Borders is a Learning Experience

Nonchalant Non Sequitors (aka My Father Has Forbidden Me from Blogging About Work and Thus I Have Nothing of Interest to Share)

1. The World Loves Me: Seriously, I’m not kidding. I had a meeting with the Director of Sales Affiliates and she said to me, “You just seem so cool.” I thanked her, but corrected her mistake. I may dress damn well but I’m a nerd through and through. Otherwise I wouldn’t spend my summer working that hard for no pay. Although I might have. I really do like it.

2. Thank You For Smoking: Is an amazing movie. Aaaron Eckhart plays the smooth-talking asshole perfectly. The points the film makes, and the manner in which it makes them, makes one leave the theater not only laughing, but seriously contemplating the manner in which we as a nation receive our information. The single weak component in this movie is Katie Holmes. Seriously, she needs to stop existing. For the good of humanity.

3. Cherry Now and Laters: It’s like a taste explosion in my mouth.

4. Paste Magazine’s 100 Greatest LIVING Songwriters: Call me crazy, but I would have put Paul Simon and Jackson Browne in the top 5. And I stil stand firm in my belief that Bruce Springsteen is overrated. And Ray Davies deserved top 10, easily. Who are these people at Paste Magazine, and why is Stevie Wonder ranked better than Carole King? Just wait until I’m writing for you, boys, you’ll get it then.

5. I Got My First Paycheck!: It was fifty dollars!

6. The Wedding I’m Going to on Sunday, Where I Don’t Really Know Anyone Other than My Parents, who I will not be seated with: Rumor has it there’s an open bar.

7. Who are you?: I’d really love to know who is reading my blog. Other than my parents and my brother. So if you are reading this, please drop me a comment, I’d love to hear from you.

Tales from Retail : Chapter 1

I have seen more unclothed parts of more women than I have ever wanted to see in my entire life.

As a sales associate, it is one of my jobs to assist women in the dressing room. Let me tell you about the woman I like to call Buxom Blonde, or BB for short. She is blonde. Blonde! BLONDE! BLONDE! The kind of blonde that could be twisted into a glowing sign and provides a night light for women afraid of the dark. And she’s top heavy. And tan. It was hard to tell which part of her skin wasn’t cancerous. This woman came into the store frantic for an outfit to wear out to dinner that evening. Which is good for us, because it guarantees she will leave the store buying a full outfit, and if we’re really good, we can sell shoes and jewelery to match. This woman, however, was far too comfortable with the concept of client-employee relations. I had given her my opinion on a black top, and had run to grab another style black sweater. I returned to her dressing room and handed her the black top. She thanked me enthusiastically and then proceeded to remove her current top. I turned quickly, but not before I saw her insanely large breasts in her bra, and an unpleasant roll of fat. Granted, I sold her a pair of shoes, a top, a sweater, a skirt, and a necklace, which was quite a haul but I suffered far too much for that.

More tales of Retail Woe, coming up in Chapter 2.

On a Sadder Note

My mother left my father and I alone to feed the entire family.

Bad idea.

We ordered pizza.

Then Dad proceeded to attempt to give my already ailing grandfather a heart attack by pressing more zepoles on him, then offering some chocolate ice cream to flush down the zepoles.

I’ve Got the World on a String, Sitting on a Rainbow

For those of you who have been reading my blog since it’s creation, including the blog I maintained in high school, you have read my many entries about my struggles to amount to something, to be something more, or something great.

Well, it is with great pleasure that I inform you that I am so happy with my life right now. And there isn’t a trace of sarcasm in that sentence. It’s pouring rain, I haven’t seen sunlight in 4 days, and I’m still entirely satisfied. I have an amazing internship. As of yesterday afternoon, I am a Sales Associate at Ann Taylor. A classy store. And I pursued the internship and the job by myself, without help, making the phone calls, walking into stores, introducing myself, presenting myself, selling my talents. And it paid off! I also got a B in Art History.

Things are finally going my way. And I’m still in a little bit of shock that I am personally doing so well. I keep telling my mother over and over again, just because I have to repeat it to remind myself that it’s me, and that I’m being successful. And both my parents are repeatedly telling me how proud they are of me. Which would seem pretty normal, but my parents use the “I’m Proud” statement only when they mean it. When I made artwork in middle school, it wasn’t “I’m Proud” but more of an “It’s Interesting…”. They don’t beat around the bush, and they don’t build up false hopes. Thats what’s great about them. And they are proud of me. And I’m proud of me.

