Train to Nowheresville

The day I started my freelance gig at Unnamed Fashion Magazine, I got myself dressed up in a cute little dress, polished my favorite black boots, put on my chic winter hat and coat and headed out, my proud expression silently proclaiming "Here I am, World! Did you miss me?"

With eager anticipation, I hustled down to the subway, ready to board the N Train. The Success Express! I was ready to rub elbows with the Cream of the Crop- the Employed people of America! At last, I had returned.

And then, with one mighty whiff, my disillusion was shattered.

THESE people have jobs, and I don't?

Wait. I know that sounded judgmental.

THESE PEOPLE have jobs, and I don't??

Let me explain the N train, for you out-of-towners/Express Bus Elitists. First there's the Nail Clippers, the Booger Pickers and the Smells-Like-Shitters. To our left we have the Disgruntled Elbow Jabbers and the Dirty Look Givers, and to our right you'll see the Ones Who Talk to Themselves cuddled up to The Ones Who Snore with Their Mouths Wide Open. And let's not forget the woman with a piece of Scotch tape placed across her forehead-- she's next to the guy who's shaving-- yes shaving-- directly in front of me.*

How did it happen that a responsible, hard working and--I'll just say it-- mildly charming woman like myself finds herself on the breadline while the Weirdos of the world, (all of whom seem to ride the N train) go about their day, collect their paychecks, and go back to grooming themselves on public transportation?

As my time at Unnamed Fashion Magazine draws to a close, and I ready to rejoin the ranks of the remarkably unproductive, I realize that you know what? There was nothing I could have done to keep from losing my job. I worked hard, I was professional, I even dressed nice. But in the end, times are tough. Some people will hold on to employment and others won't. It's not personal, it's business-- and there's no rhyme or reason to it.

And at least I don't have to ride the N train if I don't want to now. I can just nap instead.

*These are all based on actual train experiences. and people I have seen, though generally not at once. I am not even getting into the guy who was dressed like Dick Tracy in August, or the lady who filled her cheeks with sunflower seeds only to spit them all over herself when I looked at her. So let's just agree that this is all real, if unbelievable.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

I've said it before and I will say it again: I have a crush on Joan Halloway Harris. You know- the secretary from Mad Men. And yes, I know she's not real, but I love her! I love her style and her sass and the way the two things go together-- and I love that she's curvy and she rocks it. I can finally embrace my hips again. Bite me, Gisele! If only she didn't make me want to smoke cigarettes and drink Scotch and eat red meat. Ok, eat more red meat.

So today, I am at work wearing my Joan Halloway best: a pencil skirt, big belt, cap sleeved top and round-toe pumps, complete with a bow. Yes, I want to BE her.

I see a lot of women on the street that I want to be. I like to dissect outfits and find what would and what would not work on me. Sometimes, I'll even snap a pic.

So now, dear reader, I do you a service: you can do the same, and you can win a shopping spree at H&M! They're running the H&M Style Eye Sweepstakes, all via Facebook. Stop playing Bejeweled for a second, then take a picture of the women who you think have the look you love, even if it's you. Post it online here and you could win an H&M shopping spree AND get featured in Lucky magazine. Got an opinion? Go vote.

Yes, yes. You're welcome. Now, be a dear and pass me a smoke.

Oh. You Again.

The thing about being unemployed is that you spend most of your time figuring out how to be un-unemployed, and then you’re so busy that suddenly you’re busier than a one-legged man in an ass kicking race, and everyone in your life starts saying things like:

“How are you so busy? You’re unemployed.”

And:

“What ever happened to that blog of yours?”

I think honestly that there are two reasons I haven’t written. The first is that I am, by nature, a self-saboteur. I found this blog to be an outlet, I received positive feedback and thus… I had to stop working on it. Why wait to fail when you can speed up the process?

Secondly, I have been engaged in said ass-kicking contest. The real thrill of being unemployed is not the freedom to watch paternity test after paternity test on Maury Povich, or to nap when it rains or loll about reading the classics on your stoop as spring makes it’s long-awaited debut. No—the real excitement is the adreneline rush that comes with the very real fear that the bottom is about to fall out.

Since I last blogged, I’ve been hustling. Not real pimp-and-ho hustling, and not pool shark hustling- but I’ve been moving. I’ve been, frankly, trying to make money and sock it away so that I don’t end up homeless. A silly fear, maybe- but not completely implausible. In the meantime I am working towards a future: I am back in school, studying to get certified to teach. High school English. Can you imagine? AND I took on a freelance position two days a week, and I get to feel employed for a little while. On the days I am not there, I am substitute teaching, where I live in fear that every day the kids will catch on that a.) I am clueless and b.) they outnumber me.

So now that I’ve gotten this “Where have you BEEN?” blog posting out of the way, let’s get back to the fun stuff, shall we?