WHAT DO YOU DO?

If you're unemployed/underemployed, chances are, you're anti-social. This is partially because you don't have any money to do anything, but largely because your life is an embarrassment. Meeting new people becomes a nightmare, because they will inevitably ask you what you do for a living. You might be tempted to answer honestly, saying something like "I DON'T DO ANYTHING!!!!" before bursting into tears.

Do not do this. There are 4 ways you can handle this question without looking like a loser.

DEALING WITH THE QUESTION: "WHAT DO YOU DO?"

METHOD 1: DEFLECTION- Smile and say "I think a better question is... what don't I do?" (bonus points if you suggestively waggle your eyebrows). You've taken the conversation into a completely different direction, and if you're at a bar, there's a strong chance you won't be paying for anything the rest of the evening.

METHOD 2: BE VAGUE- Be honest... sort of. 

• EXAMPLE 1: You work at McDonalds. Tell people you're a culinary specialist. No one needs to know McNuggets are your specialty.
• EXAMPLE 2: You're a cashier at Forever 21. Tell people you work in fashion. It's not your fault if whoever you tell that to assumes you mean something fancier. You're not a liar- they're just snooty.
• EXAMPLE 3: You don't have a job. Tell people you're an independent researcher. No one has to know your "research" is just you typing things like "watch How High free online" into your Google search bar.

METHOD 3: LIE- Face it kiddo, your life's a mess. It might be nice to pretend like it isn't for a little while. There are several ways this one can go wrong, making you seem even more pathetic than you would have if you just told the truth. If you choose this method, make sure you do the following:

• BE CERTAIN YOU'LL NEVER HAVE TO SEE THIS PERSON AGAIN. The idea is that you escape your shitty life for a few hours, not that you end up leading a double life as a fake interior decorator.
• PICK SOMETHING KIND OF BORING: If you tell people that you're Beyonce's personal assistant, that's all they're going to want to talk about. If you tell people you're a tap dancer, they're going to want to see your moves (this actually happened to me once). When choosing a fake career, it's best to go dull but lucrative, like an accountant or a podiatrist. This way, they'll think you aren't a bum, and they won't want to hear details. 

METHOD 4: JUST DON'T GO OUT- Why bother putting pants on to go out and spend money you don't have when you can watch a Love and Hip Hop Atlanta marathon and cry into your cereal for free? We all know that's what you feel like doing anyway. 

Remember, you're only a loser if other people think you're a loser.*

*Just kidding, assface! You're totally still a loser. Now get a job before you become Karlie from LHHATL.

GOING 'TOPLESS & GETTIN TRASHY

The death of my laptop was slow and painful- in July 2011 its parts became mutinous, crippling it until late December, when its little laptop heart couldn't take the strain anymore and stopped beating (I don't understand how laptops work). I spent the next 8 months with incredibly limited computer access. I'd like to share some of the experiences I had in that time in a new weekly segment I'm calling "GOING 'TOPLESS". Because lapTOP?? And I didn't have one?? Ehhh???? You're not funny either.

I wasn't surprised when my laptop died- I had seen it coming for months. I actually thought it might be good for me- maybe if I stopped writing about farts on twitter, I'd do something meaningful with my time! I'd make more of an effort to see my friends in real life if I couldn't catch up with them on Facebook! Instead of spending hours watching Netflix on Demand, I'd read books! I could even learn another language! The death of my laptop would turn me into an amazing person!

To the surprise of exactly one person, none of those things happened. I realized that not having a laptop was going to suck about an hour after it died, when it occurred to me that I couldn't charge my iPod. I didn't have a tv or a radio, and soon, my iPod's battery would die. It would just be me, my apartment, and silence. All of a sudden, I became very aware of the sound of my own breath. Immediately I opened my window, hoping for the ambient noise of cars driving by or something. THERE WAS NOTHING. I decided to buy a radio the next day. 

Where I bought my radio

I bought a radio/alarm clock on Jamaica Ave for $9. We got off to a rough start- the reception wasn't great, and I was angry at it for playing Drake all the time. But it was all I had, and I listened to it every waking moment I spent in my apartment. I grew to like the way the static made any "s" sound into a "shhhhhh". "You washhhhhhhn't wit me shootin in the gym!" I'd shout along, deciding that Drake was amazing, and that I should definitely come up with a plan to make him my husband.

