It means I’ve been gone too long.
And I have.
At the end of July I was planning to announce that August was going to be a month of daily blogging for me. I was going to try out brevity and pith for a change, but I suppose that’s not really my style and it’s clearly not going to happen. Not now anyway.
Where to begin…
About three weeks ago I received an interesting phone call from a lawyer. The one I temped for back in June. Apparently the permanent executive assistant/paralegal they hired wasn’t working out. This wasn’t terribly surprising as we’d worked together for a day (my last, her first) and I was deeply impressed by her overwhelming ineptitude.
(Fresh out of the ivy league and homegirl couldn’t operate a letter opener. Not some new-fangled envelope-cutting machine. Just a regular old letter opener…
She also didn’t know how to use Microsoft Excel, which is problematic as letter-opening and maintenance of spreadsheets is like, eighty-five percent of the job.)
I know it’s not like me to speak ill of the inept – wait, no, that’s exactly like me – but this girl was special. She was maybe twenty-two, and full of that thing that doesn’t get totally beaten out of you until you’re in your thirties…oh, what’s it called…you know that thing…Barry O’Bams used to talk about it a lot…
Hope! That’s what she had. Hope. Lots of it. You could practically smell it on her. That overwhelming sense that the world was her oyster and that she could be and do anything her little heart desired. (Except operate a letter opener, but I guess that’s an American education for you.)
I admit, I was jealous. Here was this twenty-two year old idiot pulling down a salary that was easily twice what I made in my most lucrative years as a singer. She was planning to get a one or two bedroom apartment in the West Village, while I’m living in what sometimes feels like a refugee camp in West Harlem. She has a boyfriend whom she loves but isn’t ready to live with yet and there is not one single frown line on her round little twenty-two year old face. Plus, did I mention that she’s only twenty-two!?!
Ok, I was probably an idiot when I was twenty-two, too. Not letter-opener idiot, but certainly not as worldly as I am now. At twenty-two I had perfect, unlined skin, a great apartment and a boyfriend. Now that I think about it, I made more money when I was twenty-two than I did when I was thirty. Yikes.
Perhaps it was those very revelations that prompted me to accept when the lawyer called me in a panic a few weeks ago, asking if I would come back to the office. The call went something like this:
BL (Boss Lady): New girl didn’t work out and now the office is broken. Can you come fix it?
I didn’t commit to anything long term, but I said I’d give her a week to help get things back on track.
When I arrived promptly at ten o’clock the following Monday morning, I was a little bit shocked. The neat and tidy receptionist’s desk I had left barely a month ago was practically buried in file folders, memo pads and post-it notes. The same post-it notes that I had written a month earlier with reminders of the all the things she was supposed to have done three weeks ago but didn’t.
She left no such helpful reminders for me. Mostly, she left a pile of crumpled up, used staples and scraps of notebook paper with her name written over and over again in bubble letters.
No bills had been paid. No client invoices sent. Nothing had been filed. The check book hadn’t been balanced in weeks and seemed to be missing over thirteen thousand dollars (which I later found). I was up to my neck in it for a good three weeks, working well past my requisite forty hours.
By the end of my first week back, Boss Lady came to me with an offer I simply couldn’t refuse: A full-time, salaried position, making real, grown-up money with benefits AND all the flexibility I need to do auditions, accept lengthy gigs, etc… I basically won the job lottery without ever buying a ticket.
On top of that, I’ve actually been singing again. And dating. And traveling. And fixing up my apartment. And I’m still doing some film and tv stuff at night and on the weekends. So I’m sure you’ll understand why I haven’t been able to generate all this glorious blog fodder I call life AND find the time to write about it.
I do have a solution though.
As much as it pains me to do it, I’m going to have to embrace micro-blogging and you know what that means… That’s right. Twitter. I set up a Twitter account last summer, but never really learned how to use it. I post occasionally, but generally I find that I’m much too loquacious to submit to the confines of 140 characters.
That said, it would force me to embrace pithiness. And it’s super convenient…
So here’s the deal: I promise to tweet about all the funny crap that happens to me, if you promise to follow me and not get mad if I’m forced to tell abbreviated versions of some of my stories. I’ll save the good ones for the blog.
For those of you who don’t have or don’t want to have Twitter (and I don’t blame you if you don’t – I kind of hate it) I’ve added a Twitter feed to my blog page. You won’t get notifications like you do when I actually blog (for the genius few among you who are subscribers to FOTE), but you can check my page and scroll through the Twitter feed to see what I’m up to. If you care. And I can’t imagine why you would. But people really seem to love this Twitter shit.
I also think it’s time to create a dedicated Facebook page for the blog. Believe it or not, I’m starting to get friend requests from people I don’t know who read the blog, which is terribly exciting. I’m just not sure I want to allow strangers to have access to all my stuff. I mean, I share A LOT on the internet. Perhaps more than I should. But I still have some boundaries. So for all you folks who are privileged enough to know me in real life, I expect an annoying Facebook invite is coming your way!
Just so you don’t give up on me entirely, here’s a little taste of a few of my posts to come: I was on a Japanese tv show; For a brief time I was in charge of quality control at a ruler factory; I rejoined OKCupid – enough said.
Until next time (which I promise will be soon!)