A Dilemma We All Face Unless We Marry Rich

We all experience the ongoing mayhem in our brains that is induced by the question: "What am I going to do with my life?" The question itself sounds simple enough, but not only is this a question of money; it's a question that society deems necessary to answer as soon as possible. Also, there is a new development that not many people consider, but makes answering said question all the more difficult.

"What am I going to do with my life that will pay rent and will make me happy?"

It's easy to spout out answers when you're young because happiness is an everyday occurrence when you're innocent and don't have to pay any bills. When you're young, you think about occupations that sound fun at the time, and hang onto them until you get bored with the idea of being a fire truck or a police dog. You move onto more standard jobs, like being a doctor or a teacher. Then, when you are old enough to realize that just picking something because it sounds cool isn't practical, and you are forced to really consider the job description that best suits you as a person, as well as your wallet- well- it's not fun anymore.



I am twenty-one-years-old and have a degree in nothing. I started this blog with a haughty post describing my ambitions as an English major, and yet here I am: no degree, no job, no fulfillment.

Don't get me wrong, I am on cloud nine being engaged to Mr. Right, I really am, but I was raised with a sense of independence that is so embedded in my brain that it's hard to let go because it's a part of who I am. It whispers to me late in the night when I'm contemplating my credit card bill, making it hard to sleep. It summons a crippling guilt whenever Michael pays for the groceries, or buys me the pretty dress I couldn't keep my eyes off of. It punches me right in my lady gut when I see my high school graduation photo hanging slumped to one side over my Mom's desk. I see the ambition so clearly in my 17-year-old eyes, and I feel like I've failed that girl.

Here is my frantic timeline:

Elementary School
Music Teacher

Middle School
Archaeologist
Author
Comic artist

High School
Zoologist
English teacher

University
English Teacher
Author

Drop Out

Author
Nurse
Bar Owner
Real estate Agent
Web Designer
Comic Store Owner
Etsy Store Owner
House Wife
Secretary
...AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUGGHHHH!

This battle has been going on for years now, because honestly, I can't find a single interest of mine that alone defines me. I love to write, create, help people, feel good at the end of the day, interact, and would one day like to have a big family. I like to be in charge of myself and work at a pace that fits me. How am I supposed to fit all of these aspects of my personality into one field?!

Well, one day, I found myself doing what I usually do when I grow bored of my surroundings: I rearranged furniture and organized the shelves until I felt like I was living somewhere else for a while.

"That looks really good." Michael said, examining the room.

"You always say that," I responded. I don't deserve the man.

"No really, I think I like this the best. I like the empty wine bottles and glasses on the shelf over the fireplace like that, and the book shelf looks more organized now."

Conversations like this happen often and lead into further conversations about the use of space, color, energy and utility. I can look through interior design magazines for hours, and Mike doesn't even mind when I drag his attention to a particular arrangement and talk about projects I'd like to do around the house and little tricks I've seen pinned on Pinterest that I can't get out of my mind. I could spend the rest of my life residing within the walls of Ikea.

Interior design has been a hobby of mine since my Mom introduced to me the prospect of changing my room every few years for a new, fresh beginning.

That's how I feel when I buy a vase for the side table, or rearrange picture frames, or look at color schemes online: fresh. It's always been an escape mechanism of mine for when the world outside of my home seems too overwhelming; I take charge of the miniature world that is my apartment. After a bad day, all I have to do is move the wine rack to a different side of the bar and fluff up the pillows, and I suddenly find myself ready to conquer cities. It makes me feel inspired and alive. It's a hobby that completely relies on my creativity to thrive.

Since then, I've been seriously considering this field of study for when I return to school. It incorporates my love of color, design, creativity, and may someday even help people. As for the writing? I smell a side blog project possibility.

When is goodbye really goodbye?

