The Funniest Rejection Letter

On Friday, January 9th, I went in for an interview with a company named Professional Sports Publishing, which produces Year Books for sports teams and participates in the production of HOOP magazine. The CraigsList ad was for an Unpaid Internship position within the company (which was not stated in the ad, but I found out later during the interview).

I did my whole thing right this time: shaved my beard (which was growing in nicely by the way), went in with a positive attitude, had my portfolio ready for them to keep (a sign of professionalism), and did my homework on looking into the company so that I could have a head start on knowing what they do in order to seem knowledgeable.

Miss Wassel and her co-worker (whose name I forgot), both interview and ask me a bunch of questions to see if I am capable of fulfilling all the duties of the intern position. I manage to answer all of the questions to the best of my knowledge and think my portfolio shows enough skill to leave a good impression.

After the interview, which lasted only 10 minutes, Miss Wassel's co-worker tried to give me back my portfolio, and I said that it would be okay if she held on to it.

Part of the questions asked during the interview were: if I could commit two or three days a week, where I was coming from, and would I understand that this was an unpaid internship. So, respectfully, I responded: yes, Staten Island, and yes.

Then I start to show interest in a possible future position within the company and the co-worker quickly interjects: "Uh, we're on a hiring freeze!" while pointing outside the back brick wall of other buildings (trying to indicate that we were in a recession - duh you silly goose!).

From the point of me showing interest in a possible future with the company, the interview started to go downhill, which then allowed it to last only 1o minutes; but she kept trying to make it seem longer -- probably from fear of the fact that I expressed an interest, and a future, in the company.

Also, and this is a personal feeling, the two girls interviewing me were definitely younger than I was (and I'm in my late twenties); they must have felt intimidated by my age and my skills. Perhaps they may have felt that I could not be their bitch for morning coffee runs to Starbucks like some young intern who would do anything for brownie points. By the way: that's not me, if I'm coming to work for your company, a part of my job description would not be to earn brownie points for getting you coffee, but for showing my skill and talent at what I'm passionate about (editing, layout, art direction, design, creativity, etc.).

In a few days, Miss Wassel e-mails me with the following rejection letter:

From: Allie Wassel
Sent: Wednesday, January 14, 2009 2:24 PM
To: Nazim
Subject: Internship

Hi Nazim,
Thank you for coming in last week. Unfortunately, we have filled the position with someone that we felt was more interested in the production aspect of the field. Best of luck with your endeavors.

Thanks, Allie

Allie Wassel
Professional Sports Publications
519 8th Avenue 25th Floor
New York, NY 10018
Direct Ph 646.660.8865
Fx 646.753.9480
awassel@pspsports.com

Seriously, seriously! Come on now, I wasn't born yesterday. They were just mad because they realized they couldn't twist my balls for every little thing, and must have been intimidated. Mind you, it was for an unpaid internship.

I just could not stop laughing and sharing it with everyone!

So, I come in for an interview, take an hour and a half commute to get to you, dress up and I come with my portfolio (oh by the way, I also shaved). And I'm not interested??? (Bitch, I didn't go in DEAD! Not interested? -- I wish I would have been!!!)

The best part is: My beard was so nicely grown in right before that, and I shaved it. I mean, it was not even itching this time, it was getting longer than I usually let it get, and it was actually staying in place (no random hairs standing out awkwardly).

My point is: Don't be so unprofessional to say "someone was more interested in the position," because that is a lie -- if I wasn't interested in the position, I would not have come in for the interview in the first place.

And if you really want to be unprofessional, just say: "We found someone who's stupider and willing to be our little pet-intern and will even make the coffee runs and whose balls we can twist to our liking."

Anyway, if anyone is willing to be bad or just devilish, please email Allie and tell her she's pathetic for what she did or that she's an unprofessional something-or-another.

If anyone wants free movie passes, please email her and tell her this, and CC-email me and I will definitely hook you up!

Honestly, I do not want to work for a company like this, because they would have been disturbed/intimidated by my professionalism, anyway!

So, please email Allie or call her and tell her that she's really unprofessional, and her company is really not that worth it!

THANK YOU :-)

Ungrateful America

I was at Chili's on Staten Island on Friday night, May 9th at 9 p.m. with my sister-in-law and her brother. I had to be a pain and request a booth -- I cannot stand the tables and chairs, they annoy me -- and I admitted to not wanting them.