Even more satisfying, is the approval I’m getting from certain senior members of my family. My entire life I was always make to feel (whether intentional or not) what I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t as good as my older brother, and I wasn’t as good as my cousins. I felt shunted aside and underappreciated by this member of my family. And so, I pretended I didn’t care. But as of recently, this senior member of my family said “I’m so proud of you” and “I love you” in one phone call. And I am so happy. While I am happy for myself, having this person’s approval tells me that I’m doing something very very right. To finally be worthy of this person’s notice is something I never thought I’d achieve. So maybe I’m a reverting to little girl basking in appreciative attention, but I actually feel like I deserve it.

I have an internship. I have a job. I have a lovely new work wardrobe courtsey of my parents. (You guys are awesome, seriously. I’ll try not to grow anymore.) I’m taking better care of myself, physically and mentally. It’s strange that this change has happened so quickly, but I am so happy that it has. I may be elitist and spoiled, but I’m working. And I’m doing really great things with my life. It’s fabulous.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation :: Part I

As a recap, I have an internship at a radio station in Greenwich, Connecticut this summer. During this internship, I will be co-producing an hour long national radio show every weekday. While this will probably be the single most educational and enriching job I’ve ever had, it has the great misfortune of being an unpaid internship. So! Yesterday, I donned my new Brooks Brothers atire and high heels (Thank you, Parents) and made my way to Greenwich Avenue, Greenwich, CT, a strip of the most high quality and expensive stores, in search of a job.

I pounded that pavement, entering every store with a smile on my face and inquired after summer employment. I left Greenwich Avenue later that day with an interview for Ann Taylor and Victoria’s Secret, and a possible follow up phone call from Banana Republic.

Today was the day of the interviews. I put on another Brooks Brothers ensemble, classy as hell, and drove into Greenwich. Halfway there, I got stuck in traffic. During that standstill, the heavens opened, and it started to pour. Buckets. I crossed my fingers on the wheel and hoped the rain would let up by the time I got into Greenwich. I had no umbrella.

About that crossing fingers thing…not really helpful. At all. I parked my car, sprinted into the nearest store for quarters to pay for parking, and then ducked beneath an awning to consider the situation. It was 10:15 am. My interview at Ann Taylor was at 11:30 am. I could walk to Saks Fifth Avenue and get an application, which was the original plan.

There were pros and cons to moving from beneath that awning. Let’s start with the cons. First, I was wearing a skirt. My legs would get wet. Second, I was wearing open toed suede shoes. My shoes would be destroyed. Third, I straighten my hair. Should my hair be rained on, part of it would be curly again. But not all the way through. About those pros? Yeah, there weren’t any pros.

I sprinted (in heels) to Saks Fifth Avenue, where it was made clear to me that I could fill out an application, but would not be hired. I considered my options. I fished out the business card given to me by the manager at Ann Taylor, and telephoned her, telling her that I was across the street, and asking if it was at all possible, could I meet with her a half hour early? She agreed happily. (I won’t go into the interview, other than it went perfectly, but if I go into too much detail, it will destroy the mood of the story.)

After my interview, I met my friend for lunch, and found I still had an hour before my interview at Victoria’s Secret. I went in, and asked if it were at all possible, could I please interview now? They were, also, wonderfully receptive. That interview went well, too. They gave me a sheet, told me to go home, call a toll free number, and answer some questions by phone.

When I got home, I dialed the number, and answered the questions. They were simple. Mainly, would you steal from your business? Would you be honest? Are you a crack whore? Which, is hardly an exaggeration. There were over 20 questions asking whether or not you were addicted to any drug. If you had taken any drug at work. If you thought it was okay to do drugs at work. If you do drugs when you aren’t at work. Before asking about the drugs, they asked if you ever got into a shouting match at work. Or a shoving match at work. Things that cracked out people would do. Cracked out whores.

First things first. I wear pearls. I waited half an hour at Wal-Mart to pay for my photo prints when I could have easily paid for them. I would never, ever get in a shouting match in public with anyone besides my mother. (It’s all love, Mom.) And the only question I may have stretched the truth on was if I had ever smoked marijuana away from work. Yes. I have. But do you really think I’m stupid enough to bring any illegal substance, or do anything illegal within 100 miles of a job? A paying job? Does anyone? Because I’d like to meet those people, and stare at them quizically. For a long time.

My Female Inspirations (In Honor of Mother’s Day)

Mother’s Day is this Sunday, and it sparked my train of thought about the women in my life that inspire me on a daily basis. This may be cliche and overdone, but it’s always important to give credit where it’s due.

