Literally Leah

sharing is caring, so I obviously care a lot.

Leah Does Yoga… April 29, 2009

Filed under: Fitness — The Under-Analyst @ 4:08 pm

Maybe it’s the California sun or Jennifer Aniston’s body but something motivated me to go to my very first yoga class today.  I wasn’t a complete novice… I had seen a few videos and even participated in the hotbox yoga, Bikram, twice while living in Barcelona.  But in all reality I don’t know downward dog from sideface pigeon.  I felt confident though, I’m long and somewhat lean, how hard could basic stretching be?  I was so excited last night that I even looked at target.com to see what the going rate for yoga mats is. yoga

This morning I woke up feeling less confident.  Maybe I should wait a bit, maybe I’m not ready for yoga? I was less afraid of farting and more afraid of the pretentious downward doggers that would be surrounding me in a claustrophobic room. But the giant sand hill that once was my fitness friend has turned violent with the coming of summer.  Its sand scorches the bottom of my feet and I can’t bear to wear shoes, all that sand in there, it’s just horrible. So… yoga here I come.

I arrived early, dressed in what I deemed appropriate yoga attire, leggings and a tank top.  I was surprised to see that there weren’t many people.  I read on their website that these donate only classes (suggested amount $12) were always really full and to arrive twenty minutes early.  A lady with a cute baby sat next to me on the right.  Then another woman came in with a baby.. and another, and another.  

Wait.. this IS the yoga level 1 class, right?  

Nope, once again I have outdone myself, misread the schedule and now am waiting for the Mommy and Me yoga class.  I considered leaving but the woman on my right urged me to stay saying I’d still benefit from it.  I did build myself up for this yoga today, so I stayed.

At least it will be easy.  How hard can a yoga class be when there are a bunch of babies?  I lay my mat down, following the circular set up of the room.  Wow, there are a lot of babies here, and they are loud.  Oh, that baby is super cute! I hope my babies are cute, how shitty to have an ugly baby, like that baby over there, sad.  Ok, enough judging babies, after all the point of yoga is to leave our heads and focus on our breath and bodies.  Our teacher comes in, she’s pregnant.  She asks us if anyone is new.  I raise my hand, “Hi, I’m new, and I don’t have a baby.”  Some of the women smile, a few giggle. The instructor says, “Don’t worry, although I must warn you this class is going to be loud and chaotic.”  I’m getting the picture.  As I look around kids are crawling, running, screaming.  The kid on my right is picking his nose and wiping it on his mom’s mat. Perfect.  

We start with a few breathing exercises.  So this is downward dog… okay, not so bad.  Wow, I’m a natural.  Wait, where am I supposed to put my leg?  Oh crap, I can’t hear what this lady is saying over these damn kids.  Oww, this really hurts. I am so not flexible.  Oh yeah, breathing, in, out, okay.  What? No I can’t do that! Wait, is that lady over there on her back holding her baby with her toes?  Warrior posing, I am a warrior. Yes, breathing.  Now it’s time to do upside down time?  These moms are super humans! That Asian lady is standing on her head.  And that mommy is doing it too! Crap. I am trying, okay, the teacher sees I am struggling she is telling me to put my knees under my armpits, lean into my arms and levitate, resting all pressure on my arms.  Hah, yeah right.  I “levitate” for three second and proceed to fall flat on my face which hurts. I wait for this part to be over.  We do some more leg stretches, I am sweating.  I look at the clock, is it over yet?  Meanwhile kids are crying, a woman on my left just got hit in the head with a toy some little boy threw.  The instructor is chasing after some boy named Hudson.  I look up and notice the lights are turning on and off.  Then I see the little girl who has found the light switch.  I am exhausted.  

Finally she tells us to lay back and breath.  It’s over.  I lie there, reflecting on my yoga.  

The mommies are all very nice and not pretentious at all, that was a relief.  Maybe I will try this again, minus the babies.

I overhear one of the other women talk about a Tuesday class with a hot instructor. Apparently this hot yoga instructor makes her blush especially when he adjusts her posture in her poses.  She tells her friend that she almost feels guilty after class when she goes home to her husband.  Now that’s interesting…

At least I have zero guilt leaving Mommy and Me, just a sore back and bruised forehead.

