze our asses off in the marvelous outdoors while we tried to stomach what I think was an attempt at a chicken sandwich. The highlight of lunch? I finally got to see what the underbelly of a Mac Truck looks like, as I sat underneath one in order to stay "dry" while I ate. Yay!

After lunch the walk continued in a residential area where hills were commonplace and the rain continued in an annoying drizzle. Sydney and I, joined by our friend Jeremy, trekked along, mostly in silence (because we were more focused on the rain and cold than anything else), with the occasional random thought being voiced. It's amazing what pops into your head when you have nothing to do but walk.

My day ended at mile 13 when I could no longer force myself to walk. My kneecaps felt like they were about to explode, and I wasn't going to risk hurting myself badly enough to keep me out of the rest of the walk. Syd and I took a sweep van (they drive along the route picking up people who need a break or can't walk anymore) to the next pit stop, where her dad picked us up and drove us to our hotel. Now, try not to judge me here. Most participants in the 3Day choose to stay in a tent at the campgrounds. I initially had no problem with the tent idea, but Sydney did the walk last year and stayed in the tents and she refused to do it again. So that's why we stayed in a hotel. In the long run, I am eternally grateful that we did so, because due to the rain, the campers spent the first night sleeping in what appeared to be an abandoned office complex. While they were doing that, we were drinking hot chocolate, ordering pizza delivery, and soaking our feet in the hotel's hottub.

Day 2: Cold, but DRY. Thank you Jesus. The previous night I had been icing my knees in the hopes that I would actually be able to walk in the second day. Luckily, I felt much better when I woke up, and I did my best. I got out there, made it to the second pit stop (about 5.5 miles) and had to call it a day. I decided it wasn't worth ruining my knees on day 2 and not being able to walk through the finish line on day 3. I hobbled onto a SAG ("Safety and Gear") Bus where I met some incredible women. Joann, the bus liason who was a volunteer crew member, is a 6 month breast cancer survivor. She'd had a complete mastectomy and was proud to be boobless. Her daughter was walking for her, and she was doing her part by being a crew member. Annita has five sisters and is a survivor, 27 years cancer free. One year after she was diagnosed, so was her younger sister Gail, who now too is cancer free. Their team shirts say "Sisters in Pink." I made my way back to the hotel, two life stories richer, and spent the rest of the day icing my knees.

As a Day 2 sidenote: We started walking at around 8am. If you are walking at a normal pace, you should be able to walk about 20 minute miles, so about 3mph. So if you include time allowed for pit stops, stretching, and lunch, it should take the normal human being about 7 to 8 hours to complete a 20 mile walk, so finishing the day around 3pm, if they start walking at 8am. When I arrived back at camp at 1:30pm because of my knees, there were women finishing. FINISHING. Not a joke. They must have been bionic, because that shit is ridiculous.

Day 3: I woke up feeling refreshed. The sun was shining, my knees weren't throbbing, and the end was in sight. I kept telling myself that I had to complete at least one whole day. And I did.

For any Atlantans, here is the route, so that you can imagine just how far we walked: We began at Chamblee High School (which, as our friend Carrie who went to Chamblee told Sydney, "is a place of champions" and we "would do great") on Chamblee-Dunwoody Rd. From there we walked straight up Peachtree, right into and through Buckhead. We stopped at the Ritz for a bathroom break, and I cannot even tell you how good it felt to actually sit on a toilet seat instead of hovering in a porta-potty. From there we continued down Peachtree until we hit the numbers (i.e. 26th Street) and began the countdown. Sydney had hurt her foot, and my knees were killing me, and each block seemed an eternity away. We passed the High Museum and Colony Square, turned onto 14th Street and made our way into Piedmont Park for lunch, where we sat barefoot in the grass and enjoyed a few moments of bliss as we stretched and wiggled our toes. After lunch, we exited Piedmont Park at 10th Street and made our way back to the traffic of Peachtree, W. Peachtree, and Cenntential Olympic Park Drive. As we reached our final pit stop, we realized that we were just 1 mile away from the finish line (The Georgia World Congress Center). With a new burst of energy, we got back to walking, and as we walked passed CNN Center, I felt like I had truly accomplished something great.