To the surprise of exactly one person, my $9 radio died 2 weeks later. I was devastated. I didn't know what to do- should I roll the dice on another cheap radio or invest in a decent one?

Fortunately, the gods of broke-assness were smiling upon me, and I would not be forced to make that decision.

The day after my radio died, I had to work a twelve hour shift at my minimum wage job. When I got out, I was exhausted. I had about 20 minutes of walking to do, and it looked like it was about to rain, so I was walking quickly. About five minutes in, I saw something that stopped me in my tracks. It was a radio/cd/cassette player, the likes of which I hadn't seen since 1997 when my brother got one for Christmas (along with Big Willie Style on CD!!!). It was on the curb, next to trashcans. I couldn't believe my good luck. "Somebody's throwing this away??? People are crazy!!" I thought, as I stole trash.

Me.

During my walk home, it began to rain. I quickly wrapped it up in my coat to protect it. In January. I ran up the stairs to my apartment and plugged it into my wall, hoping against hope that it would work. 2 minutes later, Drake was telling me to "bus it". And it was good.

The next day, I told my younger brother about my big score. There was an extended pause before he said "Maybe you shouldn't be taking other people's trash." I could hear the judgement in his voice, but I shrugged it off and walked to CVS where I purchased a Michael Jackson CD and a bunch of blank cassettes, ready to rock out like it was the Willenium.

Woo! HaHAAA! HaHAAA!

CELEBRITY GROW UP GET A JOB: CLINT EASTWOOD

Many moons ago, when I was updating this shit on the regular, I had a weekly feature called "Celebrity Grow Up Get a Job" in which I came up with (HILARIOUS) career counseling for famous people. When Clint Eastwood gave his (HILARIOUS) speech at the Republican National Convention last week, I figured I'd give him some of my (HILARIOUS) advice.

(HILARIOUS)

I couldn't do it. Clint Eastwood is a BOSS. Not only is he one of America's best directors, he's DIRTY FUCKING HARRY, OKAY?? GET OFF HIS LAWN!

So he gave a dopey speech. So his own imagination told him to shut up... multiple times. Who cares? Clint Eastwood isn't running for anything. He doesn't wield any special political power- he's just a dude that can vote, and he happens to be voting Republican, like every other old rich white man ever.

Nobody in charge of the RNC should be surprised at Eastwood's speech. It was unrehearsed and unscripted. They handed an 82 year old man a microphone, and he proceeded to act like an 82 year old man. I don't see why this is a news story. I think that when people heard Clint Eastwood was speaking, they were expecting him to be more like Dirty Harry- a man of a few, well-chosen, bad-ass words. This is ridiculous for two reasons:

1. Dirty Harry is not real.
2. Dirty Harry was made over 40 years ago.

It's time to stop thinking of Clint Eastwood as a Dirty Harry style bad-ass, and to start thinking of him as America's bad-ass grandpa. Sure, he's a little crazy, but he's ours, you know? We'll put up with his rambling because of all he's given us. We'll love him even if he embarrasses us sometimes.

And did anyone actually watch the speech? The people in the audience loved it! It was a total crowd-pleaser! His jokes were bizarre, but the audience laughed. He didn't make any compelling arguments as to why someone should vote for Mitt Romney, but come on- everybody in that audience has already made their decision, and anyone watching at home who may have been on the fence wouldn't make a decision based on something that an actor/director said. And the part where he said "GO AHEAD" before leading the audience in a chorus of "MAKE MY DAY"? Awesome.

Let's not forget, there is an actual election going on this year, and Clint Eastwood has nothing to do with it. Maybe it's time to stop taking pictures of empty chairs (#EASTWOODING!) and start figuring out what each candidate is bringing to the table (good one, Adrienne!).

Also, since the RNC had Eastwood, I think the DNC should have a famous director speak... Quentin Tarantino. God help the invisible man in that chair.

CHRISTINA AGUILERA IS NOT EVEN THAT FAT YOU GUYS

Sometimes I worry that underemployment is making me stupid (if you're a potential employer and you've stumbled on this blog post, let me assure you that I'm just yanking your chain for comedic effect! My mind is, as always, razor sharp!)

