Some things, mes amis, were meant to be. Some things are the result of such a long string of seemingly coincidental events that the only logical explanation for their existence is simply that they had to happen. I consider my relationship with Jeff to be one of these things. If I hadn’t moved back to Ohio having failed grandly at starting a music career in Austin, if he hadn’t made a rom/com style decision to drop his life and move across the country to be with the woman he loved (who, in a very un-rom/com turn did not reciprocate, leaving him single in a strange land), if I hadn’t seen something special in his photography portfolio (and then heard something special in his phone voice), if he hadn’t moved a trip to London in order to be at the intern interview, if I hadn’t begged my photographer to take on one extra intern (namely Jeff), if said photographer hadn’t got in a fist fight with his girlfriend at our “End of the Internship” party leaving Jeff and I to handle the fallout…. well, if any of those things hadn’t happened, I’d be in a very different place right now and I’d be there without the man I plan to spend the rest of my life with.

Similarly, if I hadn’t quit my job managing the restaurant, taken a month’s vacation to D.C., met Jeff’s cousin who introduced me to a certain yoga and athletic clothing company, run straight to the computer when I returned home to see if said company might be hiring anywhere nearby, found they had a position available right in my own little town, applied right away, gone to the store to introduce myself and spoken to the manager (who had not seen my application, and wouldn’t have because she’d already planned her interviews), been invited to come to the interview that night, and got a raving review from Jeff’s aforementioned cousin when the company called her for a referance…. well, I can safely say I would not be employed today.

As I sat across from my future boss during my second interview, terribly distracted by the Nicolas Cage doppelganger seated a few tables down (WTF?), I couldn’t help but think there was something inherently right about me being there. Now that the job’s mine, I’ve got my foot in the door doing something I’m good at, something that uses both the skills I have and the talents I’m passionate about (yes, the camera will be getting some use!).  I’m going to go all Goldilocks on you here and say: This job is just right.

This is not to say I’m out of the forest just yet (the job is only part time thus far). But, as I don’t believe in deforestation, I’m going to patiently hack my way out of it.

(….Although I’d rather straight burn this emmer effer to the ground!)

Goals are fantastic, as are dreams. But wanting things really, really badly? That’s a double edged sword, mes amis. On the one side, having a great drive and passion toward something gives you courage and pushes you to be your best in order to attain that something you want. On the other, you have to be prepared for the worst (i.e. not attaining it). Not getting the “Snack Bar Attendant” position at your local country club is easily laughed off. Not getting something you really want can scratch even the thickest skin.

You might recall a certain girl who had a certain tryst with a certain online reviewing community (cough, cough… Yelp!… cough) about a year ago. You also might recall how she rose through the ranks from out-of-town underdog to 4th-interview finalist for a community manager position in Raleigh. What you won’t recall, however (because I breezed right over this part), was that same girl getting some very bad news on Christmas Eve and crying into her parents’ guest room pillows because she didn’t want them to know how destroyed she was. (And if you’re new here and don’t know what in god’s name I’m talking about, here’s a refresher: http://curiouserx2.wordpress.com/2009/12.)

This time I’m doing my best to take a different approach to things, or at least to get myself in a slightly more shatterproof mindset. If nothing else, I’m starting to get a much better handle now on a professional direction for myself. This position (which will remain nameless… sorry) bears a striking resemblance to Yelp’s community manager. Between these two I’m drawing the lines and connecting the dots, and they’re creating an image of “My Dream Job.” It’s one thing to know what you’re good at (I write, I take great photos, I dig meeting new people, I dig people in general, I love fashion, I like to work out, I love good food…) and quite another to figure out how all of these piece of you can be amalgamated into a career. A good place to start is keeping a mental list of all the times you REALLY WANTED SOMETHING. Or even the times you got remotely excited about an opportunity. Or, for that matter, to make a list of the companies you love and respect and to start looking into how your unique blend of talents might be put to good use to further their missions. Maybe you’ll have to go out on a limb. Maybe there’s a move in your future. Maybe you need to do something that scares you a little.

Maybe (and I’m stealing this idea, but I *love* it) , you should do one thing that scares you every day.

I did my thing today. Did you?