1. My Oma: My grandmother on my mother’s side was the most intelligent and strong woman I’ve ever met in my life. Despite going through some hard times before I was born, the time I spent with her was worth more than it’s weight in gold. My grandmother escaped Nazi Germany and settled down in the United States. And she lived the American Dream in the best way I can imagine: she got an education. I can remember so many occasions where younger members of my family thirsty for knowledge or philosophical debate would call my grandmother. I attended one of her lectures on a Queen in ancient Egypt. She stockpiled historical books. She gave me my first Complete Works of Shakespeare. She could have earned a Ph. D. But beyond being intelligent, she loved in every sense of the word. At her funeral, her friends and colleagues spoke of her knowledge and intellect, but for me that wasn’t enough. At a spur of the moment, I got up and spoke about her. My grandmother. Who, when I called her and told her I was sick one day, sent me enough chicken soup and matzah balls to last me until the end of the world. And she made the best applesauce in the world. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for me, letting me spend weekends at her house, spoiling me rotten. My Oma was the ideal image of how to be a ridiculously intelligent woman who still loved endlessly.

2. My Mother: (No, Mom, this is not a shameless plug to make my first week at home easier.) My mother is the single most amazing woman walking the face of the planet. Not only is she an impeccable dresser, but she single handedly turned her life around and started her own business. Despite endless piles of difficult work, she drove me to school, and never missed a concert. Now that I’m at college, she’s dropping her weekend to come pick me up. And yesterday, when we were discussing the fact I needed to bring my car in for its check, and was worried about how I would get to work, she told me she would drive me. And I have to give any woman that had to raise me through my high school years insane credit. Not only does she run a sucessful business and is an amazing mother, but she takes care of her father, too. There’s an amazing mix of determination, compassion, intelligence and beauty in my mother. If in 20 years, I can be half the woman my mother is, I will have considered my life successful.

3. My Best Friend, Sarah: She’s only a year older than me, but Sarah inspires me beyond belief. She was diagnosed with cancer in 4th grade, then continued to beat cancer. Which says a lot considering it was 4th grade. As she grew up, the leg that she had cancer in proved to be a problem, and she has had to continuously get surgery on it. And every time she does, she comes out with a smile. And a hot pink cast. The beauty in Sarah is that she sees the bright side of everything. When I’m at my lowest points, she verbally slaps me upside the head and makes me realize how stupid I’m being. There is so much joy in her that she pulled me through some of my darkest times. She lives in an entirely different state, but there’s always a part of her with me. When she laughs, she throws her head back and lets it all out. The world is a brighter place because of her.

4. My Great Aunt Naomi: Aunt Naomi is another one of my inspirations. Like my Oma, she is very intelligent and highly educated. She graduated Barnard! She keeps her home stocked with the best books, and despite living a very classy very Connecticut life, she excitedly admitted to me one day that she was rereading Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton. This woman is nothing she sees at first glance. She keeps her home pristine and beautiful, and still loves the movie “Wedding Crashers”. She raves about it on a regular basis. On top of her bubbly humor, she is the epitome of class and sophistication. One afternoon she took me to lunch, she subtely pointed out to me the delicious pair of Jimmy Choos that a fellow diner was wearing. Everything she wears matches perfectly, and in her credit, she lets me ride in her jaguar.

And there you have it, four amazing women that inspire me to be the best I can be, and to see the world for the beautiful place that it is.

This is Pitiful

I’m in the library. I’ve finished my last take home final. I have absolutley no more school work to do. I’ve essentially completely my freshman year. And I don’t want to leave this spot.

It took a really long time, but in the past 2 weeks, with the hell and fear of finals, I’ve learned how much better I feel as a person when I’m working. All those months of slacking off and saving work to the last minute are what caused my deep funks. I don’t want to return to my dorm room, because when I’m there, there will only be one thing for me to do. Pack. I don’t want to leave this newfound happiness found in work. There is a comfort at waking up at 8, packing my laptop, and heading to the library. There’s something soothing in reading over acres of notes, attempting to understand impossible readings, writing Freudian analyses, and overall using my brain.

I desperately wanted to go home for the summer for so long. But now it’s losing it’s appeal faster than Britney Spears did when she decided Kevin Federline was the man of her dreams. When I’m home, I won’t be in the library for hours wanting to throw my book out the window. I won’t be debating a theory in my English class. I won’t be sitting completely puzzled for 49 straight minutes trying to comprehend what exactly my professor talked about in the first minute of class. There’s also the negative that my parents are always home. And I love my parents dearly, but with the presence of parents, and friend’s homes that must be driven to, it greatly diminishes the good times I enjoy on weekends. I will also have to pay to go out to dinner with friends, as my ID Card unfortunately cannot be swiped for meal points at diners across the country.