 

My job title, My identity… crap. April 23, 2009

Filed under: Identity,Jobs — The Under-Analyst @ 4:36 pm

Something I have become increasingly aware of during my search for employment is how much “titles” really matter. I am drawn to exotic sounding positions such as “Creative Consultant.”  What the hell is that?  I don’t know but I’m definitely going to find out and would most definitely be happy with that title on my business card.  I just can’t bear the idea of telling people I’m an “Administrative Assistant” or “Receptionist”  or “Office Assistant” or “Front Desk Representative.”  I didn’t got to college for four, ahem, five years to have some boring, average, unimpressive job title.  I mean I was “Director of Operations” in Barcelona, Spain all last year!  How can I go from that to “JR. Clerical Representative.”   Who is in charge of creating these blase status defining names anyways?  

Example: I am a “blogger.”  

No Way Jose… I’m not some ordinary fool on the computer whose dear diary entries waste internet space.

I am a “Pro-Bono Word Artist.”  

When I used to collect old paintings, weavings and other decoratives from thrift stores, alleys and garage sales, I thought the “work” that I was doing deserved a fresh title. 

Leah Josephson, “Odd Art Enthusiast.”

Nice, huh?

The point is, do I really want to work for a company who stifles my creative growth by applying a lousy, uninspired identity?  Well, at this point, yes because I need a job.  But as soon as this recession is over, I will regain my principles and answer, NO.

As I skim the Craigslist postings one more time I am desperately searching for that perfect job title to jump out at me.  Nope, not “Kennel Attendant.”  

Leah Josephson, “Hopelessly Unimpressed.”

 

p.s. the singing bee people e-mailed me to inform me I have been chosen for the final round, they’ll be presenting my folder to the producers… oh dear.

 

My first game show audition April 21, 2009

Filed under: auditions,game shows — The Under-Analyst @ 11:58 pm
Tags: , ,

I love craigslist.  I manage to probably spend an hour on their site everyday either searching under jobs, classes, housing or community.  I understand there is a risk involved with trusting Craigslist and the “good” people on there, but let’s face it I’m kinda a risk taker.  The other day I came across a posting calling out to potential game show contestants for The Singing Bee.  The ad basically outlined the purpose of the show (they provide a song with music and lyrics and then cut it off leaving you to sing the rest of the lyrics from memory, if you get it right you get some money) and what you needed to do to apply (write a brief paragraph about why you’d be a good contestant and attach a recent photo).  I wrote five lines quickly and sent the least stupid picture of myself (which was still stupid, why don’t I have ANY good photos of me up close…).  This all happened on Sunday.  

Monday morning I was rudely awakened by my mobile ringing with an unknown number.  I hoped it was someone offering me my dream job and instead I heard,

“Hi Leah?  This is blah blah from The Singing Bee.”  Oh, crap… did I apply for some freak’n singing telegram company or something, geez I really need to be more choosy about who I’m sending my resume to.  

I responded with, “Who?”  

He repeated himself and then added, “from CBS, the game show.”  Ooooooohhh, what?  They actually picked me?  Hhhmm maybe that photo wasn’t so stupid after all.  

“Now Leah, you describe yourself as, ‘upbeat, fun, friendly and… well I have to be perfectly honest here, in all four years of doing casting I have never come across anyone who has described themselves as ‘well groomed.’  What does ‘well groomed’ exactly mean?”  He is laughing. Oh crap, what did I write in my paragraph? I’m such a loser, ‘well groomed’ really?

 “Well, I think I was just trying to say that I can shower and look good when need be.”  He is still laughing,

“oh I see… most people just write they’re attractive.”  Uh, Ok “sorry?”  

“No, no need to be sorry, in fact how about you come down to the studio tomorrow for an in person audition.” Uh, Ok again.  

So… it was my first trip to the Valley!  I felt really cool approaching the gates to the large studio.  I was introduced to about thirty other people waiting to audition as well.  We were ushered into one of the large buildings and put in a hot room in the basement. A woman handed out application forms and we were sat at tables.  The application form sucked.  Hard questions like, “Who is your favorite singer?”  and “What was your first concert?”  Ok, well those  questions weren’t exactly hard but they definitely put some tricky ones in there, like “What is a unique talent of yours?”  What?  I don’t have any talents! Ugh. or “Tell us something many people don’t know about you?”  I contemplated writing, ‘ I have syphilis.’ But thought I should probably answer it seriously. But these questions were so dumb and difficult to answer.  After we filled out our applications we had a group quiz.  They played five songs, each song they stopped about fifteen seconds into and we had to write down the next lyrical phrase.  I got lucky and actually knew all five songs!  They collected the quizzes and left for a while.  I made friends with the people at my table, a very diverse group of ages and sexes.  They came back and read off the names of those that would continue on to the next round.  I was called  (they couldn’t pronounce my last name, JO-SEPH-SON, really? that hard?) woo hooo!!

