Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Let me tell you something about the modeling industry…

I’ve been a little desperate on the job front. 210,000 San Diegans were laid off last Monday when three large companies closed on the same day.

In one word, the market is…


I’ve applied at nearly 100 different businesses and I’ve handed my number out to every Tom, Dick, and Harry who remotely looks like they work in HR – or even walks by HR – or knows a guy, who knows a guy, who knows a guy, who walks by HR.

At the sound of my ringing cell phone, I run faster than an Olympic gold medalist sprinter. Alas, the only call I’ve received is from the Target recorded pharmacy notifying me that my prescription has been filled.


Could you add anti-anxiety meds to that order?

While looking for full time jobs, I’ve been looking to pick up some weekend work.

Lindsey was sweet enough to hook me up with a weekend gig for the first week in October. She informed me about a job as a greeter person at one of those car shows.

The hiring lady called and told me about the job then said, ‘We usually hire models to do this work but since times are a bit tough right now…’

I felt like finishing her sentence and saying, ‘…since times are a bit tough right now, we’re just looking to hire moderately attractive females. Actually, cancel that, we’re just looking to hire females… or attractive cross dressers.’

I fit in that category – the female part, not necessarily the moderately attractive part or the cross dresser part – and I’m excited about a little extra cash. Hello car payment!

I have an interview at one of those ‘big box’ stores next Wednesday for a night/weekend seasonal job. Perhaps I should add, ‘Super Hot Auto Model’ to my resume. Maybe that would help?

Friday, September 19, 2008

Uh…How long has this been in the freezer?

My recent lack of cash flow has made things on the home front a bit difficult. No, it’s not that we aren’t paying our bills, we (surprisingly) had a little emergency fund set up and can survive for like… at least 4 more days.

Come on, I live in So. Cal. The cost of living isn’t exactly cheap here.

The bills part isn’t the big problem, the FOOD part is.

Mortgage – paid by emergency fund
Electric bill – paid by emergency fund
Water bill – paid by emergency fund
Dinner for 2 at the Brigantine - Not considered an ‘emergency’ and not eligible for payment by emergency fund– or at least that’s what Chris keeps telling me.

So for the last week (and probably for a whole lot more weeks) I’ve had to *cough* *gasp* *cough* make dinner at home.

Who does this?!?!


We don’t have money to go grocery shopping so we’re living off what we have in the freezer and in the pantry. I’m pretty creative and somewhat functional in the kitchen yet even with those skills I have trouble creating a meal from maple syrup, top ramen, olive oil, Eggo waffles, and frost bitten French fries. I was completely overcome by excitement when I found a dusty box of brownie mix - until I read the directions and discovered the necessity of eggs.

Maybe I can substitute syrup?

Last night’s dinner creation was rubber chicken fingers and soggy frost bitten French fries. We didn’t have ranch dressing so I tried to use Blue Cheese and Tapitio hot sauce for dipping sauces. For future reference … don’t do this. It makes you gag. The three bites of Tuesday night’s olive oil coated Top Ramen noodles made my stomach turn.

Who knew the shrinking of my waistline would be directly proportionate to the shrinking of my wallet?

Tonight? A tiny 33 cent bean and cheese burrito and a $7 glass of wine.

What. It’s not like I sold my stash of wine.

And no, that’s not an option.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

I wasted a good hair day for this?!?!?

My nose has been to the job hunting grindstone since Saturday’s news. I’ve sent out most applications to employers through their websites but there have been a select few that I deemed important enough for a personal drop off.

Yesterday I dressed to impress (hence the belt incident) and made my way to several companies I was interested in.

There is one job I’m absolutely dying to get with a government organization that offers fabulous benefits and most important… considers my birthday a holiday.

I pulled in to the freshly laid asphalt parking lot and was greeting by some of my favorite friends: BMW, Porsche, Lexus, and Mercedes. Based on the staff vehicles, I felt I was in the right place.

