Unemployment induced ADD

We've all heard stories of people whose lives have changed for the better due to their recent unemployment.  One moment they think it's the end of the world, but end up following their heart, trading in their corner office for a barn turned cannery - yes, just like Diane Keaton in the beloved 80s flick Baby Boom.   A friend of mine recently shared this link to a movie trailer based on people who've been laid off in the advertising world, so I found it particularly touching: 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wJltcT7DH7g.

However, the difference between those people and myself is that I've never always wanted to anything.  And those things I've kind of thought about doing, I never pursue.  Take the decoration in the corner of my apartment for example, aka: my guitar.  Ever since my mother's 40th birthday party when she and her friend strummed and harmonized to "Leaving on a Jet Plane" and "Puff the Magic Dragon" (and I danced around in a leotard and skirt with a lampshade on my head - hey i was 8), I've always wanted to learn.  Over the years, I've taught myself a few chords and can even pick out a song or two, but in no means would I say I "play" the guitar.   But then on the other hand, three years ago I got a crazy whim that I wanted to learn to surf.  I was visiting some friends in Portland  and we were taking a trip out to the Oregon coast that is known for their great surf.  Next thing you know, I was searching for board and wetsuit rentals and begging my friend's super hot surfing buddy for a lesson.  After only a few hours of getting tangled up in waves, taking in mouthfuls of salt water and barely avoiding hypothermia, I was determined to master this sport, or at least stand up on the board and catch one wave on my own.  So much in fact, that when I got back to New York I found myself searching for adult surf camps.  Within only a few weeks, I booked a trip to the Canary Islands to spend a week on a remote beach on an island off the coast of Morocco, living in a surf house with 10 dudes (half of which didn't barely spoke English) and two girls, and training 5 hours a day at the beach learning to shred some waves.  

So when I found myself in this new city with no work, I asked myself that big profound question of "what have I always wanted to do."  I couldn't honestly come up with one thing, but I did come up with a long list of possibilities that sounded great at the time such as:

- Switch over from event into film production

- Move onto the Ad world and get a job at an agency or perhaps even in house at a lame corporate company

- Leave the stress of production all together and wait tables or barista at a coffee shop

- Go ski bum in Aspen

- Go ski bum in Whistler

- Go surf bum in Mexico (which i did for a short while)

- Become a nanny 

- Open my own market

- Move back to new york

- Write a cookbook for health conscience business women who are always on the go and never home long enough to warrant a refrigerator full of fresh produce

- Make fig jam and sell it to local markets

- Be an events manager at a high end hotel in Hawaii (or other beach resort) 

There were all these ideas swimming in my head which, depending on my mood and the number of drinks I'd consumed, at one point or another seemed like the perfect idea and exactly what I should be doing with my life.  I remember my father saying, after I'd run the New York Marathon, that I could do anything I put my mind to.  But the problem is, I can't put my mind to anything right now.  I mean, I putting it to everything, but not committing to one thing (which ties in to my commitment fears which I'm sure will come up again in a later post).  In this frustrating bout of ADD I decided to give myself a mental test...just to see if I could still achieve anything I put my mind to.  So I decided to start easy, with a change in my dietary routine which was desperately needed after a month of traveling, eating out every meal and consuming multiple drinks each night while catching up with friends.  The test was to go a week with no meat, no dairy, no booze and no caffeine. 

So far I'm on day 4 and, despite the two hour nap in the middle of the day, I'm beginning to have some mental clarity.  By day three I'd come to realize that the reason I don't pursue the things I've always wanted to do, is because i'm afraid of failing.  Since I've thought about the guitar for so long, I'd be really bummed to find out that I have no skill whatsoever.  But with surfing, it was just a cool thing to do at the time, so if I failed it was no big deal because I wasn't emotionally invested in it.  Which brought me some clarity on my list of career options.  The one thing on that list I've wanted to do longer than anything else on that list was to open my own market...or retail store in general.  It actually came from that same trip to Portland when I went surfing for the first time.  I was driving through the barely developed SouthEast with my friend's super hot surfing buddy, when I had the idea to open my own clothing store featuring local designers and local art.  When I moved to Seattle it morphed slightly after taking a trip to Eastern Washington and driving through wine country.    

After my big realization, I felt so energized and invincible that I decided to put my $10 gift certificate to Elliot Bay books  to good use (a thank you from my volunteering with the Seattle Girls School, one positive thing I did with my unemployment time) and purchase my first book on opening my own retail business.  So far I am only on page 8, but I've started conducting my own research and have even thought of a name and clear niche to give my business an edge in this bitter economy.  

