Movin' On Up!

I hate moving. The whole idea of packing up every little piece of my property, whether it's my black pub style table and corresponding wobbly stools (We're talking Target here, not Pottery Barn) or one of 12 dinner plates (This time we're talking IKEA) is just exhausting. I loathe getting boxes together and filling them in an organized fashion with trinkets and dishes and books and toiletries only to have to unpack them within the following days. 

Then there's the cleaning. It's not as though I keep a dirty apartment (My mother would be so ashamed) or anything but I just have this nagging guilty conscious that forces me to perform the deepest scrub on any place I leave behind (Save for the last place I live that is, but hey--I was jipped out of my Eight Pound Oreck in that deal so I don't feel much remorse). I'll wipe down walls and scrub corners with a toothbrush until I've inhaled so many cleansing fumes that I'll start scrubbing spots that are more a figment of my intoxicated imagination (It's also at that point that I usually get distracted and think it'd be a good idea to go on some kind of Gonzo crusade).

I personally blame my three years living in UP dorms for my inane moving-out cleansing ritual. At the end of the school year, RAs would scrutinize our dorm rooms like a grandma scrutinizes fingernails, pointing out with horror and dismay the teeniest, tiniest, most minute speck of dirt. Unlike grandma though (hopefully!), UP charged a bleeping dollar for every one thing left in the dorm room. I once had to pay for a dried leaf the size of my pinkie nail.

And of course, along with the packing and cleaning, there's the whole finding a new place to live process and the accompanying stress that hides in its back pocket. I always get bullet-sweating nervous that I won't be able to find a place to live, despite the fact that Craigslist touts an average of 90 new listings at my price range in Multnomah County alone each day. Obviously I'm going to be able to find a new place to live but that still doesn't stop me from embarking on my search for a new abode weeks before its even sensible to start the application process.

Nevertheless, despite loathing the actual moving process, I can't help but be totally and completely stoked that I'm moving at the end of this month. Thanks to a 100 percent increase in my monthly budget, I'm able to afford a bigger apartment so that Walker -- bless his heart for putting up with being squished in a studio for three months -- and I can live more like adults in a real, live, well-put-together apartment and less like close-quartered college roommates.

Where we're going to live yet...well, we haven't figured that part out yet. But anywhere than where we are now will be better. It's not that The Plato is all that bad...there are worse places out there (Gresham, Tigard and Hillsboro to name a few). It's just become a bit inconvenient as of late, what with my apartment manager threatening to kick me out because Walker has a set of keys and The Nympho's Johns confusing my apartment for hers (I had a guy on Monday who, honestly -- looked 14 at best, knock on my door, push his body partially into our studio in search for her). My early mornings sometimes conflict with Walker's late night so the fact that he can legally have a set of keys would make our daily routines a bit smoother. My early morning runs and stretching routines won't bother his beauty sleep and his late night post-QO meeting drinkfests won't bother mine.

Now that I've put my (our) 30 days into the landlord, I'm starting to get antsy about finding a place, even though I'm still 9 days away from being able to make any kind of deposit. And there's the fact that we'll be headed to Spokane for Hoopfest (No, not to play 3-on-3 basketball...we're going to watch my brother and his friend play hungover) the last weekend of June, possibly leaving us with just weekdays, probably more realistically weeknights to move all of our stuff...

...which we have a lot of. Combined, we have enough place settings to throw a killer three-course meal dinner party for two dozen people -- predinner drinks and postdinner coffee included -- without washing a single dish. I have as many books (Helloooo English major!) as he does movies (Hellooooo Film major!) and the sheer quantity of appliance we have probably require more than one packed-to-the-brim car trip to our yet-to-exist new place.

We've yet to nail down where we want to live...though the lure of Northwest living is a luxury I've definitely gotten used to. Forest Park? Shopping? Close to work? Coffee every three feet? Yeah...leaving this area would definitely force me to make a change in my daily routine that I'm not quite sure I'm ready or willing to make.

I can only handle so much change at one time, after all.

AngelVision

Upon admiring the fact that I've written three blogs in the same number of days (and shoot, the same number of months), I realized that:
1) They all mention my new job and
2) I have yet to describe my new job.