My sister-in-law and I were enjoying delicious 2-for-1 Margaritas, she ordered strawberry and I ordered raspberry (mine tasted better, of course).

We then ordered the Triple Dipper appetizer with Shanghai Wings, Chicken Crispers and Fried Cheese (mozzarella sticks). We picked at our appetizer like savages, I guess we were hungry.

As we were waiting for our main course, an older couple sit next across from our booth at a table. An older-looking woman (who seemed to walked into the wrong type of business), and a gentleman who looked younger (and he looked like he was dragged in here by this woman). The woman was wearing a pinkish maternity-like shirt with black tights, and these tights did not seem to agree with being stretched so far and wide, while the man was sporting a polo shirt and faded jeans. I really did not notice them until my sister-in-law pointed them out; my head was so far up in the clouds and I was enjoying my drink oh so much.

When our food finally arrived, we started eating like savages again. She and I had Crispy Honey-Chipotle Chicken Crispers, and her brother had a plain burger and fries. So my sister-in-law waives her corn on the cob in my face, which is a running joke that her and I carry on where she once waved a corn on the cob in the air to summon a waitress for the bill—we called it "ghetto," and that it truly was (you have to see it, it is just funny in person.) Now she points out that our neighbors' food came and I still chose not to really pay any attention because my chicken was just too darn good to lose any attention.

My sister-in-law points out now that this woman is acting funny in her seat. I take my eyes off my food and shift my gaze over to the woman. She is sitting in her seat with her eyes closed, looking constipated or something. It was not pretty. The chair seemed to be struggling to hold her too, you could see sweat on the legs. Well no, it was not really sweating or struggling, but two chairs would have suited her better than one -- trust that. Her face looked so screwed up that you honestly wound think that the tapeworms were struggling to keep up. After a while, they order dessert shots (which are shot glasses with cheese cake or chocolate mousse). The desserts arrive at their table, and the woman begins to complain that the shots are too small. They're SHOT GLASSES. What was she expecting, a pie?

So, 5000 chews later, we hear our neighbor summoning the waitress over (who also happened to be our waitress as well) and the waitress then walks away after the woman told her something. A few minutes later, the manager comes over. I rolled my eyes so hard, that they almost broke; I knew exactly what was going on here, and I did not like it.

My prediction was true; the tapeworm did have a problem keeping up with everything she was swallowing. She ate all of her food, and all of her dessert and then she started to complain. She complained that the food tasted "too fatty" and that the dessert shots were "too small." When I heard her saying those two descriptions of the food, I was reminded of her (too fatty) and what kind of a brain must reside in that sad, messy head of hers (too small). She really had the nerve to complain after the food went down in a flash.

To keep her happy, the manager did not charge The Ungrateful One for any part of her meal. The twist to the story is that she actually left a tip for the waitress. Surprisingly, her stomach did not swallow her heart. I wish I knew what kind of lesson we could learn from this. Here is my interpretation:

The Economics term, "There Ain't No Such Thing As A Free Lunch," might not be all that true. As I have heard before, "America is not a country, but a business." This obviously makes sense. In order to keep a business going and to have return customers, you have to give the customer what they want and compensate them if they are not happy with what they get.

Then you get ungrateful people who probably do not have a job that hit up restaurants and pull this child's play to get a free meal. So we have ungrateful advantage-takers, and a "business" that gives and gives and no one is happy in the end. Everyone is screwed in the end because the business lost money and the customer consumed food that she really did not earn.

She then takes this method and goes and tries it at other restaurants and they probably bend over backwards for her, too, thus earning her more free meals. So the customer gains (in this case: weight), and the businesses begin to lose and we wonder what is wrong with America (in more ways than one). The system is corrupt and we just let it stay that way. My question is: why do they make it unlawful to rob a bank or run a red light or talk on a cell phone while driving but let this slide? Corrupt!

Corrupt! Oh yes, people in law enforcement do talk on cell phones, just take a drive down Forest Ave., or Richmond Terr. by the Staten Island Ferry Terminal. There you will see corruption at its truest ... true blue that is. That is just one other example of corruption.

So, some are driven by ungratefulness and corruption for the most part. Not everyone is like this, but if you open up your eyes and look around every once in a while, you can pick up on these things. So official people can be corrupt, and the regulars take the rap if they become as corrupt as the officials (again, not all officials).

