Being Unemployed is Hard Work: A Stream (of consciousness) Style Saturday Summary

Clearly I've been posting less this month as I've been subbing. It's good that I'm actually bringing a little money in (I have a grand total of $27 in my bank account and $27 cash, ooooh yeah.), but, like with The Internship from Hell, I'm too tired to do anything else.

I actually fell asleep downstairs for the first time in...I can't even remember the last time I fell asleep downstairs. I imagine it had something to do with mono. Not only did I fall asleep downstairs, come to think of it, I fell asleep during The Big Bang Theory, and that's serious. I haven't seen the boyfriend Herbert since the end of June, so TBBT is like having Herbert around a little bit.

He's kind of Sheldon-ish.

Rather Sheldon-y.

In his, and my, defense, the only character on TBBT that I would consider dating would be Sheldon. Maybe, maybe Leonard, but only after Sheldon rejected me. And that's not just my Reverse Gay-dar for Jim Parsons talking because, like I said, Herbert is rather Sheldon-y.

In fact, I found a word today that explains my affliction. Not the reverse gay-dar affliction, but my attraction to intelligence: sapiosexuality, or "being attracted or aroused by intelligence and its use." So that, plus my affinity for the tall and thin, adds up to my attraction to Sheldon and, of course, Herbert.

What was I talking about?

Right: fatigue and its impediments to productivity. I've got surprising amounts of work piled on my head for someone so unemployed...being unemployed, itself, is an incredible amount of work, as it turns out.

--I need to write a letter to the director of my high school's spring musical to offer my costuming skillz and beg for any amount of money I can get-- at least enough to cover supplies, I absolutely have to be able to not lose any money on this deal because, obviously, I don't have any money to lose. I can't get further into debt on another costuming whim.

It hurts to call it a whim. To reduce it that way...but it makes it easier to give up a dream.

It hurts to know I can't live the life it requires to do the work.

Sister-in-Law Janet suggested I start a website of children's costumes or pageant dresses, but, of course, the problem is the start-up capital. So I get a cheap domain and my brother Arthur does the site design/creation thing, where does the money come from for the fabric & etc.? Where do I get a model or advertising?

It's kind of funny how you need money in order to make money.

-- I need to look for jobs. Which is hilarious. I'm unemployed, but I'm too busy working, or tired from working, to look for jobs.

There's another layer, too, where that now that the school year has started, the in-school or about-school-somehow-vaguely jobs have been filled and therefore taking out a large portion of where I was looking (the possibility of getting state employee health insurance makes my mouth water) which is a major shame but my only income and only possibility of income began with school starting.

Yeah, figure that one out. This is my life now.

-- I have work to do online. Work on this blog (I missed my own launch of Wednesday Weigh-Ins, augh), I have Chandler's half of our Lion King review/analysis to work into mine, advertising this blog to find some more readers, and working on the launch of the second (more professional, far less personal) blog...which I had an excellent idea for last night that, while awesome, opens up whole new doors of work. Of course.

That blog will have ads, so maybe it will bring in a little scratch...but how do I advertise? Augh. Work.

-- Offline work: novels. I had breakthroughs on two of them and have hit a very hard wall on the third.

Plus, I need to do something about my bedroom...it really hit me the other day that I'm not going anywhere any time soon (you'd think I would have figured it out already...)...I know I mentioned it the other day but...damn...I really do need to do something about that. It may help my mindset.

Like those people that are like, "Messy room, messy mind."

It's funny how I get more and more normal as my health improves. I'm less whacky than I thought, as it turns out. For example, I got up this morning at 9:30 a.m. and I just feel more productive without actually, you know, being more productive. I really haven't gotten anything more done but it just feels good. Honestly, more normal.

Oh, AND I need to apply to grad school, but I can't afford to apply to a bunch and get screwed on application fees plus what it costs to take the GREs...damn.

...

6 days until my next appointment with Dr. S., so maybe we can take another step towards straightening me out. I think the Lyrica is helping (Say what!), but it's not at the level it needs to be...not yet. So I need more. We'll talk about that.

We'll also talk about the Mystery Diagnosis that hasn't seen much of a change...maybe a little dullness, but it's all still there. Le sigh.

AND, to top it all off now, I need a nap. Of course I do. Damn it.

Hang in there, everyone.

Oops...Sunday Summary

My bad. Completely forgot what day it was yesterday.

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Baked: I've been baking eggs daily now, God, it's so tasty...in fact, I think I'm going to do a recipe post and see how that goes. Lisa has a cooking blog, by the way, and it's awesome. I don't read it as often as I should, but to be honest I end up missing her too much. Give it a look, though, she's a charming girl that makes tasty food. She hasn't baked eggs, though...oh, man, now I want an egg. A baked one.

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What Upppppp: Salami & Orchids is now a full-fledged member of the Blog Catalog!! See our shiny new badge at the bottom of the column on the right-hand side. I definitely need a header picture now...I'm working on a few designs, I'd like to get something up in the next month or so.