Three days ago, I saw a link to an article on Complex that promised pictures of Christina Aguilera wearing a tight dress/looking fat. "EEEEEEEE!!!!" I thought to myself (I have a weird love of celebrity slideshows), clicking it immediately. What follows is a transcript of what went through my mind as I clicked through the pictures...

WHAT??? SHE'S NOT EVEN THAT FAT!! AT LEAST SHE'S WEARING A DRESS AND NOT THOSE ASSLESS CHAPS SHE WORE THAT TIME! SHE LOOKS FINE! I BET A DUDE WROTE THIS! (scrolled to the top to see who wrote it) A-HA! A DUDE! I KNEW IT!!! YOU KNOW WHAT, I BET IF HE MET CHRISTINA AGUILERA DRESSED EXACTLY LIKE THAT AND SHE SAID "LET'S DO THIS RIGHT NOW" HE TOTALLY WOULD!! I BET HE'S BANGED FATTER CHICKS! I HOPE HE GOES THROUGH LIFE GETTING WITH EXCLUSIVELY FAT GIRLS! 

I SHOULD COMMENT ON THIS ARTICLE AND TELL THIS GUY THAT I HOPE HE ONLY HAS SEX WITH MORBIDLY OBESE WOMEN FOR THE REST OF HIS LIFE!!! I TOTALLY SHOULD!! I WILL!!!!

...I didn't. About 2 seconds later, I realized that I was having an insane (and bizarrely sexist) overreaction. Why did I care? I don't even really like Christina Aguilera, but somehow this article almost made me become the kind of person who writes emotional comments about internet nonsense. That is the worst kind of person.

How did this happen?

The answer is simple: My brain is rotting. It's entirely my fault. I don't work full-time. I have a lot of time to kill during the day, and I spend A LOT of that time on the internet. Now, the majority of the time I'm online, I'm applying for jobs. This is what that looks like:

This is how I spend my time online when I'm not job hunting...

This chart doesn't account for EVERYTHING I do, just the majority of how I spend my time. I mean, maybe a few times a day I read an actual news article (usually because I think something like "OH SHIT! A hurricane is happening!!" or "Who is Paul Ryan?? OH SHIT!"). I spend waaay more time reading Cracked.com, which is a vortex of hilarious/awesome/entirely useless information (Sample articles include: 7 Celebrity Animals: Where Are They Now?, The 7 Most Badass Man vs. Beast Showdowns, and 19 Unintentionally Terrifying Children's Album Covers).

As I mentioned before, I love celebrity slideshows. There is no reason for a 90 picture long slideshow titled "Jennifer Aniston Hair Evolution" to exist. I know this. What I don't know is why I clicked on every single picture, and then proceeded to start another slideshow about Michelle Obama's outfits (that counts as political news, right?). The internet is a collection of every piece of information that has ever existed, and I'm spending my time looking at Jennifer Aniston's frumpy bangs. My brain could be eating a steak dinner every night, but I'm feeding it devil dogs.

I spend the rest of my time on Facebook stalking my friends, and on Twitter stalking people (Ludacris) I wish were my friends. I download music, and then I have to spend a couple minutes on RapGenius to figure out what it means. I watch silly videos for stupid amounts of time- last night, I watched Jake and Amir until my eyes hurt (EVERYONE WATCH THIS ONE and then all the other ones). This is why I care about Christina Aguilera.

Right now, my mind is full of nonsense. I couldn't clearly explain to you what's going on in Syria, but I could give you a detailed outline of every haircut Jennifer Aniston has had ever (dark brown hair? So sultry! Classic bob? Adorbs!). I've spent so much time looking at stupid shit that my brain assumes it's important. STUPID SHIT HAS BECOME ALL I KNOW. Of course I'm going to get worked up over particularly stupid shit (Christina Aguilera being fat-ish), because STUPID SHIT HAS BECOME MY ENTIRE WORLD.

So what do I do? Should I use a website like CNN.com as a mental Fiber-One bar, helping my brain to shit out the nonsense by replacing it with something satisfying and nutritious? Probably. And I'll totally do that.

..after I read about why Batman is better than Superman. And figure out what the hell ASAP Dash means when he says "think the ho's Matlock". And then maybe see what Jake and Amir have been up to. And OH MY GOD JEN'S FINALLY GETTING MARRIED? HOW DOES HER HAIR FEEL ABOUT JUSTIN THEROUX??? I JUST HOPE SHE'S HAPPY!! EAT YOUR HEART OUT, ANGIE!!!! OR AT LEAST A BURGER YOU SKINNY BITCH!!!!