This system is screwy and irksome. Rewrite!

Rainy Monday

It is one of those Monday mornings where you push the alarm clock to its snooze-button-limit and 20 minutes or so later you begin to wonder why you no longer hear it. The 20 minutes you felt/thought was 20 minutes is really an hour now and you get up in panic, or the thought that you might panic. Once you realise you are already late, do you rush to wind up being late anyway, or do you just go at your normal pace? I choose: Normal Pace.

I have a tendency to get up that extra hour early and sometimes still wind up leaving the house at the same time, pity. I brushed my teeth, then went down to have my green tea and glass of water: the normal morning routine. I even checked my e-mail and did some useless Internet browsing. When the caffeine of the double-bagged green tea finally somewhat kicked in, I got into action: I walked my ass at my normal pace and went about business. I went upstairs and made my bed, and went to the bathroom. Shave? Nah, I'm late as it is, so I just hopped into the shower, and besides, my 5 o'clock shadow looks fine.

After the shower, I fix my hair, put on the eye cream, and apply some lotion so my face stays clean-looking and moist (flaky skin is a no-no). I get myself together and get my phone, my iPod, my book and jacket. I put my shoes on and do not even double-check for anything. Luckily the bus stop is only a minute walk from my house and the bus did not come yet. So I wait, and I wait and I get out my phone to start writing this blog. I suddenly realise that something is not right. My right pocket feels empty... where's my wallet???

In all the taking-my-time, I still forgot my wallet of all things. So I set back to my house to get my wallet and prayed as I walked down my block that the bus would not come and go without me. At home, I quickly get my wallet and take a faster pace back to the bus stop. Luckily, the bus was still taking its time. By the time it did arrive, it was full and when I got on, I walked over to a woman who usually gets off with her son in three stops, and just patiently waited until she got off with her son so I could take the seat.

After that, it was just a regular rainy Monday. I finally arrived to work, but only 20 minutes later than I normally would. Really, who was watching and who cares? Even though I went to sleep late the night before, and overslept this morning; it's easy... I blame the rain!

Not SubWay Bound

Subway: 512 7th Ave, New York, NY 10018, March 28, 2007 (1pm)

While at my visit to this particular location, I decided to eat in at the restaurant. While I was on line getting my order, "Nancy" (whom I assume is a manager of some sort, seeing her at another nearby location), took part of my order and passed it onto the next sandwich preparer.

As she was partially preparing my sandwich, she asked the next customer what she wanted and started taking her order while she was passing mine along; given, it's the lunch hour, everybody's going out to get something to eat in a hurry and wants enjoy some of the nice weather. As the next order after mine is being taken, she asks the customer what she'd like and is obviously not paying much mind as she mistook the order, to start taking the next customer. When the customer after me told her that this wasn't her sandwich, "Nancy" snapped back by saying "This is what you ordered, I know what you ordered!"

So I thought that it was a pretty rude thing to say as I work in Food Handling/Customer Service myself -- that's not the way I talk to my customers! Now I'm sitting down to enjoy my lunch and the line gets longer, "Nancy" starts to get more and more aggressive with the customers and takes 2 and 3 orders at a time trying to cut the line down. This, again, is fully understandable, it's the lunch hour, people are crowding in, you want to make everybody happy, etc., and I hear that the next order or 2 were also incorrect.

As she was taking customers, she'd keep asking "What else, what else" they wanted in their sandwiches without giving them the chance to tell her what they in fact wanted in their sandwiches, which even to me (as I was eating), became frustrating. The next customer that comes along wanted cheese in his sandwich and she asks "What kind?" and he must have told her what kind of cheese he wanted, but probably didn't hear him as she quickly went on to take the next customer; so when she got back to him she snapped "I asked you what kind of cheese do you wanted, American, Swiss or Provolone?"

This was obviously getting out of hand, because on top of taking the orders, she quickly pushed the sandwiches down the counter to the next person making comments about there being too many customers at the restaurant in a way that suggested that it was an inconvenience to her (then why are you working there?).

After my meal, I went up to her and politely asked her what her name was, to which she quickly responded "Why would you like to know my name?" Such a shady question, don't you think? Obviously, she would've given me her name in an instant and if you're doing your job right, there should be no need question why a customer would want your name, no?