I straightened my crisp clean pink button up shirt and brushed off my business black slacks as I walked up to the behemoth building. I gave a last prayer for my resume package and opened the heavy glass front door.

As I walked inside, the click of my heels reverberated off the marble floors and the walls. The girl at the desk looked up and said…


I smiled brightly (thank you Mexican dentists and Target whitening strips) and asked, ‘May I please speak with the Human Resources Manager?’

‘Is that an application?’ She asked, pointing to my beautiful royal blue curriculum vitae package.

‘Yes, I’m applying for…’

‘I’ll take it.’ She said as she tossed it on her desk.

‘May I please…’ I started again

‘We will contact you in three weeks if you qualify.’ She replied shortly and turned back to her solitaire game on the computer.

I stood stunned for a second but then smiled and thanked her for her time and walked out.

I felt like leaning back in the door and shouting, ‘CAN YOU AT LEAST TELL THE HR PERSON THAT I’M PRETTY?!?!? Because according to MTV, I only have 1 year and 8 months of vibrant skin left!’

Back to pounding the pavement…

Monday, September 15, 2008


I wouldn’t consider last week a personal best. The two stressful meetings, the notice of a lawsuit, the getting fired…

Oh wait, I didn’t mention that? Ooops. Silly me. I must have forgotten.

I guess when you yell at your boss and tell him where to shove it, he fires you.

OK, so that’s not what happened.

But telling the truth – everyone in the company was laid-off when the powers that be suddenly decided to cease operations on Saturday – is just so… so… so…


You say poTAto, I say… oh I don’t know, something I made up.

On top of all this, I have yet to be served the lawsuit papers which is slightly depressing. How awesome would it have been to be served and laid off on the same day?!? Can you imagine the sympathy I could get? I could probably have opened up a ‘Feel bad for Bekah Fund, Donate Now’ at Bank of America. What a terrific bummer!

I have had some close calls. I dove into the rose bushes at the sight of our new mail woman who decidedly looks like a process server. I am also suffering from a severe case of rug burn thanks to my gold metal swan dive under the bed at the terror caused by a passing ice cream truck. Every time someone knocks on our door, I yelp and scream ‘REBEKAH DOESN’T LIVE HERE! SHE DIED FROM A FREAK ACCIDENT INVOLVING FALLING OUT OF A BED!!’

So seriously, now that we’re past the silliness of ‘I lost my job and got sued in the same week’, I have some REALLY terrible, awful, very bad news...

I dressed in my ‘professional’ slacks (since the job hunt starts today) – surprisingly I haven’t shrunk these yet – and couldn’t find my black belt. Late, and in desperate need for something to hold up my pants other than carefully woven Chihuahua hair, I scrambled to Chris’ side of the closet and grabbed his black dress belt. I figured that, even though it’s huge, I could make it work. I slid it on and…


… it fit.

That’s when I looked heavenward and shouted, ‘Really God? This is SOOOOOO not funny.’

What’s next? Am I going to fit in his pants? His T-shirts? His OVERSIZED FOOTBALL JERSEYS?!?!?

Sure it’s not God’s fault that my butt is inflating faster than a safety vest in an ocean bound plane but geez, couldn’t I have a break?!?!

I was about to suffer from an emotional breakdown but then I called Chris who clarified, ‘That belt? I haven’t worn that since.. I don’t know… forever ago. It’s a 29 or something.’

I looked down at the belt which was perched across my hip bones (that’s how I roll, lowrider) and exhaled.

I grabbed a post it note and scrawled ‘I’m going to kill you for freaking me out’ and slapped it on the mirror for him to find when he got home.

He thinks it’s funny…

But I’m not joking.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Those wash instructions are there for a reason???

We had a fairly important work meeting on Monday. I was scheduled to present a portion and I wasn’t exactly excited at the prospect of turning red, talking like Yoda, and sweating like a marathon runner.

In preparation, I laid out my ‘proper’ business wear the night before and pulled out two pairs of shoes.

It was a rough debate about which pair of shoes to wear.