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Project Runway!!: Holy cow, Nina's a bitch. Did you see it? The new episode's challenge was to make a dress for Nina Garcia, who wears essentially the same 2 things over and over again in one of maybe four different colors. So after the designers had time to sketch they each had an individual meeting with Nina herself where she changed everything about the designer's designs and, I think, didn't give them enough range to actually design anything! Heidi was a much, much better client that...one...time. The poor designer's choices were reduced to "sheath dress" and "pants and blouse" with sedate colors and patterns. Complete snooze fest. Especially since there's so little drama this season! The "coming next week" commercials show more clashes between the designers, and while I'm not looking for another Wendy Pepper I'd like somebody to show a little personality.

And can I just say that Anya is freaking awesome or a total liar? According to her she only learned to sew 4 months before starting Project Runway? She's either a genius or she's faking it...I mean, really, it doesn't make sense, "I never dyed fabric before but I just managed to turn a nasty mustard fabric to a gorgeous, rich chocolate"..."I don't really know how to sew but let me put out perfect pieces every time." I'm kind of excited to see how this ends, is she really a prodigy or is she Project Runway's biggest fake ever?

Sometimes, when I'm really stressed about my lack of job and job prospects and plummeting financial situation (got a letter yesterday from my credit card company...apparently I'm not allowed to make charges anymore, so add that to the list of Internship from Hell fallout), I wonder about just pulling out another student loan and going to grad school for either fashion design or library/information science...things are going to get worse before they get better anyway, so why not pretend to have a little freedom? I mean, if I did the online course for library/information science, I could still substitute during the day and make a little cash...I don't know. I don't know. I don't know what to do. Anyway, at this point I'd have to wait until the spring semester, so I guess I'll just see how this semester goes before I make a decision...anyway....

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Air Supply: The Hershey Air Delight/Aero bar is killing me, knowing it's out there so freely available and I haven't had it yet. I'll have it...in the next week, I swear I'll have it. Don't know what I'm talking about? Here (7th paragraph) or here.

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Comedy's Guardian Angel: There's a couple of celebrity deaths that get to me every once in a while, and Phil Hartman is one of them. I forget if I StumbleUpon'd this or what but it made me cry. Phil sent this letter in response to a fan that had sent a letter and tape of his stand-up in 1997, at the height of his career. The fact that Phil took the time to listen and respond like this just underlines the fact that we didn't just loose an incredible comedian, but an amazing human being as well.

Plus his analysis of amateur comedy matches that of mine and Blanc's (Point Blanc), and I can't help but feel a little proud of that. Here's the letter, and it's handwritten, to boot.

Oh, Phil, wherever you are, you're missed.

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Skunk Update: Holy crap. We've now caught 6 skunks, my neighbor's dog (Eppy) was sprayed the night before last (the night we caught the sixth skunk), and last night we saw two more. Two more. I can't even tell you how bad the back yard smells since Eppy got sprayed. It's like the stupid wilderness out here.

My mother taped a car freshener to the wall of our porch.

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I Blame Jesse Eisenberg: Whoever put games on Facebook was an evil genius. And you know who the evilest of those geniuses is? Zynga. Zynga Games actually hired a behavioral psychologist to ensure their games are addicting. And not like as a consultant, I mean they have a behavioral psychologist on staff. Time Magazine did an article on it here. Farmville, Cafe World, FrontierVille? Designed to be addicting and they produce their own publicity as gamers need to ask their friends to send them "items" a hundred times a day in order to advance in the game-- that or pay cash to buy those "items". Actual cash.

Evil. I wasn't kidding.

But, believe it or not, there are games on Facebook that don't require the harassment of everyone you know in order to progress in the game. My favorite is The Secret Plant Society, a farming puzzle game where you don't need friends. Seriously. You don't have to have a single friend and you can play the exact same game as those people with a million friends playing. The good news is that it's not annoying. The bad news is that since it doesn't generate ridiculous amounts of crap all over people's newsfeeds it doesn't get the attention it deserves. Really, give it a try.

Also, friend me! Plum Jo now has a Facebook account, and you can bet she plays The Secret Plant Society. Sooner or later I'll come up with perks for Facebook friends because you'll totally deserve them.

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Catinca Untaru: First off, how awesome is that name? Catinca Untaru. Anyway, if you haven't seen The Fall you absolutely should for the incredible cinematography, the absolutely gorgeous scenery (and I'm not just talking about Lee Pace, who couldn't possibly be more adorable), and for Catinca Untaru.

There has never been a performance like hers in the history of cinema. She was nine years old during filming and she delivers the most natural characterization...ever. She makes Gary Oldman look like a ham and Tom Hanks a scenery chewer.

If her performance is so great, you say, why wasn't she nominated for an Oscar? I'll tell you why. She's Romanian. A film's producer fills out the forms that get a film recognized by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, who then send the producer's...let's call them nominations, to the members of the appropriate branch of the Academy who then vote on whether or not the producer's nominees are actually nominated.

Here's where Catinca's nationality comes into play. How many Hollywood roles can you think of that call for a young girl with a Romanian accent?

Exactly.

So the producers don't want to give her the free publicity of an Oscar nom because, really, what could she do with it? Better to give it to an actress they may be able to use again and therefore use the "Academy Award Nominee/Winner" title where they can get some mileage out of it.

Which is sad, because if anyone deserves it, it was her.