Later on, I go on the website for Subway to get the address of this location and see that it's owned by NARINDER SINGH and it kindly has a mobile number where Narinder may be reached. I also made the connection between Narinder and Nancy as it can more easily be remembered; she’s the same person. So, I decide to call and ask for "Nancy" to which she responds "Who? (I gave my name) Wh-who's this, no this isn't Nancy, you've got the wrong number!" Why ask "who's this" and then tell that that you've got the wrong number, but you have your number listed on the website???

The WOK Out

I am not sure if customer service is a high priority to some privately owned restaurants, but losing a customer is probably at the very bottom of the list. When it comes to being hungry and all, poor customer service is not something that ought to be directed at, well, the hungry customer! I agree with me, I think you will too, by the end of this piece.

On Thursday, February 7, I stepped out to get some fresh air at 2pm and decided to visit Pow Wok. It is an Authentic Asian Cuisine restaurant located on 499 7th Ave Between 36th and 37th Streets in Manhattan. I had not been to Pow Wok in a while, with my reason being that I needed to put some variety into my diet. Recently, I kept telling myself that I would not go, I would not go, I would not go ... and finally I gave in and went. I needed my Tofu & Vegetables in Garlic Sauce & Fried Rice.

Like a child at a candy shop, I place my order and I am carried to another place (to be exact: the cash register) where I pull out my debit card to pay.

"Ten dollar minimum to use the card," the cashier replies almost bursting my bubble.

Fine, I thought, as there's a bank across the street, I'll just go and grab some cash real quick.

"I'll be right back, let me just go to the ATM," I calmly reply and she nods in comprehension. (I am sure I said it in English, and do not recall saying "goodbye.")

I cross the wonderful Fashion Avenue while the light allows me and enter Washington Mutual bank. I get my cash, and scurry across the street back to Pow Wok to happily pay for my order. I enter and walk back up to the cashier, anxious for my food ... but, it was not there! Oh no! I scan the counter in the hope that my eyes were deceiving me, but no, my 20-20 vision has never failed me before, and certainly was not failing me now.

The same cashier looked at her coworker serving the food and asked, "Where did it go?" (She said it in English.) The server looks back at her, befuddled, and shrugs his shoulders, responding with: "Maybe somebody took it."

Of course as my mind's cogs were churning all of this, these questions quickly flooded my head:
A) Who took it??? (The Invisible Man? Did you see the bag float in mid-air?)
B) Did this random food-taker pay for this food while I was getting the cash?
C) Why would you not hold the food aside if I said "I'll be right back."?
D) Did this poor girl need a translator? (Numbers are easy, they're universal, but I hear her speak in "English.")
E) Why isn't a sign posted stating that the Credit Card minimum for a purchase is $10.00? (The menu only states: "Free Delivery / Minimum $10." Nothing about Credit Card minimums.)
F) If you have competitors in the neighborhood that take credit cards for any amount, why don't you change your policy?

"Do you want another dish?" asks the gentleman filling the food.

I chose not to say anything negative, because I clearly had nothing positive to say.

I nodded in disappointment and mumbled "nah" while walking out of the restaurant [forever].

The Korean Bodega was my next best bet, and this time I had no need to use my debit card. And if I did have to use it, I would not need a minimum. Thanks Korean Bodega!

The cool air was good and refreshing at least.

PS - This posting was carbon-copied (CC'd) to the wonderful people at Pow Wok.

Goin' Down?

These are just some thoughts and opinions. Whoever does this, please do not take it personal ... just laugh with me.

Have you ever been in an elevator bank with about 5 or 6 elevators, and you push the down button? You wait a minute or so, and somebody else comes along to push the down button. Does this somehow re-alert the elevator to remember to stop on our floor?

We're still waiting, and my wait time is longer because I've been here just 2 minutes longer. And it finally arrives, the doors slide open, we step in, and I do not bother to even push the button marked L, because I know the next person will.

On the way down, the elevator will stop at 2 or 3 more floors to pick up more passengers. As each person enters from a different floor, they also push the L button, as if this will somehow get us down quicker by undoing any other elevator callings between our current level and the lobby.

In the lobby, I get off and just nod my head, this is something you must laugh at, because lit up buttons apparently do not mean a thing. I have to laugh, it is easier to just laugh at ourselves.

Seriously... seriously!

