Thank You for Your Interest

Sometimes when I get really depressed, I apply to jobs and write really great but likely really inappropriate cover letters. I mean, I go for the jugular. The people reading these cover letters (if anyone actually opens the file) are either moved to tears because the writing is so brilliant, or they're forwarding it to coworkers with the subject line "WTF?!"

Every now and then I'll get a LinkedIn notification that my profile has been viewed by somebody from the company. I like to think they're pleasantly surprised by my dashing photo. I'm sure they write me off as some asshole running antics. The sad part is, I'd be really great at the jobs I apply for. 

I've had this problem since applying to colleges. I just can't take the process seriously. Job postings require one of two things: 1. Be a current student and let us pay you zero dollars, or 2. Have 5+ years at the most successful company in the field of work you're applying for. Sometimes they're like, "Tell us why you love our brand!" and I'm like, "Dear Company, I have never heard of your brand because you effectively do not exist in this market, but please read this amazing story about a time a third grader from Vermont inspired me to be a better person and I applied it to Public Relations."

Except it was all one fluid piece of prose that I actually sobbed over while writing. 

Seriously, I applied for a lowly assistant position that asked for 5+ years at a Fortune 500 company. Who spends five years of their lives at a Fortune 500 company to then backtrack down to, essentially, a paid internship? These people are really capitalizing on the start-up F-the-man generation. I wrote that company a story about the problem with sending XXX Snapchats or something. It was intensely philosophical shit, trust me. 

I guess I don't want to be a waiter for the rest of my life, but I also don't ever want to be one of the people I wait on that clearly hates their job so much. They are miserable people and they make me sad. Therefore, I will only accept a job that will hire me for actually being myself. 

Sure, that means I will likely remain a waiter for a while longer, but remember, I'm the kid who wrote an apology letter for my application to the Dean of Admissions at Northwestern after they accepted me. And that all turned out OK. 

Sorry Mom please keep paying my cell phone bill,

TJB: Making It

Medi(don't)care

This woman was actually BADASS. XO Nana B.

Sometimes I'm really grateful that I don't have grandparents who care how I'm doing. To be fair, I think one of the surviving three would care if I was staring him in the face and reminded him who I was, but I think in his given state of forgetfulness the mention of Los Angeles would spur a, "What the hell is that? No thank you."

And I'm not being sarcastic. I'm honestly relieved I don't have to update grandparents. Most of us already struggle with crafting our minimally successful days into Facebook updates or cleverly edited Instagrams in order to impress acquaintances. I can't imagine having to explain to a 70+ year old that I auditioned for something that is being filmed on an iPhone or that I wrote something that one day might appear on YouTube but will be great for my "portfolio."

Parents barely understand most of what goes on in their children's lives today. At least with parents, you're only competing with your siblings. If you can manage to maintain an edge of success on your siblings, you're winning. Unfortunately for me, my sister is gaining ground fast. The shining light that was being valedictorian faded years ago, and I think my Northwestern degree disintegrated with my third waiter gig. 

With grandparents, you have to compete with all of the cousins. I remember being the youngest of six on one side, and by the time my report card made it to the faces of Gram and Gramps, nobody gave a shit. I was tossed a reluctant $20 for my straight-A's and told to piss off. There was nothing I could do to surpass the others. I was laziest by chronology standards. It had all been done before. 

Now, if you are the only grandchild, you're GOLDEN. I hope your Nana and Papa are not physically able to vacation and will leave you everything. 

Listen, I thoroughly enjoyed and loved my grandparents growing up. Perhaps I should say they don't care what I'm doing instead of how I'm doing, but that's weak writing. Go for pathos.

I actually quite enjoy old people in general, when properly perfumed. Sometimes I dream that I'm waiting on an older couple, and I tell them how much I miss my family back home, and they tell me that they don't have any family, and they adopt me as their grandchild and spend lots of money on me. 

I actually think that's quite achievable in my gayness - except with two grandpas - and now that I'm divulging on it, I think maybe this already happened once in my life...

Oh man, I should call them more. Nice guys, those two. 

Lacking Social Security,

TJB: Making It