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Speaking of movies, Blanc's got a movie review theory that's just genius. To paraphrase, why not have different critics per genre? An Oscar bait sucker isn't going to like the latest superhero movie, and the two really shouldn't be judged by the same criteria. Read the awesomeness here.

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Upcoming Posts: I will get the FC analysis up at some point...I will. And a review of Philippa Gregory's The Queen's Fool, and the baked egg recipe because I have to share the deliciousness. The world deserves to know how to get the tasty.

Have a beautiful week, dolls.

Another Saturday Summary!!

Diving right in...


Squeaky Clean: Have you ever had two liquids next to you, one drinkable the other probably poisonous, so you keep one on either side of you so you don't get confused, but one time you reach for the wrong fluid and either drink it or think, "Oh, no, have I been drinking the wrong one?" I did that the other day with iced tea and Windex. Scared the crap out of myself- "I would've noticed if I've been drinking Windex, right?"

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Amish Fostered Prison Baby: Oh, man. There was a prison special on Oprah's network, OWN, called Babies Behind Bars, all about being pregnant and giving birth while in prison. This one woman's family couldn't take her baby, and she couldn't keep her baby because her prison's baby-keeping policy doesn't allow violent offenders to enter the baby-care housing unit and the woman had been to juvie as a young teen for a violent offense she technically counted-- which isn't entirely fair, but kind of makes sense because what if she was 20 and had gotten busted at 15 or whatever, that's only five years. Anyway, so this lady was giving birth but her family couldn't take the baby and she couldn't keep it, so she was put into contact with this Amish family that takes inmates babies and raises them as foster children until the mother is released. The craziest part of this, besides the fact they were actual electricity-free horse-and-buggy Amish, is the mother was like, "Oh, they don't seem that religious. I mean, lots of people go to church on Sunday."

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Lies in Advertising: Ever see those commercials for Almay Smartshade makeup? There's a new one with Kate Hudson. Let me tell you about the bullshit they're shilling there. I'm very, very pale and I really, really hate makeup and I have strange combination skin. So I get the Smartshade Smart Balance or whatever it was called, it was supposed to match my skin tone exactly then dry the oily spots and moisturize the dry spots which, I mean, really, too good to be true. I do attempt to be pretty on occasion so I thought I'd give it a try. Lies. The stuff itself is plain white lotion which, okay, yeah, whatever, it's not going to dry anything but whatever. As I was "blending" I realized that there were tiny bits of pigment in it that got broken by the "blending" action and that's what made it change color. Clever, but it was still too orange and not remotely what they claimed it to be. It also made me break out. So screw you, Almay.

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Elton John is probably the coolest guy ever. That's all.

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Creature Feature: My dad's been doing battle with the local wildlife. To hear me say that you'd think I lived in the middle of the woods, but I live in the suburbs and we are freaking overrun with creatures. Because they're doing so much construction it's taking away the natural habitat for skunks, and because nobody really locks their garbage cans the skunks go through the neighborhood like it's a smorgasbord. We didn't really mind at first, it was kind of cool to sit on the porch and watch everything run around, but it became war when the creatures started eating the vegetables out of my dad's garden. Opossums, skunks, and squirrels have been having a grand old time eating our tomatoes and corn so my dad's been trapping them and driving them away and letting them loose in the woods a couple miles away so they don't come back. Not like it makes any difference.

One squirrel was eating my dad's corn-- and this is the first time he's ever grown corn-- and leaving debris all over the yard. Kernals, leaves, the cob, it's hilarious because it's so bad it almost seems like the squirrel is doing it on purpose. My dad made little cages out of chicken wire to keep the squirrels from getting to the ears as they're growing so the little critters actually gnawed through the stalk itself, knocking the whole thing down and the little cages off.

Every once in a while, when I walk by the back door, I tell my dad a skunk or squirrel or whatever is eating out of the garden and he gets all mad and stomps out, ready to bust some rodent rear. It makes me laugh. A lot.

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Danish Invasion: Last Monday Salami & Orchids had, for the first time ever, another country beat the United States in page views. Congratulations, Denmark! In one day we had 20 page views from Denmark alone- the US only had 14! Tak Danmark- kom igen!

...is that right? It seems too much like English to be another language, like it's just English words spelled wrong...no offense intended, Denmark. Blame Google Translate.

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I'm an Animal Lover, But...: On a darker note, I'm really sick of these ASPCA and Humane Society commercials showing images of abused animals. If I can't comfortably eat and watch your commercials at the same time, I'm not giving you any money. Not even-- if I can't comfortably watch your commercials period, I'm not giving you any money. Especially if some of that money is going to fund more, and similar, commercials.

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Good News: Project Runway is back! They really need to make a bigger deal of season premieres, man, I had no idea it had already happened. Expect more Project Runway posts.

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Upcoming Posts: I'm almost done the Fight Club analysis, it's going better than I thought it would so I want to make sure I nail it. It'll probably be up Tuesday or Wednesday. Also coming is a review of Janet Fitch's novel White Oleander...and I'm going to Gayle's house tomorrow as she's throwing a party for a friend of ours, Lisa, who moved to Florida after graduation. In all it'll be six hours worth of travel, so I may be doing several mini-posts from my phone tomorrow just detailing things seen and heard on NJ Transit. During The Internship from Hell I spent a ridiculous amount of time on the rails and I can tell you it's always eventful.