As we walked towards the GWCC, crowds of people had formed, cheering us on, telling us we were almost there. Tears began to well up as a little girl put out her hand to give me a high five and thank me for walking. Suddenly, I no longer felt any pain in my knees. I wanted to walk through that finish line, get my victory tshirt, and put it on proudly. And I did.

So, that's my 3Day story. Right now, I'm sitting here reminiscing about the good and the bad, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I met some incredible people, heard some inspiring and terrifying stories, and completed something difficult that I never thought I could. I'm proud of me, and I hope that you are too.

If you'd like to know more about the Breast Cancer 3Day, visit http://www.the3day.org.

It's a dog-eat-dog world out there. Sadly, I'm not 'out there'...

2008-10-15T12:31:00.000-07:00

So apparently I passed the drug test. I started working at the golf course a couple weeks ago, and I loathe it (Mom doesn't like when I say that I "hate" things). Don't get me wrong... The job is a cinch. I load up the cart, drive around all day, smile, wave, sell some brews and the occasional Powerade, and then unload and put my sales into the computer. If I'm lucky, I come out of the day with at least $20 in untaxable income. That's the good part.

The bad part is the management. I report to six bosses who, based on my whole two weeks of experience, don't communicate with each other very well. They're all wonderfully nice, they just really don't seem to have their shit together. For example, our week runs from Friday to Thursday, as opposed to the conventional Sunday to Saturday, or even Saturday to Friday, schedule. At any job you would expect to know your schedule at least a week ahead of time. For some reason, I don't find out if I have to work on Friday until one day, or if I am lucky, two days, before.

Now, I don't think I am being unreasonable here, but this girl has a life. I like to go out with my friends. I even like to spend time with my family (don't judge me). And I understand that sometimes work comes first and my social life will occasionally suffer. But ask anyone, I have a minor case of OCD, and I kind of need my plans. I like to know what I am doing. Spontaneity is great and all, but it usually ends in a total clusterfuck, and I need my plans. That being said, how the hell am I supposed to make any plans whatsoever when I don't know if I have to work on Saturday until the Thursday before? What the eff.

I have realized that the real world is more my style. Like I've said before, I graduated college wanting to work. I showcased my talent with two awesome internships, and in line with my OCD comes my need for structure and a 9 to 5 job. Not to mention, lately I have been hearing all sorts of things that make an office job sound pretty awesome.

Take Scott: Somehow we got on the topic of work. He informs me that his biggest requirement is that he is there by 9 and doesn't leave before 5, but as long as he does that, he can take a two hour lunch. I don't know for sure, but I think I got the short end of the stick. On Sunday, I worked from 9:30 to 7, and took a 10 minute lunch. What's wrong with this picture?

And then there's Blake: A couple weeks ago, he had so little to do at work, he almost caught a flick (Tropic Thunder, to be exact). He figured that would be slightly irresponsible, so he went to H&M and bought a few shirts instead.

Now I'm not knocking these guys. Rather, I'm jealous. Yes, I work as a beer bitch, but I'm also working my ass off at this stupid job that pays me peanuts, and I'm obviously not having near as much fun as these office job stiffs. Fuck this shit. I just want a real job. One that requires business cards. And self-respect.

The PC term is Beverage Cart Attendant.

2008-09-25T20:14:00.000-07:00

All summer I have been sitting on my ass. Or at least that's what my dad thinks I have been doing. Truth is, I've been among the crop of unemployed college grads who are completely stumped by the painful job shortage, and who are settling for jobs much below their qualification level.

I graduated from UGA in four years (which, you can ask anyone, these days, is a feat in itself). I knocked out two majors, and managed, after slacking a tad my freshman year, to kick my ass into high gear and pull out a 3.52 GPA, allowing me to graduate with honors. On top of that, I rocked two incredible internships in New York City. If I may say so, I whooped college's ass.

Yesterday I interviewed to be a beverage cart attendant, a position more fondly known as "Beer Bitch," at a golf course. So glad my double major and Cum Laude honors are going to good use.

For the first time in my life I had to take a drug test. This was an experience in itself. First off, I walk into this place that I have passed while driving a million times, and each time wondered what could possibly possess anyone to set foot in such an establishment. It's called "Any (LAB) Test." Seriously. Inside there is a nurse speaking a dialect of Ebonics that even someone who grew up in Atlanta, GA couldn't understand. I wasn't sure if she told me to 'pee in the cup' or 'be da gub.' I hope it wasn't the latter, because I peed in the cup.