Tis I, your favorite unemployed writer/photographer/adventurer extraordinaire returned from the jungles of our nation’s capital and beyond. After three weeks of fairly solid R&R (my definition of which is admittedly a bit wonky and includes exploring the frigid streets of New York and Washington, learning to run hills because northern Virginia’s Escheresque laws of physics cause streets to only run on a steep, perpetual incline, and holiday activities such as taking our car to the mechanic twice and baking 657 cookies that I couldn’t eat  due to my Christmas-crushing wheat allergy….), I’m returning to reality with superhuman motivation.

Par example: In three weeks’ time, the cats had transformed our cozy little apartment into a DEN OF DESTRUCTION. It was like a feline Lord of the Flies – reduced to their primal instincts in order to survive (never mind we have automatic feeders and a friend was checking on them every other day…), they’d removed two-thirds of the Christmas ornaments from our tree and hid them strategically (or not) around the house, dragged the faux moss from one of our houseplants into their litter box and somehow managed to track litter into *every* corner of the house.

But, with the precision of two seasoned cat owners, Jeff and I tackled the wreckage in a matter of a couple of hours (eat your heart out, FEMA). Then it was on to more important matters – namely, that I am still jobless. And yet, somehow I’ve managed to rack up a To Do list longer than Bernie Sanders’ filibuster. The common thread among the items on this list? The shared goal of putting my talents (besides my ability to balances sixteen water glasses on a single tray) to work. Granted, I can see that if I don’t act fast to get myself some kind of temporary back-up, I’ll be running into an old friend I like to call Financial Ruin. But even if I’m stocking quilted duvets at Bed Bath & Beyond or (god forbid) waiting a table or two again, at least I’ve got The Machine whirring away in the background. The gears have been greased. My list of Things and Stuff is rolling. I feel like I’ve been playing the role of starving artist ever since college and that maybe all I really need to do is push it just a notch harder, work just a little smarter, shrug this idea off my shoulders that creativity is for the privileged few, and make. it. work.

I may be getting a little redundant with this line of thinking, but if it’s a pep talk I need, then that’s what you all get as well

Now – off to finish designing my business cards (finally finished my Photoshop tutorials *AND* got PS5 for Christmas!!) Oh – and today’s photo features Skipper, my canine companion in D.C., looking rather fearless, which I found apropos of today’s post. Also, he rocks a fauxhawk like nobody’s business and that alone makes it worth a look.

Egad, what a week!

Never one to remain completely useless, I decided to spend my one week in between vacationing in Ohio for Thanksgiving and vacationing in D.C. and New York for Christmas working as an extra on the set of One Tree Hill. You’d be amazed how exhausting it is to spend most of your 10-hour work day waiting, standing, and/or having silent and fake conversations. Four out of 5 nights, I came home and fell asleep mid-conversation with Jeff. You’d also be amazed that the biggest divas on the set weren’t the actors, but two particular female extras we’ll call Peg Bundy and Tweedle Dumb. They were raunchy, loud, demanding and childish and I’m infinitely grateful to no longer have to spend very long days in a very small space with them.

But my point was, not only did I make a tiny bit of money (and was fed some mean grub – those people eat well and often!), I also read an entire novel (The Alechemist by Paulo Coelho), swiped a few tips from hair and makeup, and now have another possible means of picking up some extra dough (at least for the next few months before they wrap up the series for good).

No permanent job in site yet, however. But I keep applying and in the meantime have been thoroughly enjoying my time off. Just started the tutorials for Photoshop 4 (and after listening to Geoff Blake for a few hours, I’m not only proficient in Photoshop, I also can’t stop speaking with a Canadian accent…), I’ve got back into the 365 project which went completely defunct over Thanksgiving, and my cats no longer wake us up at 4 a.m. because I actually have time to wear them out before we all go to bed.

As for said 365 project, I did a little multitasking with today’s shoot. My two desks and files needed a good cleaning and reorganizing and I was left with a pile of papers from the past. A few were old bills and I dropped them in the paper shredder and something about that sound and the resulting strips of my former life was so satisfying that I began to shred, well… everything. Everything from the past that I’m ready to let go of, that is. Evidence of the fact that I used to be a very different girl – many different girls, from the looks of it. Paperwork from the restaurant I managed, applications, business cards, calendar pages from my planner, check slips from taking orders as a waitress, a few chapters from the book I once set out to write about the cover band I fronted ages ago, a collage I’d made for an ex-boyfriend for his birthday (the guy is of no interest anymore, I think I was just proud of my handiwork)….. all fed through those efficient little teeth. And what I was left with was a pile of meaningless paper. And by meaningless I mean it was fresh and blank and awaiting a new use.

