ok this is the breaking point

i'm sitting in my office, with my parka on cause its cold in here, watching soundless video (my computer does not have a soundcard) on my 10 inch monitor. this is the straw that broke the camel's back...i'm getting out of here.

The Interview

I had my 2nd interview at Big Brothers/Sisters. I really don't want the job, but I'm scratching to get out of foster care, so i'll do about anything...or so i thought. The position at BBBS, is basically a telephone position. I would have to sit in a grey cubicle all day and call the mentors and the families to see how everything is going. BORING. it's not a media job, i so don't want it. but it's also not social work. so i want it. sorta. I was surprised that they called me for a second interview. After waiting twenty minutes, this middle aged, black woman appeared. I got a shitty vibe from her as soon as I saw her. She looked me up and down and did not look interested and she was SUPER GHETTO, yawning and rubbing her face and eyes during the interview. I guess she was not impressed. At my first interview, they asked questions like, what's your weakness. Now, I couldn't say "being late, sleeping at my desk, singing U2 songs in a high pitched voice, and just overall not being interested." So, in a very sincere voice, I said that I have trouble forgiving people that disappoint me. Especially when I enlisted help with a special project, say a PowerPoint presentation. (Wasn't that a good answer -- putting that theatre degree to use!) Now keep in mind I never volunteer to work on anything special, being at work is work enough, and the only thing that I know about PowerPoint is to press 'Esc' once your finished laughing at people's ghetto wedding/prom pictures. I guess that comment was included in my "interview file," cause this yawning heifer so nuf asked me about my made up weakness.

yawning and rubbing eyes Lady: So you hold a grudge? Every time you look at me, you will think, that's the woman that made me wait twenty minutes? yawn

hands folded, slit smile Me: No, this is business. This is a place of business, I would not hold that against you, however I will remember that you asked me that question.

playing with hair Lady: Ha. Ha. That's a good answer.

Bitch.

But for all her unprofessionalism, I will say she made a stunning statement that woke me up.

looking out the window Lady: Why do you jump around from job to job? looking me dead in the eye How come you have not been able to find something and stick with it? I mean what's the point of working one year here and one year there?

slightly stuttering Me: Umm, this job, umm, although not straight social services, is still serving the community in a critical way. silence. waiting for her the say something, or at least look out the window. her eyes are on me. And I think that communicating with all parties involved is a really good idea to keep the flow of communication going.

Huh?

After my bumbling mess, I kinda of stop listening to her. I was stuck on her statement. Why have I spent my 20s jumping from one unsatisfying job to another? Easy money. I can do my job with my eyes closed (often do) but the aggravation just isn't worth it anymore. Now I wish I can bravely declare "So I'm quitting my job!" But I can't. I need the money. And health benefits. I would love to devote all my time working on films and television shows building up my resume, but I can't. I can't afford to do that. But I can look for and apply to entry level television jobs. So that is what I decided to do. Don't get me wrong, I am still looking for a job to rescue me from social work, but I am going to break the cycle of working for third rate social service agencies. I've had it. So I've made a decision. I'm going to withdraw my application at BBBS. Drowsy and itchy eyes is right, what's the point?

Feeling Alive

I told everyone that I was going to blog about my experiences working as a PA on American Idol...true to kristin form, i'm just now getting around to it. in a word, it was amazing. the first day after i got home, i felt awake. even after working 18.5 hours. i felt awake. I was awake. The spirit that lies dormant inside of me actually had a fire under her. The light switch was turned on. Someone was home.


The experiences...well I learned that like theatre, television is extremely competitive. I would be assigned a job, turn to tie my shoe, turn around, and see someone else doing it. WTF!!?!? There were these little gangs that ran together. Notice I did not say cliques. Cliques aren't as menacing as these people. These mo fos were gangs. They would steal shit like scissors and pens so you would not be able to use them. But I got smart about it. On day one, Monday, we were at the Wachovia Center with 20,000 aspiring Idols. There was much to do, and i was dutifully attending to my job of passing out and collecting consent forms. No problem right? Well after about four hours of passing the consent forms out, it was time to collect them from the sections. I look out, and see a gang of four doing the job. I was confused. I did not want to dare bother the EPs (executive producers,) or the guy that hired me, who i was developing a major crush on (of course.) So I stayed up on the upper levels and sat down. I was on my feet for four hours straight, so it had to be ok, right? Nope. See, when I got the job, I was told that "if they liked you," you would be brought on the work the week. Of course I wanted them to like me. Sitting was not a good look, especially for the dark skinned fat girl with the too tight bright red American Idol shirt. I got up and took a page from the gangs. I started doing any job. I went over to the exit and started to help the already fifteen PAs cut contestants blue wristbands. Now, I did not take any body's job, but I definitely 'helped out.' I even tried to get a pair of scissors from a gang member who was holding two pairs. What the hell did he need two pairs for? Of course he said some bullshit about holding them for someone who never showed up. It was cool though, I stood there without scissors and directed people toward PAs with scissors.
You never want to mess with a dark skinned fat girl with a too tight bright red American Idol tee shirt on. She's more sly than any gang.