Then there was this kid with his dad. I kept trying to sneak a peek at his forms to see what kind of (LAB) test he was there for, but then the nurse gave it away (I think) when she asked the kid if he wanted to wait for his drug test results (that's a rough translation--it very easily could have been something more sinister). I also assume drug test because when the kid looked at me, his eyeballs couldn't focus. It was like he had a twitch. Or was on meth. One or the other.

So I survived my first drug test. I won't know the results until tomorrow, but since I've steered clear of the heroin for a couple months now, I think I should be good. If (fingers crossed) I pass this test, I will have training on Monday. Apparently I need to be taught how to open a beer bottle and drive a golf cart.

Honestly, I am happy to have a job, it's just the principle of the thing. Who goes to college to sell Powerade to, and get hit on by, middle-aged golfers? I had such high aspirations! I wanted to be a wardrobe stylist. I wanted to write for magazines. I wanted people to know my name. Now I'm just going to be Carlen, The Beer Girl.

I guess there is something to be said for this job. They've already made it abundantly clear that I will have the opportunity for advancement. I only have to work there for three months before I can train to be a bartender...

2008-09-24T08:28:00.000-07:00

I'm back on JDate. It's not a matter of choice, but of circumstance. Though my previous JDate escapades were short-lived, they left an indelible impression on me, and it is a much desperate situation that brings me back to the mouth of hell I like to call internet dating.

Being a young Jewish female in the South leaves me at a derth for dating material. My options are drastically reduced by the fact that I'm looking for another MOT (Member of the Tribe, for the unlikely goyim reading this), and the good ones that fit in that category are few and far between. Granted, I could move to New York and be engaged in 8 months, but my fondness for the Dirty South, along with unemployment and the option of living in my childhood bedroom, are keeping me down here. Hooray.

I love men. I'm not going to sugarcoat it. Flirting is like breathing for me. Yesterday I blew a kiss to some random guy in the car next to me, just because I could. Then he followed me down the road for six miles and I had to shake him by pulling an illegal U-turn. So occassionally flirting backfires. But on the whole, I love men. I'm open to a relationship, which is numero uno issue with finding a guy. What guy wants to settle down when he can go to a club and get strange ass four nights a week instead? I guess I'm the dumbass.

My past dating experience has been a total clusterfuck. Freshman year of college I had my first real relationship. It lasted a whopping six months and I was only 19-years-old (he was 23). So I guess in this case, I was the one who wanted to continue sowwing my oats a little longer, and he was the one wanting to settle down. Luckily he wasn't Jewish, so I have no regrets about letting that one get away. Since then, there have been a multitude of dates, some memorable, others less so.

I got on JDate the first time the Summer after my sophomore year at UGA. I was interning in New York and was honestly (I swear to God) bored out of my mind and got on it as a joke. Believe what you want, but I had only humorous intentions... at first. Yeah, I was a little young to be on JDate, but what's the harm in seeing what my options are? I started talking to guys almost immediately. I kept it to email and IMing, no phone calls yet. And the first guy I was interested in had potential.

Guy #1: I was 20. He was 28. I've always had a thing for older guys. We talked for weeks via email before I gave him my phone number. He seemed sweet, charming, moderately good-looking (take that, fucker). The night we were finally going to start talking, I had just started talking to another guy, who we will call "Douche Bag," although protecting the innocent doesn't really seem like an issue at this juncture. When Guy #1 called, we talked, and the conversation was effortless. We chatted about the weather, politics, and the global economy (just kidding, I have no recollection of the conversation, except for what comes next). Then he tells me that he was talking to his roommate earlier, and their conversation turned to JDate, which apparently brought to light that the roommate was talking to me also. Turns out, the roommate was Douche Bag, the ever lovable guy I was talking to just earlier that night. To make a long story just slightly shorter, I broke things off with Douche Bag, went on a date with Guy #1, then broke things off with him just days later because it turned out that he could act a fool with the best of 'em. To future guys I date, take this hint: Don't incessantly talk about your penis and expect a girl to swoon. Aaaanway, about three months later, my dad was telling me about a family friend who had experienced something similar on JDate--two guys who "coincidentally" turn out to be roommates talking to the same girl. Oh wait, they have the same names as the two douche bags I was talking to? Wait a minute... I think I know what's going on here. Well played gents, but the game is up.

