See the rest of the questions here.
Three jobs I have had:
1. When I was 22 I worked as a lunch lady. Yeah, my title was a lot fancier, but that's basically what I was. It was one of the most fun jobs I've ever had. Every morning and afternoon I'd drive a few blocks to a larger school to pick up breakfast, then lunch. Then I'd go room to room passing out food and collecting money. It always got really rowdy when I came in.
The school was a small, alternative K-12 that was created for children who for whatever reason had a hard time in a normal school. There was a kid with Tourette's, a large number of kids with ADHD or who were bipolar...kids in gangs...living in foster or group homes...little kids with already-tough lives. It was hard for me at first. The school was very small so I had a lot of contact with the kids. It was the little kids that I got attached to. Besides a few bad eggs, most of the little ones were really sweet and had obviously been thrust into a world that they couldn't comprehend; uncaring parents, drug use, abandonment, misfiring synapses, etc.
There was one little boy who became very attached to me. I bought him a copy of James and the Giant Peach, even though he said he hated reading. He lived in a group home, and didn't have many possessions. I inscribed the book with a little note, which I think is essential when giving a book as a gift. I wonder if he still has it.
2. My first job upon moving to Los Angeles was at a little clothing store on Melrose called Funky Diva (yeah). I was made the assistant manager despite my limited retail experience and zero experience managing people. Although the weekends were crazy-busy, the weekdays would pass slowly, sometimes with only one or two customers coming in the entire day. Luckily I worked with some really awesome girls. We would spend hours talking about our pasts, analyzing each other's current relationship drama (I was 18 so there was a lot of drama), trying on clothes, stealing clothes, and blasting music.
I worked there for eight months before I left for a better paying job. My feet hurt every day, due to my poor choice of footwear coupled with having to be on my feet for 8+ hours a day. I had an awesome wardrobe, though...and a couple close new girlfriends, none of whom I kept in touch with (I'm really bad at that, for some reason...but I'm working on it).
3. My first job upon moving back to Los Angeles after my 3 1/2 year stint in San Francisco was for a psychologist in Beverly Hills. This man, by far, was the craziest person I have ever met. His office was a tiny, two room affair, which I would often sit alone in for hours wondering what the hell I was supposed to do. I never, not in the three or so months I worked for him, had a clear concept of what my job was. I'm pretty sure he just liked having a young girl around in order to bolster his ego. And, my lord, he had an ego. He's the epitome of my reasons for not being interested in dating a Jewish guy. An overly confident, ego maniacal, sexist, oblivious, exhausting narcissist...that's what he was.
When I quit the first time, after the first few confusing weeks, he responded by offering me a $5 an hour raise, which I accepted. The second and last time I quit, after a couple months of more confusion, coupled with blatant and creepy sexual harassment, we got into a screaming match. I still get the creeps when I think about him.
what's the best/worst job you've ever had?
Showing posts with label I Got Tagged. Show all posts
Showing posts with label I Got Tagged. Show all posts
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Tag...I'm It!!! (part 5)
Read the first four questions here.
1. I was born at Cedar Sinai in Los Angeles, and from there I was taken to my family's home in Van Nuys in a tiny house on Atoll Ave. I only lived there for the first three months of my life, so I don't really remember it. I have an idea of what the house and the neighborhood looked like, but I'm not sure if that's just my brain taking the things I've heard about the place over the years, and making it into something that actually existed.
2. I grew up in a three bedroom condo in Irvine, a suburb of Orange County, CA. Our house had been built, along with the rest of the planned community, sometime in the mid 70's. We had the same brown, shag carpeting throughout the house the entire time I lived there...about 16 years. In the laundry room there were marks on the door frame, charting the growth of my siblings and myself. We continued to mark our heights on our birthdays until we moved out. It became kind of a joke with us, although I think it also had something to do with nostalgia. The new owners, who bought the house after the bank foreclosed, painted over our timeline. I loved that house. I'd even move back to Orange County (gasp!) if it meant living in that house...maybe.