While I'm still looking for production opportunities, mainly longer term freelance gigs in Seattle, New York, Vancouver, wherever... I'm going to make it a point to dedicate a portion of each day brainstorming my market and schooling myself on the processes for opening my own business.  For all of you who become a follower of my blog, you'll be invited to my big private opening and even receive a special one of kind gift...hint, hint follow my blog;)  And as for the diet regiment, I still have 3 days and 4 nights to go, so I'll keep you posted.  Who knows, if I keep having these clear visions, I may never drink again...but I haven't quite put my mind to that yet.  

Cupid is the New Monster

These days we use the internet for everything - buying concert tickets, groceries and rare collectibles; booking travel; connecting with friends and old classmates; looking up random facts; streaming porn and hocking our wares.  It's no wonder that we also rely on the web for job searching and dating.  Two uses I've become very familiar with over the past year.  I had grown accustomed to my morning ritual of browsing the local Craigslist wanted ads, followed by a cruise through MediaBistro and various other career sites in hopes of landing my dream job.  Instead, however, I was faced with the standard corporate marketing/press crap postings spewing long lists of prerequisites that sounded as foreign to me as Swahili despite the fact that I've worked in the industry for over six years now.  None of them seemed to challenge my capabilities or were near as exciting as the gigs I've had in the past, traveling the country and world for some top clients. Though I figured that some of them could possibly be a good "for now" job.  All the while still banking on the fact that one of my past clients would come through for me, or that one of the other "hot" agencies in town that I'd rubbed elbows with in the past, would eventually get more work and finally have a place for me in house.  Though with this crappy economy, most of the agencies, if they weren't laying off, were holding on tight to those in house producers spreading them thin by having them do the job of 5 people, putting me on the back burner.

One day, while conducting my job search online, I actually read one of the flashy banner ads on the side of my computer, telling me that they could help me find love in 6 months or my money back .  First I found it odd that I would have to pay to find love, after all, I thought the best things in life were free.  But then seeing as how everything also comes at a price, decided that maybe it wasn't so bad, especially if they were pairing it with a guarantee.  I mean, none of these jobs sites were offering such a promising deal.   Curious, I browsed through some of the local singles in my area, but wasn't terribly excited by any of the prospects.  In fact, I became more discouraged than I already was with the dating scene in Seattle.  You see, I have a theory that 3/4 of the men in Seattle are gay, and those who aren't are still 3/4 gay.  This theory is mostly based on the high population of gay men in liberal Seattle (especially on Capitol Hill where I live) and also on the fact that many of the men are incredibly vain and insanely passive.  This makes it extremely difficult for outgoing, strong willed, single women such a myself to be approached by men, let alone find one suitable for dating in this relatively small city (compared to New York that is).  

I decided to take this topic to my friends and get their feedback.  I was astonished to find that most of my friends had tried online dating at some point and even found their significant others using this process.   I've never felt as though I was looking for a relationship since I've proven over the years, that I don't NEED anyone to help me with mundane household chores or to make me happy.  But after hearing their encouraging words, concluding that if nothing else, it was a chance to meet some interesting people and have a few stories to tell, I figured why the hell not and set out to find the site most compatible with me...a fete in itself .  Match.com seemed a little too marriagy for me- still not there yet.  The women seemed desperate as if their ovaries were aching and the men were  either the cliche computer, techy nerds bearing no social skills whatsoever, or the men I had been running into all over town but never had the balls to ask a girl out to her face.  However, I thought that site boasted by Seattle's alternative local newspaper offered a suitable array of men with similar interests as my self and who all seemed to be just trying this thing out, not making it their way of life.   While many of my  New York friends raved about the free site Okcupid.com.  So I signed up for both!  Figuring, since I had ample time on my hands, I might as well give it a whirl.  

I carefully filled in all the appropriate boxes mixing equal parts intelligence, sass, wit, and charm without sounding the least bit desperate.   Maybe I could find a fellow freelancing (err, unemployed) creative professional or someone who worked nights to spend their days with me accompanying me on the couch while I conducted my employment search or on fun filled day trips to the many places in Seattle I've not yet been.  Or, better yet, someone who to conspire with me on a few of my "big ideas" or just a rich sugar daddy to whisk me away on world excursions or to fund my market that I so desperately want to open (more on that in a later post).  