Guy #2: Again with the big age difference, but who gives a shit. When I'm 40 and he's 46, no one will care or notice. He was actually quite wonderful, other than his taste in jeans. He was the assistant GM of a restaurant, I was a college junior. We were a match made in JDate heaven. Our biggest issue? We couldn't make our schedules work. How pathetic is that? He worked most every day, and his off nights were usually in the middle of the week. Mine were obviously the weekend, and it's kind of hard to plan dates when you can't get together on the same nights. So sadly, that one was short-lived.

Guy #3: Robbie Levin (no need to use a fake name with this one, kids). The doozie. The primary reason I removed myself from JDate the first time. I was 21, he was 28. A lawyer, a musician, had his own house, gorgeous blue eyes, and a Mercedes. Every little girl's dream. We finally went out after a couple weeks of talking, and everything seemed in order. We had dinner, drinks, he serenaded me at CJ's Landing (R.I.P.), what could be better? The next day I was heading back to Athens, but before I did, my wonderful father called me into his room. He sat me down, looked me straight in the eye, and told me that he had googled Robbie. At first I was mortified. I felt deceived and violated, and then he dropped the bomb. He had found Robbie's Georgia State Bar directory page (all lawyers have something like it). There it said where he had gone to undergrad and law school. I had known that he went to Indiana undergrad and UGA Law, but I definitely didn't know that he graduated from law school in 1996. Do the math kiddies--1996 law school grad made him a whopping 36, not his previously claimed 28. Holy balls, I went out with a pedophile.

Amazingly, the Guy #3 story gets even better. When I broke it off with him, I called him out for lying to me. His response: "I never told you I was 28. You must have assumed I was 28." Uh, can I call bullshit? I try to put this whole thing out of my head, but only a few months later, I am in Charleston for a wedding. While sitting at the rehearsal dinner, my older male cousin inquires about my recent dating habits, and I coyly respond that I just went out with a guy who told me he was 28 but was actually 36. And to my surprise, his response is: "Was his name Robbie Levin?" Whether the look on my face was shock, horror, or disgust, I do not know, but I almost threw up when my cousin told me how Robbie did the exact same thing to a friend of his. Lucky for me, we only went on one date. He dated that girl for three weeks. Ew.

If you're still reading, I applaud you. But if you feel the need for a break, now is the time to do it, because this story only gets better and you might need a few cleansing breaths before you read it. Ready? Here we go.

October 24, 2007. I have a Facebook message from my wonderful cousin from the wedding. The subject states: I was definitely right to tell you to stay away from this guy. A million thoughts run through my head. What the hell is he talking about? I click open the message and inside find a link, this link: http://www.11alive.com/news/article_news.aspx?storyid=105295. I click. I read. I laugh. More out of horror than anything. Robbie Levin, the guy that lied about his age and has a habit of doing so, has just been arrested for sexually soliciting a teenager (his coworker's daughter) online. Wow. Fuck you JDate for letting this pedophile into my life.

And THAT, my friends, is why I removed myself from JDate. Times must be pretty desperate if I'm getting back on there. So, to anyone reading this, if you know of a nice Jewish man, feel free to introduce us, because I would really love nothing more than to one day tell my children anything but "I met your daddy on JDate."

Training begins... Want to make a donation?

2008-07-07T20:21:00.000-07:00

In a little over three months, I will start one of the hardest undertakings of my life. I'll be walking 60 miles in 3 days, all in support of finding a cure for breast cancer. Last October, I watched friends cross the finish line in Piedmont Park, and I was forever changed. I knew that this was something of which I needed to be a part. And soon I will be.

This morning I walked 2.5 miles with my mom. Just shy of the 20 I will be walking a day, of course, but you have to start somewhere. Tomorrow morning I will rise again before the sun and take on 3 miles. By the weekend, I hope to be doing 4, and by the end of the month between 6 and 8 each time I walk. It's going to be exhausting, but totally worth it in the end.

My other challenge is fundraising. On top of walking 60 miles, participants are also asked to raise $2,200. I'm glad to do it, but its not exactly pocket change. If you, or anyone you know, would like to make a donation to the Susan G. Komen foundation, in support of a cure for breast cancer, while at the same time helping me reach and hopefully exceed my goal, please go to http://08.the3day.org/goto/carlenfunk and make a donation. It will be greatly appreciated, not just by me, but by everyone walking for a cure. I thank you in advance.

