King County Metro: Ruining my day one busride at a time.

I ride this thing everywhere:

Looks harmless enough, right? Kind of clean, sort of happy with downtown Seattle in the background. Inviting, it looks like a cozy little tube ready to take me wherever I want to go. Of course it’s public transportation, but how bad can it really be? When I first came to Seattle I was terrified of the bus. I had no idea which one to take, when it would come or where it would take me. I wasn’t sure which stops were sketchy (cough, 3rd and Pine is still terrifying after dark I don’t care who says otherwise, cough), and I refused to transfer for fear of missing the bus I was trying to transfer to. King County Metro tries to make it easy, but fails, because the buses are never on-time and half the time so crowded they pass me by in the pouring down rain.

I’ve definitely gotten over my fear of public transportation, and all negative things aside I still faithfully take the bus. I cherish my discounted flex pass like it’s one of my children, and use it enough to pay for itself twice over. But I swear to you, shit happens to me on the bus that doesn’t happen to anyone else. I think I attract crazies, no joke. I might as well be wearing a sign that says:

“Do you smell weird? Do you have an inane phrase you like to repeat over and over again in an inappropriately loud voice? Would you like to sit way too close to me and stare? Well come on down, there’s a seat right next to me just for you!”

Today I was minding my own business after I finished interning for the day. It was two in the afternoon, a reasonably safe time of day to be boarding the bus at the Pioneer Square station. But of course, some weirdie gets on the bus, sits next to me (there are seats everywhere) and proceeds to take the snotty tissues he has out of his pockets and line them up in his laugh (unfolding them, ew). Then he proceeds to periodically tap me on the shoulder and make weird faces at me for the duration of the ride from Pioneer Square to the U-District. I seriously contemplated getting off 10 blocks early in the pouring down rain, but he finally moved when I obviously started to bore him.

The other day, I was sitting on the bus after I got off work at Express, exhausted, and some guy gets on the bus, sits down, and stares at me while wiggling his tongue out of his mouth every few minutes. The dude was like a human snake of some sort. Then, every time a guy got on the bus he’d look at them and give them the gun sign (you know, like make a gun with your fingers and point it at people) with this crazy look in his eyes.

Another time, a guy got on the bus and yelled at everyone that he had a flute for sale. The dialogue went a little something like this:

Crazy Flute Man: HEY! Does anyone play the flute on this bus?!
awkward silence, throat clearing
Crazy Flute Man (to me): Hey you! Lady! Lady in the jacket! Do you wanna buy this here flute!? I made it! From wood!
I shift uncomfortably in my seat and try to absorb into the window
Crazy Flute Man: It’s gen-you-wine wood! Five dollars! Crazy Flute Man demonstrates flute, playing everyone on the bus a little diddy that sounded like a frantic rendition of “Hot Cross Buns”
Random Bus Guy: If I buy the flute will you shut up?
Conversation continues until I get off the bus; contains banter about birthdays and Christmas gifts as well as various types of wood

I kid you not, shit like this happens to me all the time — these are just a few accounts of the many ridiculous bus rides I’ve taken lately. I wear headphones, stare out the window and generally have an air about me that screams “stay the hell away from me,” and yet they just keep comin’.

I suppose this all explains why when tourists ask me how to get from the museum to “point B” and I tell them to take “such-and-such” bus they look at me like I’ve captured their first-born. Personally, I really appreciate the bus, it saves me from paying 10 bucks a day just to park my car in an overpriced, threatening-looking parking lot downtown. But just one day, I’d like to sit in peace. With a few normal people around me. My roommate says I just attract creepy people. That explains so much about the single-ness, I guess.

I do declare, someone has a baditude.

I found this little gem today:

Original Video – More videos at TinyPic

Please disregard the shitty video editing and bad voice-overs. I did this craptastic video for a journalism class I took during my last semester; it was probably one of the hardest and most time-consuming projects I did in college. It’s between that and my stupid PR 412 class that ate up my life. Anyway, the clip just made me feel fuzzy inside, that’s all. So I thought I’d re-share.