When you are a part of something, whether it be a church group or just a few buddies that hang with you by the river every weekend, it eventually becomes a part of you. Sometimes these consistencies, especially when they are people, can change you and your perspective of the world and the people around you. That is what makes goodbye's so hard. Every time I had to leave Michael I felt like I had to adjust to a life that didn't belong to me, and when I would see him again, my life would continue as if I had come home from a lengthy trip away from myself.

I didn't realize that the lounge was the one place that I could return to myself and have a break from the loneliness. The people there are like my family. I always avoided thinking about the moment when I would have to put in for my two weeks. It's been two years now, two years of people willing to do everything in their power to be there for me, a concept I wasn't used to until my first day at The Strat. Not many people work in an environment like that. I was and am very fortunate.

I had this same issue when I graduated from school and moved away from my friends in Varsity Choir. We were so tight knit that I literally had to cut some ties so that it wouldn't hurt so much. Everyone back in San Antonio still had one another; they still hung out, goofed off, even recalled music that we sang years before and sang their hearts out together. I wasn't a part of that. I am not a part of that. I had and have university, a new life to embrace, one that I would have preferred to include my old friends and the laughter.

But this seems harder. We are all adults-- not children-- so to pick up and move or start a family or whatever it is that adults do, we can do it. All of us. And that is going to keep us apart. Some of my best friends, coworkers here at the lounge, are graduating. Some are staying though, so I'll still have people to come back to. But the unit, this family, is going to branch out, and eventually those connections will fade and be replaced with new connections, new people.

Then again, it is in my power to keep these connections alive. If I can make a long distance relationship work with Michael, I can accomplish the same task with my friends. There are so many mediums that can keep these ties double-knotted. I suppose I just fear change, when the consistencies are no longer consistent. I have always had anxieties about new environments, experiencing things that I am not used to.

Maybe this isn't goodbye. Maybe these relationships I've built will keep the anxieties away.

Maybe it took me writing this to realize that.

Tonight is my second to last night working here. I am going to try and take in every detail, embrace every encounter, and smile as hard as I can. I want to remember tonight. I want to make it worth remembering.

You're not doing it right

I hate it when I am obviously doing something, or nothing (mostly nothing), but it is still apparent how I am occupying my time, and some sleaze with ill intentions written across his face with jet black permanent marker leans toward me, whether it be at work or any other public location, and asks, "Whatcha doin'?"  This has always been a pet peeve of mine, but I usually handle myself well and manage to get the man who thinks that I am just passing the time by staring at the pages of a book to look smart to get bored with me and give up on his hidden agenda. It can be very tiresome.

Man with very high standards who takes a seat beside me: "What are you doing?"

Me with very low patience and has a purse beneath the man's ass: "...Reading a book."

Man: "What book is it?"

Me: (It is written on the cover that is facing you, asshole) "Eat, Pray, Love."

Man: "Is it about eating, praying and loving?

Me: (No, it's about cannibalism and necrophiliacs.) "Yep."

Man: "Do you need to learn to do these things?"

Me: (I will kill you.) "This is a story about someone else. It was not in the "Do It Yourself" section, if that is what you mean."

"Ah."

(Five minutes pass with my nose in the pages and the man staring at me until he grows bored of me and leaves, leaving my purse pressed into the seats, halfway hidden in the cushions of the couch.)

That same day, I went to work and did my usual clean sweep of the place, then sat down to enjoy a hookah until my shift was over at ten. Maeson was not in the best of moods, but said something that reminded me that I have brilliant friends. "I was a bitch today," she started.

"How?"

"I hate it when people ask me what I am doing when it is obvious what I am doing."

"I completely agree."

"So I am going to start answering them all the same way."

"How?"

"I am going to tell them to I am doing kegal exercises."

My jaw dropped.

"I tried it and it worked. The guy thought I was weird and walked away."

My jaw was so low to the ground I was in danger of getting rug burn on my chin. "It actually works?"

"So far."

I mean, the idea is incredibly inappropriate, but it was produced at work, a place with no boundaries. (Maybe that is why I don't make tips...) But I wanted to try it out for myself. So I set up a station at the front desk and waited to be approached by the same question that so many women hate.