Ahem...my new career.


It all started on a bleak Sunday afternoon off from Pottery Barn. Feeling utterly sorry for myself, I hopped onto Craigslist's job postings for the first time in weeks, searching in mistaken vain for anything worthwhile.


Sure, there were more crap receptionist positions and I found myself looking for another part time retail job. I kept looking at jobs that required minimal thinking, minimal heart and minimal passion. I kept selling myself short...but I didn't want to.


So I looked into the writing jobs...which, as any of my fellow freelance writers/English degree bearers will know, are far and few in between. If I wanted to "be a contributer" to a "well paying" website, I could maybe earn an extra $100 a month, writing for 40 hours a month (Trust me, that's crapola pay, even for a freelance writer). Venturing out of my comfort zone, I perused through the marketing tab of the Craigslist classifieds.


And that's when I saw it: A position as a Junior Scriptwriter.


No cover letter necessary. Just a resume, links to worked I've done and is published and the answer to three questions:
1. If you could take any vacation, all expenses paid, where would you go and what would you do?
2. If you could have coffee with anyone in the world, who would it be and why?
3. What's your favorite TV show?


If I wrote something that piqued their interest, I'd get a call back. 


I got a call three days after shooting an e-mail. Five days later, an initial 15 minute interview that turned into an hour-long chit chat fest. Eight days later I was eating lunch with the entire company, critiquing and reviewing Impact Movies.


Three days later I was hired on as a scriptwriter for AngelVision Technologies. Yes, I've sold my soul, temporarily giving up the righteousness of journalism to be a capitalism whore.


Yes, I'm a marketing writer but the perks of the company are well worth it: I'm on salary and, after 2 1/2 more months, I'll start to receive real, live benefits. The company itself is quite astonishing: Last June AngelVision was named the 24th fastest growing company in Oregon, has been listed three times in Inc. Magazine's fastest growing companies and has won more than 165 awards for Internet advertising, email and viral marketing. 


We're pretty much BA at what we do. 


So what's my role? After receiving/hearing the messaging director's initial interview with a new client, I research the client and it's product and/or service then write a script for a 3 1/2 minute movie. It's a pretty fun challenge for me, considering I've never written for a medium that appeals to two senses; usually I just write for people to read. Now, I get to stretch my mind and let my creativity flow through narration AND visual movement. I'm surprised by how liberating the ability to write for visual cues is. 


At any rate, the Impact Movies I've already written in the past two weeks won't be finished products for another 2 1/2 months...but rest assured, I'll flaunt them once they're done.


And in case you were wondering, here are the answers that got this process and my adult life started:

1. Hands down, my dream vacation is a four month tour eating my way through Asia. I would spend my first two months teeing off in the far South, enjoying Indonesia and Singapore for coffee, then bellying into Southeast Asia for Thai, Laotian and Vietnamese cuisines. I would spend my third month solely in China, venturing to as many different regions as possible before relishing my last four weeks soaking up sake and sushi in Japan. It's a trip I've been planning for a solid two years now.

2. I've had the hypothetical "If you could have coffee with any person in the world" conversation multiple times within my adult life and I've always come back to Hunter S. Thompson, the driving force behind Gonzo Journalism. Sure, he was always on some type of mind warping substance (In fact, I'm sure my coffee date with him would most likely be laced with Wild Turkey bourbon) but his genius, creativity and passion for writing is -- and probably will be -- unmet within the realms of American journalism.

3. My favorite TV Show is The Office. Is any explanation really necessary with this answer?

Debbie Downer? Try (uhhh) Ursula Upper!

First things first:

Major kudos and a big chocolate cookie goes out to anyone who can think of a better female name than Ursula. I'm rather embarrassed to have kept such an atrocious blog title but come on, I had to continue the polar opposite theme of blog posts I've been maintaining for the past few days.

Preface over. And so it begins.

