Thursday, October 7, 2010

Keep your pants on. Probably.

The events of this day have encouraged me to question whether or not I should be considering becoming part of the sex industry, or permanently locking myself in my high rise apartment with my fat-assed cat, Duncan, a huge supply of ice cream, and regularly Tivo'ed Spanish soap operas.

I've been job hunting maniacally for a month. Job hunting is a special brand of self esteem enhancement and social interaction. Today, for instance, I got a call back about an ad I responded to online, about housekeeping. The guy was Extremely vague at first, and welcomed me to ask whatever questions I had. He asked me if I realized that this was not a 'typical position,' which immediately got some warning bells a'ringin He let me know there would be compensation for gas, 'special clothing' allowances(uh-oh)...
and that I "would basically be babysitting the CEO so he doesn't go out and spend thousands of dollars at the casinos or strip clubs. It's really much more cost effective this way." Then there was a bit more, with him trying to gather what I "would and would not be comfortable with."  Huh. I just got offered a "Position" as a high end hooker.

He actually had the testicular fortitude to ask me directly if I would be willing to participate in orgies. Orgies. An executive assistant just calmly asked me if I would be willing to have group sex with his boss and an unspecified group of people for compensation. Is this real life?

Wow right now.

Not exactly in my housekeeping repertoire. Someone give me a book deal already. I'm so strapped for cash right now that when he asked me if I would be comfortable with this job, I actually considered it for a second. Seriously? I don't even like being naked in front of myself half the time, and I think the goddamn cat is judging me if he sees me getting into the shower. I don't think that would translate well. "Okay, yeah, sooo... we're going to need to do this with the lights off-DO NOT TOUCH MY SIDES OR MY STOMACH." Yeah, sexy. Big money. No whammies.

*REAL TIME UPDATE- I just Now got an e-mail reply to a resume I submitted to a place that was advertising a need for waitresses and bartenders, asking about scheduling an interview. I swear to god I read it thoroughly. The Factory. It's. A. Strip Club. The fuck? Is baby Jesus trying to tell me it's nakey time, or what? Take off your clothes, my child, and they will pay you. I didn't know Hayzeus personally, but I'm thinking probably not. I don't know though, Mary Magdalene was his roll dog, right? Eh, I doubt the son of god would spend much time thinking about my naked body.


I've never been unemployed before. I have this awesome thing going for me because I just moved to a new city without a job secured. Because I didn't know I was going to be moving until two days before it happened. Because I've been kind of flying by the seat someone else's pants for the last 8 or 9 months. I'm the type of person who always has 2 or 3 jobs and all of my shit in order, so, I'm hoping to get back to that point sooner rather than later.
That totally wasn't my point, but I'm often easily distracted- what I was going to say was that being new to this city also gives me the chance to have really awkward social encounters in attempt to form new friendships! This is a really exciting opportunity for me, because I am the type of person who once upon a time couldn't leave the house even to go to the curb, because the mere sight of another human being would give me a panic attack. [Here is a Very brief glimpse into the Land of My Neuroses. If this is disturbing to you, get out while you still can. It only gets worse from here.] I think I am at least mildly allergic to stranger-breath. Someone starts talking to me, and I get all red and blotchy and feel the need to find the nearest bathroom and hide in it. A is for ANXIETY and ATIVAN. Yeeeaaaaay! So, I've been forcing myself out the door with a crowbar at least once daily, and forcing myself into social interactions with people I barely know. It is surprisingly going pretty well so far. I've taken the risk of being fairly open with people about having somewhat debilitating social anxiety. I'm hoping that they will recognize that if I am standing with a grimace on my face staring at the floor; it is not because I dislike the company, but because the number of people in the room is making me feel ill, and puking on my shoes is a much smoother move than yodeling groceries in a new pal's face.

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