I got to work, I drank my coffee, I ate two rice cakes with peanut buttah'.
Shortly after that, I found out that a girl who has my same position—except for a magazine instead of 2 websites like me—is leaving. She got a brand new job, a fabulous one, as PR Manager of a nearby PR Firm. A nice one. A pay increase, for sure and a massive step up from editorial assistant. Go head witcha' bad self, girl. Right?
At least, that's what I thought until—like a good lil' non-bitter girl—I sent her a congratulatory email and she replied "Thanks, Liam!"
Now, yes, I know that the "m" key is right next to the "." key, but there is an exclamation point that follows. Could she really have meant "Thanks Lia.!" (If so, she doesn't deserve her new, high-paying gig.)
I was fine about her new job, at least fine enough to resist any and all urges to jump out of the nearest window—that is, until she went and called me Liam.
So forgive me, and David cover your eyes because you hate it when I whine, but here goes:
Why can't life just be fair? Why can't the person who has been here the longest and been trying the longest to find a new job and has been working hard, just as hard as anyone else, and who has prayed many prayers and sent wishes up into the sky, and has been a good girl, and has endured many many scoldings for dress-code violations that everyone else does too, and has laughed at the stupid jokes, and acted like she knew the difference between bolt-action and any-other action, and has swallowed her pride and gotten picked over for the employee of the year award by none-other-than-mrs.-PR-manager-extrordinaire—why can't this UNKNOWN person find a new fab job before the...other one?
Why can't the boring, plain people be seen as boring and plain instead of impressive and better than the fun and interesting people?
Am I a fun and interesting person?
Why am I an undesirable candidate? I.E.: Why does no one want me?
And since it seems written in the stars for me to be where I current am: WHY am I here? For what purpose? Am I going to have to shoot my way out of a life-or-death situation sometime soon? Am I going to be casted for a shooting performance show? Am I going to become the next Outdoor Channel star? Is Sarah Palin going to ask me to be her speech writer? Is Joe Mantegna—who is here at work today—going to ask to adopt me and make all my dreams of no-more-student-loans come true? Am I going to eventually become a cowgirl? Am I really the illegitimate
son daughter of Charlton Heston?
I really need these questions answered, otherwise I might have to resort to hanging around big open windows.
With love from your boy,