3. The first time I ever lived on my own was when I was 19. I had been living in Los Angeles with my mother and grandma since graduating high school and I had just received my worst heartbreak to date (which has yet to be surpassed, thankfully). A few of the girls I worked with at a vintage store in Santa Monica invited me to move in with them to a place on San Vicente Blvd. The place itself was bad enough; it had originally been a built for a business...upstairs was a large living room, a shabby kitchen, and six small rooms with ugly florescent lighting. Not one of the rooms had a closet, and there was only one and a half bathrooms to share between the six of us. Although the $325 per month rent was a bargain, I was unequipped to handle living with five girls all with varying degrees of crazy, and moved out after only three months. I've only kept in touch with one of the girls.
4. From the crazy-house, I moved into a two bedroom apartment in Hollywood with my friend Janet. She was a nice girl, and I'm sorry to say, I was kind of a shitty roommate. The building we moved into was a 10-story piece of crap, located in a sketchy neighborhood overlooking the 101 fwy. If you craned your neck just-so and peered out the filthy living room window, you could see the Hollywood sign.
I had a large bedroom with a mattress on the floor, and a mural of multicolor squares which I had painted on the wall. The building was so damaged from an earthquake that if you stood on one side of my bedroom across from someone else you'd be taller than them...then if you switched places you'd be shorter than them, all fun-house like.
Our upstairs neighbor had a penchant for blasting techno at 8 in the morning, every morning. I had a retail job at the time, and tended to stay out late, so being woken up at 8 a.m. to the sound of drum and bass was more than I could handle. I snapped one morning and took a broom and started banging the end of the handle on the ceiling. The music stopped and we screamed expletives at each other for a bit (I hadn't had much sleep that night). I heard his front door slam and footsteps down the hallway stairs, followed by a knock at my door. I grabbed a large knife from the kitchen, which I clutched in my shaky hand while I opened the door. An older gentleman was standing there with an apologetic look on his face, which wasn't what I was expecting. He told me that it was his son who played the "godforsaken" techno and who I had gotten in an argument with, and that he was sorry. I thanked him and did my best to hide the knife, which I was embarrassed about having in the first place, behind my back. I moved out a month or so later.
5. C (my ex) is the first and only boyfriend I've ever lived with. When we met he was living in a house in Panorama City, which is in the armpit known as the San Fernando Valley. The house had belonged to his step grandmother until she was carted away to live the last remaining years of her life suffering from Alzheimer's in a hospice.
The house was a two bedroom cottage built during the post-war boom, back when developers barred nonwhites from purchasing homes in the area. I never liked being alone in that house as it was spooky, and had the odor of someone slowly going insane and losing their grip on reality. There were two playrooms in the large backyard, built to look like little cottages. They had been built for C's step mom when she was a child, but over time had turned into a place to store junk and for large spiders to lurk. I hated looking into the backyard at night, and would do my best to avoid doing so. It sounds like I hated that place, but I really didn't...I actually loved it and it holds many nice memories for me.
Five Places I Have Lived
1. I was born at Cedar Sinai in Los Angeles, and from there I was taken to my family's home in Van Nuys in a tiny house on Atoll Ave. I only lived there for the first three months of my life, so I don't really remember it. I have an idea of what the house and the neighborhood looked like, but I'm not sure if that's just my brain taking the things I've heard about the place over the years, and making it into something that actually existed.
2. I grew up in a three bedroom condo in Irvine, a suburb of Orange County, CA. Our house had been built, along with the rest of the planned community, sometime in the mid 70's. We had the same brown, shag carpeting throughout the house the entire time I lived there...about 16 years. In the laundry room there were marks on the door frame, charting the growth of my siblings and myself. We continued to mark our heights on our birthdays until we moved out. It became kind of a joke with us, although I think it also had something to do with nostalgia. The new owners, who bought the house after the bank foreclosed, painted over our timeline. I loved that house. I'd even move back to Orange County (gasp!) if it meant living in that house...maybe.
3. The first time I ever lived on my own was when I was 19. I had been living in Los Angeles with my mother and grandma since graduating high school and I had just received my worst heartbreak to date (which has yet to be surpassed, thankfully). A few of the girls I worked with at a vintage store in Santa Monica invited me to move in with them to a place on San Vicente Blvd. The place itself was bad enough; it had originally been a built for a business...upstairs was a large living room, a shabby kitchen, and six small rooms with ugly florescent lighting. Not one of the rooms had a closet, and there was only one and a half bathrooms to share between the six of us. Although the $325 per month rent was a bargain, I was unequipped to handle living with five girls all with varying degrees of crazy, and moved out after only three months. I've only kept in touch with one of the girls.