Tak igen, alle. Hold dig smuk.

...I think Google Translate is playing a trick on me.

Sunday Summary!!

In no particular order...


Big Brother is Spamming: Salami & Orchids' first follower, the young woman who I have decided will be my Gayle King should I ever become rich and famous, had to close her Twitter account last week because it was hacked by some sort of spammer that actually sent me an "@landofgilli" (LandofGilli) tweet and also sent out a general tweet. How creepy is that? Assuming her password wasn't "Password" who takes the time to hack someone else's account just to post some spam? Or if it was a machine, what the hell? It scrolled through every combination until it hit? My passwords are now going to be the maximum length with letters and caps and punctuation...


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Bleeding Gums Murphy: Those couple of teeth that are probably fractured (Show Me Your Teeth) are killing me slowly. Now they're starting to ache more often...I retrained myself to eat so I don't touch them, thereby avoiding the lightning strike that is biting into something with them, so now I don't know for sure if it still hurts that badly and I sure as death don't want to find out. God, I need a job. 


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In the Land of the Blind...: How awesome do 24 hour, 30 day contacts sound? What does that save a month, 58 insertions and removals? And you only have to buy 12 pairs a year! I get away with wearing my two-weekers for a whole month so I  can make do with only buying a 6 month supply, but I still have to take them out every night because they get too dry otherwise. Preliminary cost analysis sets them about even-- hoooooly crap. That's probably about as close to being normal-sighted as I'm ever going to get without surgery.


OH, and can I just say that people sound like morons when they say "I'm legally blind without my glasses"?! Being "legally blind" means that your vision is worse than 20/200 WITH CORRECTIVE LENSES. WITH. Having vision problems without corrective lenses just means you need corrective lenses. See? Pun intended, damnit. 


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Honesty in Advertising?:I saw a commercial the other day for Crest Invigorating Mouth Wash. I'm pretty sure "invigorating" is a euphemism for "burns like whoa". 


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Pointless Whine: For some reason my "G" button has been deciding not to work, so every time I use it I have to make sure that it actually appeared where I wanted it to. It's extremely annoying, and I just wanted to complain


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Herbert: Herbert and I talked for almost 5 hours very early this morning... we've both been so sick and I've been so depressed so I'm reaching out to him but it's hard for him to respond because I can't be relying on him so hard to pull me out of these funks, and he doesn't want to encourage my being even more emotionally attached to him because we disagree so much on marriage and children. Part of me wants desperately to meet someone else and to fall so incredibly in love with them that the Herbert thing becomes irrelevant...but part of me knows that even if that does happen it won't change the fact that Herbert and I truly have incredible chemistry. 


I just need to accept the fact that when Herbert says he loves me he doesn't mean what I mean when I say I love him, and there's no hope of anything changing between us any time soon. 


I just wish it didn't hurt so much. 


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A Series of Shocking Surprises: I was at Dunkin Donuts the other day and the cashier gave me 3 free donuts when I was only buying 2, for a total of 5 donuts. Just for me. Fat admirer, much? And who'd've thought free donuts would ever be annoying? Not me. Don't get me wrong, I ate the hell out of them, but that's not the point. 


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Pop Into: Orville Redenbacher popcorn is vastly superior to PopSecret. PopSecret uses larger kernels which, while producing a nice, fluffy popped-- what's the singular of popcorn? Is it still kernel?-- piece, it leaves bigger bits of shell to get stuck in your teeth and gums. I read that microwaving a bowl of water before you microwave popcorn helps produce fluffier pops because of the increased humidity. I love popcorn because anything that's a vehicle for butter is fine by me.


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Ever wonder what Bitchface from The Internship From Hell looks like?

Augrah from The Dark Crystal. I'm not exaggerating as much as you'd think-- it was absolutely the first thing that came to mind the first time I saw her. Bitchface was just paler and with cheap black hair dye. 


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Posts to Anticipate: Etsy's Hobogate or "Faux-Bo" Controversy, My Guiltiest Pleasure, and an analysis of Fight Club from an angle that, believe it or not, hasn't already been analysed to death. In fact, preliminary research for this particular post has proven...slim. It should be good, if I don't screw it up. 

Harry Potter and the Stomachache from Hell

Update on the Great Job Project: haven't heard back from anyone but applied to a fucking fantastic job with the state so keep your fingers crossed for me. 


My stomach is killing me. I think I was right with my initial thought of endometriosis as the pain resurfaced again during ovulation and my stomach is still freaking gigantic. How gigantic? My waist is generally 32". It's now almost 40". The new pain pills, dicyclomine (generic Bentyl), are doing nothing. I wish I could talk to my regular doctor, but he's out of my insurance network now and I can't see him until my insurance changes from either my father getting a promotion or I get the fantastic job with the state. 


I wish I hadn't taken The Internship from Hell...there'd still be cash in my checking account and room on my credit card. All I have right now is my box of change and that's only half full, and barely enough to even go to the movies. 


I still haven't seen Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part II yet and it's killlling me, even though I know what's going to happen and I know I'm going to cry my eyes out. I cry all the way through the end of the 6th book to the end of the 7th-- it all just slays me. 


