If you are anything like me you are experiencing this so-called new and trendy disposition so aptly dubbed a “quarter-life crisis.” I think it’s more of a conundrum, hence the title. We spent four years of our lives at some college, trying to get ahead in this unrelenting world. Boatloads of money went into this “investment” and we filled our parents’ eyes with tears of pride when we walked at graduation. We lived in a world of complete freedom. We thought we were finding ourselves as we figured out what we wanted to do with our lives. While doing this, we paved a path of drunkenness and morally devoid decisions, convincing ourselves, we were getting smarter than the rest of the world. This is what college was about: oh, the golden years. Now what?
Alas, here we are- diploma in hand- some of us have jobs, most of us don’t. I fall into the latter category. I left my comfy college apartment that reeked of freedom and independence, and now…now I am back home living with my parents. I spend the majority of my day laptop in tow searching for some company to hire my sorry ass. Yeah, sure I moved to New York for a while after I graduated, convinced that I was awesome and everyone wanted to hire me. I got a dream job right off the bat. I was the head PR assistant in some bigwig fashion designer’s showroom. I met celebrities daily and I got free clothes and accessories. Holy smokes! How did I get so lucky?? What I soon learned was that this position was hell on earth. The man I worked for was some froo-froo diva who was so intolerable that the company was willing to give anyone with a pulse my position. Having a little Latina fury in me, I held strong…for about a month. But I realized that all my degree got me was a job that demanded every ounce of soul. I worked 8am to midnight everyday-sometimes even weekends. I got this man his muffin, made his tea, bought his lunch and coddled him during his routine tantrums. Finally after a completely unnecessary attack on my integrity, because Monsieur Cranky-pants woke up on the wrong side of his swanky overpriced loft, I left. I spent the remainder of my lease working at a bar and some tourist trap retail store.
Now I’m back in good ol’ Virginia, living with mom and dad, disappointed in my attempted adventures and the overall direction of my life, my bank account is still a little sore from the expense of the big city. Bored. That is probably the best adjective. I found myself so bored the other day that I went outside and cut the grass. I have never cut the grass, and have always been a bit of a girly girl, but there I was, cutting the grass, pleased with myself for not only having a purpose for the day, but because I was doing something I was sure would show my parents appreciation for putting up with me and my unemployment. Boy was I wrong. The lawn mower broke, mid-project, and the always-uplifting dad said, “Why would you try to cut the grass when you now you’re going to eff it up.” Sigh. Back to my laptop. My other side project is attempting to become, the next Top Chef. I have nothing else to do, so I cook. Thos only seems to brood more resentment from the parentals as their waistlines seem to be growing. Opps.
I got a degree in Anthropology. Anthropology? Wtf. Someone should have smacked me in the mouth and told me to get over my bullshit and continue with pre-med. Nope. I wanted to learn about culture. I want to travel the world and live abroad, helping those who are less fortunate than myself. This is a great goal, but the execution, not so easy. Apparently you have to have a Masters degree to go help feed the foodless and build homes for the homeless. I just got out of school, but it looks like I am going back. Every interview I have had has at some point encountered an awkward moment when the interviewer raises one eyebrow at me and says, “Anthropology?” Goddammit. Yes, Anthropology.
Anyways, here is an introduction to my little blog. I am desperately searching for a job and happiness, whatever that means. I wouldn’t mind an apartment either… I am tired of working odd jobs and my school counselors always told me to pursue the field I wanted to work in. Great advice, thanks. Now, I feel too invested to sell out to just any job. In the meantime, I will continue temping and doing any little thing that comes my way and offers me a buck or two till I hit the big time. I don’t know what the big time means though, to know that would mean knowing what it is that I want out of life. Me and my Anthropology degree are just going to kick it until I find out.
Why is it that 40-somethings with money to blow are the only ones allowed to have a crisis? It seems that we, the unpaid, distrusted, young workers in the world are the ones with something to complain about. Mr. I-Found-A-Gray-Hair-In-My-Crotch-So-I-Bought-A-Sports-Car can suck it. Go play a round of golf and get over yourself. If you look to your left, I am probably serving your ass your seabreeze at the club bar.
Till the next rant my friends,
Miss Anthropology