4. From the crazy-house, I moved into a two bedroom apartment in Hollywood with my friend Janet. She was a nice girl, and I'm sorry to say, I was kind of a shitty roommate. The building we moved into was a 10-story piece of crap, located in a sketchy neighborhood overlooking the 101 fwy. If you craned your neck just-so and peered out the filthy living room window, you could see the Hollywood sign.
I had a large bedroom with a mattress on the floor, and a mural of multicolor squares which I had painted on the wall. The building was so damaged from an earthquake that if you stood on one side of my bedroom across from someone else you'd be taller than them...then if you switched places you'd be shorter than them, all fun-house like.
Our upstairs neighbor had a penchant for blasting techno at 8 in the morning, every morning. I had a retail job at the time, and tended to stay out late, so being woken up at 8 a.m. to the sound of drum and bass was more than I could handle. I snapped one morning and took a broom and started banging the end of the handle on the ceiling. The music stopped and we screamed expletives at each other for a bit (I hadn't had much sleep that night). I heard his front door slam and footsteps down the hallway stairs, followed by a knock at my door. I grabbed a large knife from the kitchen, which I clutched in my shaky hand while I opened the door. An older gentleman was standing there with an apologetic look on his face, which wasn't what I was expecting. He told me that it was his son who played the "godforsaken" techno and who I had gotten in an argument with, and that he was sorry. I thanked him and did my best to hide the knife, which I was embarrassed about having in the first place, behind my back. I moved out a month or so later.
5. C (my ex) is the first and only boyfriend I've ever lived with. When we met he was living in a house in Panorama City, which is in the armpit known as the San Fernando Valley. The house had belonged to his step grandmother until she was carted away to live the last remaining years of her life suffering from Alzheimer's in a hospice.
The house was a two bedroom cottage built during the post-war boom, back when developers barred nonwhites from purchasing homes in the area. I never liked being alone in that house as it was spooky, and had the odor of someone slowly going insane and losing their grip on reality. There were two playrooms in the large backyard, built to look like little cottages. They had been built for C's step mom when she was a child, but over time had turned into a place to store junk and for large spiders to lurk. I hated looking into the backyard at night, and would do my best to avoid doing so. It sounds like I hated that place, but I really didn't...I actually loved it and it holds many nice memories for me.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Tag...I'm It!!! (part 4)
Well, I've gone and done it. With the help of Miss Alie Ward, I've snagged my very first paid writing job. Not long from now, Alie and I will toast my good fortune over BYO bottles of wine and delicious vegetarian fare at Elf, when I take her out to a "OMG, thank you!!!" dinner...but I'm getting ahead of myself. Lately I've been doing quite a few guest-posts for various blogs and websites. It's been so much fun, and only takes me an hour or two to write up something I'm really proud of...but this assignment?, this is way different. This is the conversation Alie and I had yesterday while I was having a bit of a freak-out over the whole thing, after I received the email detailing the project:
Me: This is like a real...like, well...I can't use curse words in it, ya know??? This isn't some blog entry about things I hate or my childhood! Adults will be reading this!!! It isn't something I can just whip up and be all "Georgia" about!! It's like a real-life, ya know...a real, um...
Alie: It's an "article", Georgia. Is that what you're trying to say? It's what we call an "article".
Me: Yeah!!! Oh my god, I have to write an "article".
I'm sure I'll do a great job, I'm confident I will. But in the mean time, I'm scared and excited. Anyway...If you know any amazing places to eat or fun things to do in Anaheim (not Disney related), please let me know.
On to "Tag...I'm It"
2. Making excuses not to do things. A couple examples:
the logical me: I really need to practice the drums
the logical me: I really shouldn't eat that [mini kit kat, bag of mint Milanos, second half of a corned beef on rye, etc].
the logical me: I need to go to yoga!