The next hour and a half was just a lot of sitting around and talking to the casting coordinators and each other.  And the twist of the day was revealed… CBS didn’t sign on for another season of The Singing Bee, however, another network acquired it.  What network you might ask?  NBC? Nope, WB?  Nope, anything normally watched? Nope.  CMT.  hahahahaha Country Music Television.  Thank GOD I attended college in Iowa, I actually had a chance!  Ummm did I mention the show is hosted by Joey Fatone (yeah the guy from NSYNC).

Ex Boyband Member, AKA Singing Bee Host, Joey Fatone

Ex Boyband Member, AKA Singing Bee Host, Joey Fatone

 

 

The next phase was to enter a room and stand in front of a panel, looking straight into a camera we had to introduce ourselves, state our name and where we were from.  Then a guy asked us various questions from our applications and we had to answer into the camera.  I started confidently, “Hi, I’m Leah Josephson, 25, from St. Paul MN.”  Then the guy asked, “What was the best part of growing up in Minnesota?”  Well, definitely not the arctic 9 months out of every year.  “The best part of growing up in Minnesota was the easy access to our 10,000 lakes.”  Solid answer.  He then asked me what I did in the lakes.  What an idiot, what do you think I did?  What all people do in lakes.  “While visiting our 10,000 lakes over the years I have done a lot of tubing, water skiing and swimming, although really I’m not that strong of a swimmer.” Oh the irony.  Then the bastard looks down at my application to my answer for the “Tell us something others probably don’t know about you…” question and says, “So Leah, you grew up on a farm, tell us what you used to do to the chickens on your farm.”  Asshole.  I cleared my throat and looked into the camera straight faced, “Growing up on a farm I played outside a lot and had to use my creativity.  I liked to dress the chickens in my doll clothes and carry them around with me.”  Guy laughs and says, “that’s weird.”  Umm last time I checked dressing chickens as baby dolls is pretty normal buddy.  He asks me a few more stupid questions and finally I am allowed into the next round.  

We play a mock version of the game.  The intern girl hits the boom box, when she stops the song we are supposed to raise our hand if we know the next lyrics, then they choose someone and that person has to step forward, look directly into the camera and as loud as they can sing the lyrics, alone.  They ring a bell if your lyrics are correct.  I am chosen three times and each time I not only sound absolutely horrendous but I fail, usually by one stupid word like “but” or “and”… I am getting frustrated and accidentally let out an effenheimer after the last failed attempt.  They play one last song, it’s Billy Ray Cyrus achey breaky heart… I know this!  I raise my hand and the dude chooses me.  I step forward and belt out, “or he might blow up and kill his man.”  I look at the bell ringer, she looks at the guy, they look at my pleading, sad, defeated face and then… DINGGGGGG!  YES! A pity ring! I didn’t even get it right, apparently I left out some stupid little word but who cares they dinnnnggeeed! I jumped up and down, turned around to the other contestants and yelled, “That’s right bitchesssss!”  The intern looks scared.  I don’t care, I realize I may be a little out of line, but hey, I figure I may never make it on the show so I better celebrate my victory while I have the chance.  They tell us they will present the videos to the producers and get back to us soon, blah blah blah.  

Conclusion:

I don’t know how people do this whole auditioning thing on a regular basis, it’s exhausting not to mention a tad degrading with all those idiotic questions, but hey cash prizes or no cash prizes I’d totally play The Singing Bee again just to hear that DING. 

 

I’ll let you know if I get the gig.

 

Back by popular demand…”A Romantic Getaway” April 8, 2009

Filed under: Travel — The Under-Analyst @ 4:43 pm

I have had several of you contact me, asking me to blog that little e-mail I sent out over a year ago, titled, “A Romantic Getaway.”

(ex boyfriend, keep that in mind)

Here it is…

 

Aaaahhh nothing like a little Spanish romance, or something like that.