So use it I did. I put together my self portrait shoot in my bedroom, using only a 3 x 4 ft. sheet of white paper on the wall and a garbage bag’s worth of paper shreds dumped all around me. Enter those makeup tips I’d gleaned during the week, a dress I haven’t used since this summer, a few lights set strategically around my tiny set, et voila! Today’s self portrait.

It’s no job, that’s for sure. But I do love unleashing some creativity on the world from time to time and I have to believe that someday it will serve me well.

(Side note: Am I just a huge nerd, or does anyone else get all melty inside when it starts snowing on WordPress??)

Exhibit A: I happen to know from experience that pinot gris pairs well with Chex cereal (but only the cinnammon kind – accept no substitutions).

Exhibit B: I left for work yesterday wearing a black dress, heather grey tights and (wait for it…) galoshes emblazoned with smiley-faced blue whales (and it took quite some self-coaxing to change into my black ballet flats when I got there).

Exhibit C: I still take playing dress-up quite seriously (see here)

Not that I necessarily find this to be a flaw. On the contrary, plenty of people have found ways to capitalize on their refusal to grow up: comic book writers, video game creators, Betsey Johnson, Amanda Palmer, Tony Hawk … Peter Pan.

So it’s possible, but I haven’t exactly got the hang of it yet – which makes me slightly envious of those who have some sort of built-in shut-off device for all of their “childish” leanings. Their desires to explore and adventure and create and play were shut down at a crucial time by some innate “Override,” allowing them to smoothly transition into an office, a company car, a nice salary with benefits and football and beer on the weekends and not too many questions asked. (Or the other type – the rocket scientist or mathematician who’s greatest love translated into a cozy career).

Well someone forgot to install my switch, so it’s up to me now to use my remnant love of bubbles, dirt and sparkly things as an asset rather than a handicap.

It’s nice to know that I’m not alone in this quest. I found out last night that my Fedex delivery guy moonlights as an upright bass player in one hell of a jazz trio. One of my bartenders not-so-secretly dreams of making a living off her designer hair flare and I recently had my hair done by a local stylist who’s not so far from making it as a bigtime hair and makeup artist. One friend of mine even quit her lame customer service job to start a handmade decor business and, after a slow and scary start, is making it work. I’m sure that all of us have, at one point or another, been told to get serious or at the very least to focus our efforts on getting a “real job,” to relegate our “hobbies” to the weekends.

Our talents may be considered fluff to some, but blended with a lot of hard work, innovation and drive, I think any of them can be transformed into successful careers. So here’s to discovering the perfect combination of creative genius and business savvy and here’s a big, fat raspberry for all the naysayers.

Cheers!

Par example: My ever-lengthening list of  “Jobs I’ve Quit Despite the Shite Economy.” Just thrown another shrimp on the barbie, giving my notice at the tapas bar I’ve been managing. It seems it’s not just particular restaurants (although the hibachi definitely took the prize for unhealthiest workplace ever), but the entire industry that I’m not particularly in line or in love with. And yes, I’d worked my way through the ranks very quickly in this latest endeavor and I’d finally paddled hard enough to get my chin up above the poverty line, but in the end I found myself working harder than ever, earning less than ever, and forever feeling like a fish out of water. To say I’m not the most polished person in the world is to put it kindly. The reality of it was I didn’t have enough money to dress the part, and it was becoming too difficult to act like I liked every one of my my guests and loved being there.

Especially the nightclub. Watching people with more money than you (whether they earned it or not) blow said money and act like complete assclowns to the same, mind-numbingly awful 40 songs (it’s amazing how slightly altering the order fools people into thinking they’re having a different experience each week…), cleaning up after them when they dribble red wine all over the women’s restroom (or worse), helping them find the lost camel jacket (worth more than my entire wardrobe) that they left on the dance floor, getting the really wasted ones into cabs at the night’s end whether they like it or not (or, in one case, getting shoved aside by a grown man who insisted he was fine even as he stumbled to his car), returning their wallets – complete with credit cards and $700 in cash – to them when they return in their limo later and graciously accepting the $15 reward they offer you for doing so (wow. thanks.), and eventually crawling into bed (literally – because have you ever worn heels for 10 hours straight??) at 3 or 4 a.m. with your ears ringing loud enough to make it hard to sleep.

