Well, I've been very busy, in a non-remunerative kind of way. I'm gearing up to do some copyediting for a technical website, and it's MUCH harder than I'd imagined. I'm just not used to reading such incomprehensible chunks of text. I have to read some sentences five times each just to determine if it has all of the proper parts of speech. There were two whole paragraphs in the last article about logarithms. LOGARITHMS.
Pop Quiz: What would Cara rather do than read/think/know about logarithms?
a) Drill a hole in her own head
b) Slide naked down a razor blade slide into a pool of rubbing alcohol
c) Starve to death in the gutter, with dreadlocks obscuring her vision
d) a and b
I'm also writing restaurant reviews for a nascent magazine. No pay, but they reimburse you for the meal. Thank God I don't have to give up restaurants; that would be one of the crueler effects of unemployment So far, I've been concentrating on the eating as opposed to the writing.
And, in a giant leap backwards in time, I'm picking up shifts at my old bar, M's. I love M's, and I'm lucky to have it as an option, but donning ye olde green apron again is a hugely depressing sign o' the times. My sister reminds me that dreading my shifts is much worse than actually working them, and I'm trying to believe her. It's been over a year since I slung a Guinness at a fat, drunk tourist, and I had fervently hoped that a million more years would pass before I did so again. Alas.
Pop Quiz: What's the worst thing about slinging Guinness at a faux Irish pub?
(more after the jump)
Popa) The highly unattractive uniform
b) The drunk people, whose (false) opinion of their own charm increases inversely with their ability to form a complete sentence
c) Being talked down to by morons who request things like "red Chardonnay" and ask "of the Guinness and the Bass, which one is more stoutier?"
d) All of the above
And, in the coup de grace of corporate ladder downsliding, today I signed up for temp jobs with the agency I used in 1998, and I took a nanny job for a short time. Temp agency rates will probably hover around ten bucks per hour. In DC, land of my giant mortgage, that isn't very much.
Pop Quiz: Why am I kvetching when I seemingly have some good options on the table?
a) It's the Cara way
b) My old office had a window and I had my own printer and I was very overpaid
c) I'm averse to change
d) There's no way I can have the same standard of living on the wages from this hodge-podge of employment as I did at my last gig
e) Good options don't buy groceries
f) All of the above
Nanny, you say? It's for my cousin in New Haven. She has the life I was originally meant to have, so I thought I'd visit it while I have some, um, free time. As opposed to the paid time I used to have. I eve used to get paid for days when I wasn't working, way back in 2004. Oh my sweet 401k, mommy loves and misses you very much. And health insurance, my darling, I'll never forget the times we shared. My joints ache for you. (Though not as much as they will after I wait tables for TEN HOURS tomorrow.)
I'm excited about the New Haven gig. I love my cousin, and the baby is darling, and I'll still have lots of time to
blog look for jobs. I think I'll be thrilled to get back to DC after a little break up there, and that's something to look forward to.