Comic Belief

My own bloggable spin on life

Archive for the tag “humor”

My Life in Boxes: Misadventures of Moving

Moving can be an opportunity for a fresh start, leaving behind the stale and insipid interior of one place and getting to reorganize your entire life in a new set of walls. Recently my roommates and I moved from a tiny upstairs apartment, which boasted the impressive view of a Krystal and a run-down car wash, to a much larger house which is better equipped to hold three people, three dogs, and one very destructive cat. However, in our eagerness to move and excitement about the new place, we put off moving until the last minute and were unpleasantly reminded of how moving can be both tedious and chaotic.

Facing the prospect of sorting through all my meaningless junk felt like I had ended up on an episode of Hoarders. There are so many things that you don’t think about until you have to move them; random items that you have tossed carelessly aside or stored in a dark corner of the closet so they would be out of the way until needed, or pieces of furniture that you have taken for granted since they have resided in the same spot for so long that they are now considered part of the physical makeup of the house. None of these items mean anything until you are faced with a seemingly insurmountable pile of miscellaneous clutter collected over several months or years, and must now actually acknowledge their existence. With only a few days to get my stuff together and relocate it, I felt completely lost and overwhelmed, an emotion which I feel can be best related through this picture:

Yes, this is the best comparison of how I felt trying to organize all of my stuff to move — a dog operating a plane.

My idea of organizing is probably not the best plan when trying to move in a short amount of time, mainly because before I pack anything, I have to dump everything out and go through it so I can sort things into piles based of relevance. This is a horrible form of organization because it is time-consuming and inevitably leads to hours spent perusing through papers and objects long-forgotten. My goal was to sort through my desk and distribute the items into neat piles, like so:

-office supplies (staples, paperclips, etc.)

-important papers

-electronics

-writing and art supplies

-recycles

-trash

However, after spending a good hour and a half going through everything, I was surprised at how much useless crap I had managed to shove into the meager two shelves in my desk. Apparently my method of cleaning had been to take whatever I didn’t need at the time and throw it into my desk drawer, shutting it out of site, out of mind. Being ADHD and perhaps subconsciously trying to sabotage any hopes I had of packing, my thought process went something like, “Hey! Let’s go through these old papers you wrote in high school! Ooohh I forgot about this one, I liked this book. Do I still have it? This cord looks important – I wonder what it goes to? Maybe I should look through my closet and see if there’s anything that will fit it.” I also have acquired the unfortunate habit of saving random objects with the intention to use them for crafts or other art projects, a desire which is fueled by Pinterest only to be crushed by my hopeless lack of artistic talent and a lack of motivation. As the sorting continued, the items became more and more random so that rather than a few piles of easily-organized supplies in a neat, organized list like I proposed earlier, I ended up in the middle of my floor surrounded by islands of miscellaneous rubbish which had been sorted into the following categories:

-Various receipts, some dating back to 2010

-instruction manuals for things I no longer owned

-business cards for places I never go

-ribbons

-“office supplies,” which was actually just an clump of rubber bands, multiple sizes of paper clips, tacks, staples, and few flash drives

-bundle of cords, cables, and plugs with no other identification other than they belong to some electronic device, kept in the event that I ever figure out what they go to

-mix CD’s with no labels

-various sizes of screws which probably belong to something important

-memorabilia (tickets, pins, pictures, etc.), kept to preserve emotional sentiment and gather dust

-pile of wine corks (possibly a Pinterest idea at some point)

-assorted beads

-bottles of various medicine

-broken jewelry

-credit cards

THEN it’s time to play everyone’s favorite moving game, “How Much Random Crap Can I Cram Into This Box?” That’s when the mover realizes that the attempt to sort and organize is pointless, and that it would be easier to just shove everything into a box and deal with it later, thus letting the cycle of random junk continue.
Is it just me, or does moving make everyone feel a little insane?

 

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What My Cover Letter Should Really Say

June 24, 2012

Mr. Important Person
Important Company, Inc.
Atlanta, GA -related zip code-

Dear Mr. Important Person,

I am writing to express my interest in ANYTHING that will pay me a substantial amount of money at ANY COMPANY that is willing to hire me to do ANYTHING RELEVANT to my college major and/or life experience. I am not particularly gifted, but hell, if you’re willing to pay me, I can learn. My strengths include the ability to go without sleep for long periods of time in order to get work accomplished despite the fact that I end up resembling a meth-addicted zombie by the end of it, the ability to manipulate anything written to make it sound appealing whether I am knowledgeable in the subject or not, and extensive computer proficiency due to a solid eight years of procrastinating from homework by wasting countless hours on the internet.

If you are still reading this, which I doubt you are since you probably have letters to read from applicants who are actually qualified for this position, I would like to direct you to my resume, which is a brilliant masterpiece of the written word. Seriously, you should hire me solely based on fact that I made waiting tables sound like a professional art form. In all seriousness, putting up with customers in a restaurant more than qualifies me for so-called “customer relations.” Anyone can talk on the phone; I can look straight at a customer who is treating me as if I just tried to poison them because I brought out the wrong salad dressing and, with a smile on my face, say, “Oh, I’m sorry for that inconvenience, sir. Is there anything else I can get you?” even though in my head I want to find the nearest sharp object and stab him in the face with it. That’s focus under pressure, and I guarantee that makes me just as capable of dealing with people as someone who has sat behind a cubicle answering phones for the past five years.