Awesome.

Who wouldn’t want this job?

Strangely enough, there are people who aspire to such things. I am, conclusively, not one of them. And, as if I needed another reason to quit, the night schedule had me missing out on far to much life. Having a schedule quite the opposite of Jeff’s had us literally missing each other. He’d be up and off to teach just shortly after I’d gone to bed, and I’d come home long after he’d hit the sack. Even my days off didn’t align. While it’s totally sweet to be able to run your errands or hit the gym or find parking at the beach while the rest of the world is working, the cost is resigning yourself to doing all of these things alone. Lesson learned: I don’t need as much “Me Time” as I once thought I did.

So what will I do? A very good question. I’ve got a few applications in at the university already and I’ll be taking some Windex to my resume and sending it out. Wilmington’s not exactly the Land of Opportunity, but if I gleaned anything from my managing job, it was the art of networking. It is a small town – and you can cry about it, or you can use it. I’ve met enough people now that (god willing) when word gets out that I’m leaving, I can at least get some advice or leads on where to start.

If nothing else, I plan to use the time off to work on 1201. I’m starting to do pro-level work now (granted, there’s a vast spectrum of “Pro” photography out there and I’m still hanging out in the middle somewhere with plenty of room for improvement), and if I’m going to ask for payment for my work, the business had better look like a business. Obviously, I can’t sink a lot of money into it right now, but the website needs a little spit shine and I’m in desperate need of a good business card (and thanks to work, I know a guy who knows a guy).

I realize that I’m in the same boat (it’s got to be like an ark or a cruise ship by now) as so many other people my age, creative people, intelligent people, extremely capable people who are stuck finding a way to make a living doing what they’re best at. Plenty ahead of us have figured it out. Maybe we’re late bloomers, or maybe the shuffle board and Mai Tais are keeping us on that cruise ship a little to long. As for me, the game’s over and I just got cut off, so I’m jumping ship and swimming to shore with every hope that land is close.

And not inhabited by cannibals.

(And -  just because – a little something from My New Favorite Web Comic: Hyperbole and a Half )

Day 100 of 365

Hello again, mes amis!!

Were you starting to think I’d abandoned you?

Never fear, I’m still here, still making it and things have actually been looking up. Steadily. So let’s keep our fingers crossed that I can maintain this forward motion sans stalling out any time in the foreseeable future. I’ve been working like a  maniac, both at the restaurant where I’m moving up slowly through the ranks taking on increasing responsibilities daily it seems, and on my 365 project (it appears some of you have been keeping an eye on my Flickr photostream to the right there – thanks for checking in!).

I can’t think of any other creative outlet that so perfectly encompasses the way I try to live my life. This project gives me all the excuse I need to be adventurous, creative and, yes, often ridiculous, every single day (that, and every bit of camera shyness I once had was obliterated sometime around Day 26. Bonus?).

I’ve just passed Day 100 of this project, and already, less than a third of the way through, I’ve become so much more familiar and comfortable with my camera, with my post production software and with the art itself. The first time I opened Lightroom on my computer, I had a minor meltdown. I’m a creative type with an aversion to technical guides or owner manuals of any type. But I realized my creativity would drown in a pool of cheap gear if I didn’t give it the boost it needed in post, so I broke down and read up a little and spent many hours playing with all of Lightroom’s tools.  So my confidence grows, my imagination gets a pretty tough workout, and I definitely put my problem solving skills to the test. How DOES one fake a home studio when you don’t own a single professional grade light? The answer, so far, includes everything from hording every lamp in the house in the bedroom, shooting in the bathtub (or closet), using bowls, mirrors and poster board as reflectors, and the occasional single bare bulb in a dark room.

Most importantly, though, I feel a deep satisfaction in what I do with a good deal of my free time. Not a minute of my life feels wasted, and there’s a massive body of work (100 images deep as of today!) to show for it. Should you be so curious: http://www.flickr.com/1201photography/sets/72157623087853539/

Hope you’re all finding your own ways to explore your world. Here’s to all of us staying afloat and staying curious!

So I’m the poorest I’ve been in a very long time – so what? I’m not sunk yet, and somehow I just keep floating. And if I try very hard, I can remember when times were even worse. Times when I washed my clothes in the bathtub for lack of laundromat quarters, times when I cut my own hair and sold my CD’s and clothes (and almost my plasma – I finally got up the courage to try it and the clinic was closed that day. I took that as a sign). Days on end of eating the same three things in varying order (oatmeal, pasta, and $1.99 frozen entrees). I’ve not been reduced to any of that yet, so it can’t be all that bad, can it?