"So what are you up to?"

I looked up from my book to find a mediocre looking freshman adorned with a hot pink polo and a tie. Oh God. So I tested the waters, confident that Maeson's knowledge of the world that had been passed down to me would surely work in my favor. So I replied as sarcastically as humanly possible, "Doing my kegal exercises."

"That is so incredibly SEXY."

Great Jessica.

"Do all women do that or just some?"

You picked a horny freshman to use as a lab rat.

"Oh my God I bet you are so good in bed."

Good job.

Cash or GTFO

I have never wanted to wail on someone's face with such an intensity that their bodies would puncture a hole into the floor with the sheer force of my fists. Yeah. That's right. I was beyond agitated at the girl and her friends who thought that it was acceptable to make me suffer for the cash register not working after the internet flickered out. Technology hates me and apparently that relationship directly effects whether or not I get tips. Because obviously it's in my power if the credit card machine works, because I am just an evil bitch who likes to make people suffer, which leads to me suffering, which makes no sense Miss "Just Turned 18 and Hates to Pay in Cash Instead of Using Daddy's Credit Card." Here is a little taste of why I wanted to turn her face into a crater.

(Group approaches the counter to cash their tab out)

Me: "I am so incredibly sorry. Our credit card machine is on the fritz. I can get you out of here sooner if you pay in cash, but if you can only pay with credit then you'll have to wait until I can get the register up and running again."

Girl: "So let me get this straight. You are going to MAKE me pay in cash?

Me: "Not necessarily. I should be able to get this fixed within the next few minutes if you don't mind waiting."

Girl: "No! This is bullshit!"

Me: "Ma'am?"

Girl: "I just think it's ridiculous that you don't know what the hell you are doing. How long has it not been working?"

Me:  (counting to ten in my mind) "It was giving us issues before, but then it started working. Now it's giving me trouble again."

Girl: "How long ago?"

Me: "About an hour ma'am." (Ma'am?! She's 18!)

Girl: So you're telling me that you had a whole hour to fix it and you are just now getting around to it? Bullshit.

Me: You know what is bullshit you ungrateful brat? You getting on my ass for something I cannot control. It's hard enough waiting on you and your friends when you toss your trash on the floor and knock ash all over the damn place when you pick up your tongs and start needlessly poking at your coal. Also, I let slide that you had your stank ass feet all over the table where people put their FOOD. Is this how you treat people who wait on you for minimum wage? Obviously you have never worked in the service industry. You don't know what bullshit is until you work in the service industry. I've been enduring you and everyone else in this room's bullshit for the last four hours that I've clocked in, so don't tell me that it is my fault for making this job harder than it already is. I'm not a masochist. If it was up to me, you would have been out of here an hour ago so I could clean up the big ass mess and disassembled hookah parts you left behind, along with the fifty cents you call a tip. I am the hostess here. I am the cook. I am the waitress. I am the bus boy. I do everything. I am running around all over the place trying to make you as comfortable as possible. The only thing I do not know how to do is FIX THIS FUCKING REGISTER. So, I guess I should learn a new trade in "how to avoid technology issues" because we all know that technology is the most reliable thing in the whole wide fucking world. Go drive your Daddy's Volvo off of a cliff.

Me: Yes ma'am.

...I didn't get a tip.

Ever since I started working at the hookah lounge two years ago I have a new appreciation for the people who tend to my needs. It is so incredibly hard working to serve others, then managing to remain polite when being dealt abusive insults like the ones exchanged above. The sad thing is, these encounters happen all of the time. Look, your servers may be strangers, but I ask that you be patient with them as well. You do not know what kind of trials they face, why they need the job, who they are supporting, or what kind of day they have had. Chances are that if you did, you'd think twice before pointing a finger in their face then leaving them empty handed. 

Good things must come in pairs.