When my Spanish boyfriend asked me to spend the weekend with him in the south of France in his family’s flat I was overjoyed! Images of croissants, candles and sappy accordion music filled my head.  Not to mention it meant a two-hour car ride together, laughing, chatting and singing along to bad Spanish music. 

Okay, here is the reality of said weekend:

Pyranees Mountains

Pyranees Mountains

 

 

 

 

 

Pau asked me if I liked snowboarding.  Hhhhmmmm, let’s see from what I could remember I did enjoy it the two times I went over five years ago, I think.  I nodded yes and told him I had gone before.  He said, ‘perrrfect, vee goo to me hoouuwse in sza souf ov fraance for snowieebord.’ I then told him that I had no winter clothes with me like snow pants and mittens etc… to which he replied, ‘ Ooo eets okay, vee use zee closses uv my seester.’  Good, that was settled.  There was one minor problem though; I had to work Saturday morning giving a class to one of my students. But we agreed we would simply leave after my class was over around two in the afternoon.

 

Saturday arrived and I woke up super early to make sure I had adequate time to shave, lotion and fragrance myself for the day’s trip.  Then Pau calls me at 1:30 to tell me he is going to go surfing in a nearby village, so we won’t be leaving until later.  That was fine, I still needed to pack but I was jealous he was going to the beach without me.  Little did I know “later” was Spanish for “in eight hour’s time”!  Skip ahead to a crabby, tired, impatient Leah at 10 pm getting in Pau’s car. I am starving and tell him that we need to stop for dinner. He is so excited that I say this because there is a futbol game on television (team Barcelona) and he wants to watch it.  So we stop at a bar and eat a sandwich and I am forced to watch stupid soccer, oh excuse me, FUTBOL, for another hour and a half. We finally get on the road and there is little laughter or chatting, only bad Spanish music, which is not amusing at the time. It’s pitch dark but I can tell that wherever we are it must be incredibly beautiful because there are large mountain like things surrounding us and the roads are very curvy.  I see small villages lit up in deep valleys and wonder what all of those people are doing.  I sleep for a while and wake up to see that we are crossing the border into France, yes, finally, my romantic weekend is going to start!! We drive into a very small, cute French village called Font Remou and soon we are at his flat.  It’s cold and late but I manage to get a little excited to see the famous “piso”.

 

The flat was not exactly what I imagined… take the decoration of an 80’s RV and mix it with a badly lit pay by the hour motel.  The place was freezing, so he turned on the heat as I looked in dismay at our “romantic” weekend flat. At least there was running water!  He made a bed on the pull out futon,  great…a futon with an ugly orange comforter that looks like it has been peed on at least a half a dozen times… well let’s just say, again… the night… not romantic!

 

The next day we get up early and I am excited for snowboarding.  I look outside and see for the first time, in daylight, the huge beautiful mountains! They are absolutely stunning. Pau hands me his sister’s snow clothes and I put them on…hhhmmm, it seems Pau’s sister is quite possibly a dwarf. The pants were embarrassingly too short, along with the sleeves to the matching coat. Pau laughed at me, I laughed at me, and then I thought, oh shit…all that fuckn snow is gonna be going down my socks! We drove to Andorra and rented boots.  I asked the man for the tallest boots he had, he looked at my pants and nodded without cracking a smile. I managed to pull the snowpants over the boots but as soon as I bent my knees they were up exposing my shins again.  We stopped for a quick breakfast and then got on the lift to hit the slopes. The Pyranees mountains are a little bit more intense than Afton Alps of Minnesota.  I was sure I was going to pee myself on the ski lift! My ears popped as we traveled up the slope for 30 minutes! Finally at the top, my stomach was doing flips. Then Pau says, ‘ok leeet’s go’… easily said.

FALL, BAM, BOOM, WHAM…. over and over and over again!!!! I must have fallen at least thirty times. And the whole time Pau is just laughing and saying, ‘Baaabbbeeee you haf ta steeer yorrr boorrrd.’ Thanks, great instruction, asshole. He would easily board down in front of me a ways and then simply stand and wait for me as I fell, got up, fell, went down a bit, fell, got up etc… I was finally getting the hang of it even though I was sure I had broken every part of my body.  Then it hits me… all of the slopes we had gone on, including the first one had big signs that were red.  RED meaning ADVANCED. THANKS PAU… so kind of you to shove my ass down the hard hill without starting on the three lower levels! By now I hate his assface and I am simply trying to stay alive as I fly down the hill. It starts snowing and I have no goggles and I am sure I am going to die.  I scream and flail my arms about and somewhere in the background I can hear the laughter of boys overhead watching my death come about.  I slam into ice and land hard.  By now, my body is immune to the slope’s concrete and I pop back up to die once again.  When I finally make it to the bottom, I tell Pau that 2 hours of snowboarding has been enough for me, and where the hell is the lodge because I need a beer!  I then leave his ass and go the lodge where thank god, they have BEER. 