Within the first two days, I'd received approximately 32 responses, only two of which were worthy of 5 seconds of my time to reply "thanks, but no thanks."     Finally,after weeks of disappointment, there came one that sounded promising...age appropriate, chef, lived off The Hill, and had traveled the world.  When he asked me to play hooky with him on a Monday by meeting him at Golden Gardens I was already smitten.  We agreed to meet on by the swings in the afternoon then possibly go for a boozy lunch, something we'd both picked up from living in Europe.  By the time I arrived at the park, he was waiting on the swings, staring intently as I parked my scooter and removed my helmut, quickly looking me over deciding if he was going to bolt.  Luckily he wasn't too frightened, because he was still perched in his swing when I approached him, shook his hand and took the swing next to his, shuffling my feet in the sand, twisting awkwardly in my too small of swing making me instantly self conscience as to the size of my butt.  Physically, my first impression was not bad.   Height weight proportionate (especially since I like just a little extra something to snuggle up to), sexy deep brown eyes and a simple, slightly dirty, white t-shirt and khaki cargo shorts that showed he's a bit of a worker and who could probably help hang shelves or fix a leak if I needed (tough I'm not one to ever admit that I need help).   Perhaps his sunglasses were a little douchey and his teeth yellowed from way too much smoking,  but overall, not bad.  He was easy to talk to which quickly set me mind at ease from him possibly being some social outcast.  He wasn't too touchy or staring at my chest, so I was pretty certain that he was a total pervert.  

Our conversation flowed easily, mainly because I was asking a lot of questions.  He didn't seem to mind doing most of the talking and I was okay with not talking about myself, my lack of work, or my lack of long term relationship in the past...oh...8 years.  Though the first warning sign occurred within the first 5 minutes of conversation when he answered my question about his working as a personal chef in Spain with a "we" when it clearly only warranted an "I" response.  So after a few more "we" responses, I decided it was perfectly acceptable for me to inquire about this "we".  Perhaps he was a mammas boy, had a best travel bud, or even a dog that he lived with and accompanied him on his journeys. But, just as I suspected, the "we" was in fact an ex-girlfriend of 5 years with whom he'd broken up with 6 months prior.  Despite his many efforts to reassure me he was "over her", it didn't take Dr. Phil to realize that clearly he was not.  Of course my naive self saw this as a challenge, believing that possibly I could be the one open his eyes to fact that his ex had been a selfish and lost soul living off mommy and daddy at, get this, 43 years of age, and that there were cute, fun, spontaneous, self-sufficient women out there as young and fresh as 30.  

The date continued well and we ended up grabbing a few drinks before he decided that, instead of going out to eat, he was going to dazzle me with his culinary skills.  After that date, we continued to hang out quite a bit, but developed a very odd relationship.  We talked  A LOT about his ex-girlfriend and I was clearly taking on the good friend/confidant role, but then we'd be cuddled up on a blanket by the lake or on my couch smooching and tenderly stroking one another's back, arm, hand, hair.  Needless to say, it was confusing, especially since he insisted on telling me about the other girls he had gone out with...though none of them more than once.  Only I had was great enough to have received that honor (enter sarcastic look/tone here).  True, I had been on other dates as well during our time together, but none that panned out or that I was going to tell him about.  It was obvious that I was the one giving in this relationship and he was reaping the benefits - buying his drinks, packing our picnics, offering advice on getting over the ex, and lending the keys to my apartment while I was out of town...oh, did I mention he was in between apartments as well?   Why was I giving so much and settling for so little?  Had the past year of no work lowered my self esteem so much that I was willing to settle for a one-off home cooked dinner and a few kisses?  Even though they were darn good kisses.   Luckily the situation resolved itself when he left town for the summer and I got back my self respect.  

If you know me at all, you know that I'm not one to give up easily and will pursue what I put my mind to no matter how ridiculous the cause.   Yes, I was that girl who tried to swallow a tablespoon of cinnamon, without water or liquid to wash it down, when double-dared at a slumber party proving that it can in fact be done, though I strongly advise against it.  So I got back on the dating wagon in hopes of finding someone more substantial than prospect #1.  I met neurotics, vegans, drama kings, cliche passive aggressive Seattlites and one passive-aggressive neurotic vegan who constantly sought drama.  It was this unappetizing combo who finally knocked some sense into me.  That sense being that if you really want to find happiness in love and in work, you're not going to find it online.  Though the internet is a great place to find a slap chop, a mint condition Snoopy Sno-Cone machine and your 7th grade boyfriend who is now a bouncer at a gay goth bar in downtown Dayton, it is not a place to find your soulmate or your dream career.  Those are two things that require good ole fashioned dedication, networking and, gasp, human interaction.   You must put in face time with people who know you and all the wonderful things that separate you from the masses.  You have to trust that they have your best interest in mind and may be able to see an opportunity that you don't.   And, though it may pain you to admit it, you just might have to ask those people for help along the way.  After all, while you might be able to hang a shelf yourself, it takes someone else to tell you if you're holding it in the right spot.  

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!