Insecure much?

Nothing Overnight About This Hardworking Girl

A musician, a young woman, a student. Jaclyn Shaw, 23, studies psychology at The College of Staten Island and wants to be a Music Therapist.

Sitting in the café area of the Staten Island Barnes & Noble, Jaclyn Shaw enjoys a coffee crumb cake and an iced coffee, bundled up in thin, comfortable layers of clothing, sporting glasses and recovering from walking pneumonia.

A Bay Ridge, Brooklyn native, Shaw currently lives in Staten Island, New York with her parents. She plans to move to Brooklyn with her platonic friend, Jason.

"A Music Therapist is someone who applies their ideas about psychology, about the way the human brain works and understanding centers of the brain that are influenced by audio waves."

Feeling this field is not researched as much as it should be, she hopes to shine more light on this field.

She explains: "Music is taken for granted because it's around us all the time. Sometimes silence is awkward and people are adjusted to hearing music in the background."

Shaw did not live in a household surrounded by music, but says that her mother sang to her when she was young, though "not in the best quality voice," she says.

Her early credits include singing "Flag of America" to her family members when she was in first grade; and also adds that this was her first memory of being musical.

"Growing up, it's always been a part of my life and I feel like I have a musical capacity, a musical intelligence. I compose my own stuff."

She was in an 80's metal band, Pulse, and it quit while not having any gigs lined up. "You wouldn't know of them because we didn't have any gigs lined up; only in the garage."

This was her turning point where she decided to learn an instrument, the classical guitar, and pursue her own "personal" music. She can also play the piano and takes opera lessons to help train her ear.

Shaw has had her fair share of jobs including: delivering newspapers, being a box office cashier at the old United Artists 14 movie theatre, and working various jobs at bagel shops and pizzerias.

She finally found her niche at Costco Wholesale, starting out as a cashier and gradually working her way up to become Vault Manager; giving kudos to the good pay and the good health benefits they offer. She admits that Costco has gotten her through school.

Shaw plays four local, Staten Island gigs a month with a band member changing every so often, saying that the local gigs do not pay well enough for her to pay the band. To date, she has performed 150 shows at eight venues.

Some of her locations that she has performed at are Martini Red and The Cup, both on Staten Island, as well as The Living Room in Brooklyn. She says that the more promising scenes are in Brooklyn, particularly in Williamsburg and Park Slope.

Shaw's current goals with her music are to gain exposure and play more gigs, while offering listening samples on her MySpace page: http://myspace.com/jaclynshaw. MySpace is an online community web site.

"Myspace is a great tool for advertising, a lot of people are on it, it's free, and people can still access your sounds." She eventually plans to sell her songs on MySpace using PayPal, an online payment transaction site, and hopes to move to iTunes once she becomes more well-known.

Once established and with a solid band, she hopes to sign up onto Sony Records with the help of some connections that she knows within the record label.

In five years, Shaw wants to be a "truly evolved, empathetic creature."

"That's what I want to be in five years, I wanna be a psychologist who tries to help people and empathize; not give them drugs, but give them music," she says with a burst of hearty laughter.

And You Thought Kanye Was Bad!

Talk about having a big head! You thought Kayne West's song "Stronger" was full of itself, then we must direct our attention to Hunter College. There seems to be a particular professor, that is retiring after this semester (if my sources are correct), who's head is as pumped as that of Kayne's.

I mean (whoop-di-doo) it's great that you teach and were given the opportunity (years and years ago), but don't be ungrateful and nonchalant toward the students who want to learn from you. Yes, your "English" education may be great makes you so full of yourself that you seem cocky, at best, to your students, but they chose this class to be given a lecture on Propaganda and Mass Media. They do NOT need to know about your education and how you played hooky and still managed to get through your classes just fine.

It is a very nice way to pay back your students with your knowledge and tell them that if they miss a lecture that you "don't care and get paid anyway!" Yes, that is very encouraging for the student that actually wants to get something worthwhile out of the class.

Your students to arrive to class on time (with their need to learn) and you sweetly take your time and arrive 20 minutes later, at your own leisure. The mandatory break of 20 minutes half-way through your 3-hour class would be nice if you came back after 20 minutes or told your students to come back after 30 minutes, like you do! And then you have the gall to proceed five-and-ten minutes after the scheduled end of class to continue your lecture because you feel you need to get more in edgewise when you wasted the class's time by arriving late and extending the break! NO!

