Interspew

Interviews- N. One of the most devastating realities in our culture, where desperate job seekers are thrown into an incredibly awkward begging process incited by generic questions and assuming holders of their future. I'm not sure if there's anything I dislike more than having to sit in a group of others all outwardly hoping they give the most enticing answers and that you screw up. Group interviews are worse than one on one interviews for numerous reasons, but the one that gets me the most frustrated is the fact that in a setting like that people tend to be a little bit apprehensive to show themselves. It may be out of insecurity or from sheer, incapacitating shyness which I guess can be a result of insecurity. Anyway, that's not always the case for the "quiet interviewer" as I have now dubbed that person we've encountered at least once. The person sitting in the corner, staring around anxiously, praying the hour goes by faster. However, these "quiet interviewers" are not necessarily bad workers or innately timid people. In a group interview, though, it's hard to give them a chance if they don't speak. I know I know that's the whole point I suppose, to weed out the seemingly socially handicapped people in turn for boisterous, borderline obnoxious, enthusiastic applicants. Sigh. Something just seems wrong about that kind of logic. I bet there are hundreds of people being affected by this ridiculous group interview process and there's nothing we can do to stop it. All I can do is write about how unfair and inefficient it is and advise anyone who does happen to be thrown into that horrible situation to SPEAK OUT!
Oh and my internet is working again!
Woot!


Mumford & Sons are my new favorite!

I'm out.

Numb3r5

For most of my adult life I have been encountering alarmingly consistent experiences with numbers. For instance, almost every day since I was in college I have caught the numbers 4:20 on a clock. This has nothing to do however, with my serious marijuana addiction. I'm convinced the reason for seeing this number resides in some strange cosmic destiny that I must fulfill. What destiny? I have no idea! And no, I am not as avid a pot user as one might assume haha, that was a joke. A terrible one at that considering my age and location and the not so secret predeliction writers have for drugs. I'm not saying I'm a writer. Well, maybe a self-proclaimed one. I do enjoy it's visceral pleasantry that graces my being every so often. Sigh. Man, I am TIRED. I'm barely making sense... May as well keep going.

Another number I see often is 42, just on number off of 420. WHAT DOES IS IT ALL MEAN?! In an effort to allay my frustrations and acquire some knowledge I decide to look up the numbers in Wikipedia and see if anything significant popped out at me. NOTHING DID. Minus my surprise by the amount of mathematical jargon in both articles, however, upon further reading about 420 I learned about some interesting gatherings help every year on- you guessed it- April 20th. Apparently 420 is a BIG deal in Boulder, Colorado. I should ask my friend from there about her experiences on the date. Canada and New Zealand also tend to get a little wild for the green holiday and massive amounts of people come together in a haze of smoke and wonder to enjoy collective euphoric moments. It sounds like a blast.

So, in my research I have found absolutely nothing to quell my curiosity or conclude my confounding inquisition. Wonderful. SO with that I will retire to bed and continue to see these numbers without an iota of understanding.

HELP ME.


Ew. It's edited.

I'm out.

Just Do It

Battling for months with this ongoing uneasiness with life and where I want to be and who I want to be and all that existential garbage prone to a paranoid, absurdly self-aware, judgmental being, I have finally concluded that I need to "Just Do It."* Not only does this apply to my career, but to everything in life. For too long I've been scared to just leap into something without knowing exactly what the outcome will be and not fearing it wholeheartedly with the nerves of a tadpole. So in my continuous attempts to better my situation I shall try a different approach. No more excuses, no more talking, no more half-assed attempts, it's game time. I got my helmet on, and I look ridiculous but I don't care. Complaining about things is starting to wear on my nerves, and I'm sure my friends would not be completely opposed to never hearing me say, "I need to get outta there," ever again. Sorry guys. Also, I really need to focus time on creativity. I haven't written anything decent in months... Infuriating writer's block is to blame for this horrid dry spell. However, so is laziness and apathy, two emotions I've been all to found of for the last few weeks. It's so easy to just not care. It's so easy to just let things happen and not focus on goals. Goals. What a scary word. It has so many weird, complex connotations. It means so much, but can also be so fleeting. Anyway, I need to dedicate time to doing something I've grown to love beyond words haha get it... cuz it's writing. Sigh. Clinging to that ounce of passion I know is floating around in me somewhere I've got to get my drive back. I also think I need to get out of the city for a little bit to help me put things in perspective. I feel like with the constant motion of Brooklyn and Manhattan it's definitely easy to loose a little bit of yourself amongst all the flashing lights, all the moody people, all the sounds. I need to go somewhere not so... loud- all that racket- yes, I'm 85.
Well thanks for reading everyone, I really do appreciate you taking the time out to read my narcissistic indulgences.