The first pair are low heeled, comfortable, and easy to walk in. They are muted and gently hide underneath my pant legs.

The second pair have heels that are no less than 5 inches, are completely uncomfortable, and when I walk… I look (and sound) like a trotting horse. They are so large, it looks like each of my feet are standing on life size re-creations of Pluto – which by the way, is what makes my legs look so thin.

Sooo, I can either a) look very professional and slightly heavier or b) look like I star in adult films, clomp like a horse, and look slightly thinner.

One word…


No one said looking thin is comfortable – or attractive – or unhorselike.

I woke up the next morning and dressed for the meeting… or at least attempted to dress for the meeting. Either I picked up a disturbing bout of bloating or…

I should have read those silly ‘care’ instructions on my pants.

Hmm. I guess they mean take it to a dry cleaner when the tag says, ‘Dry Clean Only’. I guess they didn’t want me to throw the pants in the washer and dry on high heat – and here I thought the clothing manufacturer and the dry cleaners were in cahoots.

Turns out…

They aren’t.

My pants were so tight, I looked like Denise Richards on the movie posters of ‘Undercover Brother’ …plus or minus 30 or so pounds… mostly plus… OK… only plus.

Thank heavens for shea butter lotion, body shapers, and a belly not yet misshapen by child bearing.

The meeting went fairly well. I only forgot 3 of the 4 sections of information I was supposed to cover. That’s like… a personal record.

Our goal was to make a significant impression on the folks from the Ireland and London offices. I really think my shoes and pants made an impression.

Hey! It’s not my fault no one clarified what TYPE of impression.

I’m starring in Mission Impossible 4!

So it hasn’t exactly been my week. I was busy all last week and halfway through this week preparing for meetings and presentations – more on that next time.

I kept thinking, ‘I just have to get through Wednesday, I just have to get through Wednesday.’

After Wednesday’s meeting, I breathed a significant sigh of relief… then I made the horrible mistake of checking my phone messages…

‘Hi Rebekah, it’s Michael, the claims adjuster on your homeowner policy, I have some bad news…

I’ve been negotiating with the young man who fell on the street in front of your home and have been unable to make any headway. His attorney has decided to file a legal action against you. Could you please give me a call immediately after you’ve been served with the court papers?’


For a brief history on ‘The Great Fall’ read here

I’m terrified at the thought of being served. I know my insurance guy said not to avoid service but I’ve been running to and from my car everywhere. Seriously, Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible has NOTHING on my running and ducking capabilities.

If you’ve ever been served with court papers before – uh, hate to admit this but… this isn’t my first time – you know it’s a really, really awful experience. Wait. That doesn’t sound good. But really… I was innocent!

Now I’m sounding like criminal. Maybe I’ll get a gang tattoo so I can survive a stint in the slammer.

Anyway, back to the service of court papers…

Here’s what happens:

The plaintiff’s lawyer hires an unemployed freak-show who’s desperate for money.

The freak-show camps in front of your house in his 1982 hatchback Hyundai, which of course, is solely held together by Bondo, duct tape, and 3 pieces of chewing gum.

When you arrive home after *gasp* actually working a real job, the freak-show runs up to you and screams ‘WHAT IS YOUR NAME!?!?!?’

When you don’t respond because *gasp again* you aren’t accustomed to people screaming at you, the freak-show throws the papers in your face (giving a deep paper cut to your cornea), takes photos of you, your car, and your home and runs away.

No. I’m not angry or prejudiced against process servers, why do you ask? ; )

I really hope the attorney decides to shell out the extra cash to use a police officer but I'm not holding my breath since I think I saw an ad for him in the Pennysaver advertising buy one get one free lawsuits. How sad that I’d rather have a person carrying a loaded firearm serve me than an shady unarmed guy driving a beater import.

I don’t want to work. I need a ‘mental health’ day.

I hate California.

I’m moving to Kansas...

or Sacramento.

Sunday, September 7, 2008

So it’s been a while…

Work is crazy.

School is crazy.

Probably won’t get a chance to update until Thursday.