It might be too late for me.

My Baby Takes The Morning Train

I often take the subway late at night. Sometimes it's to get home from work, but usually it's because I don't live very close to any of my friends and I'm too poor to take a cab. No matter where I'm leaving from, the same thing happens: whoever I'm leaving says "Get home safe!" with a concerned look on their face that translates to "I wish that cheap idiot would just call a cab. I don't want her blood on my hands." And while I appreciate these sentiments, they've never really been necessary (knock on wood).  Late night trains mostly consist of drunk people trying to look sober, homeless people trying to sleep, and exhausted people trying to avoid making eye contact with the drunk or homeless people. I've never run into any trouble on a late night train (knock on wood). The only times I've ever been especially uncomfortable and/or fearful for my life while riding on the subway have been during the day, usually between the hours of eleven and four. These are the hours that society's rejects (people like me, who can't find proper day jobs) dominate public transportation.

I know that there are a lot of people with respectable jobs that don't work during the day (doctors, firefighters, late night radio show hosts...). I'm just saying that a large percentage of respectable jobs are 9-5, and that while those people are locked up safely in their offices, the tired, the poor, and the wretched refuse become the huddled masses that occupy the busses and subways of the city.

Eleven AM is the dawn of the unemployed/underemployed. This is the time we manage to drag our sad asses out of bed to run whatever depressing errands we need to run during the day (these errands probably involve laundry or Goya products). Ideally, we like to get back before four. This isn't so that we can avoid making contact with people who actually have their lives together- it's mostly so that we can watch some Judge Judy and maybe squeeze in a nap before making dinner (which almost certainly involves Goya products).

There are all kinds of crazy people on public transportation, but during the day there are two types that are almost unavoidable, both of which I've encountered in the past two weeks.

TYPE ONE: THE WELL-MEANING BUT CRAZY
I was riding a mostly empty bus, when a woman decides to sit next to me and starts talking about the weather. Reluctantly, I took out my headphones. I was not in the mood for conversation (I was barely in the mood to be out of my apartment), so I mostly just smiled and nodded politely, occasionally giving her one word responses. Our conversation was going something like this:

          LADY: It's pretty bright out today.
          ME: Yeah.
          LADY: I saw a robin this morning. I guess spring is on it's way!
          ME: Nice.

She started to ask me questions about myself. I gave one word answers. It went something like this:

          LADY: Are you from New York?
          ME: No.
          LADY: Do you like New York?
          ME: Sure.
          LADY: Did you move here for school?
          ME: Yep.

Then she asked me something that blew me away.

         LADY: Are you Chinese?
         ME: (pause)

It wasn't that I didn't know the answer. It was just that I had never in my life been asked this question. This woman was not blind, and English seemed to be her first language. I could think of no logical reason for her to ask me this question, so I assumed I misheard her. Our conversation continued as follows:

          ME: Um. What?
          LADY: Are you Chinese?

My round, blue eyes were fixed on her, full of confusion.

          ME: Um. No？
          LADY: Oh. Well then where are you from?
          ME: Rhode Island?
          LADY: (sounding somewhat disappointed) Oh.

We rode next to each other in silence for the next three stops.
       
TYPE TWO: THE BITTER, BITTER BEGGAR:
Beggars and subways are like old Italian men and speedos- a combination that nobody really gets excited about, but is accepted as inevitable. It almost doesn't count as a real New York City subway ride if you don't get asked for money (and it definitely doesn't count as a beach trip if you don't see an old Italian man rocking a speedo).

The last time I was on the train during the day, a man walked up and down the train twice, asking for change. Not a single person looked up at him or responded in anyway. He walked to the middle of the train, leaned against a pole, and pulled some change out of his pockets (presumably his day's earnings). He sarcastically counted it out loudly "One cent, two cents, seven cents, thirty two cents...". When he finished he had a little more than four dollars. He began throwing pennies on the floor, saying things like "Oh, real nice", and occasionally yelling "I KNOW Y'ALL CAN HEAR ME. I KNOW Y'ALL CAN HEAR ME!"