Story of my life.

***Let it be known I denounce any affiliation with Nike, for obvious political/moral reasons. Damn them for creating such a relevant tag line.***

I'm out.

Will You Be My Friend?

My mother was in town which put an abrupt halt to the festivities last weekend was to entail. At first I was a little irritable, as EVERYONE decided to have parties that very weekend, but the feeling was fleeting because well my mom's awesome. Sigh. She bought me enough food to feed a third world country and enough paper products to stock an elementary school for a year. In her absence, I have been feeling a pang of homesickness that has not shown itself EVER. However, the sickness is not really for home, but for my family, though the warm Miami weather does not hurt.

Anyway, enough about that. I want to talk about meeting people online. At first the entire concept horrified me, made me want to runaway screaming, bleeding from the eyes... I've been watching way too many horror movies...ok, just Pan's Labyrinth.
Anyway, the whole idea of meeting up with people on the internet has been instilled in us since we were young as being not only dangerous but incredibly stupid. However, sometime within the last 5-10 years this idea shifted from "DON'T EVER DO IT!" to, "Eh, if they don't seem too psychotic and you meet in a public place, I guess it's alright." What made this change? Obviously the social media explosion and our dying ability to go out and meet people in person- COLD, with no chitty chat behind the comfort of your computer screen before hand. Though, it's convenience is not to be ignored. Like I said in an earlier post, it's hard to meet people, but by being online some of that nasty pressure is relieved and gives a bit more leeway for honesty, or straight up lying. Sigh. I guess that argument can truly go both ways- a blessing and a curse. It's interesting to see whether or not any lasting relationships will come of it... in my case. I have friends that have found significant others online, but my curiosity lies in the question of "Can you make friends online?" We shall see, I suppose. Ought to be interesting. Hope I don't get killed in the process.


Random Note: I would like to thank Portlandia and, subsequently, YouTube for turning me on to Washed Out and Air France. Also, I would like to thank my upstairs neighbors for being kind enough to lend their Internet for a bit. Thank you. Adieu.



I'm out.

A Tale of True Ninnies: A Story About Hope Lost via The Internet

As a result of being utterly unable to figure out where my main Internet box is I am resorting to using my iPhone to update. Why don't you go to the coffee shop next door, you're probably saying. Why don't you just go to a friend's house you're probably chuckling. Well, there is a simple, yet stupid answer for that. I've kind of always wanted to test the capacity for this here iPhone. Is it as convenient and necessary to my existence as I've always thought it to be? YES, yes it is. It's convenience is to a startling degree. I'm not sure whether I should be excited or horrified that the thought of losing it make me shudder. Definitely horrified. Anyway, it's been a while since I've updated, mainly... excuse me, SOLELY because of this whole Internet debacle. Explain the situation? Why, I would love to: A few weeks ago the Internet just decided to stop working. Thinking it was just a matter of unplugging the machine and turning it back on I did not panic. Then, after doing that oh 5 times and then frantically calling verizon I realized the problem was external. Verizon would have to send a technician to fix the problem. Sighing with relief, thinking that would only take like 15 minutes, I immediately scheduled an appointment a few days later, being off and extremely ready to get my Internet service up and running again. The technician came in the morning, poked around the router, went outside for 10 minutes, came back in and told me there was nothing he could do. "You have to find out where the main cable box is in order for me to fix it." I thought to myself, how the bloody hell would I know where that is? And yes I tend to think in a British accent. So he left with a quickness of a thousand winds and didn't look back. I remembered there was confusion when they first installed the Internet and I remembered something about them wiring it through an auto body shop behind my apartment so I call the technician and tell him that and all he says to me is "No, it's in a abandoned building by your apartment," and abruptly hangs up on me. At this point I'm furious so I call Verizon back careful to keep my temper in check because obviously it's no fault of whoever picks up the phone but of that crass a-hole know-it-all. Oh gawd, he's probably right. So the battle commences. They're telling me I have to find out where this mysterious "main box" is and I have to call them once I've found it. This search has resulted in hours of brain-cramping super sleuthing and many awkward phone calls to strangers and it's almost been 2 weeks since the Internet's stopped working. I'm at my wits end trying to resolve this insane situation. So, what I'm really asking is.... Can I use your Internet?

Sent from my iPhone



I'm out.

formspring.me

Go wild. Ok, not too wild. http://formspring.me/CrisisScarlett

hi babe are you on any other social networking internet site?

ALL OF THEM. You name it, i got it... um, babe? yikes.

Ask me anything