Take this job and shove it...

I'm having what feels like a day of defeat. I moved up here three years ago to be (what I thought would be a short term) nanny for a family on the Upper West Side. Cut to three years later, and I basically had to force myself to leave. The family was, and is, amazing (and I'm not simply saying that because of the minute possibility that they may read this at some point) and the little boy, here after referred to as "the dude", stole my heart. It broke a part of me to leave him, but I know that it was the right decision for me ultimately.


When I first moved up here and met people, there was a general sense of abhorrence when I mentioned my job. A nanny? Like, OMG-- clearly that means there are no life goals at all for this person. It took me a long time to realize it, but the people who made such judgements are the same assholes who get paid an insane amount of money, yet make no real difference in the lives of others. Being able to see this amazing city through the eyes of an ever-growing toddler is something that everyone should experience just once-- it will change you forever. 


Enough sentimental crap. Long story short, I decided to become one of the assholes who makes no difference while making lots of money... or at least, I thought that would happen. Instead, I'm in my fourth week of what I now refer to as "f-unemployment." Thankfully this arrangement works, since a certain sugar daddy o' mine (commonly referred to as my fiance) is so supportive, emotionally and financially. What I failed to grasp while making this life change is the harsh reality of job hunting. In my naive little mind, I thought the first company I interviewed with would looooove me. I mean, after all, I did pageants galore over the years-- I can chat my way through any interview situation, while sitting with my ankles crossed and my hair perfectly coiffed. Look, Ma! All that money on gowns and interview prep ain't payin' off. AT ALL. (This might also explain why I never managed to actually WIN any pageant I entered. That, or the awkward jaw and braces that went along with said gowns and interviews. Bright red lipstick with an under bite and mouth full of metal? Brilliant idea! Thanks, mom.)


So, here I am, a 27 year old intern. I prefer to call my current position "slave labor." Suffice it to say that I. HATE. IT. As if it weren't bad enough that I can't actually find someone willing to PAY me to do work, this shit show has me doing manual labor-- a la deliveries, etc. That's right, ladies and gentleman. You too can go to college, get a degree, and then become a delivery gal fo' free! This leads me to my point: it is taking every ounce of my being not to simply quit. I'm a do-er. I get tasks done, I thrive on organization, efficiency, working with people, and accomplishing goals set before me. Unfortunately, those current goals involve walking all over Manhattan with heavy bags-- Today I tripped down an escalator while holding said bags, only to then drop my cell phone, sit on the escalator to retrieve it, and almost do a somersault off it, right into the security guard of the Canadian Embassy. I'm fairly certain he thought I was coming to bomb the place. In my infinite wisdom, I shouted "It's ok! I'm Canadian!" to him, which didn't seem to lessen his fear whatsoever. And yet, despite walking 4 miles with all this crap, I'm planning to return tomorrow. I can only think of three options that are making me do this: a) I've lost my mind. b) I'm so bored I'll do anything that doesn't involve staying in this apartment and watching Regis and Kelly, or c) my parents instilled waaay too much integrity in me. Or perhaps it's simply a combination of all three. 


Here's hoping I find a real job soon!