Working like a dog.

I have worked unforgivable hours for my current job. I never thought I had this workaholic in me! I mean, money is a magnet. But I didn’t expect it to be this magnetic. I underestimated my capabilities when it comes to getting paid. I also have been complaining. My mom and I just had a minor bitch fight yesterday over some undone chores. Ok, I was probably wrong for shutting her down after a 12-hour shift. But her memory kind of spaced out when she forgot that I work every day of the week for about 6-7 hours a day (with no breaks), plus school, and that I only caught 2 hours (TWO hours!) of sleep the previous night for a paper. My mother’s getting old, I get that. But sometimes, I just feel the need to buttheads with her, as often as she wants to burst my the-world-revolves-around-me bubble.

I, for very forgivable reasons, have thought of quitting my job. First things first, my job is very noble. It’s probably one of the best decisions I have ever made in my life. But being a teacher takes its toll. Especially if you’re a Kindergarten teacher at noon, a toddler teacher by 3pm, and an infant caretaker come 5. Being a teacher slash floater is not the easiest shit in the world. Don’t get me wrong. I adore those kids like they’re my own. It’s just that, for a couple of months, I experienced working in just one classroom, with the same eight babies, everyday. And being back to the floating arena is not what I had hoped for when I gave up my position for a friend who needs the hours more than I do. [Even if it’s wrong, I sometimes wish I hadn’t told her about my wondrous job. But that’s a sin and I don’t need any more of that.]


How can you resist a smile like Blake's?
But to my consolation, I get the luxury of rewarding my own hardwork with no guilt involved. I get a couple of martinis every weekend, a good serving of fine dining, and some shopping here and there. It’s kind of a blessing to be earning and only paying one bill (and that, my friends, is the cable). So I share. And it’s not just your ordinary “share”. I basically pampered my family on Christmas that I almost (just almost) forgot about myself—which, as you know, is a rarity. I gifted my mom this patch plaid duffel bag from Dooney and Bourke; my bestfriend got a black satchel from her favorite store; and the boys (aka dad and bro) got a pair of tickets for a Dallas Mavericks home game (AND, it’s even against the team they favor most from the opposite conference). Oh my goodness. I know! How special of a daughter, sister, best friend am I?? All together now… SO special! But even if they trapped me in great debt, giving as much as receiving is ultimately the most amazing reward I could ever give myself. I know, right? I’m not so much of a selfish, histrionic, narcissistic bitch after all.


Me and mi hermano after a one-sided Mavs win.
If I was too much of a bitch, to begin with, I wouldn’t stick to a job that requires changing diapers, reading a story, playing hot potato, singing ABCs, and potty training (oh it’s my favorite!). I have been in Primrose for almost 4 months now and although it sucks the patience out of my system, I still kick ass whenever I tell my friends that I am a teacher while being a student.

PS.
I know the NBA tickets were supposed to be the boys' presents only, but my birthday was around the corner too that I just had to give myself a good view of Dirk Nowitzki too. [My mother thinks he’s hot, I’d like to prove otherwise. But he’s a good baller. Very good.]

Randomgasms.

I'm in no mood to blog but I might fail to do so in the succeeding days due to a jampacked schedule. But as wise men say, there's no harm in trying. Hence, this pitiful attempt of catering you an entertaining update.

1) As you know, I started my first official job over the weekend. Just when I thought I wasn't gonna complain about anything, here I am again, bitching to a friend of mine, about how small my eventual hourly rate is. My jaws dropped trillions of feet somewhere near jilted planet Pluto the very second I heard that the fat check I'm ever anticipating will only exist IF Mark Cuban decided to dine in and I got to serve him. Or someone else's billionaire character wouldn't mind throwing a big fat tip in exchange of friend mozarella sticks. Otherwise, I will be stuck with such a pathetic pay that could barely supply a car with gas.


The shit to memorize. How much are we getting paid again?