3. I make up crazy scenarios in my head and kinda just run with them. Whether it be someone I love dying, being dumped, or even good things happening...they affect me emotionally, and it's really not healthy. It's also why I'm an insomniac...or I'm an insomniac because of it, I'm really not sure. Anxiety is fun!
4. I always forget to take my vitamins.
5. I don't wear a helmet when I ride my bike.
Me: This is like a real...like, well...I can't use curse words in it, ya know??? This isn't some blog entry about things I hate or my childhood! Adults will be reading this!!! It isn't something I can just whip up and be all "Georgia" about!! It's like a real-life, ya know...a real, um...
Alie: It's an "article", Georgia. Is that what you're trying to say? It's what we call an "article".
Me: Yeah!!! Oh my god, I have to write an "article".
I'm sure I'll do a great job, I'm confident I will. But in the mean time, I'm scared and excited. Anyway...If you know any amazing places to eat or fun things to do in Anaheim (not Disney related), please let me know.
On to "Tag...I'm It"
Five Bad Habits
1. I'm a huge procrastinator, and it drives me fucking crazy. Case-in-point: today I need to finish two projects for work, start researching Anaheim and plan a Sunday trip there, write something for a This Recording project, and I started this post this morning and still haven't finished it. Instead, I've caught up on a bunch of blogs, and read the archives of my new blog obsessions, Awkwardly Social, Confessions of a College Call Girl, and Waiter Rant for an embarrassing amount of time...I've also checked my email about two dozen times.
2. Making excuses not to do things. A couple examples:
the logical me: I really need to practice the drums
the excuse maker: What the hell for? It's not like you're in a band.
the logical me: I really shouldn't eat that [mini kit kat, bag of mint Milanos, second half of a corned beef on rye, etc].
the excuse maker: Curves are sexy! Besides...you've been meaning to go to yoga...I'm sure you'll go tonight.
the logical me: I need to go to yoga!
the excuse maker: Curves are sexy! You'll go this weekend...I'm sure of it. Plus a nap would be so nice right now.
3. I make up crazy scenarios in my head and kinda just run with them. Whether it be someone I love dying, being dumped, or even good things happening...they affect me emotionally, and it's really not healthy. It's also why I'm an insomniac...or I'm an insomniac because of it, I'm really not sure. Anxiety is fun!
4. I always forget to take my vitamins.
5. I don't wear a helmet when I ride my bike.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Tag...I'm It!!! (part 3)
-If someone can tell me why people keep coming to my blog from the Wikipedia entry for "Kumis", I would appreciate it. Weird shit, Dudes.
-Coachella was pretty much totally awesome. I'm going to post about it once I upload the pictures...I was way to tired to do it last night.
and now onto the 3rd question of "Tag...I'm It"
Five snacks I enjoy:
-Coachella was pretty much totally awesome. I'm going to post about it once I upload the pictures...I was way to tired to do it last night.
and now onto the 3rd question of "Tag...I'm It"
Five snacks I enjoy:
1.
+
2.
3.
4.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Tag...I'm It (part 2)
Five things on my ‘to do’ list today
This is a good one for me to tackle today because I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed. After Alie and I decided that we would go to Coachella (a big, three day music festival located in the desert, a couple hours outside of LA) despite the fact that we didn't have tickets, a place to stay, or any plans otherwise, I got the news that I was the lucky recipient of a 3 day pass w/ VIP. This is totally awesome, and I'm insanely excited...but there's so much to do!!!
1. Find a cheap rental car, book it, and figure out the best way to pick it up tomorrow morning and drop it off Sunday night. Try to figure out a reasonable way to fit a pedicure in there somewhere.
2. Upload all the pictures on my camera to make room for all the photos I'm going to take for 1) a "scenes from coachella" post for this blog and, 2) a "what I ate at Coachella" post for losanjealous.com
3. Organize a bunch of crap including, but not limited to:
This is a good one for me to tackle today because I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed. After Alie and I decided that we would go to Coachella (a big, three day music festival located in the desert, a couple hours outside of LA) despite the fact that we didn't have tickets, a place to stay, or any plans otherwise, I got the news that I was the lucky recipient of a 3 day pass w/ VIP. This is totally awesome, and I'm insanely excited...but there's so much to do!!!
