Cover me! They’re coming in too fast

Tomorrow I meet with a career counselor. I’ve been working on my resume all night. And by all night I mean the past thirty minutes. I just don’t know what to do. I have so many viable, important skills. And I demonstrate these skills all the time. For example: over the weekend I was at a friend’s house when I noticed that she had a rather large tangled mass of necklaces. Not only did I help to untangle some of them, but I showed that I was a detail-oriented-self-starter. But where can I put that on my resume? Why does everything need to be work experience or specific skill sets? Can I have one section on my resume were I talk about all the really good faces I know how to make? Please? I guess that’s what the cover letter is for. I can use my years of college writing to sell myself. Let’s just hope the people in charge of hiring enjoy creativity… and emoticons.  

A good poem is hard to find

As an English major I've been asked to do some pretty difficult things during my college career. For example, I once had to take a spelling test. In college. Yeah, that was nearly impossible. I've also have had a long history with reciting poetry. My favorite... None of them. I don't hate poetry it just doesn't interest me. Right now though, I'm on my way to my friend's for a bad poetry party. I'm excited about my theatrical rendition of "Raise Your Glass." Bad poetry is much easier to understand than a good poet... Or something poetic like that.

Three month home stretch

When I started college, I had this five year plan were instead of working hard and struggling to find a job I would just make the perfect audition tape for the Real World. I think I have a good angle: 22 year old from a small town in the middle of nowhere recently graduated from a small Catholic college of about 1,000 students looking to finally be free. But I haven’t made an audition tape. I haven't written a resume. I haven’t done anything productive in relation to the real world. What have I done over the past couple of days in my free time which I had designated towards planning a future?  

Planned a party for a cat

Watched my best friend sort sequins

Memorized “ooh aah just a little bit” so I can perform it at a bad poetry party

I’m sure I’m not the only one wasting the last year of college. I have no motivation. If I graduate I have to start living. If I don’t show up to classes and fail, I get another year to think about the real world. Basically, it’s a no-win situation. I’m not terribly worried though, I mean there is that chance I could die. Then the school might name a building after me!

Here in my car

I spent the week planning an elaborate road trip. It was cancelled due to the economy or something like that. I’m disappointed I won’t see the town or visit with my friends. Mostly, though, I’m disappointed I don’t have an excuse to take a long car ride. If sleeping is my favorite activity, driving is a close second. Being in a car is just the best place in the world. And when I’m in control of where I’m going, and I can pick the music instead of having to listen to Pope John Paul’s books on tape while my parents not so covertly try to brainwash me, being in a car is ultimate happiness. I crank up my music and scream out the lyrics. I also like to practice making funny noises. No one can hear me; it’s the perfect place. And the best time to drive is in the middle of the night when only creepy looking truckers are out and everything is dark. I feel all alone and can imagine a post-apocalyptic world where I reign supreme with my car driving abilities… Also I get to wear the glow stick bracelets I keep in my glove box to make the night more rave-y. I just wish instead of graduating college or starting a real life, I could be paid to drive around in my car without any worries. That would be beneficial to the world… I think.

Speaking in code makes me feel like a secret agent

Nothing is more annoying than an unnecessary text message that wakes me up and prevents me from going back to sleep. I’m sure others have this issue, but because of my sporadic, frequent sleep schedule this is a common concern of mine. Luckily, I’ve developed a rather clever solution. No, it is not turning off my phone. That would be stupid, and I could miss something important. My solution is a simple code word: shhhh. You see, I can’t reply to an untimely text with, “I’m sleeping.” My friends and family most always reply with another text asking, “Why are you asleep?” I can’t ignore the text message. That will be met with more texts asking where I am or what I’m doing or if I secretly hate the text’s sender. That’s three more texts! So, I’ve developed the simple “shhhh” reply. When some one sends me a text, and I’m asleep, I reply to them and end the text with “shhhh”. That means, “Don’t text me back. No, I probably don’t hate you, and I’m definitely not ignoring you because I hate you which could or could not be true. I am safely in my bed. Yes, I know what time it is. No, I don’t care. I’m sleeping.” Sure my code isn’t perfect. And I probably would sleep better if I didn’t sleep with my phone under my pillow.  But I love my phone almost as much as I love sleeping; shhhhing helps link the two.

List of things that are not difficult but become incredibly difficult when I first wake-up

Talking in complete sentences

Going to class

Remembering the answers to very simple questions

Changing a toilet paper roll

Replying to a text message

Deciding rather or not I like the A*Teens when they come on my Pandora Station

Understanding if what I am saying is or is not extremely hateful

Putting a key into a lock

Making a grapefruit edible

Judging distances whenever asked, “Hey, do you think we should walk there?”