Or maybe I'm just thinking way too much (like I always do). Olivia convinces me that the pay wouldn't really be that bad since we'd be serving an average of 10 tables per hour. But what if I'm in the worst of days and nobody on those 10 tables spares me a single cent? I'm done? I get nothing? Nil? Nada? Zilch? I mean, it's unfathomable to me how someone can be so satisfied by working while only relying on occasional philanthropic aftermaths. I should know, I'm a customer who heartlessly disregards the tipping arena! But I'm giving Olivia a chance to materialize her theory. I will stay, enjoy the free/discounted meals and patiently try it out. But if things don't go my way, like they all should be, I'm quitting. Just like that. *snaps*

2) That film class I told you about was unfortunately snubbed by the students that they had to cancel it. They transfered me to another Humanities course just with a different specialization. Now I have to put up with a professor whose name I can't even pronounce and a class that will talk about Mozart, Houdini, the teenage mutant ninja turtles, and everyone else in between. Oh yay, fun! :-l

3) The junk is the lone American left in the French Open singles draw (men and women). She will be facing the two-time defending champion next so I'm not entirely confident that she wouldn't be the latest casualty to this national embarrassment from Paris. But who even cares about the French Open now? Nadal turned 21 today, he's finally legal, and we can already wed anywhere in the world! Yeee. Feliz Compleanos, Rafa! Te Quiero, whatever the hell that means. :-D


How can you not love? And cream? Ok, that's gross. But seriously! :-))
4) My schedule is inconveniently indefinite at this point. All I know is that I go to school for two hours, 4 days a week and I go to work for another 2-4 hours around dinner time. I have yet to schedule classes for driving (conquering freeway phobia 101) so this Tony guy called up to apparently ask when would be the best time to start the therapy. I could barely understand a word he's saying (he has a thick Indian accent) so I passed the phone to my mother who's seemingly BFFs with those people already. Since my schedule is pretty disoriented at this point, I could only take classes in the morning except this coming Tuesday. I clearly told her that, yet I still got yelled at. I supposedly "made her look like an idiot." I really didn't get that at all.

5) I didn't wanna get into a screamfest with her again so I just quickly left and shut my door. I have been through enough tears the past couple of days that I won't waste anymore Kleenex sobbing over this unworthy fight. I'm an extraordinarily irregular bleeding woman, which explains the seldom visit of that bestial torture. But when it rains, it POURS! (Warning: TMI ahead) I never use tampons, so obviously there's only a slight margin of time in between changes using pads (with wings). I had to call my father who's at work and ask him to buy me a new pack on his way home because I was padding the frantic passage every two hours and I'm running out of clogs!! I hate to ask my father to do things like that for me, but that's the same reason why he's the best father in the whole world! (He got me the maxi, with wings, and some bonus Midol. Now tell me, you'd kill for a father like that!) And as for my mother? She kind of lightened my condition with that disposable hot pack, but after that, I got nothing else. Plus, I should have been the one congested with PMS, not her!! Anyway, after three years of constantly living together, I've finally gotten used to moms. And they will always be moms. They're cursing at you one second, and they'll be shopping shoes for you the next.


6) Is it only me or The Finals suddenly became interesting? The Spurs are gonna win it, that's basic math. But I won't write the Cavs off just like I did to Miami a year ago. (Because that ate me up. Real bad) LeBron is proably one of the most overrated superstars this league has produced in years, but there's no question that his dignified All-Star doesn't deserve any doubt from anyone... for now, at least. I'll be surprised if they go out in a sweep, but I won't be shocked if Manu Ginobli, like the goregeous killer that he is, circusses his way around King James. Now we've got ourselves a show! Spurs in, well, 6.

7) But even if I'm whining about work, school, and my period, I'm nonetheless excited about the busier days ahead. Exactly a year ago, I was enjoying the pool, grilling something bacon-wrapped, and fattening my already fat ass on the kitchen couch. And look at me now? 15 pounds lighter, in school, with a job, and a heckling schedule ahead. Trust me, I really do hate it when I hear myself complaining, that it's even crazy when I tend to imagine that it could possibly be genetic. I know, that's just me, being awesome at excuses. So, to prevent another run at 'Randomgasms' stacked with complaints, I'll be working on a list of mid-year resolutions. I have jotted a few things down, bitching included, but I have yet to figure out what else negative is there for me to eliminate. Narcissism, perhaps? Help me out. It's your only chance. ;-)

Departure from Joblesslandia

It might be too early to celebrate since I haven't even began orientation yet.. but heck, who even cares. I now have a job!!! *happy happy joy joy* Ok, it wasn't easy getting one. Even a normal job. I went from Career Builder to Snag-a-job only to find myself surfing around the infamous Craigslist (yes, I was that hopeless) to find something to do during the summer, and at the same time, earn some greens to feed my luxurious needs.