So for now, I will keep up my walking regimen as I break in my Nikes and build some major muscle. And don't worry, I will be back with an update soon.

For Hire: Cute brunette. (Yeah, that's about all I have going for me right now.)

2008-07-02T14:28:00.000-07:00

Ok, I get it. I suck at this whole blogging regularly thing. I mean, its not like I have anything else to do with my time, being unemployed and all. I suppose that tanning and shopping don't provide me with much provocative writing material.

Since my last entry, things have been uneventful. Unfortunately, the graduation presents have stopped rolling in, so I again find myself broke and jobless. The hunt continues, and I have broadened my horizons as I venture into the field of event planning. Oddly enough, it's actually something I have always wanted to do. In high school I was the BBYO queen, planning conventions and parties galore. Sorority cliques in college are all that kept me from being the social chair and from planning a kick-ass formal. Yeah, I'm not bitter or anything.

So now I'm back at square one. I have only a minimal amount of event planning experience, and technically it dates back to high school. I have mountains of fashion experience, two whole summers in New York's worth, and I can't get a job in that field to save my life. I guess regrouping is my best option. Now if only I could get someone to respond to my emails...

2008-06-05T08:48:00.001-07:00

It's been a month since my last post. Give me a break. I'm still not used to this whole online journal thing. A lot has happened since May 6th. Allow me to give you the rundown.

May 6, 2008 was the last day of finals. Of course I passed them all with flying colors. Four days later (May 10), I graduated from college. The reality of that last sentence has not quite sunk in, so please forgive any continued talk about Athens being home or "my roommate" who I no longer live with. I came back to Atlanta on the 11th (the day after graduation) only to spend two days packing for a ten day trip to Israel. On the 13th I flew to New York to spend two days with my lovely friend Tess (who suffered a massive hangover while at work for me), and then flew out of JFK to Israel on the 15th. The ten day trip in the Holy Land, which will be chronicled in another episode of Carlen's Blog because there is far too much to say in just one posting, ended on Tuesday the 27th with my arrival back in New York at 5:30am. From there, I flew back to Atlanta that same day. For two days I recovered from jetlag, and that Friday (the 30th), with my parents, I drove to Athens, rented a U-haul, and packed up my apartment, which we promptly drove to Charleston, SC to move my shit into my sister's apartment there. On Sunday, less than 48 hours after arriving, we left Charleston to come home to thrilling Marietta, GA. And what have I been doing since then? Nothing short of nothing.

Now I find myself sitting alone in my room, or alone in the kitchen of my parents' house, or alone on the back porch, wondering what the hell I am doing with my life. Its the worst possible time to be looking for a job in the US, and to add insult to injury, my parents are trying to sell our house. Yeah, cause that's actually a really good market right now. My boredom is almost consuming me. I mean, I guess there is a silver lining--I'm so bored I'm writing on my blog.

My first foray into blogging...

2008-05-06T06:03:00.000-07:00

I've always been a little skeptical of this whole thing. I suppose its hard not to be when you grow up on actual literature, the kind that requires physically turning the page. But every journalism class I've ever taken has told me the same thing: Blogs are the future. Now what kind of space age bullshit is that? Blogs, the ignorant rants of under- (or over-) sexed morons with nothing better to do with their time than plaster their idiocy all over the internet, are the future? You've got to be kidding me. It's going to take more than a couple tenured professors who, based solely on their six-figure salary, can say whatever they damn well please (and could very easily just be jerking my blog-ignorant chain) to convince me that blogging is legit.

So you're probably wondering, if I'm so disapproving of the whole online journal trend, what could possibly draw me into the throng of morons that claims "blogging" as a hobby? To be perfectly honest, I don't know what I'm doing here. I guess I just want to write, and I'm doing this in the hope that until my words can be read on a larger scale (hint hint to any magazine editors out there), this blog just might mean something to someone. Side note: I apologize now for the completely condescending tone of the previous sentence. I was aiming for empathy and came up trite. Sorry about that.

So for now, welcome to my blog. I hope you find yourself intrigued.

If you got funk, you got style. You're funkin' and you're styling all the while.
When you got funk, you got class. You're out on the floor movin' your ass.

-George Clinton and the Funkadelics