I have 22 hours at work next week! I’m so excited to be able to pay my bills this month. Except, “dun dun dun,” I have to work Black Friday. I’m thinking it will be more entertaining than anything else, though. Putting the store back together is going to blow. This is what my life has become. Minimum wage, customer service and folding. No, seriously. Think twice before you wander into a clothing store and decide that today is the day you’re going to pick things up and randomly place them in weird places throughout the store because you decided you didn’t want them. At LEAST throw them in the general vicinity of where you got them in the first place. It would make my feet/head hurt a lot less. And it would get me out of the store earlier than 10 p.m. when we close at 8. The bus tunnel at Westlake is a little freaky at 10 p.m. all by yourself, just saying.

Also: Tomorrow is my Danelle’s 22nd birthday. I think we’re becoming grown-ups now. I don’t really particularly want to be a grown-up yet, but it looks like Danelle’s birthday is the first of my childhood friends to remind me of its inevitability. I suppose I was supposed to start being a grown-up about 6 months ago, but it hasn’t kicked in yet. Thank God. But anyway, it’s her birthday. So we’re going to dinner and making a cake after I get done with my internship tomorrow. Hopefully it’ll be a nice pick-me-up for the rest of the week until Lauren comes up.

I should sleep. I don’t do that enough.

the hotel industry is not for amanda

I had an interview today for a job at a hotel that bribed me to come to the interview with talk of benefits and full-time work. Unfortunately for the job, I’m more stubborn and less easily impressed than the average bear. Working all holidays (Christmas Eve, Christmas, etc.), grocery shopping for guests and wearing a blazer/scarf combo with bad shoes doesn’t sound like my cup of tea. I’d rather be poor and like my life. I also am really waiting for something to come around that I want to be doing. I value being happy much more than being rich; though being rich in the future along with being happy will definitely be a perk. Emphasis on the word will, because it’s going to happen.

Today I was perusing blogs of ex-Evergreeners, most of whom I don’t know personally — I’ve just heard fairytales about how awesome and great they were and how I’d never live up to any of them. Which is true, some of these people were better writers than I will be in the at least immediate future. Anyway, I was checking out one in particular and couldn’t help but wonder if I’m cut out to just up and move away for work. I’m not sure I’m cut out for New York — I barely like Seattle half the time — but sometimes I wish I had the balls to just leave. And besides leaving, I’m not sure I have the guts to metaphorically elbow my way into getting an awesome job. My very, very best friend, Danelle, keeps telling me I’m ballsy, I just forget sometimes. Maybe I do have it in me. Time will tell I suppose.

On another note:

I hate when my guy friends ask me to hook them up with my girl friends. Where’s mine? Call me selfish, but I’ve been quite patient and no one is getting my charity until something good happens for me. And that’s that.

One other note:

Lauren is coming to visit me this weekend! We’re going to go be Twilight nerds and see New Moon on Sunday night. Go ahead and make fun of me, but at least I’ve read the books first.

Bloggers will be the death of me.

Today I had to continue to send out pitches at my internship. It was SO WEIRD to be on the other end of the phone doing follow-ups instead of receiving them and secretly making fun of whatever PR woman was on the other end of the phone. I was the PR woman this time. It pained me a little. I’m still not used to this PR thing. I want to write the stories, not ask people to write them for me. Maybe I need to get into event planning or promotions instead. I actually would really like to get into promotions; unfortunately so would everyone else vying for a position in the real world right now.

Oh, and through all of this PR stuff I’ve discovered I hate bloggers. Not the kind of blogger I am — the kind who just rant about life and generally speaking have no agenda. No, I can’t stand the kind who assume they’re credible, legitimate news sources just because they’ve slapped a witty title across the top of the page and write about about “important stuff” and “pressing issues.” Then, the public (because people usually aren’t on their a-game, to put it softly) believes everything they read, failing to take note that blogs are strictly full of opinion (with few exceptions). It’s like the whole world has turned into one big gossip mill.