Interesting story, actually, I never wanted to read the HP books. In fact, when they were spending so much time at the top of the Bestseller list my parents would ask me repeatedly if I wanted them to get them for me because everybody liked them so much, and I said no, I just wasn't interested. 


Granted, I was 10 at the time and on the precocious side and was reading Little Women and Gone with the Wind, or The Secret Garden AND I was truly obsessed with the Anne of Green Gables series- I honestly had no interest. 


Then in 7th grade my reading teacher said we'd be reading HP and the Sorcerer's Stone and I didn't really care until we actually started reading it- one chapter in and I was hooked. Then some parents complained and they took the books away so I made my parents go out and buy them for me. 


I live in a very Catholic area, though, so that could have something to do with it. 


Figured out how to set Georgia as my default font- what what! I'm getting all computer literate and stuff. 


I think my mother is making my favorite dinner- fettuccine Alfredo- for dinner. Nice of her, considering I'm not supposed to be having lactose. 


Oh, well. At least with endometriosis I can enjoy lactose while dealing with the crippling pain. 


Back to HP- I read Emma Watson has been cast in Guillermo Del Toro's retelling of Beauty and the Beast (here). Is it too early to get excited? Pan's Labyrinth is one of the best movies ever made- can you imagine what he'd do with Beauty and the Beast? I'm stoked. 


I've had this brutal headache all day...I'm going to go lay down until my mother tries to murder me with cheese. 


Edit (7:32 pm): I was right- we had fettuccine alfredo for dinner. Heavy cream, butter, and cheese. If I were lactose intolerant I'd be dying right now. I'm not lactose intolerant. It goes to show you: stomach doctors will give you a stomach diagnosis- looks like I need to go to the gyno. 


Oh, well. At least I can have milk again. 

Dan, the Fireworks Man

This morning my mother had a colonoscopy (I had one last month, they're not nearly as bad as they seem, really-- and incredibly important. Early detection saves lives.) and my father was in the waiting room and talking to a guy he used to work with. Another woman in the waiting room says to my father (after the guy he used to work with left), "I'm sorry, I couldn't help but overhearing you're a plumber."
And my dad says, "Yeah, well, I was but I'm retired now." 
She goes, "And you're reading The Grapes of Wrath?"
So my dad says, "Yeah. My daughter got me a book on the Dust Bowl for my birthday, she knows I'm a history nut, so I was curious about this." 
She says, "And you shoot fireworks?" 
And he says, "Yeah, I do." So they start talking about fireworks and stuff and my dad notices she's taking notes, and she says she's an author, and this is a great background for her next book- so they start joking about royalties and stuff and my dad asks if his name could be in the book and she says, "Absolutely- Dan, the Fireworks Man.  A plumber/pyrotechnician I met in a doctor's office while he was reading The Grapes of Wrath." 


My dad says it's not believable. I think it's awesome. 


SO. I also had an appointment with my stomach doctor today...turns out I lost 12 pounds in a month, so I have the Internship from Hell to thank for that-- so maybe there was some good in there other than experience. 


Unfortunately my doctor wants me to try lactose-free so there goes 75% of my daily caloric intake...maybe I'll lose some more weight from that. I just hope that either the lactose-free or the new pills he gave me will take care of the pain and stomach distension. I mean, really, I'm down to 185 and my clothes don't fit because my stomach is so huge. It's supremely annoying. 


Ooooh, new feature on Salami & Orchids: The Great Job Search!! The unemployment rate in New Jersey as of May 2011 is 9.4% (See?), so good freaking luck to me. I haven't really been applying since the Internship from Hell because I've been recovering my body (sleep and food are delicious...), life (renewing library books, forbearing student loans, sending my TOMS back [just a wee bit too small! I got a receipt confirmation, though, so I should be getting ones that fit before August], etc.), and confidence (I lost $400 dollars on the deal with travel and stuff. I soooo don't want to get burned again, and I certainly can't afford it!). 


So yesterday I applied to a photography studio, a local arts and crafts store, and a local pharmacy...more today, and there's a few I'm going to have to mail in resumes for, like a clerical thing at the courthouse. 


I really love the word courthouse. 


Also, another aspect of the Internship from Hell coming back to bite me, my Kindle's all fucked up...here's hoping it just needs to be charged. But maybe it got knocked around while I was taking it to New York? The trains and stuff were awful crowded, and who knows what happened to my purse while it was in the office when I wasn't...augh. 


Speaking of annoying, you know when your system updates and you get those pop up messages, "Your thingy will restart in 15 minutes...Restart Now or Restart Later" and it keeps coming up every once in a while? Annoying as hell. 


So now I'm off to send in more applications...anybody want to be a reference? 

THE INTERNSHIP FROM HELL

The word "intern" now makes me flinch. I mentioned in my last post I'm still having dreams about it. It was a nightmare...a living nightmare.


Nachtmahr. "Nachtmahr is a nightmare so bad it's in German."


God it sucked.


Okay. Here it is and please, please, learn from my mistakes:


I was applying to all kinds of crap and I got two responses in one day. One was for a costume designer for a playhouse on Long Island, and one was a costume design internship at an actor's school in the city. I haven't done much design work so I figured that the internship would be more my speed and I'd be able to work under/next to a costume designer because, you know, intern: "a person who works as an apprentice or trainee in an occupation or profession to gain practical experience, andsometimes also to satisfy legal or other requirements forbeing licensed or accepted professionally." Dictionary.com, kids.