Without your need to have a syllabus because chapters are just assigned, you also tell your students that you do not check your e-mail if they ever have a question to ask. Your only way of actually being reached is to meet you during your office hours, and that seems to be the only stable thing with some "structure" in the class. Yikes!

Message to the underdog: be very careful, if you truly want something out of this class, let this one retire, then take it! Don't give him your money and don't get disrespected when you're intention is to learn.

PS - By the way, you're not getting MY money ... kind regards!

Butterflies & Nerves

I'm going to San Francisco from Thursday the 16th (5 a.m. flight) to Wednesday the 22nd (10 p.m. departing flight). It will be a New York-free 6 days where, hopefully, the sun will shine bright, where it will not be too humid (again, hopefully), where my navigation system Polly (I only HAD to give her a name) will work before I throw out onto the expressway, and all that good stuff!

My cell phone will ring, and depending on who it is, I may OR may not answer it. I must remember to bring my shades. What else? Lotion, face wash, hair gel, my comb, body wash and sponge, Axe body spray (aaahhhh so many things). Screw this, I'm bringing two bags, forget just a carry-on and conforming to the 3 oz. rule for liquids -- I NEEDZ MY SH*T, BITCHES! What a long day it will be!

Nah-nah was so kind as to buy me a San Francisco guide which is great! Now my daily schedule will not have to read "roam the streets at random" in order to find something to do! Here I go... (I'll try and keep a daily journal...)

The Blessing and The Curse

Money does make the world go round, and lack of money makes it stop. It is the difference between staying in your apartment one day, and the eviction notice upon your door the next day. You are expected to pay the bills (which come on time one might like to mention) with the money you have saved up or with the check that comes in every week. Of course, your place of work can demand so much of you and try to get over on you by giving you so little or sometimes nothing for a period of time (the check in the mail is never guaranteed to be on time as are the bills).

The freelance life, a blessing and a curse in disguise, seems to conform to this introduction very well in fact. Sure a company needs the bodies, but doesn't want to give you the benefits for actual work that nobody else wants to do. How nice, right? If only! Sure, the same company wants you to bend over backwards (but you have to learn to work smart) to produce this, that and the other. Yes, you log your hours on your invoice and it gets sent to the payroll department in another state (and you pray the payroll department knows how to do its job). Yes, a company making millions can't even process a simple invoice and send a check out in the mail without taking weeks, sometimes.

Yes, granted that this is work and that in modern day minds the equation states that work equals making money is fixed into our heads, you begin to think why is it so hard to cut a check for a service being offered? Some big companies will use the answer: "They're just freelancers!" What does that really justify? So, you don't want to hire somebody to do the dirty work, but you have "available freelance work" that you will offer to someone willing, and pay them when it's convenient for you? As inhumane as this is, people looking for any kind of work do conform to these unfortunate circumstances to earn the check (that isn't promised an ETA in the mail). As there are unions for freelance work out there, there come union dues that sometimes one may be unable to pay if the aforementioned truths come to light.

Yes, take that freelance job and give it your best! Pay those bills (if the check arrives on time), and earn your potential spot in the company, good luck! But keep in mind, you are dispensable as indispensable as the job calling is! Oh yeah, and look for a job with benefits, that is the key!

This, ladies and gents, is the truth. If you get mad at the truth, then you are guilty!

Toilet Seat Theory

Toilet Seat Theory:
I disagree with keeping the toilet seat down while you have to do the #1, because even though someone can say they have a good aim, they will always sprinkle. This is not good, because there will always be a case where the #2 will come along while you're #1-ing, and sprinkling on the toilet seat; you will be stuck at a point, however, where you either choose to (in a split second decision) either try to wipe the seat fast & sit down, try to rip off a sanitary cover and let the sprinkleage soak through (the yuck effect), or try to hold the #2 in. This could all have been avoided if the case were approached with logic: you had the seat up, you started #1-ing and #2 comes along, so you throw down the seat, take out a sanitary seat, and the rest is history...

Phoenix Rising

This past weekend had been complete torture, and I let myself get that way by procrastinating (I hope I learn my lesson soon, because it is not fun)! I had not been myself, I nearly broke down, and when I finally did, I had just gotten over the hump of finals & submitting everything, and still making it to both jobs...