I guess with the change in weather came too a change in luck. But I will get to that in a moment. Last night was one of the best I've had since being in Alaska. It is hard to compete with hanging out with a bunch of drunken sailors everyday, but last night held its own and is up there with the big leagues.

The night started like any regular night with shitty weather. The Stratosphere Lounge was as empty as my bed every night. (OH. Unexpected stab in the heart much, Jess?) I don't mind a vacant building much when I open shop because I don't get tips with that shift. The slower it is, the less I have to clean. It gives me the freedom to prance around, give the mid-shift a hard time, and be loud and obnoxious. This night is a perfect example of what can happen when business is slow, and that example is just mediocre. I am capable of being much worse. I get ornery when there are no customers to attend to, which was the situation last night.

To write, I must party.

I planned a party of sorts this weekend that I may not even be able to attend because I can't get my shift covered on Saturday. I'd list off every profanity in the book right now if that could communicate to you how I'm feeling right now, but my patience is withering away every moment I am not in the clear to go to this damn party.

So while my blood begins to cool from the simmer it was experiencing previously, I have decided to focus on one of my many writing projects. It is a musical of epic proportions. Before you scoff and remind me of how competitive and unrealistic the world of the arts can be, I am completely aware. You don't have to remind me. But this is not just something I am doing half-assed. I am practically putting my soul into this. Broadway, I AM COMING FOR YOU.

True Life: Working at a Hookah Lounge

Clearly I am avoiding this religious post that I am supposed to write. Curse being binded to an imaginary contract of posting these topics! I broke the rules once and nothing bad happened, but I don't want to test my luck because I obviously have none. So before I move onto the Blog Challenge I so willfully am partaking in, here is a little taste of a typical shift at the lounge with Katie. Firstly, to encourage our customers to try mixes, we have an ever changing menu of staff favorites. So lately all of the members of the staff have been concocting mixes in hopes of having their names posted on the menu. It's cool when people approach the counter and ask for a mix of mine. Recently, Michaela and I created a banana flavor that I am addicted too. It'll be on the menu soon and I've been pushing for people to test it out. Here's what happened:

Me: "OH MY GOD KATIE."

Katie: "WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

Me: "I want you to smoke this, then I dare you to tell me that it's shit."

Katie: "It probably is." (inhales)

Me: "Well?"

Katie: "Oh God it's glorious!"

Me: "I know!"

Katie: "It's the best thing I've ever put in my face!"

Me: "That's what she-"

Katie: "Don't you dare."

Me: "I'm telling your boyfriend."

Later...

Katie: I want to create a flavor called "The Flying Dutchman."

Me: "That's a fabulous idea! It can taste like corpses!"

Katie: (laughing) "That's a great idea."

Me: (from the bathroom, my voice echoing) "...and treasure!"

Katie: "That can be the description. 'Tastes like treasure!'"

Me: "Everyone will order it. So many people... if we keep the taste of corpse on the down low."

Katie: "Agreed."

Me: "I wish half of the conversations we have back here were recorded. We could totally have a reality show. We are highly entertaining."

Katie: "Yeah, like Miami Ink."

Me: "I can picture it now. When people come in and order a flavor, they can talk for thirty minutes about how the flavor symbolizes a moment in their lives that they will never forget."

Katie: "...this flavor reminds me of my childhood."

Me: "Forever stained on my lungs. Like a tattoo!"

Later...
Katie: I wanted to create my own flavor with blackberry in it.

Me: Blackberry Margarita's never been done I think.

Katie: I thought so too! Until I saw Hoot post this Blackberry-Margarita concoction on Facebook. I was like, CURSE YOU HOOT."

Me: That man has a lot of time on his hands. He can read minds too I think.

Katie: And ruin my life.

Later...
(Katie is in the front room assisting customers. I have the sudden urge to sell me and Michaela's Banana Cream Pie flavor.)
Katie: "...If you like apple flavors, I highly recommend Fahkfahkina."

Customers: "That sounds good. We will-"

Me: (bursting from the curtain in the back) "DO YOU LIKE BANANAS!?"