 

San Miguel, my only friend that day.

San Miguel, my only friend that day.

The next hour is glorious as I sit by myself sipping a San Miguel watching other people die.  Pau tells me that he will be back by 4:30 because that is when it closes.  I get kicked out of the lodge at 4.  I wait for thirty minutes outside on the deck… no Pau… I wait another thirty minutes while my limbs start to freeze, no PAU!!! Finally He shows up an hour later!!!!! I am cold, sore, and I am crabby because my ass is wet from all the snow that has been lodged up there! We have to snowboard down another hill to get to the car, I only manage to fall once!!! I did get better!!! We get in the car and he says, ‘ Now I vill shooww youu Andorra vecuuz et esss sooo perrty’ I am thinking, ok a little car ride is fine, my ass is wet, but at least it is warm now that we are in the car.  We get into Andorra, which is beautiful, and he parks the car. We get out and walk a bit and I say, ‘where are we going?’  to which he replies, ‘Vee are gooing shooopping!’  WHAT NO, I am walking around with snowpants up to my knees and little moccassins, hobbling, because my body feels like it was hit by a semi, and my ASS is wet! I do not want to SHOP! I tell him this. He makes me sit while he looks at shoes for thirty minutes, I hate my life at this time… Finally we leave (with no shoes) and I am thinking about all the different ways I can kick his stupid Spanish ass. We get back to the ugly flat and I take a shower, the best shower of my life!!!  My right knee has swelled up and gone red by now, lovely.  I am starving, so we go get dinner.  At least we ate at a nice place and had good French fondue (the highlight of the trip). It is Sunday and we should head back.  It is ten pm but we are both exhausted so we sleep on the nasty 80’s futon, wake up at 4 am, get in the car and drive back to Barcelona in pitch dark.  So AGAIN I was unable to see the beautiful scenery on our two-hour drive.  We get into Barcelona and he walks me to my door, it is now 6:30 am, he leans in a gives me a kiss and says “baabeeee I haft sooo much Fun veeth you dis weeken, I vill miss you dis week vhile I em vorkieeing in Madrid.”  I barely kiss him and thank the Lord that he is going to be gone, out of my sights for a whole week!  I climb into my bed to sleep for two hours before I have to get up and hobble to work.

 

Oh and if I wasn’t already in a bad mood on Monday from my “romantic weekend”, here is the kicker….  while getting ready for work, I knocked my makeup bag (which was on the sink counter) into the damn toilet.. and guess what- it still had pee in it!!! Have you ever fished out your makeup from a pool of your own urine? I have IT’S AWESOME!!!!

 

So now it is Wednesday, my body is more sore than Monday, and I still need to buy new makeup that isn’t urine soaked….but there is some good news- The Backstreet Boys are coming to Barcelona on April 27th! I didn’t even know they were still together.

 

Yes, I love you. You know who you are (Blackberry, Bluetooth and Tivo). April 2, 2009

Filed under: Technology — The Under-Analyst @ 12:06 am

Let’s face it, I’m not what you would call a technology kinda girl.  Granted I’ve learned how to blog which shows I’m not completely void of ability… the point is, there are three technological devices that I would like to say, (big step), “I love you” to: 

 

Blackberry, Crackberry, Dingleberry, whatever you may be called-

I love you for the obvious reasons; instant access to e-mail, bbm and great picture quality.  BUT… I also love you on a deeper level (I mean you were a gift from someone very special to my heart).  Your tiny keys, they really are so tiny, have given me a solid appreciation for just how nimble my oversized German fingers are and can be.  While I don’t doubt all of this tiny typing may lead to my eventual battle with arthritis, I feel so superior to our monkey cousins, thumbs… hah, wonderful, useful thumbs.  Also I have to thank you for saving me from all those potential meaningless conversations in public.  I now just stare at your screen, looking perplexed and push buttons, it works, no one bothers me, thanks. 