Yes, indeed, Finals Week had taken its toll on me, although it did not catch me off-guard. Yesterday (Tuesday, May 22), I was running on 3 hours of sleep as the day before I had been working at both jobs; the second one until about 1 a.m. (a movie theatre). I was able to complete my final (at 9 a.m.) for Journalism & Society and still make home alive and somewhat awake by 12 p.m.

Naturally and unsurprisingly, I got the second wind and could not get to sleep. I awaited the UPS man as some packages were arriving and browsed the web in the meantime to try and get my eyes tired. That part worked out, so now I just needed UPS to come and go so I could hit the sack and catch some Zs! La, la, la ... he finally arrives and I help him bring the package up the stairs because it weighed 90 pounds, more or less; the second one was something light and not that big of a deal.

So at about 1:30 p.m., sleep had started to slowly creep up on me, and I did not try to run from away it. In fact, I ran to my bed and welcomed it! I crashed like there was no tomorrow, and it felt so good!

The next thing I remember is turning over to face the alarm clock to discover that it was 6 p.m. Wow, I should be able to sleep like this more often than not! The rest of my night flew pretty quickly: ran some errands, made some phone calls, bought some Shorts at Express, bought a Honey Dew melon-scented candle from Yankee Candle (aka Headache Store), visited my pal Ern at his place of work, and hit up Cold Stone (did you think I would skip that???).

Cheers, the Phoenix has risen from the ashes!

Woke up this morning...

Again, I woke up this morning without a problem. My body is so messed up right now that I need a full 8-hours of sleep, the 4-hour business is not cutting it, y'all! As well, I ran to the mirror, because my eyes felt so heavy, and true to my belief, I did look like a puffy-eyed crack baby! Without even thinking twice, I ran to the refrigerator and pulled out the cold eye mask that helps reduce puffiness under the eyes when it's extremely cold -- it worked!

I had been up for the longest time yesterday, working and trying to work on my paper, and trying to keep the company over my house ... well company. It's just been such a long weekend, that I was glad it was over when it was. I don't know why I let myself get this way around finals: I tend to get lazy and not read or study or commit myself to anything.

C. U. N.(ext) T.(uesday) (aka Aida) and I went to Cold Stone last night, and I proved to her that the employees there really do know me too well. I told her that I would not need to tell them my order, and to her surprise, I was right. The shift leader or manager, whom I'm very cool with, told his employee "He want's a PB&C shake with a banana in it, you won't forget that!" I was like, "Wow, that's dedication!" They run such a tight ship at my Cold Stone, that I have all the respect in the world for them ... GOOD JOB YOU GUYS!!!

In conclusion to this unorganised blog, I just cannot wait until this Saturday and Sunday ... ATLANTIC CITY BABY!!

Oh no you didn't...

Today, while driving my mother to the ferry terminal, this bitch from Georgia tries to cut me off and succeeds, but ignites my long-dormant road rage up again, and I tailgated her ass honking my horn every time that trick hit the break pedal -- oh no! I don't care if you're a "New York driver" or are from here, bitch you're a Georgian resident, so BACK OFF!!!

Again, that's probably my finals anxiety making me all edgy and unnecessarily crazy (I could use some sleep, though). Memorial Day weekend, I am going to Atlantic City, though, so that should be fun and relaxing and carefree! Aah, I can taste it now.

Today was also the last official day of my Journalism & Society class, which I actually enjoyed very much. :-( It'll be so sad to part with it, but it marks the end of the semester, so it's good and bad. I still have ridiculous studying to do and a paper to start for my Journalism class (which I am actually looking forward to).

Sigh, another day! Off to my crazy and hectic schedule, bye y'all!

Finals Anxiety

For the past couple of days, I have been going to sleep late and waking up early without a problem. Usually, when I do that, I'm tired or cannot function, but this week has been an exceptiton. Between studying, going to "Mattress" rehearsals (that's "Once Upon A Mattress" for you dirty minds), going to the gym, studying, acting class, tanning salon (which isn't that important), (on yeah, and work) I have just been a complete mess.

I think it's the finals anxiety, though, that's making me feel this way. And after the finals are over, it still will not be officially over, because then, the worry will set in on my grades. Aaahhhh! Thinking about it now, it seems so far away, and the grass will be greener on the other side... Sigh!