Customers: (stare fearfully in my direction)

Katie: Oh my God, Jessica. Could you be anymore creepy?"

Me: "I'm helping!" (looking at the customers) "Answer me!"

Customers: "Oh, um, yes, uh."

Me: "Order my flavor instead."

Customers: (After they taste my flavor) "We'll go with the Fahkfahkina."

Me: "CURSES."

Katie: (strutting into the back with me) "That was a fail."

Me: "I don't want to talk about it. Clearly mine was the better of the two."

Katie: "That's why they ordered something else. ...That they've never tried."

Me: "...Bitch."

And that's my job folks.

The best ideas come when discussing business endeavors with people who share my sense of humor

FYI: The Stratosphere Lounge is my place of occupation.
FYI: My boss posted this.
FYI: Me and Katie totally said that before I left work.
FY- I HAVE THE BEST JOB KNOWN TO MAN.

Goodbye present from Boss Man

For my going away present, Boss Man has given me two shifts to cover tonight. At first I was not pleased with the news, as it is Saturday and all of the college hooligans will be roaming the Square in drunken stupor celebrating Halloween prematurely and I would have to deal with them on my own. Yet the follow up text message went a little something like this: "You'll get paid for both shifts as well as get 90 percent of the tips for the night. Fo' real." Can't complain anymore can I? Luckily it has been smooth sailing, and I'm reaping the benefits.

Yes, there is a lesson in this.

Even if something sounds unappealing at first, sometimes it can be a good opportunity waiting to be taken advantage of. Laziness is often my excuse for letting these chances pass me by. I'm glad that it all worked out for me tonight. Hopefully the rest of the week will be smooth sailing. Only good has come out of this week, so I can't help but be cautious. Maybe the next flower arrangement will ACTUALLY be a bomb.

Who knows.

Stupid question of the night: "Are we allowed to eat food and stuff in here?"
Of course not. We expect the food that we sell here to be consumed outside.
Really?

My eye is having a seizure because you are an idiot.

When I sat at my computer with a blog entry in mind, I literally stared at the screen for three minutes before something occurred to me. I never talk about my job other than why I need it, which is obvious and it makes me feel like my content is suffering for it. I am also disappointed that I have not mentioned the fabulous staff that we have all too much because they are some of the most amazingly-awesome people I've ever met, on clock and off. Not many part-timers can say that, and I should be grateful that I can.

The Stratosphere Lounge, or the Strat as most of us refer to it as, is like a home to me. It is a hookah lounge, where you can choose from a variety of flavored tobacco on our menu to smoke. It really leaves room for creativity, and the uh... employee discount on the tobacco is quite ...beneficial.

Bah, what am I kidding. I smoke a bowl every time I go to work. (I need to loosen up. This is beginning to sound like an advertisement.)

So the staff is pretty much the shit and I say this kindly. But I refuse to lead you all to believe that being a server there would be some sort of gift from God, because honestly, like any job, it has it's downfalls. Maybe I worded that wrong. Let me try again. The people that I serve can be really, really, really aggravating. Here is an example of what went through my mind last night: "Touch that coal again and I swear I will put it in a place where the burns won't be appreciated!" I think the guy saw the crazed look in my eyes and decided to give the coal prodding a rest. I am in this recently developed mindset where each bowl that I create becomes my baby- my sweet smelling, delectable baby. When people mess with my baby, they get the eye twitch. Another warranted eye twitch moment occurs when customers are asking for a drink in the fridge behind the register.

Me: "Hi! How can I help you?"

Customer: "Yeah I would like a drink."

Me: "Alright, what would you like?"

Customer: "A soda."

Me: (waiting for further details of said drink, as half of our fridge is a variety of soda)

Customer: (stares at me like I'm stupid for not being able to read his mind)

Me: (being the better person and all) "...What kind of soda?" (Did he really just make me ask?)

Customer: "Oh wait, no, I'd like a Gatorade."