Right? No reason not to think that. I wanted a safety net, and understandably so. INTERN.


So. I call back the school and I talk to this nice lady who's telling me about this program she runs that teaches young adult to adult actors how to move and act as they did in...let's just say "period"...period pieces. I thought, awesome. I get to work on full-scale period costumes. BETTER, we were using a program in New York that allows small theaters to do full-scale costuming by loaning out costumes from all over the city and its theaters. So, for example, a number of our costumes had actually been used in the Metropolitan Opera House. Not only that, but I'd get to go to this Wonderland of costumes to pull from and do fittings and- AND- the nice lady told me she hires a professional photographer to take pictures of the whole process so I'd have a kickass portfolio piece. She says, "Can you come in today? We're setting up a thing for the students to go through, with period music and movies playing and jewelry and things they can try on..."


I was excited so I said, "Sure!" Ran around, got ready, was on the train within 20 minutes to arrive in the city in an hour.


THE STUDIO WAS EVEN AN EASY WALK FROM THE TRAIN STATION. A handful of blocks. It couldn't be any better.


So the studio was...small. Smaller than I expected. City-like. I got it. Cool.


...But there was no sewing area whatsoever. Which I thought was strange. If I'm doing alterations and stuff, wouldn't I need a sewing machine? Or...like, a table? But I ignored this and spent the next 4 hours moving things and dressing people and overall it was pretty cool. I hadn't met the costume designer yet, which I thought was strange but, again, ignored it. Kept ignoring it while I sat around for the next 2 hours while the kids had a class with the nice lady. Again, strange-ish, but I didn't mention it.


I was soooo excited. I texted Herbert a couple of times during the day to tell him I was excited. He was happy that I was happy.


After the students left we started cleaning up from the day...and the nice lady's jewelry was so horrendously disorganized...she asked me to help out. At this point it's 7:30 and I'd kind of like to get home...but I said okay and helped. After an hour of that the nice lady drops one of the boxes we'd just organized and everything goes spilling out. Hey, it's fine, accidents happen. At one point she snapped at me because she claimed to have set a box out in the main studio room that I told her I hadn't seen. She told me OF COURSE it was there, she did it, she wrote on it, she did it all herself. OF COURSE it was where she said it was.


But it wasn't. It was in the closet in front of her face when she found it. Alright, whatever, people make mistakes. Polite people apologize but whatever, let's not split hairs. We were tired. It was a long day.


So we go back to her office with another nice lady and we chat. I tell her about my experience working at school, which isn't much but it's not nothing, and she's really excited about it so...okay. I tell her with the cost of the trains I do need to be paid for this, and she said $500. So I say, okay. It dawns on her I still have an hour train ride so she's like, "Oh! You have to go!"


So I asked for a cast list because I won't be able to return for a few days as I was having a medical procedure.


So the two nice ladies then start arguing over casting. Cute...a little annoying...but cute- two little old ladies running a tiny little acting school...it was cute. I finally get a tentative character list, which is good enough, I supposed. Then it dawned on me.


I wasn't the costume design intern. I was the costume designer. I was in charge. It was me. I had two other girls on my team. Okay...I can do this.


I go home...have my procedure...go back...okay.


Apparently, while I was gone, two of the nice lady's (the original nice lady) office interns had quit, and would I mind doing a little random stuff while she found new ones. Of course I wouldn't mind. Sooo...I ran errands. I got keys made. I went to the post office. I helped set up chairs and find things for the teachers bipping in and out. I dressed the students when they needed to be dressed for certain classes. I was putting out fires before they started.


Other girls came in, but I was kind of the catch-all for about a week, especially since I was the only one in on Saturdays. I was going in early and getting home late. I was doing work when I got home- emailing students and setting up groups and email accounts...


Like anyone new to a job, I screwed up a few things. Especially since no one bothered to tell me that we were running two businesses out of the little office, and it turned out the second nice lady wasn't an employee, but a student. A phone call or two got misplaced or somehow screwed up...once I got yelled at for not taking the student's attendance- which I thought was odd because why would I ever need to do that? Shouldn't a teacher do that? Shouldn't the students sign in somewhere? OH...okay, yeah, take attendance. Got it.


Oh, oh, OH, take attendance AND call the students that aren't there. Well...should have told me that the first time, but yeah, okay, whatever. My bad.


So pretty soon I'm banging shit out like it's my fucking job. Which it really isn't...but whatever. The nice lady begins to be comforted by my presence and begins to insist I stay beside her as much as possible, to the point where there are things I could have been getting done but can't because she wants me near her. "No no no, don't go, stay stay, stay with me. Please."


I also found out I'd be getting Sundays and Mondays off. Fantastic. That's great. Two days in a row and I'll catch up on sleep and food...great.


THEN...I got to go to HEAVEN. The costume collection. It was amazing. She brought us in 5 minutes before their closing the day before I would be going in early to start pulling stuff so she could show me how to pull and where to put stuff I pulled. Awesome. She showed us the rack and said nothing with long sleeves, nothing with velvet, and nothing too busted. Fantastic. Got it. Will do.


