FINALLY! Someone Hired Me!

So, if you follow my life via the Interwebs at all, you already know my big news. And by the Interwebs of course I mean Facebook updates, tweets and twoots, and LinkedIn. And of course, if you're following my tweets, you know by now it's all a blatant ploy to bring you back to the Rainbow chronicles. That, and to quote Seinfeld, apparently.

WHAT IN THE HELL WAS I ACTUALLY TALKING ABOUT?

Oh, right. My big news!

This Tuesday, I started a job. A job that does not require I ask: "chips, fries, or veggies?" A job that is not, in fact, really just an unpaid internship. (For more on that dreadful experience, revisit this post, I implore you.) I am officially an associate writer for Groupon, which, go figure, is apparently the fastest growing company, ever. (Forbes said it, so it's gotta be true.)

You can get a really good sense of the company from the Forbes article, so I'll just fill you in on a couple other highlights not mentioned in said article:

1. The number of computers/humans on the 6th floor is both terrifying and awesome. And that's comparing it to the editorial department, where I am, which is home to at least a couple hundred.

2. There is a never-ending supply of coffee, tea, and cocoa (fuck yeah! cocoa!) everywhere you turn. And Keurig coffee makers, which I'd never actually used, or in fact seen, in real life. Plus, today, I discovered free Diet Dr. Pepper and Gatorade. FREE. I'm going to be so fucking productive! (I might still be on a caffeine high.)

3. Everyone I've met so far is talented, smart, and friendly. And most of them are funny. No joke. It's like Wonderland for a geek like me.

I'll leave you with that. It's awesome. I've only been there three days, and I've already been writing, a lot.

When I found out I'd been hired last week, I was so overwhelmed and thrilled, I didn't know what to do with myself. It was the middle of the day, and I was alone, cause, you know, most other adults were at work. I couldn't stop grinning. I may or may not have told my cats the news.

Negligence and work and such

My poor, poor blog. It just looks sad and rejected lately, doesn't it? Well, hopefully you all haven't given up on me. The negligence is (mostly) due to my crazy work schedule as of late. There have been so many magical moments waiting tables lately that I really should be sharing! Plus, it's gotten a little crazier lately because I, yet again, have taken on another internship. Except this time I refuse to call it an internship. I'm working part-time for The Media Consortium, which so far has been a great experience.

Not only is it about five minutes away from my apartment, it is also around the corner from my local Starbucks AND...my Thai restaurant. (Yes, my Thai restaurant, Anong.) And, even better, they actually treat me like a human being! I get to do real work! Hoorah!

So, please forgive me for neglecting the rainbow chronicles. Hopefully I'll get used to working two jobs again soon, and can find more time for the important things. Like blogging.

Yet another example of why my pops is the SH*T

Have I mentioned recently how Poppa Hamm is the coolest? Well, he is.

I was talking to him earlier tonight about my job search, how I can’t pay my rent, and so on. Then I mentioned how I was frustrated because I’d been asked to rewrite an article for my internship (you know, the article I had major writer’s block over)—because apparently, as all writers face from time to time, the editors thought it was way off the mark.

It’s upsetting to get that kind of feedback from an editor any time, but even more degrading when it was an article you wrote for FREE. So my first thought when I got the email to rewrite it was, “I have to prove that I’m not a bad writer! I have to write the shit out of this rewrite!”

But then I started actually trying to rewrite it. This mostly led to me increasing the premature frown wrinkle between my eyebrows as I frowned at the Word document that’s now really brightly colored from all the various editors’ track changes.

So my thoughts changed to, “Why am I doing this?” My internship is over. This company is not hiring me. Outwardly, I said, “Fuck it!” and pushed my Macbook away from me in a hissy fit. Then I remembered I was in a crowded coffee shop. (Of course I was at a coffee shop. And not Starbucks. White people point!)

That was about the time I decided to call my pops. After explaining the situation to him, I asked if he thought I should rewrite the story. His response?

“Al, sorry if this is too blunt, but: FUCK NO!”

Hee hee. I knew my tendency to say ‘fuck’ a lot had to come from somewhere.

Greg Hamm then proceeded to go on a rant about how if they wanted me to rewrite it, they could either pay me or do it themselves, and told me if I rewrote it for free he would disown me.

Sold. I’m not rewriting it.

My dad’s awesome.

Writing, Slacking Off, and Erica Jong

What a slacker. I haven’t posted in over a week. Which also means I haven’t written anything, not one word, for over a week. I should be embarrassed when my friends introduce me to people as a writer. Yeah, a writer who not only isn’t getting published, isn’t actually writing anything.

But I have been reading. That, I can’t stop, even amidst my extreme laziness and pessimism about my “career.” So last week, after loaning Fear of Flying to a friend and talking about Erica Jong to anyone who will pretend to even halfway listen, I started rereading Ordinary Miracles, my favorite collection of hers.

It feels almost masturbatory that I like Erica Jong so much, because reading her writing is rather like listening to my own brain. It scares me. But she’s much braver with her writing than I could ever be. Basically, she’s my literary hero.

But nevermind that. I think I read this poem six times yesterday:

"What You Need to Be a Writer"

After the college
reading,
the eager
students gather.

They ask me
what you need
to be a writer

& I, feeling flippant,
jaunty
(because
I am wearing
an 18th century
dress
& think
myself in love
again),
answer:

“Mazel,
determination,
talent,
& true grit.”