Me: (waiting yet again for specifics, as we have a spectrum of Gatorade flavors)

Customer: Or an energy drink. Yeah, I'd like a Gatorade and an energy drink.

Me: (eye is twitching by now) What kind?

Customer: "The blue kind."

Me: "There are two blue kinds. Light or dark?"

Customer: "Oh uh, dark. And an energy drink please."

Me: (the eye twitch must be obvious at this point) "We have four different kinds of energy drink."

Customer: "Oh um..."

Me: "JUST PICK YOUR G'DAMN DRINK ALREADY! YOUR INDECISION HAS CAUSED A LINE OF IDIOTS TO GATHER BEHIND YOU. I ASSUME THAT THEY MUST BE ATTRACTED TO YOUR IDIOCY. I HAVE THREE HOOKAHS TO PRODUCE AND FIVE COALS TO BRING OUT AND YOU ARE MAKING LIFE MORE DIFFICULT THAN IT HAS TO BE! PICK A FREAKIN' DRINK FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!"

Customer: "DARK BLUE GATORADE AND A MONSTER MA'AM!"

Me: "THANK YOU. NOW TIP ME ASSHOLE."

My job, if at all possible, would be even better if I could get away with shit like that. Make them cower at my presence. But that is just icing on the cake. Customers mostly get the automatic eye twitch when they ask questions about the menu. "What does the watermelon taste like?" Eye twitch. "Does the flavor come in the coal?" Eye twitch. "The Fahkfahkina is an apple right? So is it... appley?" Really? You get an eye twitch too.

I'm supposed to be talking about how fabulous my job is but now I'm just pissed.

Yay for having a day off.

Smiling So Much That My Face Hurts

Honestly I have no witty remark to start this post with, so let us move straight to the point. Today was fabulous. It did not start off fabulous as there is an unbelievable amount of tension in the apartment. My roommate is not pleased with my decision to go to Alaska and makes it a point to remind me of that with his silence. C'est la vie. I do not expect all of my choices to be praised.

Anyway, I went to work dreading the talk that I would have to have with my boss. I mean, asking off for two months is pretty much a big deal and not many employers would tolerate such late notice. Every Tuesday I work with both of the owners, so I had ample time to bring it up and beg for mercy.  However, I couldn't bring myself to do it. Fear was lodged in my throat for some reason. All I had to say was, "Hey guys, I just want to let you know that I will be in Alaska until next year. Mind keeping me on the payroll?" I mean, it sounded simple enough in my head. 

That's when opportunity came knocking on my door- and I let that bad boy in! The new girl on staff came in during my shift asking if anyone could cover for her this weekend because it was her Father's birthday and they wanted to go to the Renaissance festival. My boss looked perturbed. Messing with the schedule is one of his many known pet peeves. "Why didn't you ask off earlier?" he said. "I just found this out now," she replied sheepishly and continued to plead with him to find someone to take her shifts. All the while I stood in the shadows with this "could this be any easier" look on my face. If I had a cat handy right then I would have been stroking it. 

"I'll take them," I volunteered. Boss-man was thus pleased and the schedule was saved. (Muahahaha!) After that, my vacation time was given a thumbs up, as Boss-man's rage was still directed at new girl. Thank you new girl for taking the heat. I don't know how much more I could have handled. 

When I got home Mike gave me a call and I told him the good news again because texts simply could not do it justice. His smile was so big that it was audible. Holy cow this is really happening. 

So I carry a journal with me at all times now. I developed this habit after I started working on the book, so when inspiration strikes, I will be ready for it. Well, there was a to-do list written out right when I agreed to go to Homer. Most of it is checked off, including the "handle job issue" section, which was tended to immediately after speaking with the Boss-man. Tended to, as in me writing in big, bold letters "I GOT OFF!" I am so happy that I don't even care that one of the guys at work saw it on the counter and wrote a perverted comment on it. I pretty much set myself up anyway. Kudos, you sneaky little bastards. Kudos.