Working a coffee maker

Falling back asleep

Logging into my computer

Distinguishing between my alarm clock and my phone

The Ice Barrier

Ever since I lost half of my left front tooth in a basketball brawl in elementary school, I’ve had sensitive teeth. Unlike sensitive hearing which allows its possessor the ability to hear damsels in distress miles away, sensitive teeth just hurt like hell. In February, here in Kentucky the weather can be quite chilly. So chilly, in fact, I can’t open my mouth while I’m outside. Exposing my teeth to the cold hurts more than the tiny fist that hit my face and chipped my tooth away. Smiling in the cold wind hurts more that the hours my dentist spent filing my tooth to a point so she could incase it in gluey bonding. But worse than the pain, and the awkward pursed mouth I make when walking outside, is the isolation I experience when ordering drinks. My fragile teeth just can’t handle ice. And no matter how taken back servers are at my order or how huffy a fast food cashier acts when I fill up my cup with only soda, my teeth still hurt. I can’t help it. My dentist hasn’t been able to fix it. I just wish I could drink my iceless soda through a straw in public without so many questioning stares.     

Die Young

Today I didn’t think of anything witty to post. Typically, now would be the time for my blog to die. That’s how it works for me. I’ll do something, such as take a multivitamin or call my mother, devotedly for a few days or even a few weeks and then I’ll stop. Usually, I give myself no warning that my desire to do one thing or another has failed. I just stop. Today was almost the day to kill my blog. But it’s not. Unlike the abundant about of craft supplies sitting unused in a box or the half full bottles of vitamins and supplements, I’m going to make at least a half-hearted effort to continue blogging. After all, how else will I become a famous interweber?   

Name Games

Last night while picking up the essentials at a super store with low prices, I saw a checkout girl with the name Tigger on her name tag. Because of the high standards at this 24-hour-mega-store, I can’t help but believe that that was her actual name. More power to her if she picked Tigger as a name but, parents, weird names are stupid. I’m allowed to say that because my parents named me Sagan. Having a “unique” name is isolating and humiliating. Every introduction always goes the same.

“Hi, I’m Sagan.”

“Megan?”

“No, Sagan.”

“You sure?”

It never fails; people talk down to me as if I’ve mispronounced my own name. As if I haven’t been saying it for twenty years. The worse though, is when I meet a person who has forgotten my name.

“Hi, I’m….”

“Oh, wait don’t tell me. It was so pretty and unusually, Chardonnay?”

“What? Wait? No?”

“Well give me a hint.”

“It’s like Megan only with an S.”

“Oh Megans. Hey.”

“No… the plural of Megan… that doesn’t make sense. My name is like Satan but with a G.”

“Gatan! I knew it was something so pretty.”

“That’s not pretty. And no my parents didn’t not name their beautiful baby girl Gatan. My name is Sagan. Say-g-in.”

“Oh, well hello Saigon.”

“Nooooo!”

The point is: I think there is a special place in Minnesota for people who name their children dumb things.

Sloth

I have a number of indulgences. I eat too much candy and drink too much caffeine. But only one of my indulgences ever gets me in trouble. At least once a week I like to sleep for around 16 hours straight. I’m not lazy; but whenever I have free time I enjoy sleeping. I like sleeping more than watching television or reading or going to classes. While sleeping, I can dream I’m going to class, watching television, and reading all while comfortably flying around my hometown rescuing puppy dogs. Or whatever it is I dream about. And sleeping during the day is much more comfortable than sleeping at night. My problem is justifying my love for sleeping to my friends. People sometimes get offended when I pick sleeping through the afternoon over, you know, a birthday party. I often have to hide what I’m doing by feigning sickness or homework. Lying is just easier than trying to explain to my friends that dreaming is cooler than they are. They rarely understand.

Dreams Are Tricky

I believe I could be a professional Tetris player. I just feel like I’d be really good at playing Tetris professionally. And if I could figure out where to go to play Tetris professionally, I would become the most professional, talented Tetris player ever. Being humble isn’t one of my strong suits but Tetris definitely is. I’m a little obsessed. Sadly, though, I’m not talented in every thing that I’m obsessed with. Such as playing the drums. I feel like I should be able to play the drums. I feel like I should be good at playing the drums, even great at playing the drums. But I can’t play the drums, at all. I also feel like I would be a really good motivational speaker. I just don’t know how one becomes a professional Tetris playing, drumming, motivational speaker. Having an unrealistic dream is difficult.    

Coach Sassy

In less than three months I’m joining the throngs of unemployed college graduates. I’ve narrowed down my potential career options to two strong contenders: baby beauty pageant coach or stage mother. Either way, I plan on taking some little girl’s non-existent dream and making that dream become a reality.  I don’t have any experience with making dreams come true but every since I saw that movie Life is Beautiful I’ve realized my own ability to turn any situation into a game. Sure some people don’t think of baby beauty pageant as concentration camps or of stage mothers as Nazis, but I know I can prevent the lifelong physiological damage the life of a becoming a princess can cause. I have confidence that I could put fake eyelashes on a two year while maintaining her dream of being perfect. Which ever job I chose, I’m sure I will put my degree to good use. And maybe if my parents had put more time into my career when I was a child I wouldn’t be having this problem.    

Like a Fish In Water

The other day for Valentine’s Day I made my friends cards. But instead of handing them out I placed them in a plastic bag filled with glitter and made my friends fish them out. Apparently, not all my friends enjoy having glitter stuck to their hands. But now I know who my real friends are. Taking glitter away from a Sagan is like taking water away from a fish.