hello, perfect job

Hi there, perfect job. It's me, still. Just waiting for you to call me back. Did you get my message? This morning? And the three yesterday? Oh, and the one on Friday. I'm pretty sure I left a message. You might consider me just "phoning it in," but when I don't know where you live, it's a little hard to do more than that. I could just go door to door; I could just try out some streets and start pounding, but that might be embarrassing or a waste of time, or many other horrible things that prevent me from even leaving my apartment. (I mean, honestly, sometimes I'm calling just hoping for your voicemail. Then we don't actually have to talk!, but at least I know I did called you.) But then there are times, like now, when I'm tired of playing games.
I would love to meet up perhaps Monday morning - or, wait, I was going to go to a Spin class on Monday morning. Well, I could do Monday afternoon, if you're free. Anytime -- anytime at all-- after one p.m. Or Tuesday morning would be great. Shit, actually, I'm going to be watching Gossip Girl and drinking on Monday night, so I might need to sleep in on Tuesday to get myself back on track. And then I like to go to the gym so I can Really get back on track. That way, I'm in perfect mental shape to hit up a new Perfect job. So, anytime after 2 pm on Tuesday would also work for me. Wednesday is out because I rented a Zipcar to shop at the outlets -- but that is job-related; I'll be getting work clothes (I need new things for fall!) - and I have to go to the outlets because I need to conserve my cash (no job!!), and everything I ordered on Bluefly is just too big in the waist and too small in butt (a continual problem for me, you have no idea, shopping is soooo hard). Online shopping is really convenient for a busy person for me, but when you have to return stuff, that just takes up a whole day-- printing out the forms and taping it up and dropping it off and all that stuff. Agh! I'm getting stressed just thinking about it.
I can also meet Thursday or Friday, anytime. Like between 12 and 12:30, would be great. And could you call or text me (I'd prefer a text) if you think I'm going to have to wait in your office for longer than, like, ten minutes? That would be great, cause then I could just come at that time, like 12:15, if you think I'm going to just wait those 15 minutes anyways. Super!
And I've attached my resume - I know my Theater major doesn't convince you of my marketing and publishing skills, but seriously, I went to a good school, and I'm sure you're going to get lots of applications from people who, sure, maybe they've been in the field, interning, or whatever, for years, but a lot of them probably don't have college degrees. And there's just something to be said about being a college graduate. I can really work under pressure. I mean, when you're hungover, on no sleep, have 2 hours to turn in a term paper you haven't even started, and you have to get ready for pre-game beer pong, you are dealing with pressure. I didn't have any term papers, as a Theater major, but we did have to memorize sooo much stuff, in a really short period of time, and, so, well, I obviously can remember whatever Excel shit you need me to learn. I've been emailing since 1997, when I was still in middle school.
So if you could shoot me back with an exact time we could meet, I'd really appreciate it. I'm very available. (Just text though, in case I'm at the gym or on the other line or something)
Thank you so very much,
Your Hopeful New Hire!

Derek

I like, shouldn't even be telling you this, but the thing is that i don't even know if there is a You, but I can only assume there is (I mean, I've learned from the past, and not much I ever do stays behind the scenes. People. Will. Talk. Soon enough.) - I'm like Julia Allison that way, so I'm guessing that pretty soon all of these will be looked at under a microscope. Which I will keep in mind, and edit accordingly, but what is a blog if i can't dish a little bit and be myself? I'm sure you would see through it if I just, like, talked about good movies or the new fall line or something. Which I will do. But right now I'm fucking obsessed with what derek said. And his name isn't derek, I know better than to use real names. But derek almost is ruining this story, because I knew a derek in high school who was disgusting (isn't that so awful when someone gross ruins your idea of a name? especially when it's a pretty name. And like, your friend or aunt names their baby that name, and you're like "it's pretty, it's a pretty name, but I knew someone years ago with that name, and they were fucking disgusting, and that's what i think of when i look at your infant." The name Emily. I think it's really pretty, but there was this loser girl that smelled so bad and never did anything about it I knew in grade school, and I could never name my daughter that. Or even a dog. Such a bummer.)
Anyways, okay, his name is Doug. (it's not doug, but that's better than Derek. Sick)
So he was getting long sleeved t-shirts for our group for the breast cancer walk (Support, People! You know you know someone ... who knows someone). And he g-chatted me and said "what size do you want?" and I said "probably a small?" ... because, like, I'm thin, but I wasn't sure if there were like, tiny women sizes - you know how those cheap t-shirts are sometimes like all men's sizes so smalls are really big, or maybe they are women's and the smalls are like for children- and I'm 5'10" almost 5'11", so I don't want to have this obnoxiously small t at a breast cancer walk, you know? But I figure Doug can figure it out. So ... later on we were all getting drinks at some disgusting, like, bar that smelled like college and I was so not into it (the kind of place where you don't even think about ordering wine because you know it's like, 2 buck chuck or something, and it's been opened since the last asshole ordered a glass of "chardonnay or something" two weeks ago) (I got a gin martini, with a twist, you can't really fuck that up too bad, although the guy pulled the lemon off the rind to make the twist with his bare hands and so i almost gagged, but thought maybe the alcohol might kill some of his east village germs). Anyways. Doug says, "Brie, I still didn't get you a shirt yet" And i'm like "why, retard?" and he's like -- hold on, i'm going to write this out like a play:
D:"what size should I get?
Me "are you serious? I don't know! I don't really care, just get me a small or a medium or something!"
D:"really? don't you like, have long arms?"
Me: Um, I'm tall, but i'm not like a giant-freak. Tall girls are still size small. Hello, ... models!?
D: Well, I was going to get you an extra large.
Me: (laughing) ha ha
D: (serious)
Me: What?! you were going to get me a size extra-large?
D: Well, you're tall, and, I don't know, don't you want the sleeves to be long enough?
Me: Whoa, you are so freaking weird. Okay, girls do not care about sleeve length if it would mean that the torso is huge. Even girls who are size xxlarge would not want a guy to buy them an xtra large.

And it went on. Do you believe that? I would have died if he handed out all our t-shirts one day, and he had gotten me an extra large! Wow. I . Would. have. Died.

Doug. now that name is ruined for me too.

Numero Uno

It's not easy being me. I mean, it's easier than for other people. It's easier than for like, homeless people, or people with the bad shade of red hair (that would suck!), or immigrants or something. But I go through daily trials and tribulations, and I'm only human, and i have feelings, and I need to act on them. And I'm not using this blog as therapy or anything, but I just sometimes think I've got more emotions that I've got to let out than others, and as long as I'm already on bluefly, I might as well use the internet for self-healing. Thanks, guys!