(I was also very relieved to see a work area in the collection warehouse. A couple of tables, a sewing machine or two...great. Easy. Done. Whew.)


I went in early but forgot which floor the collection was on. Stupid, I know, but whatever, I remembered what it looked like, I had it written down somewhere, and anyway I was pretty sure it was the 9th floor.


-- Slightly unrelated story about my trip to the 9th floor--


It wasn't the 9th floor. The elevator opens on the 9th floor and I step out into a hallway that is perfectly, perfectly white. The way you imagine heaven to be white. Actual heaven, not the costume collection. There were no exposed wires like the floor I was supposed to be on, the floor itself was white and perfect instead of scuffed, plain, concrete. It even smells clean. Like laundry.


I get off the elevator because I figured I was still on the right floor, I just got turned around somewhere because I have NO sense of direction. I look around and see a huge sign saying "Martha Stewart LIVING" and don't remember seeing that the other day...but we were running through the hall trying to get to the collection before it closed...so I start to walk. I pass more white-on-white rooms with pretty, perfect receptionists and things. I end up with a small group, a member of which is swiping key cards to get us through perfectly white and HUGE doors.


Key cards?


I don't remember anything about key cards.


Then it dawned on me. This isn't Martha Stewart's section of the 9th floor...this is Martha Stewart's floor. And I better leave before somebody kicks me out for trespassing or stalking Martha. Somebody perhaps being Martha. Fuck. Okay...well...don't look panicked. Just...calmly get back on the elevator and...hopefully...nobody noticed you.


Hopefully.


Turns out I was fine but I was nervous for the rest of the day. I decide to play it safe and find the floor number I had written down before I stumble across more things that could get me in a lot of trouble.


-- End of slightly unrelated story of my trip to the 9th floor--


I finally find my way to the collection and started pulling. Finished early when the second girl came because the nice lady said not to bother pulling the men's things, she'd be in at noon to help finish up. So...we were done at 11 so we decided to sit in the waiting area for her.


We got a call from one of the office interns that the nice lady was going to be late. Yeah, fine. That's cool. My second costume intern came in. Good stuff. My first girl had to leave, yeah, fine.


1:15 the nice lady comes in and starts yelling at us for sitting. Says never to wait for her. Okay.


Goes back to look at what we pulled and then decides to pull every single long-sleeved, velvet, and hideously torn and tattered dress off the rack. Goes to an entirely different rack and starts pulling things. Yells at us for not getting started on the men's things. Leaves.


Yeah. Okay. Whatever. I was still in Heaven. And I had another day in there. So I go in...first...again...by myself...the next day to start pulling more, which is fine, whatever. So I get finished for the day.


The next day is the first of two days of fittings and the nice lady gets there ON TIME. Bitchin'. Sweet. The day goes well. Very well, even. We found some beautiful clothes for beautiful girls and handsome suits for handsome men and we are off to the races. FABULOUS.


Halfway through the day one of my girls even comes by to help with fittings. She even tells me SHE'LL come in early the next fitting day so I don't have to. SWEET.


The next few days pass as usual...until the end of the day Saturday when after I spent the afternoon making the costume binder FOOL PROOF for my girl doing fittings on Monday (which, even though it was my day off, that is an important thing to be at...so I'll go in late, like we said before. No big deal.) , so I go to the nice lady to explain what I did and show her how it works and whatnot and she has a panic attack: "No no no no no no no no, you have to come. You have to be there. I don't think she'll be on time and then I'll be alone and have a heart attack."


Fine.


Monday morning comes, and guess who's late? Not just my girl, but the nice lady, too. Guess who's on time? Our first appointment.


ARGH.


Okay, fine. They all eventually show up and it all gets done...Except, of course, for the fact that the nice lady didn't tell us how the check-out procedure worked, so instead of labeling each piece of each costume with the character name we hung things up together. Big mistake because, as it turns out, each item had to be hung separately and with like items.


So me and my girl had to spend the entire next day labeling and reorganizing what we were taking and putting away the things we weren't. It ended up taking so long we couldn't begin the checkout process that day and had to come back the next.


We were under the impression that the nice lady (who will henceforth be known as "Bitchface") would be joining us to go over our final decisions and pay. This turned out to not be the case. While my girl and I were waiting (did I mention that my other girl had quit? She had) Bitchface called to say that one of the office interns (we'll call her "Elizabeth") and, "Elizabeth's friend" were on their way over to bring me the blank check and help us carry the bags we'd have.


Bags? Yeah. Bags. We'd get a bunch of bags to take all the costumes back to the studio. But why? If the work space is at the collection, then why-


Oh. Because the work space is for the collection. My work space is a closet, literally, at the studio. Without light. Without a table. Without a sewing machine.


Without needles. Or thread. Or fabric. Or chalk.


Just talking about it again is making my eyes burn.


Anyway, eventually Elizabeth and her friend (who turned out to be one of the other office interns, Bitchface just never bothered to learn her name) were all fired up about about this email that Bitchface's Friend sent out detailing how horrible a job the interns are doing and the way things are supposed to be done. We take the things we're taking from the collection out to the front to begin the checkout process and go to lunch.


