I am unemployed. To quote my mother, I never thought this would happen. Now, like others, I am a statistic, part of the 8.8% of Americans without a steady job. Great. I think my dad is off in New Jersey crying with pride, as my student loan interest gains momentum and I continue to pursue a career in performing arts administration. Lucrative business that it is, I am of course precariously ready for this situation and am now contemplating retail employment. The question remains if I list my professional contacts for a reference, or if perhaps I should have them call my old boss from The Limited where I worked back in college. If she's still there . . . I think the store might be closed. Dammit. Well, there is always my aunt in FL. She has a different last name.
In the meantime, I'm keeping my fingers crossed for a full-time job and have started contacting temp agencies. Where, I'm sure, I will be subjected to typing tests, a Power Point presentation quiz and other various skills that should really be covered in higher education. The amount of interns I've had to sit down and review Excel with is mind-boggling. It's not that hard. They have an Ivy League degree. And yet . . . alphabetical order seems a foreign concept. My mother is a librarian, so perhaps I'm more organizationally inclined than others (some would suggest obsessed), yet soon I will compete with others for temporary positions based on my categorization skills in a basic database program. No wonder I'm turning to food for sanity.
I decided today that I would bake a pumpkin maple pie. This is a test run for Thanksgiving dessert. We are going to my aunt's in New Jersey and I will bring the pie (I should probably tell her, as this was a unanimous decision made with myself). I've made pumpkin, but never with maple syrup and I'm feeling slightly dubious. What will happen? Will there be enough flavor? Will my father frown at the blasphemy brought upon a Thanksgiving staple? Last year, I made a cranberry tart and you would think that I set down a dish of scorpion pie from the manner in which my family artfully avoided it. My mom tried some. And my sister. But my brother, master of pushing his food around and yet somehow seeming to eat it, surreptitiously feed pieces to the dog and even he rejected the dessert. This year: standard is the road I will follow. My roommate is my guinea pig and my boyfriend will receive the blow-by-blow report. But you, dear readers, if all goes well, will receive the recipe from the November issue of "Real Simple." The best magazine for the younger generation of up and coming 30-somethings with an interest in the everyday, but a fear of "McCalls", or "Woman's Monthly."
In the meantime, I'm keeping my fingers crossed for a full-time job and have started contacting temp agencies. Where, I'm sure, I will be subjected to typing tests, a Power Point presentation quiz and other various skills that should really be covered in higher education. The amount of interns I've had to sit down and review Excel with is mind-boggling. It's not that hard. They have an Ivy League degree. And yet . . . alphabetical order seems a foreign concept. My mother is a librarian, so perhaps I'm more organizationally inclined than others (some would suggest obsessed), yet soon I will compete with others for temporary positions based on my categorization skills in a basic database program. No wonder I'm turning to food for sanity.
I decided today that I would bake a pumpkin maple pie. This is a test run for Thanksgiving dessert. We are going to my aunt's in New Jersey and I will bring the pie (I should probably tell her, as this was a unanimous decision made with myself). I've made pumpkin, but never with maple syrup and I'm feeling slightly dubious. What will happen? Will there be enough flavor? Will my father frown at the blasphemy brought upon a Thanksgiving staple? Last year, I made a cranberry tart and you would think that I set down a dish of scorpion pie from the manner in which my family artfully avoided it. My mom tried some. And my sister. But my brother, master of pushing his food around and yet somehow seeming to eat it, surreptitiously feed pieces to the dog and even he rejected the dessert. This year: standard is the road I will follow. My roommate is my guinea pig and my boyfriend will receive the blow-by-blow report. But you, dear readers, if all goes well, will receive the recipe from the November issue of "Real Simple." The best magazine for the younger generation of up and coming 30-somethings with an interest in the everyday, but a fear of "McCalls", or "Woman's Monthly."
Of course, this is all in preparation for tomorrow morning when I wake up and have no job. What will I do? I'm desperately trying to keep myself busy and positive. This cannot last for long. But, what if it does? What if I have several months looming ahead of no job and no prospects? All I have then is my kitchen and my sanity. My boyfriend, friends and family help, but in situations such as these you really can only rely on yourself to pull through and maintain some form of dignity. So, pie it is! And lots of dinners. A lack of funds, means a lack of socializing, unless I have friends over to my apartment and rely not on the kindness of strangers, but the rumor of my amazing chicken pot pie to coax my friends across the river, or onto the subway, in pursuit of good conversation, a delicious meal and me!
i'll be your friend for food!
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