I emailed that dude who posted the ad, Carino's was in need of hosts, servers & bartenders. I told myself before that I will never work in a bar/restaurant, especially of this class, because 1) my clumsy level is fire-worthy, 2) it'd be embarrassing to see friends and classmates while I work, and 3) they FEED employees for FREE! The latter was reason enough for me to hesitate because Italian food (and margaritas, hello?) is evil and I don't wanna get any fatter. But in desperation times like these -- when I'm in the middle of pursuing a degree, in perfect age to finally finance my caprice, and in total shame for still being under my parents' supervision -- I should not complain, nor resist any money-making machine that shall come my way. Especially when my eventual employer kindly admits my no-experience, no-resume plea.


Shouldn't there be bonuses for online promotion? :)) [photo credit: scladesma]
So I came in, dressed in my usual preppy Sunday self, met the mister I emailed, and started the whole applying process. I've never been in this kind of position before, so you can only imagine the monstrous butterflies that were uncontrollably going bonkers in my stomach. The place was really cozy, so it allowed me to at least settle in. I filled up their form, took the personality test, then talked to another dude, which I later discovered as an actual first interview. It was sort of like a first date; awkward, semi-formal, and a LOT of smiles. At one point, I totally forgot that I wasn't in the middle of a first date that I had to stop my babbling (I tend to do that when I'm already comfortable, which is a no-no on first dates, much less, first job interviews). He was cool though, very accommodating and cute even. Oh gosh, rule number one: NO crushes at work. Thou shalt not. And can I just say, he was Polish. Eeek! Ok, I'll stop.

Then he said afterwards that I would have to come back the next day to meet the GM for a second interview. I had absolutely no idea how that would go. He did mention that Ms. *** was a big girl which was indicated to intentionally make me feel less nervous. I was just like, um.. thanks dude.. for implying that I'm f-a-t! But I wasn't gonna give him a smirk, after all, I was on the brink of getting hired.

So I met up with the GM the next afternoon. Yeah, she was big, but she was surprisingly young and perky! Her favorite word? "Awesome" which was.. awesome, hehe. Contrary to the first interview, this one was more of like a sorority initiation. Questions ranged from "What's your major?" to "How do you define teamwork?" And when asked what was my biggest flaw... I replied, "I tend to slow down just a bit when I want tasks to be perfectly executed." As Lauren suggested on The Hills, you gotta get that flaw question in your favor by making it a positive flaw. Who knew I would learn something from watching a crappy MTV reality show? However, slowing down in the restaurant business is a mortal sin. Oh fuck, did I just self-destruct my already impressive way to employment kingdom or what??


One of the reasons why I wanna work is to lose weight.. And they provide dining privileges??
I was detecting skepticism from her because she knew my lifestyle. I'm in my 20s with no previous experience, and a college student who doesn't shoulder a thing. And the fact that I live in Valley Ranch must have concerned her a bit because people in this neighborhood are the ones eating at those fancy places. But I believe I convinced her that this resident is not the d-a-d-d-y kind of girl. I wash the dishes, do the laundry, and iron everyone's clothes (remember?). So she paused, left with my paperwork, and huddled with the other heads. Thank God the bar TV was on with ESPN or I might have flipped in extreme neurasthenia. She came back with a subtle grin, extended her hand and uttered, "Congratulations, welcome to the team!" For a second there, I was uncharacteristically shut as I could only say, "OH MY GOD!" Angels in my head sang in perfect chorus as my perennial blabbermouth started exploding with excessive and sometimes unnecessary thanks. She was delighted, I was ecstatic! I am finally employed!

This is a normal job. So normal that my mother could probably even hire a cook from that restaurant for her own household. But, as I always told my friends, that's my mom (and dad), that's not me. They earn more than enough, I don't possess anything. I'm way beyond the age of moving out, let alone, having a job, yet I'm still being a torturous pain in their butts. So guess what, I figured it was about time to give back. Maybe not the exact payback I've always wanted to return, but I'm sure paying the cable or internet and my own phone bills (I mean, duh, shouldn't that be #1?) could be a nice start. See? I'm not a bad bad daughter, after all! :-p