We had a fantastic gab session about how bad things are at the studio, how miserable we all are, how unprofessional and disgusting a place it is. How Bitchface is running 2 businesses with interns because she doesn't want to pay anybody. How there's so stupid much to do and how everyone keeps quitting on her because they don't get trained properly, then they get yelled at for making mistakes when of course they're going to make mistakes, they're new and they're interns, looking for some experience in the field- a difficult field to break into. Besides the fact they're only hired for a month at a time and most quit before the month is up. On and on and on...Oh, and Bitchface's friend, who wrote the upsetting email in the first place, is one of the teachers at the studio- a sometimes employee just staying in a hotel nearby while she's teaching a class at the studio, not like an actual there everyday type of person. Anyway.


So after lunch we go back to the collection and Bitchface calls me to see how it's going. I ask the guy inventorying our take and he says he's about halfway through, and Bitchface yells at me about how long it's taking. Yeah, okay, whatever. It's my fault.


Eventually they finish and I write a check for $2500 and we get the bags to the studio. Then we take a while hanging everything up. Bitchface and I make plans for me to come in early so we could make plans for my shopping trip to buy supplies. Fine.


So I go in early to make plans to buy supplies. Bitchface isn't there. Elizabeth and Elizabeth's Friend laugh and say Bitchface isn't coming in for another 3 hours.


At this point I had 5 days to get 27 costumes close-up ready, several of which need extensive repair work. Fucking kill me.


So I go shopping by myself to get needles and thread and chalk and a ruler and fucking straight pins.


That night I bring home 3 dresses to work on. The next day there's a fashion MFA there to help, and the poor little thing's mind was blown by the place. She started taking things home to work on, too.


The next day MFA and I decide to tackle one of the disaster dresses, and it's a complete disaster, but there's nothing to do, we have to make it fit to wear. Not just fit to wear, but the character wearing it is supposed to be extremely fashionable and her dress needs to be killer.


So why Bitchface picked this piece of shit dress...


A lot of the problems were technical and I could explain but it doesn't really matter, just know the thing was a rag and I was supposed to make it presentable in 2 days. I take it home that night to work on it the next morning before I went in, because I desperately needed to sleep.


Let me explain. This whole time while I'm doing these things, I was doing 15 hour days, and eating fruit snacks standing because I didn't have time to eat. I was barely sleeping because when you're doing 15 hours a day and there's a two hour commute that only leaves 7 hours to sleep and do everything else there is to do in a day. So I was neglecting everything- bills, chores, my family and friends, my fucking health, I was doing everything I could to put out a decent show despite wanting to kill myself and/or quit. I was working so hard.


So when I was "late" the next day because I was working on the dress that I needed a sewing machine (and the only available sewing machine was at my house) to do I got an angry phone call (one of several, I left out the others because then this thing would be forever long...) and Bitchface starts calling me unprofessional.


I tell her I'll call her back in 5 minutes because I'm about to lose my temper and she really doesn't want that to happen.


So she starts yelling at me some more and I had fucking had it. So I tell her I quit, I'll be in to drop off her things and pick up my check. We got into an argument over the phone, I hang up on her, and she calls me back 3 times. I ignore the calls. She sends 8 text messages.


So I go in and drop off her stuff. She decides to hold some kind of exit interview with her Friend. They have clip boards with blank sheets of paper and pens. So they sit me down. I ask for my check again so I can go home, so we start arguing over the amount of money she was going to give me.


Direct quote: "I never said that!" Well, yes, you did. "Do you have it in writing?" No, I don't, and neither do you. "Oh yes I do!" She stands up and I say, "Go get whatever contract you want, but I have never seen a single contract here, let alone signed it." She remained standing and said, "I'm not going to have you humiliate me and incite a riot in my school. We're going outside."


Edit: I seriously believe that she made us go outside because she didn't want the other interns there (that also hadn't signed contracts) to hear how badly she screwed this up. It was awesome.


I say fine. We go outside and continue to argue. And let's just say I kicked ass. You know how when you call somebody on something that they weren't expecting and they just stare at you? That happened a lot. Even Bitchface's Friend couldn't help smirking- I had an answer for everything. What was happening wasn't my fault- it was hers for screwing up the whole time. She tried to call me on my inexperience, I told her she knew it when she hired me.


She then claimed her lack of supplies was because "this is New York City."


Bite me, woman.


So we agree on $250 and I start to walk away. She says, "Wait! Don't you want your check?" And I say, "Yes, do you have one?" and she says no, because, haha, OF COURSE she doesn't have a checkbook at the studio. Not like this is a professional outfit and all.


That night I see I have a voicemail from one of the office interns. "Uh...Joanna? There's something about a missing pair of earrings...if you could call me back..."


So I called back and told them where their fucking earrings were. Bitchface said she'd look, but if she couldn't find them she was keeping my check because I stole her earrings.




How can I possibly prove I don't have them?

And can you believe there's even more I left out? I got my heart broken. Don't let it happen to you.

Get a contract. READ IT. Sign it. Get a copy of it. Make sure you know what you're getting into when you start, and please, don't let your excitement or desperation get in the way of your common sense. Let some good come out of this.


You can't trust everybody.