I’m not saying blogs are the spawn of Satan or anything, I just wish people were smarter. I wish people used discretion a little better. We need to have opinions; we have to question each other and keep each other in check. But it’s so frustrating to watch blogs, where any Joe Shmeggegie can post his rant and call it news, replace facts.

I love the newspaper. I like to read the words on paper. I like when my fingers are charcoal-colored when I’m finished flipping through the pages. I like reading the front page story on my lunch breaks at work. I love break-out boxes — especially good ones. I think online versions of newspapers are indeed necessary to stay up to date and timely, but there’s nothing better than a well written story laid-out paper in front of me. No awkward formatting, no weird page breaks. I like the crossword puzzle. When I was writing, there was nothing more gratifying than seeing my name in print in a byline — I like to imagine writers (even the seasoned ones) still get that ping of pride when they see their name in a print byline. I’m sad the general public doesn’t feel the same way I do. If they did, I’d have a real, paying job doing what I’ve wanted to do for so long.

Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of good things about online versions of newspapers. Multimedia is sometimes a much more powerful tool than using words alone. But I just love newspapers. Call me old-fashioned.

I think tonight is going to be one of those “go-to-my-room-and-not-come-out-til-morning” nights.

Olive Garden coma

My bright idea today was to not eat all day and then gorge on Olive Garden because I’m broke and my dad took my whole family out to dinner for my sister’s birthday. I decided that since I’m so broke and never get food anymore I should eat as much as I could. Now I feel like I’m going to barf. So that’s good.

This weekend went way too fast. I came down to Tacoma to stay at my parents house (thought I have yet to actually sleep here) and it’s been pretty much non-stop since I got here. I love Tacoma though. I don’t care what anyone says about it being ghetto. It’s great. And it’s home. Unfortunately I got so comfortable and happy that I completely forgot to call in to work to tell them I got my shift covered and now I’m most likely on their shit list. So, that’ll be fun to deal with tomorrow. Ugh, don’t even get me started about jobs. I can’t even talk about it without getting mad. I know people on unemployment who are making more money than me. Lots more.

Grocery shopping tomorrow, on the bright side. Free food and maybe boots if i bat my eyes enough. Yay!

She don’t wanna man. She just wants to dance.

I live with a couple. That’s fine. I mean it sucks but it’s fine. Except now my other “single” roommate is all of a sudden not so single and has some girl visiting for like weeks on end. WEEKS. They’re all shut off from the world and antisocial now. And now whenever I come home it’s couple, couple, Amanda. Like duck, duck, goose. I’m the goose. Oh, and we have one bathroom.

So all this couple-y bullshit floating around me lately has pushed some buttons and triggered some thoughts about why I’m single. People ask why I’m always single (because that’s a completely reasonable question, but that’s beside the point). Why I’m not trying hard enough. Why I don’t just walk up to some shmeggegie and make him like me. I hate those questions. As if I knew why I was single. I have no idea. People always say it’s some subconscious thing where I actually don’t want a relationship. I think it’s probably some combination of that and my angry eyes and unapproachable demeanor. I used to pine over it and be all “Oh man I wish I had a boyfriend. Man. This sucks. Jeez.” So instead, today at work while I was dancing to bad remixes of Black Eyed Peas and folding the same shirt 17 times, I made a list in my head of all the rad things that I get by being single. I figure instead of being all “Oh woe is me” there has to be some good in it. Plus, my internship has made me REALLY good at lists, since that’s all I do.

Here’s the list, in no particular order:

1. I don’t have to tell anyone what I’m doing at any given time. I do what I want, when I want. It doesn’t matter if I don’t answer the phone or texts or fall off a cliff.

2. I get the whole bed to myself. I could sleep like a starfish and it wouldn’t matter. And I do.

3. I get to flirt with anyone and everyone I want to. Including the guys who come into work. Including the ones whose girlfriends won’t leave them alone for four seconds. This makes me grateful to be single. No one wants a shadow. Including me.