 

Bluetooth, Earpiece, Cancer Causer, yeah you-

I love you!  I don’t own one, nor do I ever care to own one.  In fact I’ve never used one in my life.  However, because everyone else has one now people no longer stare or judge when they catch me mumbling nothings to myself.  What was once a socially awkward habit is now completely acceptable.  I feel liberated.  I’ve stopped mumbling and now talk full volume, why the hell not?  

 

Tivo (do you have a nickname?)-

I know, a lot of people love you so this isn’t going to come as a surprise… but, I love you.  Because I’m unemployed I have zero time to sit around and watch meaningful reality shows.  Thanks to you, Tivo, I don’t have to juggle my already crazy schedule of sleeping in, facebooking, beach visiting, blogging and sand pile climbing around my favorite television series.  I can wait and watch them all when I finally have the time!

 

It’s the creesis damnit… search for a trabajo. April 1, 2009

Filed under: Jobs — The Under-Analyst @ 1:58 am

Call me naive or blonde (oh crap…not blonde anymore) but this whole finding a job thing is a lot harder than I thought. Until now I have been pretty carefree about the whole process in general.  Positive affirmations of the perfect career landing in my lap just hasn’t “worked” (oooh a play on words, good one leah). And my craigslist browsing hasn’t been too successful either.

Ok, so maybe I’ve been a little too picky… good salary, flexibility (as in only having to work 3 out of the 4 weeks so I can see my novio once a month), benefits a plus, nearby location, casual dress attire, oh and a decent title is obviously important not to mention traveling is always fun.  Sounding wonderful?  Yeah, well it doesn’t exist (and if it does pleeeeaaase tell me how to apply!).  

So now I am faced with reality and a tight deadline.  I MUST find a job by the end of April when my short term lease here ends. I will broaden my horizons and allow for some different job requirements:  decent salary, benefits still would be nice, and decent salary.  

Deep breath, I AM Erin Brokavich! So I flooded ads with my articulate cover letters and attached resumes.  Granted there have been slight drawbacks… oh like the fact my resume apparently sucked horribly, oops?  My recruiter friend so kindly helped me out with the following advice:

Friend-“LEAH you can’t put your picture on your resume!!”

Me- “Why not?  It’s all the rage in Europe?”

Friend- “This isn’t Europe.”

Me- “Oh crap, it isn’t?”

Friend- “Um, trying using a format, your details are all over the place and you forgot to include months next to the years for your various jobs.”

Me- “…Right”

Friend- “Um, don’t include the start and finish date of your college… they don’t need to know that you were there for 5 years…”

Me- “(quietly wishing it were six or seven) Hhhmm not impressive?”

Friend- “Dear God Leah, you HAVE to take out your interests part!! Oh my god, ‘recreational sports and my cat Gunther’ (laughing) Leah, seriously.”

Me- “What’s wrong with that?  It gives it a personal touch.”

Friend- “(still laughing) I’m going to send you a couple of sample resumes.  Please look at them, edit yours and send it back.”

 

Also, I had applied for an International Admissions Advisor position (so up my alley) and I know that now a days you’re supposed to follow up, ya know, really show them you’re interested.  I called the HR lady and her voice mail went something like this, “Hi, you’ve reached the desk of blah Mcblaherson, if you are calling about a job posting please do NOT leave a message, we review all resumes and contact those we find most qualified, if you are calling in regards to something else please leave a brief message and I will return your call.”  I panicked.  It beeped.  “Um, eerr hi.  This is Leah Josephson calling, and I uh know you said not to leave a message regarding job postings, however, I really think you should know that I am the best candidate for your International Admissions Advisor position, really, so um yeah you can call me at blah blah blah blah… thanks, take care.” Eeeewwww, I single handily ruined my chances there, good job cupcake.  

It’s ok, we’re learning, we’re learning, like I said a few “slight” setbacks.

Unemployed and apparently incompetent, why God? why?  And no... I'm wearing a tube top pervert.

Unemployed and apparently incompetent, why God? why? And no... I'm wearing a tube top pervert.

 

 

All day today I have been applying and searching, searching and applying, including a hollywood stars driving tour guide position (yeah I know, pretty big wig). Maybe my ugly brown hair will make me appear more serious in my interviews (trying to be positive).  I’m still crossing my fingers for that close to perfect job, but it looks like I might be serving frozen yogurt soon.