I even
believe it—

looking
as I do
like an
advertisement
for easy
success—

designer dress,
sly smile
on my lips
& silver boots
from
Oz.

Suppose
they saw me
my eyes
swollen
like sponges,
my hand
shaking
with betrayal,

my fear
rampant
in the dark?

Suppose they saw
the fear
of never
writing,
the fear
of being
alone,
the money fear,
the fear fear,
the fear
of succumbing
to fear?

& then
there’s all
I did
not say:

to be
a writer
what you need
is

something
to say:

something
that burns
like a hot coal
in your gut

something
that pounds
like a pump
in your groin

& the courage
to live
like a wound

that never
heals.

Good inspiration for my lazy ass. So, long story short, sorry about my temporary leave of absence from blogging. After finishing my internship last week, minus the job offer I’d been setting myself up for the last three months, my ambition, ego, and optimism was pretty much shot to hell.

Hmm. That actually should have given me even more inspiration to write. Unfortunately it pretty much only gave me the inspiration to lie in my bed watching Netflix and eating Thai food.

I have high hopes for this week.

Monday’s job search tally:

Job applications sent today: 1
Replies from previous applications: 0

We’ll see how the rest of the night goes.

Distractions.

Seriously, how does anyone accomplish anything while at an office these days? Right when I start focusing on an assignment, one of the following things happens.

A. gChat
B. text message
C. gChat
D. realize my ass hurts from this awful desk chair
E. stomach growls
F. doze off
G. gChat
H. Facebook
I. MY ASS HURTS
J. gChat about how my ass hurts
K. daily trip to vending machine for 30 cent DDP
L. gChat
M. start blogging about all the distractions

This doesn't even include time spent on look at this fucking hipster, NYT, feministing, go fug yourself, slate, etc.

Yet miraculously, I'm still getting everything finished on time. Umm, does blogging about this potentially compromise my chances of getting hired? Shit. This might get deleted in 15 minutes.

I think I need to sleep for about 2 weeks.

Friday Tribute: Free Beer and Pizza

Since I haven't found any rainbows or unicorns yet, and since I brought you all to tears the last two Fridays with my sentimental tributes, this week we’re celebrating something a little different. And that is free beer and pizza. In an office.

It’s really been a magical day of indentured servitude. Err, interning. First, I attempted to sneak in unnoticed at 9:35. Of course I tripped over my flip flop—yes, I’m allowed to wear flip flops—and made a big smacking noise on the floor as I walked in, so that failed. But then I looked around and realized something: I am invisible. No one turned from a computer screen. Half of the people weren’t even here yet.

The day just kept getting better. I started two writing assignments—one for Betty Crocker’s website about “quick and easy dinners” and another one for Chick-Fil-A’s company magazine. I have spent a large chunk of my day writing about planning a taco night with your family. I find this hilarious and wonderful. I’m going to tell all of my friends I’m planning to host a taquisa. Bet you don’t know what that is! But I do! It’s a taco party!

Just as I was craving tacos and starting to write a grocery list so I could throw a taquisa for me and the cats tonight, I smelled pizza. Next thing I know, I’m in a conference room looking for the veggie pizzas and talking to some guy about IU. This was also the moment that I realized my eyes were completely bloodshot from my allergies, my hair is in a messy braid, I’m dressed like a pseudo-hippie, and I’m talking about going to a Big Ten school. I might as well have said, "Are you cool, man?"

I scurried out of the conference room and stared down at my plate of pizza all the way back to my desk.

I spent the next several hours diligently working on my masterpiece about tacos and pretending to be invisible. Suddenly, a woman pushing a cooler appears at my desk and offers me a beer.

Well, T-G-I-Fucking-F.

This is so wonderful I’m ignoring the fact that she asked me if I was of age and that the beer she handed me was a Miller Lite. If she had pulled a Stella out of that cooler I probably would have kissed her.

Great start to the weekend!

I’m an adult again!

Today marked Day 2 of my internship at Imagination, and even though I am most likely going to have no social life for the next three months, it is already worth it. It’s amazing how much more of a sense of self-worth and purpose I get from having my own desk (equipped with a Mac and phone!) as opposed to, you know, carrying my tray of beers across the bar. But really, any job that doesn’t require refilling ketchup bottles and asking “chips, fries, or veggies?” is pretty appealing at this point. I am, of course, quite grateful that I still have said job, because although I get my own Mac, phone, and new found sense of purpose at my internship, I don’t get a paycheck. Hence, the lack of social life for the next few months: my schedule will be intern, wait tables, intern, wait tables.

But the experience will make it worth it. More importantly, thanks to my unpaid internship, I am now officially the best white person EVER:

“White people view the internship as their foot into the door to such high-profile low-paying career fields as journalism, film, politics, art, non-profits, and anything associated with a museum. Any white person who takes an internship outside of these industries is either the wrong type of white person or a law student. There are no exceptions.”

Next time you talk to me, please make sure to tell me “I earned it.” I won’t get the joke. I’ll be too busy listening to Bob Marley, being offended, correcting your grammar (you bet your ass I use an Oxford comma!), and thinking about, but not actually watching, soccer. (I’ll be the white girl wishing I had bangs, wearing a scarf, eating hummus, and drinking a microbrew.)

I could keep going. Did I mention I started listening to Bob Marley in sixth grade?

You might now be thinking, “Who gives a fuck about an Oxford comma?”: