European Vacation

It is a common misconception that those who are unemployed are on an extended vacation, sleeping in everyday, playing video games in our underwear, lounging by the pool (lake, ocean) and taking full advantage of every happy hour because, heck, we're broke and not doing anything at 4:00 in the afternoon.   But the truth is, there is a certain guilt that comes with these indulgent activities.  If we're not constantly looking for work we're worried about the money we're spending while engaging in such leisurely activities and that our dream job may be posted and snatched up in the time it takes us to attract the bartender's attention and pay our final tab on our multiple $2 PBR tallboys.  Not only that, but we miss the days of structure...needing to be somewhere at a certain time and having a reason to get out of our comfy shorts and stained T-shirt to be presentable in public.  But on the other hand, there are so many days where you're just frustrated at the amount of work you are putting out and the lack of results you are yielding, wondering why you aren't just spending everyday getting plastered by noon and enjoying a beautiful summer day.  

Therefore, I have instated the European power lunch.  This made possible by the abundance of new French-style cafes and English-influenced gastro pubs popping up around Seattle.  The premise of these lunches is to connect with fellow unemployed friends, while reaping the benefits of eating great food and drink at affordable lunchtime or happy hour prices and balancing the guilt factor by actually doing "work".  

For example, I've been in the process of building and launching a website to successfully promote myself for the past several months.  However, my mistake was involving my employed friends in the process.  Them being stretched too thin in their 9-5 jobs, or rather 9am -10pm jobs, to have anytime to dedicate to the non-compensated cause.  So I contacted my very fun, very talented, and also very unemployed friend to take the reins.  It's a win/win.  I need someone to build a kick-ass website for me and he needs more projects to add to his portfolio.  But instead of meeting at a coffee shop or one of our unairconditioned apartments, we meet at one of the many new Euro hotspots in town.  With the French country design or plethora of beers on tap masked by the ambiguous black knob on the brass tap, these places radiate sophistication.  And  since they're Euro-inspired, there's a stigma attached that says, hey it's all right to drink at noon because "we" do and you're spending $8 for lettuce and 10 pine nuts so why not live it up.  

I had one of these such days today (yes, I'm fairly intoxicated right now).  So after a productive morning consisting of a 60 minute cardio routine followed by a 90 Bikram yoga session, I scooted home to prepare for my big "meeting".  I showered and used my best Molten Brown pepper body wash and lotion (courtesy of the Chambers Hotel, MPLS from my latest freelance gig) and donned my never-before-worn-in-Seattle Diane von Furstenberg white shirtdress and set off to my favorite new lunch spot that reminds me so much of my beloved Roebling Tea Room in Williamsburg where I spent many mornings turned afternoon turned happy hour in Brooklyn working diligently across three time zones.  

My friend arrived and was instantly down to business, but my growling stomach and over-caffeinated self had another agenda.  So we promptly ordered a couple of sharable plates accompanied by a Leffe and champagne and then got down to business.  Once that was settled, we spent the next hour sharing web ideas and mock-ups, tweaking design and speaking of branding.  It was a success.  Once we had established the best way to move forward and divided responsibilities for next steps we relaxed into our dishes just in time for happy hour.   

Not only was this day a success in getting one step closer to launching my website (I'll keep you all posted) but also for reminding myself that I am a powerful business woman who can multi-task "getting shit done" while enjoying the company of a good friend and appreciating the finer things in life such as good food, drink, and a dress that makes me feel like a million bucks every time I step into it.  

A little place called ASPEN

The Fall in Seattle this year was incredible, almost more beautiful and longer than any I experienced on the East coast.  Well , if you call "experiencing it" watching the leaves change color on the same cluster of trees perched outside my local coffee shop's window day in and day out for two months.  During the first few months of unemployment, my days were filled with me frantically resume updating, job searching, networking, website building (still under construction but coming soon ;) and thinking horrible thoughts of living in a box in Rainier Valley all my possessions packed into a shopping cart lifted from the Family Dollar parking lot or, worse, moving home with my parents (no offense mom and dad, I've just outgrown my twin daybed and flowered wallpaper).  I'd hit up every creative agency in town and even that big software company on the other side of the floaty bridge, everyone saying how impressive my experience and that they couldn't wait to work with me, but that they didn't have anything for me at this time.  A phrase I was familiar with hearing though it usually sounded a little more like "you're a great girl, I'm just not looking for a relationship right now."  That's when my search turned desperate. 

By this point, it was late Fall and the holidays were just around the corner.  The Classified section was thicker than usual, boasting Wanted ads for various seasonal help.  Many of these jobs I seriously considered, but for one reason or another, discounted them:  Event Catering - I trip a lot; Santa's Elf - too tall; Santa himself - too small and lack of facial hair; folding sweaters at the Gap - visions of Janeane Garofalo in Reality Bites which led to the repetitive singing of "My Sharona"...uh, no!   Then I found one that really did excite me...Christmas Tree sales at a local nursery.  Just the thought of myself bundled up in a North Face fleece, knit hat and Merrell boots holding a mug of spiced cider, the smell of pine needles and smiling faces of families as they picked out the perfect tree had me beaming.  I quickly tailored my resume to include any relevant skills.  Let's see....physically fit, affinity for tree trimming and caroling...uh, err, hmmm.  Well maybe if I wrote a kick ass cover letter surely that would get me hired.  I put more thought and energy into that cover letter than I had for any prospective cubicle position.  However, a few days later when I called to follow up, the owner informed me that he received over 200 applications and that all the positions had been filled.  Bah humbug.  

After this rejection, I started expanding my search criteria, not to include more jobs, but more locations.  I figured if the work didn't come to me, then I would go to the work.  This is when I flashed back to my Brazilian friend I'd met on my Mexico trip just after losing my job.  We bonded over bug bites in Puerto Escondido and became instant friends, sharing a room on our 20 hour layover in Mexico City where we got pedicures at a local mall and dined on cheap wine and stale buffet food at our airport hotel.    Though she was from Brazil, she had spent the past two years in Aspen, working in a retail shop and teaching ski lessons to beginners.  She'd gone on and on about how amazing it was to live there, slopes out your front door, an abundance of men to chose from, hoppy local micro-brews.   This sounded like the perfect opportunity to get away for awhile, lose some extra pound skiing daily, smooch some boys, and get one step closer to working on my dream event - The Aspen Food & Wine Festival.  I called her up to tell her of my plan and, as luck would have it, her boutique was hiring and there was an open room in her luxury apartment that I could actually afford.  Done, I told her I'd take the room, called the airlines to see about changing my flight that I'd booked to Ohio for the holidays, broke the news to my mom that I wouldn't be coming home this year and confirmed with a friend that I could sublet my apartment to her brother for the next few months.  Finally a weight had been lifted.  That night, I drank and laughed harder that I had in months and stopped into my friend's bar to announce to all that I was moving to Aspen.  More drinks flowed as we prepared for my departure and celebrated all the holidays that we would miss between then and my return (?) - Christmas, my 30th, New Years, Valentines Day, President's Day.

Then the next morning I received an unexpected call from my Brazilian friend's roommate informing me that he had actually already rented the room just before my friend promised it to me.  Discouraged, but not defeated, I began looking for other options but found it was too late in the season to find anything decent and affordable in the area.  So I put my dream of ski bumming in Aspen to rest and moved onto plan B - New York City.  After all, I had lived there for 6 years already and that's where all my contacts were.  I'd made it there once, surely I could do it again.  Since I'd already found someone to take over my rent temporarily and had told everyone I was leaving, I couldn't back out now.  I'm a woman of my word and if I say I'm leaving, then I'm leaving. 

 Though my tune changed from John Denver to Frank Sinatra, I was once again excited.  Excited to be reconnecting with friends in the city I once loved, and to see if maybe, just maybe, we could rekindle that romance.  I packed my bags and my apartment, arranged to sleep on a friend's couch in the city, changed my flights, found a sitter for my plant and toasted more drinks than I can count to all my West Coast friends, wondering if those cheers could possibly be the last.  Ten days later, I boarded my one-way flight to New York and set off, once again, for the unknown.  

  

Channeling Rick Steves

I've never been one of those people who relied on television.  Ok, retraction...I've never been one of those people who wanted to admit that I relied on television.  In fact, when I first moved to Seattle I was determined to embrace my hippy tendencies by not giving into the temptation of television, the convenience of a microwave or the pollution of a car.  That was until my mother came to visit my first month in my new city and her face went white as she scanned my apartment in search of my television fearing she'd miss the scandalous affairs occurring in Genoa City by not getting her daily dose of  Young and the Restless.   Reluctantly, yet somewhat relieved, we jumped into my Zipcar and headed to Costco where I made one of my first big girl purchases of a 36" digital flat screen television set and HD antenna.  Two out of three ain't bad I suppose.  After a few hours of connecting various cords, tweaking the bunny ears and scanning for channels, my eyes widened (and almost burned little) when I saw my first crystal clear image of a vibrant plaid shirt on a Bob Villa type home repair guy fixing a squeeky air duct.  

I was entranced with having such a lifelike image that I actually felt like I was dining with Tyra Banks and her gaggle of gorgeous  teenagers.  However, my guilty pleasure was unwinding after a long day of work by following Rick Steves around on his European Adventures and salivating to Lydia's Italian cooking on PBS.  During my days of unemployment, I became even more reliant on the creative shows on the Public Access Channel.  I'd rather learn to paint a soothing watercolor than become nauseated  at the sound of Rachel Ray's raspy voice and startled with every  pound of Judge Judy's gavel.  But can you imagine my shock last week when I returned from San Francisco (for, YES, a work trip) only to find that the full digital changeover had taken away not only my ghostly analog stations, but also my Rick and Lydia.  NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!  Frantically, I searched the web for answers as to why a person who seemed to be taking residency in my living room could suddenly vanish without warning.  Did I need "the box"? Did he find out I was cheating on him with Steve Carrell?  Why God why??  I weighed my options...pay $30/month plus installation to get him back, cope with my loss and substitute my love for another such as Drew Carey or  Bonnie Hunt (Gross and Grosser), or run a series of tests to determine if perhaps a more suitable location within my apartment would bring him back.  My employed self would have taken full advantage of the recession special Comcast was offering, but I decided the $30/month was better used for beer and was grossed out by option 2, so I settled on option 3.

Wriggling myself behind my consul, I unplugged a series of wires and cords and set on my diagnostic exploration.  I pondered many possible rearrangements within my apartment that would allow for optimal light, comfort and viewing pleasure, and finally settled on my West facing living room wall, in clear shot of both my dining room and living room windows.  Once placed in their temporary new location, I connected my television to the wall and my antenna to my television, searched the menu options before crossing my fingers saying a prayer and pressing the scan button.  After 10 painfully long minutes, the menu alerted me that it had found 17 digital channels.  I channeled up from 4, pausing briefing to explore the newfound Retro TV station, then continued on my way up to 9.  There was a pause when it searched for the signal, then I released my held breath when I saw the muted pink background with the beige swirly watermark followed by the voice saying CREATE!  

The next two hours was spent rearranging furniture, vacuuming giant dust bunnies and restring cords to their appropriate outlets.  The rearrange was near completion when, while pushing the consul into it's final position along my wall, it rolled over my antenna pinching and snapping one of the ears and my screen went blank.  I channeled through only to find that once again, the judges remained and my creators were gone.  I riffled through my tool and scrap boxes in search of any binding and conducting agents and settled on two paperclips and some Duct tape.  Using the paperclips as splits, I secured the two halves of the ears together with several rounds of tape watching as my picture slowly came back into focus.  It was like watching the faces of Michael J. Fox's siblings reappear as the events of the past slipped back into place.  Whew problem averted.

So for all you penny pinching recessionistas out there, ditch your monthly cable bill for some Duct tape and a wire hangar and set in search of your favorite television personality.  Even if you don't find exactly what you are looking for, the apartment rearrange is also good for cleansing the mind (and the spot under the couch)

The Back Story

On New Years Eve this year, December 31, 2008, when many party goers were decked out in their finest garb, women strutting their most painful of high heels and lowest of necklines,  endless bottles of champagne being popped as minutes neared midnight, looking around for the one who might be the lucky recipient of a lingering kiss to welcome in the New Year, I (Bethany Papenbrock) was wiping down a two-top table, claiming my 7% tip left by a sweet but uninformed European couple, hurriedly bussing and resetting my section in an effort to salvage what had been not only my lowest grossing night in the restaurant thus far, but also the most humbling and uneventful birthday eve to date.  As the clock struck midnight, patrons around the restaurant clinked their glasses of cheap champagne offered complimentary by my frugal bosses, a party of boisterous gay men hugged and kissed one another, and I shot down a glass of Kirsch chased with a glass of dry Riesling wallowing in the fact that I was alone in a shitty restaurant in the middle of Times Square with no one to kiss or even think about kissing as the ball dropped, hurrying to get out for the night only to take the slow train back to Brooklyn to swill a couple of whiskeys at my neighborhood pub before retiring to my sub-let studio apartment where all my personal belongings could be contained in two large rolling suitcases.  Meanwhile, my friends were gearing up for the ball drop 3 hours from now on the West Coast in Seattle, drinking at the bar across the street from the apartment that contained my lifetime possessions, but was currently occupied by someone who was nearly a complete stranger to me.   Yes, I was 30, single, unemployed and homeless.  

In this instance it's hard not to reflect back what your life was like at that same moment  just one year ago.  December 31, 2008 started with my friend Matt picking me up early in the morning to head to Crystal Mountain where we skied until our legs were Jello and the lodge had run dry of all alcohol then returned to Seattle.  That night was ushered in by dining on delicious Northwest cuisine complimented by spicy red wine providing warmth from the cold air outside, then followed by plenty of drinks and laughter with friends as we party hopped about Capitol Hill.  Not only was I joyful to be celebrating my birthday and the New Year with great friends, but also celebrating my newly announced promotion as the Lead Producer at the production/creative agency where I worked and, in just three days from then, would be flying to New York to reconnect with friends/clients and spend a week with my French lover before jet setting to China where I'd be responsible for producing a clothing launch/fashion show/documentary premiere/rock show hosted by Nike China.  

This fortune took a turn when my still newly appointed position was eliminated in August of 2008 due to the deteriorating economy and slashing of marketing budgets.  Still hopeful, and perhaps a bit ignorant as to the true current state of the economy, I soldiered on, excited to be returning to my liberating freelance lifestyle.  After all, with my success producing private celebrity birthday parties, star studded charity event, concerts, film festivals, marketing tours, and corporate conferences in New York City, how hard could it be to find freelance work in Seattle???   Ahem, cough....crickets chirping, yeah you know what comes next.

It's now been almost a year that I have been without steady work, and it's been surprisingly one of the most amazing years thus far.  I've conditioned myself to sleep without the nightly Ambien I  previously needed to get myself through the 80 hour work weeks, I own my first plant who is thriving and so green and lush I've named it Verde, and can have a phone call that takes place with me actually sitting in one place, not typing, scribbling notes or running off to catch a flight.  The intent of this blog is to chronicle the year's events (some humorous, some serious and some completely pointless) and how I've learned to keep myself from freaking out about my future; to share my advice on cost cutting dining, travel and entertainment tips to fit the new lifestyle; and to offer ways to productively spend your free days until the bars open.  Of course, since so much has already happened thus far, many of my future posts will be recounting the past, mixed with tellings of the present.  Thanks for reading and hopefully this will help those in similar circumstances relax during this stressful time, encourage those who have jobs to be thankful for their security and encourage prospective employers to HIRE ME, 'cause I'm freakishly good at what I do, know how to stretch your dime on a budget, and like to bring humor and insight to the most stressful of situations.  Enjoy!