[Editor's Note: Late comers, get up to speed with the Resume Part One.]
Objective.
A “goal” if you will.
Hm.
Well, what is my goal anyway?
My first thought is, “OH SHIT… MARRIAGE?!?!?!” but that’s not it.
That’s WE TV commercials trying to ruin my life.
I mean, I guess it kinda is in some round about way because I really, really DO NOT want to be middle aged and dating. Have you seen middle aged men? I’m not talking George Clooney, I’m talking real life middle aged men. The kind that would find a way to hit on me at the local chain super market sort of middle aged man. Yeah, they wear cargo shorts and neon striped Saunconys (-ies? What is the plural for ugly running shoes?) and want to take me out to Black Angus. I just can’t see myself wanting to rip off that JC Penny sweater in a fit of passion, you know? I used to be all sorts of anti-marriage until I watched Year of the Dog & was like “Holy shit, this is me in twenty years, trying to date the rando dudes from the dog park because that’s all I have, my dog and my obsession with my dog.”
Oh, it's a Swatch. Yeah, I saw those were on sale at Kohls as well...
Yeahhhh, nothnxkbye.
My second thought is I really don’t know. I’ve just been living by the seat of my baggy ass twelve dollar pants since moving to Los Angeles. It’s landed me in some pretty awesome places but for all the movie stars and indie musicians, it’s been nice to put the flask down and feel something that is more than a drunken whim or a silly girl’s idealization of a dim situation because they all end the same: with a Blackberry entry that reads DO NOT PICK UP (&/or DO NOT DRUNKENLY TEXT cause that shit suuuuuucks). And it gets old after a while. You can only drink so many $2.50 margaritas on Wednesdays before you realize you’re just a lonely broad with an empty house and a pocket full of Adderall. THERE MUST BE MORE TO LIFE THAN ATTENTION FROM UGLY DUDES IN FAKE LEATHER & CHEAP MONDAYS PRETENDING TO LISTEN TO YOU TALK ABOUT ACID AT HAPPY HOUR !!!
So, I guess that’s my objective.
The “more” part.
Like a guy who can stand me for more than three “dates”. You know, long enough for the sex to not be awkward and we can actually talk to one another sober about something other than our mutual friends/Animal Collective. That’s always pretty cool. This same guy, who has a great job that doesn’t revolve around gigs, is wayyy more sensible than me (duh I’m a woman) yet somehow finds my meticulously-rolled-out-of-a-dumpster look attractive, thinks my nearly bipolar personality swings are endearing (psh how could you not find someone who trades off between acting like Kenny Powers and a wide-eyed twitterpated squirrel NOT irresistible?!) and is totally cool with me already four fifths in the bag by the time he picks me for dinner at eight. Oh & doesn’t give me too much shit but you know, just enough shit, for falling asleep in movies in bed. Because it is going to happen. I lead a high octane life style, sometimes I gotta smoke a bowl and reboot for twenty minutes (or twelve hours, whatever).
So, basically, Dudefriend.
To a tee.
SIGH.
& then I will, of course, be the uncharacteristically charming & comedic girlfriend to love him to death & do his laundry forever & kiss him incessantly to the point of irritation & stare at his handsome face with sheer admiration & sexual prowess.
Which if all goes as planned, we will get to my ultimate objective:
to be a POWER COUPLE.
Me being me & him supporting me being me while also maintaining a full-time business job without losing sight of his art, which in all actuality will probably be superior to mine (is blogging considered an art yet?) but he’ll never rub it in my face and he’ll say things like, “Yeah, sweetie, I totally LOL’d” when really, it was just a bunch of booze blather and some lame reference to Chris Brown and together we shall rise to the top and bellow out big MUAHAHAHAHAHAZ all over the world (ideally from his condo in Tahiti but I mean, it’s cool, one step at a time, right? Evil laughs first then tropical bungalows).
Shit, this doesn’t sound that much different than what I was doing.
& look where it got me…
Oh, well.
I know he hasn’t read any of this anyway so whatever I’ll just email him my resume when it’s done and when he gets it the objective is going to look like this:
I mean, it’s basically true.
Besides, doesn’t everyone fluff up their resumes?
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