We did hear him. And we all continued to shift silently and uncomfortably in our seats, pretending to be lost in our iPods.

He got off at the next stop, presumably to try his luck elsewhere. Beggars that ride the train during the day are the saddest kind. They know that they aren't going to get much, if anything, from the day-jobless people on the train, but they ask anyway. If they're lucky, maybe one or two people on the train will acknowledge their existence, and if they're really lucky, their efforts will be rewarded with a handful of change or a crumpled dollar bill. They know this. They see this coming. But they ask anyway, hoping for the best and almost always getting the worst. Not surprisingly, this makes them incredibly bitter.

Tomorrow afternoon, I'm going to need to run a couple of errands. Say a prayer for me?

THE RULES OF BEING A DJ

It’s been a long time since I’ve written a blog post. This is partially because of my extremely limited computer access and partially because the current state of my life is shameful… it’s not something I want to think about, let alone write about. Last night, however, something happened to me that I had to write about. Last night, I saw the personification of evil. I was shaken to my very core, forced to wonder what kind of a god would allow a man so terrible to walk the earth. This man is a shitty New York City DJ.

DJ Fuckface (probably not his real name) looks about nineteen. He is white, but he loves Japanese house music. He has an entourage that includes a skinny white guy in a flannel shirt whose job is to stand behind DJ Fuckface while frowning and nodding his head to the music and a man whose job is to inexplicably wear face paint while dancing directly in front of the DJ booth.  He will play songs you’ve never heard by bands you’ve never heard of in languages that you don’t understand. He will roll his eyes at you if try to make a request.DJ Fuckface does not care if you have fun. DJ Fuckface does not care about his responsibility to entertain the people who were unfortunate enough to stumble into the club he’s spinning at. He does not understand the fundamental rules of being a DJ.

Going out in Manhattan is expensive. It’s not something that a poor person can do often, so when they go out, they have to make it count.

 I’m going to post the most important rules of being a DJ, and I urge you to pass them on to anybody with connections to the club scene. Broke people shouldn’t have to live in fear of spending money to go into a club only to end up being forced to listen to a solid hour of Russian trance music. Terrible DJs must be stopped.

THE RULES ALL DJS MUST FOLLOW

1.    PAY ATTENTION TO THE DANCE FLOOR: Are ladies shaking their asses/showing you what they’re working with? Great! You’re doing your job! The most important part of being a DJ is getting the girls to dance. The rest will take care of itself (and by “the rest” I mean dudes joining in and/or making it rain in the club). Conversely, if you look on the dance floor and the only people moving are the skinny white dudes in the non-prescription oversized glasses, you are a failure. Nobody likes whatever you’re playing, and the skinny white dudes are only dancing to it to act like they’ve totally heard this song before (they haven’t).

2.   RESPECT THE CLASSICS: DJ Fuckface did not play Thriller last night. Instead he teased us by playing the opening bars of Thriller and following it with three minutes of Vincent Price laughing over a techno beat.  Thriller is one of the greatest, most danceable pop songs of all time. It does not need to be remixed. Michael Jackson is the king of pop. You are a douchebag with a turntable.Leave his shit alone.

       As a general rule, if the song has been playing in clubs for over a decade, you should leave it alone. If it’s remained a staple for so long, it means people like it the way it is.

And for the love of god, NEVER remix “Don’t Stop Believin’” unless you’re trying to turn an entire crowd of drunk people against you.

3.   TAKE REQUESTS: Last night, I requested Dance (Ass). DJ Fuckface was not pleased. He looked at me like I had just requested Mambo No. 5 instead of the club banger to end all club bangers. After an hour he still hadn’t played it, so somebody else requested it. This infuriated DJ Fuckface. He punished us by playing ONLY the Rick Ross verse in the remix. There was no wobbledy wop.

       If you’re going to be a DJ, drunk girls are going to request trashy dance jams. Do not be annoyed by this. Do not act like taking requests is beneath you. A big part of your job is keeping the drunk girls happy (see rule one), and making requests is just them showing you the way.  

4.   KNOW YOUR PLACE: You are an entertainer. People don’t go to clubs to hear your favorite songs. They go out to drink and dance. If your favorite songs are songs they want to drink and dance to, that’s great. If you’re playing your favorite songs and people are standing still and glaring at you, you need to play something else. I suggest Dance (Ass) Remix.

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