It actually begins, probably ironically and deservedly so, with me waking up rather groggily and hungover this morning (Last night, in contrast to the past few nights, was happy drinking with friends at a birthday celebration at Chopsticks II, a questionable Chinese restaurant/karaoke dive bar on East Burnside. Even I -- beer and food snob extraordinaire -- won't say no to free PBR). It, of course, is my newly re-re-restored (Yes, I've had a lot of mentality and emotional restorations in the past few months. Deal with it...I have) optimistic spirit that was hiding cowardly either behind empty beer bottles and shots of whatever or underneath the heap of blankets I keep on my bed. It came back because, for the first time in the last ten or so days, I have hope again.

That's right; hope....that little flutter of nervous butterflies that gets you all excited and tingly and grade-school giddy for the happening of something absolutely wonderful...has caught up with me again. And let me tell you, it's a fantastic feeling, mainly because I worked hard to make it happen. I mean, sure I did my fair share of bitching, moaning, drinking and crying about how unfair life is, how poor I am, how frustrating everything is (Yes, you can insert the teacher's voice from Charlie Brown here and I won't be even remotely offended) but I've also been working my tushy off to gain some hope (Turn Charlie Brown teacher voice off here).

After having spent all of Monday applying to jobs (26 in all), I was able to go to sleep last night with one interview in the bag and will be able to curl up in bed (Hopefully not shivering in my 55 degree studio) tonight with a second interview on deck for this coming Monday. To sweeten the deal a bit more, I received a new writing assignment from one of my editors due in ten days (Which means, regardless of whether I land either potential job, I'll be in Portland through at least January. Woot woot!).

I also got my new phone (Hooray for free upgrades, right?), cleaned my apartment and am waiting to embark on a reunion with a good friend over cheap pizza.

Hope: Much nicer than a hangover.

I wonder if I could be a slogan writer...I mean heck, I could have made thousands working on Obama's campaign with my wit and ability to write to the "Average Joe."

...But seriously, I need help with that name.

The Next David Sedaris?

I did a really, really, really bad thing yesterday.

Well, perhaps bad isn't the correct word. Shameful or pitiful might be more accurate describers of the act that I pulled off after walking home after a seven hour shift at Pottery Barn last night. You see, during my lunch break, I checked my email at my favorite local coffee shop, Fat Straw, only to find out that the great personal assistant job that I landed just three weeks ago had been taken away from me, thanks to an MBA-wielding smarty pants who can apparently do his and my job with ease. Needless to say, I wasn't feeling all that great about myself after my break and spent the final three hours of my shift indulging in major self-loathing and moping (Not even my manager's attempts at playing cupid were helping lift my spirits). The self-loathing continued as I passed by the Plaid Pantry, picked up a six pack of Full Sail IPA ($5.98 for a six pack = the city's cheapest prices), a box of Mike and Ikes and headed home to peruse Craigslist, yet again.

And this is when the really, really, really bad/shameful thing happened. Even though I have a degree and have a lot to offer the world outside of retail, I still found myself scrolling down the pages of open retail positions. One caught my eye in an almost ironically sardonic fashion:

Macy's Santaland in Downtown Portland is hiring!

Full and Part Time Seasonal positions available immediately!

Greeter, Photographer, Cashier and PC Computer Operator positions for seasonal Christmas employment. Santaland work hours begin during the week of Nov 16 thru Dec 24. Must have a neat appearance, pleasant personality and enjoy working with the public. No prior experience necessary...we will train all staff. However, being handy on a PC computer is extremely handy!

We offer flexible scheduling, full and part time hours and a wage/bonus of $9.50 DOE. Must be able to pass a background test and drug test prior to employment.

Please reply with the email above or at MacysSantaland.com Please list the position of interest, resume/prior experience, and availability during the season.

We have lots of fun!

While downing the last ounces of my IPA, the nasally voice of David Sedaris, one of my favorite authors, entered my head. The author became famous after writing and reading on This American Life, Santaland Diaries, essays about his experience as a Macy's Christmas elf. Maybe I could do the same?

Cracking open my second beer and washing away almost all self-respect, I totally applied. For nearly 500 words I gushed about how much I adore little kids, how much I love the holiday season and how I am more than capable -- excellent, actually -- at keeping my cool during crazy and hectic situations (Can you figure out the one truth in that list?). I've been promised to be contacted in two business days. Expect an update soon.