4. I don’t bore my single friends with annoying boyfriend stories.

5. “Babe” and “baby” are not in my vocabulary. There’s nothing worse than those freaks who wander around in public yelling “BABE. BABE. BABY. HEY….BABE. BABE.” Barf.

6. If I want to dress like a slut no one can tell me not to. Not that I do this, but it’s always a possibility.

7. I have friends. Pretty great ones. Who like me. I’m the shit. Why? Because I know how to party still. Once you get all involved you forget how to party.

Those are the ones I could come up with before realizing me making said list is probably slightly pathetic. But what’s a single girl in a big city supposed to do when people ask why she’s single? Everyone’s like, “There’s guys everywhere!” No. There are douches, jerks, assholes, uglies, crazies, borings and oldies everywhere. Yes, I’m crazy picky. I’m also 21 years old and want to have a good time. Now, if I found someone else who was in the same boat…we’d be in business. But that’d probably get messy.

So that’s it. That’s my rant about life right now. I’m tired of hearing sex in my house all the time and being perma-fifth wheel, and it’s driven me to post this to try to feel better. I think it came off more whiny than anything, but it’s my blog and I do what I want.

Oh, and I don’t even like cats.

Laundry avoidance.

I really suck at keeping up with this blog thing. In college I blogged at least once or twice a week because I was always sitting at a computer killing time working. Now I do things like stand on my feet for 12 hours answering stupid questions and sucking up.

I ended up getting a job in retail. Unfortunately I think I’m good at it. So now I’m working at EMP and at Express and making almost no money because I’m interning fo’ free at Barokas PR on top of the both of those jobs. I’m working about 45 hours a week but getting paid for less than 30. Minimum wage. Being paid minimum wage in Seattle after getting a bachelor’s degree is insulting.

It does, however, feel amazing to be interning again. I just wish there was more writing involved. I make a lot of lists. I dream about Excel spreadsheets. I had to e-mail something out the other day that had four exclamation points in it. FOUR. I almost passed out. I guess that’s PR. Everyone’s REALLY REALLY excited and likes to use CAPS LOCK and WOOOO EXCLAMATION POINTS!!!! I have to remember I’m not a journalist anymore. I’m not sure I was ever a very good one to begin with, though, so maybe it’s good that I’m doing PR. You know when you look back at stuff you’ve written and it sounds juvenile and stupid? Coulda, shoulda, woulda.

Anyway, the plan is if things don’t come together by February or so, I’m moving back home and starting from square one again. It’s silly to scrape by, pay Seattle rent and owe people money all the time when I could just be living for free, saving up money and applying for jobs everywhere at my parents house. Even though living with my parents is typically a huge disaster. At least they feed me.

Plus, living in Seattle isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. People aren’t nice. They’re not mean, either, but they’re not nice. Seattleites keep to themselves and tend to ignore the newbies. Seattleites also think they’re superior to everyone around them, including other Seattleites. Or they’re hipsters and smoke a lot of cigarettes, drink a lot of coffee and are vegan. Or they’re homeless. And I don’t have anything against homeless people, except those wandering the streets screaming crazy shit and then expecting change. The creepy-homeless-guy thing is starting to get old.

Anyway the point is, there’s no happy medium between stuck-up Seattleite/hipster-douche and homeless person. If there is, I haven’t found one. I’m thinking I need to move.

Oh, and everyone shits on Cougs. And that pisses me off. And Huskies don’t know how to party. Which also pisses me off.

Anyway, to end this on some sort of high note that I can try to scrape out of the bottom of my soul…

I get to go visit my loves in Tacoma this weekend. And see my mommy. You’re never too old to be excited to see your mommy.

Blog Lull

I contemplated deleting this whole blog just now. I’m not sure how professional it is. Then I remembered I work at a museum as a slave visitor services representative and I’m interviewing on Friday for an evening position as a second job at a noodle bar. Professional, shmomessional.

Oh yeah, noodle bar. Unfortunately I can barely pay my rent right now — such is life.