I’ll be leaving this bubble that I’ve finally come to appreciate in the last two weeks of school. Granted, I’ll be working at an amazing internship 4 hours a day, but I desperately want another job. Not only because the internship is unpaying and I need money for school, but because I don’t want to not be working on something. When I took a break from work for a few hours the other day, I actually felt horribly depressed. It wasn’t just guilt, it was just my body not enjoying it’s lack of use.

I’m actually going to miss my phone ringing at 2:30 am, with various humorous and ridiculous people on the other end. I’m going to miss running across the quad barefoot completely sober in the middle of the night. I’m going to miss everything I could possibly need being in walking distance. I’m going to miss the endless awkward moments that occur throughout my day. I’m going to miss East College, the humanities building.

How do I bring everything that I love about college home with me? Will I be able to go to Boston and New York City to visit my friends? We all say we will, but will it really happen? I’ve finally become comfortable in this place, and at that moment I must uproot again. It’s sad, but this campus has become more my home than the house of my parents. I feel more comfortable where I am sitting, right now, with the staircase leading to the main lobby of the library to the left of me, and a wall of glass windows in front of me, than I do in my own bedroom in Connecticut.

I have learned so much here. Beyond classes. I’ve learned how to deal with people, and above all, how to deal with myself. While, dissapointgly enough, I haven’t gained any height, at all, I’ve gained a deeper understanding of myself. And other people. It’s far more difficult to anger me than it has been in the past. (With the exception of my mother. Sorry, Mom, but somehow, completely unintentionally, you always strike the proper nerve.)

And I screwed up a lot at school. I still have absolute no concept of money, which frustrates me beyond belief. I want so badly to be able to handle monetary affairs with confidence, only to discover that I cannot touch any of the money left in my bank account. I was so positive that I had proven to my parents that I had matured a great deal, but I couldn’t do it entirely. (Also, readers, if you have any suggestions about keeping a budget, please let me know.)

And now with that last paragraph, there is one thing I’m looking forward to in my return home. Maybe, now that I’m slightly (emphasis on slightly) more open to my parents suggestions, I can learn a few more things from them. And it’s probably a ridiculously bad idea to post this, but there you have it, they can quote me on this whenever they like.

The scariest thing I’ve learned here is that I can’t see what is in my direct future. All through my high school career, the focus remained on one thing: college. But I’m in college now. I know students who are graduating. I haven’t the faintest idea where I will be in three years. I know there will be successes and failures, but I want to know when and where.

But it’s not 11:02 am, I have been in this library since 9:15am, it’s time to pack up and say goodbye to my favorite place on campus. Friends are leaving, posters need to be taken down, and I need to figure out how exactly everything I own seems to have multiplied since I got to school.

Hello, Summer.

Goodbye, Freshman Year.

I’m Using the Internet to Lash out at Someone

My dearest brother, currently studying abroad in Germany, has recently accused me of having a drinking problem.

In response to this, I have one thing to say.

You live in Germany. You officially no longer have any right to accuse anyone of drinking too much.

Thank you.

Edit: Also, I don’t have a drinking problem. I enjoy alcohol on weekends. And only weekends. Which is more than I can say for my brother, who has recently aquired an obsession for bratwurst and beer at all hours. He also enjoys pointing out where beer cellars are located in obscure buildings. He’s also jealous that he’s not as cool as me.

Second Edit: I’m exaggerating of course. Neither my brother nor I are all that cool. We are, however, the next great leaders of the world. Which I think trumps coolness and alcoholism.

Third Edit: I’m exaggerating about the great leaders of the world, too.

Fourth Edit: Well, my brother will probably change the world. I’ll just be behind him mocking it.

Why yes, I am in fact majoring in Bullshit.

This post isn’t even remotely as harsh as it seems. But in the past few days, working on my take home final for English 220, I’ve discovered a secret no one ever tells you about being an English major.

When asked to analyse a text without any poke or prod in the right direction, the correct procedure is to a. lean awkwardly to the right and b. pull it out of your ass. Having an outline for all the analysis that can be used, you have to select one, and find as many parts of the text that fit that selection. For example, a 4 stanza poem by Robert Louis Stevenson. This poem is about a dreamland. The logical step would be to connect it to Freud. But how? Being the amazingly adept English student that I am, I connected it to the male repression of Oedipal complexes. Now, that is quite possibly completely wrong, but if I explain and back it up well enough, there is no way I can possibly lose points for it.

Thus is the beauty of literary theory. If you think it, and you can back it up, you can ace that. So, though one may not have the faintest idea what the author meant, if it’s well thought, and well supported, it counts.

That’s pretty sweet. Hooray for English.