As for a candidate with organizational skills, you can’t get more organized than someone with clinically diagnosed Obsessive Compulsive Disorder! You’ll never have to worry about losing a file, a memo, or as much as a PAPERCLIP ever again, since clutter affects me much like the Overlook Hotel affects Jack Torrence in The Shining. I organize everything from my clothes to random receipts from three years ago that I might for some reason need and don’t want to risk throwing away, so you’d never have to worry about some irresponsible dunce who might lose something. My attention to detail far exceeds that of a normal, sane person, and I would apply this knack of noticing things such as layers of dust on the underside of tables and stray pieces of string hanging from strangers’ clothing to correcting grammatical errors on important documents and analyzing marketing trends. Remember, I’m not just qualified—I’m diagnosed!

In conclusion, I would like to emphasize my main point, which is that I am completely and honestly desperate. I can learn just about anything if you pay me, and I will slave away doing mindless paperwork because I have student loans to pay off and IKEA furniture to purchase. Please have mercy upon my broke college graduate soul and grant me an interview so that I may dazzle you in-person with my charming personality and wit, which will surely secure me the position much more than a written letter could. Thank you for your consideration, although you likely have not considered a single thing but I have imagined you doing so anyway to keep me from becoming completely depressed and jumping off a bridge. Please call me. Seriously.

Yours with a Good Starting Salary and Decent Benefits,

Hannah Fowler
317 Still-Living-Here Rd.
Rome-Feel-Like-I’m-Gonna-Be-Here-Forever, GA 30161
dem digits
dat email

Now What?

I’ve always known that an English major was not directly associated with a promising career path, usually conjuring the image of the unsuccessful-yet-still-pretentious writer or, on the other end of the spectrum, the assumption of grad school to further the English major to make it more, well, useful. Almost every single time when someone asked me about my major, it would go something like this:

Random Person approaches me and attempts to make small talk about life, which inevitably leads to the question, “So, what’s your major?”

“I’m an English major,” I declare confidently, as I’m sure the connotation of my major must entail the long hours of research and detailed literature analyses which have made me so vastly intelligent.

“Oh,” Random Person replies with a slight raise of the eyebrows, “So you’re going to teach?”

This is the point where I either want to slam my face into my hand in frustration, or slam my hand into the other person’s face for being so presumptuous. After a while I got used to this response, so I say with as much enthusiasm as possible, “No, I actually like to write.”

“Aah,”Random Person says with an unmistakeable look of concern. “So you’re gonna, like, write books or something?”

Feigning as much confidence as possible, I respond, “Well, maybe one day, but I’m realistic enough to know I need a paycheck. I actually want to do editing and publishing in Atlanta or something.”

This is usually where the topic of my major ends, and the only response Random Person can usually muster is a repeated nod of the head and an, “Oooh, OK.”

As much as I try to convey the interesting qualities of pouring over documents and meticulously correcting grammatical errors, Random Person has already mentally condemned me to failure in the writing world, assuming that my only option is to teach. One nurse who I told about my major skipped the formality of questioning my career altogether, saying, “Oh, an English major? What grade are you going to teach?” Not that there’s anything wrong with being a teacher, as my entire family is full of them and they’re all brilliant, but aside from something I’d want to do abroad, I’ve never really been drawn to it. So, having graduated from college with a big fancy BACHELOR’S DEGREE, I assumed that it was time to find a stable editing or writing job in Atlanta with opportunities to interact with important authors and publishers and eventually move my way up to success as an independent young writer in the city.

“Wrong” might be something of an understatement. First of all, there is no such thing as an entry-level writing job. They are a complete myth, ranked with fairies, Bigfoot, and Diet Dr. Pepper, and anyone who says otherwise has either never looked for a job or is playing a cruel joke on you to get your hopes up so that you’ll finish school. It doesn’t help that I get my hopes up like a small child on Christmas Eve, and when I’m let down it’s like reality is slapping me in the face…with my degree. I felt accomplished enough just by completing my resume, and felt even more encouraged as I continued to apply for jobs online. Cover letter after cover letter of my “qualifications” and “experience” really just translated into “I’m desperate and I can write. Please hire me,” but since most of the jobs I’ve applied for require at least 2 years of experience, I’ve had little luck so far. Several times I’ve checked my email and my face has lit up with excitement at the words “Job Opportunity” or “We Reviewed Your Resume,” but upon closer inspection, all of them have been offering me various sales positions. Nothing wrong with sales, of course, but I did not go to college for four years and sign my life away to student loans to have a career in something I don’t care about.

SO, until then I will be writing as much online as possible when I have time. Articles, blogs, whatever it takes to build a portfolio, get my writing out there, and gain as much experience as possible. I may be a starving writer for a while, but at least I’m still a writer.

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