MY FIRST PRODUCTION JOB!!!!

I got a job as a production assistant for American Idol!!!!!! actually, let me clarify that. i got a ONE DAY job as a production assistant for American Idol Philadelphia auditions. but i still got a job...AS A PRODUCTION ASSISTANT. (shot out to imani, for getting me the job) now you know i have already fantasized about how they are going to be so impressed by my work, that they are going to hire me for the season, and then i'll go on the work at the travel channel on anthony bourdain's "No Reservations," then TLC will be hear about my fantastic producing skills, and i'll be hired to work on "What Not to Wear," then after three years there, (with two emmys under my belt, of course,) i'll begin my illustrious career at the Food Network. Yeah, i got it all planned out. until i wake up in a couple of hours and think "shit, what am I going to wear today?" my pretend life is GREAT! my real life....well, i'm working on it. and this AI show is the first step. i'm a bit nervous. i hope that they have tee shirts that will fit my fat ass. how embarrassing would that shit be? yo! i would wear that thing like a handkerchief, cause this will be the start of something great.

rubbing between the legs....

um ok, i knocked on an unnamed relative's door. why was she all spread out on the bed, no shirt on, talking about, "jimmy kimmel got some nice eyes." when i collected my jaw from the floor, i said, "um really, had'nt noticed." she was all like, " no look at him, LOOK AT HIM!" i closed the door and jumped in the shower....with my clothes on. everything needed to be cleansed. i'll be buying some first aid eye rinse solution tomorrow. what time does that walgreen's open?......

The cover letter i WISH i could send...

Dear Ms Nicodemus-Quinn,

I am sending my resume for consideration for the Education Outreach Coordinator position. I am uniquely qualified for this position due to my extensive theatre experience, which includes touring as a Teaching Artist at George Street Playhouse during the 1999-2000 season. Please hire me. I hate my current job as a social worker at a third rate social service non profit agency. the staff is incompent and the kids are ugly. please get me out of this situation. I promise, promise that I will be the best education outreach coordinator that ever lived. I am not a gossip, luv gay people and working downtown. I really really want to become a producer on tlc’s what not to wear. actually I want to start there, then be a producer on tyler’s ultimate on the food channel. I’m easy to work with, have compassion (it won’t be forced like I do at my current job,) and will make everyone laugh. I just don’t know what else to say. hire me.

here i go with my ways

well to day i got a root canal. im serious about my teeth, so i have no idea, wait i actually do have an idea of why i had to have a rc. i've gotten pretty lax about brushing at night. sometimes i just give my teeth a rub down with a sleep shirt, which is usually last summer's tee shirt. i actually was not all that bad; i was super numb and my denist was cool. great bedside manner. of course it was 800 dollars, and who knows how much insurance will pay for it. not to mention that 1200 dollar cap i got to get. all the while two bills sit on the table waiting to be mailed......keep waiting state farm and aes. my face is still a bit swollen, im icing it like he said to. he asked my some questions about caring for his elderly father. i was taken aback because he was serious about his questions to me. like he stopped an talked to me like i knew what i was talking about, which i did, my damm he didn't do the "your a fat black bitch" routine. instead of asking me, "do you have a job?" he said "what do you do for a living?" unusual. very. see its the little things like that, little subtle things, that is racism to me.

oh JB!