The restaurant has opened (softly, not grandly – they’re waiting a week or two to get the kinks out), but the money’s not rolling in just yet. So I’m biding my time and biting my nails, putting my faith in a fantastic concept and putting off certain bills as long as possible.

And how to not only avoid misery, but actually maintain a certain level of happiness? Joy, even?? How about kung-fu breaks in the office with Jeff, playing hide and seek with the cats (or fetch – Pip could put any retriever to shame), taking endless pictures and trying my damnedest to make them vibrant, to capture a certain joie de vivre. How about jumping on the bed and getting outdoors as the weather turns and actively seeking out the beautiful things in life that come to us absolutely free of charge the moment we arrive in this world?

For starters, anyway.

I was not always this way. You need look only a few years back into my life to discover a girl so jaded and dark and inwardly gloomy and borderline macabre you wouldn’t recognize her as me. I couldn’t pinpoint an exact moment of revelation, an event that spun me around, gave me a soft pat on the back and sent me on my way back to optimism. Instead, I think change came in the amalgamation of certain people that entered my life, certain others who departed and a conscious decision to see things in a different light. And the minute you decide you want to see the world as beautiful and full of possibilities again, it’s like someone whips a dark cloth off of it, the magician’s reveal! Turns out it was there all along.

This is not to say I never backslide. It’s like viewing one of those 3-D posters in the mall. I used to have a really hard time seeing them as well. I’d try to relax my gaze, to stare through the poster, to screw up my eyes – all to no avail. Then one day, flipping through a coffee table book a friend owned, three dolphins suddenly burst forth from the page. The reveal! Still – every time I come across these, I have to put forth some effort to make the image appear.

I don’t know if times of strife make it difficult to put in the necessary effort, or if we work against ourselves, giving in to the desire to wallow. Self-pity seems to be a natural human temptation in hard times, and also a horribly counterproductive trap. The way I see it, it’s okay to feel frustration, anger, fear and even sadness – to feel it, recognize it, understand it.  And then overcome it. Too often we let ourselves stop at the  feeling part. And you can feel yourself right into a black hole if you’re not careful.

Such a random post today! Apologies, but I’ve had quite a bit on my mind today and for the past couple of weeks and I’ve just sort of unloaded it all, created a bit of a dumping ground on the page today.

Chin up, everyone. Relax the eyes, soften the gaze – it’s all right in front of you.

Cartoon by xkcd (http://www.xkcd.com)

Going through my old clip files from my days at the college paper, I came across one of my weekly columns (mine ran every Monday and was entitled “Carpe Diem, Baby” – some things never change…). This one in particular took aim at Valentine’s Day and I thought it only appropriate to share my view on this annual ritual, circa 2003 (do keep in mind that I was quite single at this point, and possibly a little harsh on my fellow females. Still – my heart was in the right place):

Monday, Febraury 3, 2003

Girls, you ought to be ashamed.

Exploiting your loved one on Valentine’s Day is not something to be proud of. And yet, as this day to end all dreadful days approaches, I see both greed and shallowness heading up its approach.

The other day I was in the kitchen doing what some might call cooking (I like “scorching” or “charring” as alternatives) when suddenly I was bombarded by Valentines Day ads on the radio. The three-minute onslaught included everything from candies to restaurants to fine jewelry.

Then later, hanging out in the dining pavilion, three girls seated at an adjacent table initiated the pre-Valentine’s Day rites for which females have become notorious. These include giddy speculations regarding the kinds of gifts and adornments that might be showered upon them this year, as well as much reminiscing about past offerings from their respective admirers: sparkly baubles, flowers, nights on the town… what more could a girl ask for?

Umm…. how about… love?

Last time I checked, Valentine’s Day was about love and expressing that love to someone special. Do we really lack so much imagination that we can’t express love without purchasing something?

Men agonize about the tradition of gift giving, unsure of how much to spend, what to spend it on and whether or not they will meet the expectations of their significant females.

Not to mention they’re held prisoner by a nasty double standard. Along with Sweetest Day (two words: card. companies.), whose date every woman seems to have etched into her brain the minute she ceases to be single, Valentine’s Day is a tango danced by the retail industry and the male population.