1. Find a cheap rental car, book it, and figure out the best way to pick it up tomorrow morning and drop it off Sunday night. Try to figure out a reasonable way to fit a pedicure in there somewhere.
2. Upload all the pictures on my camera to make room for all the photos I'm going to take for 1) a "scenes from coachella" post for this blog and, 2) a "what I ate at Coachella" post for losanjealous.com
3. Organize a bunch of crap including, but not limited to:
- what I'm going to wear/pack - The first thing anyone says, when I mention I'm going to Coachella for the very first time, is "It's sooooo fucking hot". Being that it's in the desert, I expect that, and I love the heat, but I'm guessing this won't be the kind of heat I love. I think short-shorts and little dresses are in order.
- what bands I want to see - To be honest, I won't be all that bummed if I miss the majority of the bands, as that's not really what I'm going for. I won't be upset if I miss Prince, but there are a few other bands that I'd like to at least attempt to see; Tegan & Sara, Portishead, Stephen Malkmus, Man Man, The Bird & The Bee, My Morning Jacket...that's about it, although Hot Chip and Raconteurs would probably be fun, too. I'm more than bummed that The Bees cancelled, as that was one of the main reasons I wanted to go in the first place. Oh well.
4. Get to Pho Siam by 5:15 tonight. Take off all my clothes and lay face down under a light sheet. Get brutally massaged for an hour by two tiny Thai woman. Hell. Yes.
5. Practically jump out of my skin with excitement until 10 pm rolls around. Get cozy on the couch with Elvis and Prez. Watch LOST. Have mind blown (hopefully).
see part 1 of "Tag...I'm It" here.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Tag...I'm It!!!
The lovely girls at Polka Dots & Hiccups (they're my age, and I would kinda die a little inside if anyone called me "lady", so I'm calling them "girls") tagged me for my very first time! We all know, at this point, that I'm not one to turn down a chance to talk about myself, so I was very excited to tackle this. Thing is, I also can't seem to give a short, to-the-point answer to any question, so the first question (out of 5) ended up being an entire story. So is it fair if I answer these in segments? Yes? Good.
What was I doing ten years ago?
What was I doing ten years ago?
Eesh...I was about to graduate from high school, and I was terribly relieved to finally be ending my nightmarish public education run. It felt surreal that I wouldn't have to see the same faces day after day, year after year, ever again (the majority of which I haven't).
I was working after school and on the weekends in a little stationary and gift shop in the shopping center by my house. It was boring, but I got to sit at the counter and read books for hours on end, which made me deliriously happy. I read all of Kurt Vonnegut's books in the 8 months I worked there. I would close the shop everyday for 10 minutes or so, enough time to grab a chocolate dipped peanut butter cookie from the candy store next door, and a cherry coke from the grocery store across the way (my teeth hurt just writing that sentence).
I lived with my mom, sister, brother, my brother's dog Kujo, my cat Whiskers, and my sister's cat Fred in a three bedroom apartment, as the condo we had spent the majority of our lives in had to be handed over to the bank the previous year. We were more roommates than family, although I have good memories of the majority of that time.
My sister and I shared the master bedroom and bathroom, which we decorated with our contrasting personal tastes (my Dead Kennedy's poster in the bathroom, her duck-phone that quacked instead of rung on the nightstand between the beds), as well as a smattering of tchotchkes left over from childhood.
I think if I had realized then, as I do now, that that time in our lives would mark the last period of us being together as a family after almost a two decades of being a close unit, dysfunctional in our own special way (a way that would be foreign to outsiders, which made it that much more special), I would have treasured it more. I find it so odd that these people, who were at any given time my closest allies, biggest enemies, most trusted confidants, and constant companions are now people that I speak to maybe once a month (in my brother's case), and whom I open up to less than I do with my coworkers.
That summer, eager to leave the city we had come to know as well as we knew each other, my mom and I moved to Los Angeles, my sister moved with her boyfriend to Santa Barbara, and my brother joined the Marines. A couple months later, since all his ties to Irvine had left, my dad followed me to Los Angeles. I miss it sometimes...not Irvine, but my life ten years ago. Although right now is pretty damn good, too.
Alright...I tag Anh because he has an interesting story, and he's probably the only one who would do this. And also Becky, in honor of her very first blog!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