Ahhh, another day. the same ol shit. i'm so lazy. want to lose weight, but can't. i need a will power pill. the fucked up thing is i totally need to lose weight, and i know it (finally,) but i can't seem to do it. start/stop/start/stop/start...........sigh. the only good ray of hope that is that i know that i have a serious problem. oh shit. i never said that before. serious problem. fuck. and here i just thought i had a problem. i'm actually regressing on alot of fronts. i was doing good money wise for a while, but right now i have 440 dollars in my checking and gotta pay bills with that. oh wait. went shopping today. (i have no clothes, none of them fit -- 26 too tight, 28 too tight, but that's all lane bryant goes to -- refuse to wear old ulgy clothes from the Avenue. ashley steward clothes, stylish, but too tight -- remember, can't fit into 26s) sigh. so anyway i have about 335 in my bank account, and i gotta pay insurance, storage, and student loans. i have 107 in savings. baby girl's birthday is coming up june 2nd, and she wants an ipod. oh shit. fuck. i gotta go to the doctor's wednesday night and friday morning. that will be 80 dollars. fuck. breathe, breathe, breathe. i keep telling myself that i am going to "get it together" but shit when! i'm even sick of me. i'm even sick of me. i keep waiting for that great motivator, that great "kick in the butt," that is going to get me going, but so far it has not come. maybe i need to be the "kick in the butt" but that sounds all great and shit, but so far it has not happened. my life is wasting away. but there's always tomorrow to offer a fresh start.right?

the real case note

So tomorrow i have to deal with the retard. re re. that's what i'll call him re re. i'm so mad i just want to keep it in, but i've heard thats not healthly, so here goes. on friday i called re re to set up an appointment to visit with him and his child that he really should not got back in the first place. now re re has two children that are or have been in dhs custody. father of the year canidate right? well re re managed to get one back. a seven year old girl. she's not re re, but after living in the house with him and his ugly ass, equally re re girlfriend, i'm sure she'll become stupid. so anyway i call re re on friday to set an appointment, i also tell him that his five year old son is going to be moved from the current foster home, cause the foster parent can't handle his behaviors. RE RE GOES OFF. now re re is really re re, he st st st ders, and tries to use big words. "This is unbehaviorally un un appeal ing ly in school." so he's all like "this is not my fault! i blame dhs and ysi, your're going to have to a a a accommodate me.... etc etc. So i'm calm, i say "re re (not really, i said his name,) let me explain the way it works..." he cuts me off and continues with his rant. now keep in mind, this niggah LOST his children because of abuse and neglect. but TRYING to be the "social work professional" i did not bring that up, nor did i bring up his drug abuse, or the physical abuse that he inflicted on the kids, or the fact that he is a re re, or that his five year fiancee is one ulgy, re re broad, shit i did not bring up his black ass teeth. i kept my cool. until he started to yell. loud. "re re, re re, i just called to schedule an appointment." he keeps talking about how the kids should have never been taken from him (have you ever heard a five year weighing 26 pounds?) so i put the phone down. i guess it registered in his dumb ass that i was not talking, so i hear him say "hello, hello." i pick the phone back up. "re re it says in the court order that i need to come out and see....." re re interrupts. i'm getting annoyed, impatient. its a fucking raining friday, i gotta pick up my mother from the emergency room (she's ok, just a sore shoulder) my check engine light is on. i can go on and on. but i won't. i can't. cause i'm a "social work professional" i try one more time, " re re..." he cuts me off. i slam the phone in he ear. hard. really hard. i feel fine. Relieved actually. i click on internet explorer. what's happening in the world. my phone rings. its re re's number. "hello!" i say in my usual bright eyed voice. "uh u h uh uh, that was really disrespect ful." i say "ok i need to come out and see junior re re..." this niggah cuts me off AGAIN. and he starts his shit. AND i hear mrs five year fiancee in the background. screaming. please don't let that bitch get on the phone. please. "your yo your ur not a good listener." what the hell are we in, kindergarten???!?!!? listeners? re re probably rode the short yellow bus to his kindergarten "program" (why are all the special education programs, called, well programs?) anyway re re goes on and on. i say "listen i'm going to hang up again.....he keeps on....GOODBYE. i bang on him. WHO THE FUCK DOES THIS DEADBEAT RE RE THINK HE IS?!!!!!?!?!?!?!? I'M NOT GOING TO TAKE THAT SHIT. i get paid 844.00 for every TWO WEEKS. do you hear me, every TWO WEEKS. 844.00 pays for dealing with screaming babies, ringworms, crazy judges, lazy lawyers, moody co workers, broken hearted kids, missing parents, violent parents, drug addicts, nut cases, shitty neighborhoods, pediaticatics offices, begging foster parents to take the kids places, medical offices, state inspectors, paperwork, babies throwing up on you, on your NEW BLACK SHIRT, taking kids to family visits, only for no one to show up, consoling kids about their abusive passes... sigh the list can go on on.... so tomorrow i'm going to call re re. and hanging up in his ear i'm sure.