On the bright side, I moved into a quite cute new house in the U-District (barf, huskies everywhere) with two guys and a girl whom I enjoy a lot. It’s way nicer than my last house and is actually clean most of the time. It’s awesome. I might be in over my head, but who cares I suppose. Right now, Andrew (roommate) is making gnocchi. Yeah, apparently you can make that at home. He made bread yesterday. From scratch. I know. I shall call him Suzie.

I want to write. At this point I don’t care if I get paid for it.

I miss you, Evergreen. And Rikki King. And various staffers bellowing “ADP” across the halls. I miss really, really belonging somewhere, actually.

SAP.

I’m going to need a crane to get me out of this rut.

In high school I chugged along, overachieving and being involved in an innappropriate number of activities, stretching myself so thin sometimes I look back and wonder how I even woke up in the morning. I was doing it so I could get into a good college and do big exciting things. I used to dream of going to the east coast or some other big-wig college, however I ended up at WSU in the end. Finances got in the way as they do for so many kids. But I made the best of it, and I worked (and played) hard. I graduated. I have a college degree. I consider myself a pretty bright person with a good amount of common sense and a drive to do something big. And yet, I’m stuck. 

How this even makes sense confuses me. Everyone keeps telling me to give it time and things will come through but I feel like I’ve been trying so hard to make something out of myself to no avail. My internship’s over. Now I work at a museum, selling tickets to people who have better jobs than me but less brains. People who treat me like I’m some absent-minded college kid who has no direction in life. People who ask me questions like, “So, where’s Grey’s Anatomy filmed?” and then expect me to take them seriously. I’ve taken about a hundred steps back and I don’t know where to go from here. It’s so frustrating.

Now, my lease is up at my house in 3 weeks and I have no idea where I’m going to go. I can’t find a place I can afford on the mediocre paychecks I get, but going back to my parents house makes me feel like I messed up.

The moral of this story? Don’t ever graduate. Just stay in college forever. Sure, homework blows and some professors are sad excuses for teachers, but at least there you feel like you’re doing something more than living paycheck to paycheck for nothing more than to pay your bills and do it all over again.

</pity party>

Skinny jeans and organic food

Thursday was the last day of my first public relations internship, and I have to say … I’m a little sad.

No, I wasn’t getting paid. No, I never saw my name on anything I wrote. And no, I didn’t even get gas money when I had to run errands.

But it was a really rad experience, summed up by the really rad recommendation my boss wrote for me. All that crap you put up with as an unpaid intern is completely worth it to hear you’re a great writer and a bright person. Totally. Worth. It.  

Now, if I could just get the billion other agencies I’ve applied to to realize how awesome and fabulous I am. I have barely even gotten so much as a “Hey. Sorry, no.” back from anyone. I don’t think it has anything to do with the economy, I think it has to do with my luck blowing.

Honestly, I have no idea what I want to even be when I grow up. I do know, however, that I REALLY want this super cute townhouse I found on Crown Hill for $500 a month and if I don’t find a job in the next week it’s going to get snatched up. Regardless. I’d basically be happy just to be making enough money so I can pay my bills on time and stop getting phone calls from collections.

Yay, college graduate.

On the bright side, my poorness has forced me to ride the bus and eat a lot of veggies. I can’t seem to give up that Dr. Pepper addiction, though. Sorry, teeth. I’ve also managed to purchase two pairs of skinny jeans, the most organic food I’ve ever even thought about buying in my life and haven’t listened to the radio in weeks. I also dyed my hair dark brown and now wear a hoop in my nose, because my stud kept falling out.

Living in Seattle is morphing me, slowly but surely, into a Seattleite. Which I’m not incredibly stoked about, as Rikki King would be dissapointed in me. I believe when I left school she told me, “You better not go to Seattle and get all hipster.”

I don’t think I’m a hipster, Rikki. Not yet. Though the black skinny jeans aren’t doing me any favors.

I do love Seattle though. Sometimes I need breaks and have to go down to Tacoma just for a breather, but I really love it here. I’d love it even more if my kitchen was always clean and I could remember to defrost chicken in the morning before work, but that’s another story.