In a recent poll performed by the National Retail Federation, surveyors concluded that guys typically shell out four times more than their loved one. The average male will spend $158 while his other half will dig deep into her pockets for a whopping $36.

This scarcely comes as a shock. It’s more than socially acceptable for a man to foot the bill for diamonds and dinner while women wrap themselves in a bow and squeal, “Here I am!”

Yep, her we are ladies. In the 21st century, finally reaping some of the benefits of the feminist movement, and yet we’re still playing the game of “Let’s be equal when it’s fun and convenient and leave the rest to the men.”

But don’t despair for our misguided gender just yet.

There is still hope.

Valentine’s Day needs a makeunder, a chance to get back to its roots. I’m not saying we should all bust out shrines to St. Valentine plot clandestine marriages in honor of said Roman priest.

But I do propose a challenge to all couple out there to nix the gifts this year. At least the store-bought variety.

Boycott the chocolatiers and jewelry counters. Shun the retail industry, stand on their display cases and scream at the top of your lungs, “You will leach off my love no longer!”

Grab that sweetheart of yours and vow to spend some quality time together. You’ll find a little imagination can create an unforgettable day.

And if creativity is not your forte, eHow, a website promoting healthy relationships, has a few suggestions.

Guys, leaving little notes around the house or in her car is a great way to build anticipation for a special night together. Or, paint a message of love on her lawn (just be sure to use water soluble, non-toxic paint, lest your eternal love be eternally seared into her front yard).

For the ladies, try a candle-lit bedroom with a picnic for two laid out on the bed. Steer clear of both soup and fondue for this one.

Whether you get fancy or get down to basics, it’s the expression of love and wanting to be together that’s important.

So, curl up together by the fire, get lost in a three-hour conversation, or (and eHow gets takes the prize for cheese on this one) watch the sunset and promise each other your love will burn longer than the sun (you may now gag).

But seriously, this year let’s take the retail out of romance.

Still playing dress-up

When you’re 8 years old, precocious, imaginative, terrible at math but “gifted and talented,” as likely to spend your play time choreographing modern dance performances in your bedroom as videotaping your latest episode of “Tiffy and Stacey” (in which your 6-year-old brother plays endearing fashionista/valley girl Tiffy), never for one moment do you think that at the age of 28 you’ll be between waiting jobs, down to your last 25 dollars and asking your parents to help you make it through the next week or two.

No. You thought you’d be an actress on Broadway (or at least just Off-) or a movie director or a magazine editor or a creative director or an author. Or at least you knew you’d be something extraordinary. It was expected. So the moment you admit to yourself that your current situation doesn’t even amount to ordinary is both a breakthrough and a horrible concession.

The bad news is your original path was leading you away from all of the other things that are important to you (stability, comfort, family). The good news it, you don’t have to scrap it entirely. While your instinct is to admit defeat, it’s possible that your game plan just needs a serious reality check and some major alterations.

Jeff and I had a long talk the other night (the f@#$-up scene from “Away We Go” comes to mind – if you haven’t seen this movie yet, do yourself a great favor and check it out) and took a good hard look at our priorities. The next few years are going to happen very quickly, and how we handle them will impact the direction of the rest of our lives. But, you know, no pressure.

What does all of this mean? It means I can still have an affair with my Nikon, but I can’t put it on a pedestal and act as though it’s my answer to financial salvation. This is not to say I still couldn’t make a career of it someday, but I’ve been creatively experimenting since the day I graduated from college and at some point the time has come to sideline your creativity into an extracurricular activity and push yourself in a more responsible direction. I’m not prepared to take sides with the creative life if it means giving up things like – well, children. At this point we’re so broke we can’t even think about getting married.

I won’t ever be a nine-to-five, cubicle dwelling girl. I know this. But there are plenty of positions that, while I never wanted to take them seriously in the past, I can do and probably do well. I’ve spent the good part of 6 years in a restaurant. For the right establishment, I’m sure I’d make a great manager. Hell, I’m strangely good at hospitality in general and I live in a tourist town. There’s no reason I shouldn’t seriously consider these things.

No reason besides my pride. And pride can turn you into a 30-year-old waitress with a shallow bank account and never-ending credit card debt without batting a lash.

For me, for Jeff and for our future, I choose reality. It may be sobering, but it’s only dismal if you make it so.