Shout Out:

I just want to give a shout out to the guys and gals who work so hard at WestHost. Especially Homer Hernandez, for fixing the Twitter bug that made me unable to log in these last few days.  These amazing technical support people work behind the scenes, and I really appreciate them, making rhaimi.com possible.  Thanks Homer, thanks team!

My Life as Seen Through Moving Pictures:

 

When I get up and check my emails only to find one job rejection letter, and four spam emails….

 

 

 

When I get through the morning without any phone calls from prospective employers….

 

 

 

 

 

When I get a phone call from an 800 number for the four thousandth time in one day….

 

 

 

 

 

When Ryan comes home and says I am beautiful……..

 

 

Jobs for a Communication Degree:

According to Ryan’s random emails I just got,  I can be

  • a linguist
  • technical writer
  • meeting and event planner
  • advertising sales agent
  • advertising manager
  • newspaper reporter
  • freelance
  • open my own business
  • Public Relations Practitioner

All because I have a BA in Communication.  Too bad none of these jobs are for entry-level noobs such as myself, let alone exist in or around the Siouxland area. I applied for a newspaper reporter, the lady on the phone laughed at me.  I want to open up a bookshop, but everyone else I know laughs at that.

Square One looks like this:
A sad sad Sarah crying over her useless, and utter waste of time degree, pining for a Masters in Library and Information Science-which Forbes declared the WORST DEGREE OFF ALL TIME TO EVER GET…..now this sad sad Sarah wonders what to do…fill out more useless applications, call more potential employers only to get laughed at or never get a return phone call…Only to learn, “Other candidates are being considered.”  Because I am as useless as my degree, I guess.

I spend a lot of time at Square One….

Kids…Take a look at Sarah, here.  Learn something.  The moral of this sad sad story is…NEVER EVER GET A DEGREE IN COMMUNICATION.  DO SOMETHING WITH MATH.  MATH OR SCIENCE, you’ll be sure to be okay in a field with math and science.  Look at Ryan.  Construction Manager, Concrete Specialist.  We have lived in South Sioux for a whole year because he is the single most important man on the site, when it comes to concrete.  No one else can do his job.  He is a key employee—a need.  He is essential. I…I am a laughable concept.  Too broad to be defined to fill any employers’ need.  I am obsolete. Stupid Communication. Kids…Math and science.  Medical fields are apparently booming, according to one random article Ryan just sent me, become certified nurses, algebra and science are your friends, if you ever want a job in this god-forsaken economy.  MATH AND SCIENCE!!!!!

I learned this lesson too late, and now my days are spent scouring the Interwebs for a mediocre job doing anything, anywhere.  Hell, I even applied to work at Walmart, I HAVE A COLLEGE DEGREE!!!!!  But alas, this fool of a Took went and got a BA in BS, and now for the rest of my sad sad life I have to deal with this epic life mistake.  This is worse than that time I found myself on the wrong side of downtown Denver with nothing but my copy of Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close and a light jacket. This realization I am having is worse than the time I let that popular boy kiss me so he could say he volunteered with the less fortunate for his resume. I mean this is cosmic depression.

And now….California is calling my best friend Kaiti.  Probably because she’s gorgeous.  Or it’s a wrong number…Or it’s Ryan Gosling…”Hey Girl, Come play the lead actress role in my new movie.  Perfect McPerfect.” Or it’s Lena Dunham, her favorite actress slash director.  ”Hey Girl, come be my personal assistant with your amazing face and hair, and oh yeah, be in my next indie movie, Perfect McPerfect, you’ll be playing the offbeat but totally adorable lead role of a girl who’s trying to find a job in this god-forsaken economy, along side Ryan Gosling, a man who went with a math and science degree and has it all figured out!”

Because Kaiti is in the sad sad booth at Bar Square One with me, and all of this applies to her too, unfortunates of unfortunate.

Kaiti, lets open up a bookshop slash cat mansion building place.  Because I quit with this degree and the job hunting failure. Unless you get too busy being Lena Dunham’s personal assistant, in which case, can you get me an autograph?

 

 

 

Dreamlike:

The last two nights I’ve dreamed of wolves. One was black and mottled and ate a dude’s leg off, and then last night, I was a white one.  I don’t really care what it means, I just thought I’d start off with that.

I also dreamed up secret rooms in the walls of some house in case vampires from Russia come and decide to overthrow the monarchy.  I am a master of floor planning secret rooms.  Rooms inside rooms inside walls for extra protection.  Again, I don’t care what, subconsciously, this is supposed to mean.

I dream of libraries in the walls, and time in other dimensions, I dream of babies and Jax from Sons of Anarchy saying my name. I dream of wild things.

Last night I also dreamed I got shot two times in the head. Right in the forehead by a mob boss.  I said to just hurry up with it because I didn’t want to feel pain, and he said, “Oh, you won’t feel a thing.”  And then I woke up into a different dream where Ryan wanted a tattoo and I was talking with Tig from Sons of Anarchy about a woman named, “Nancy,” Because even in my dreams I am respecting my mother and not getting another tattoo.  I specifically remember telling Bobby, the tattoo guy in my dream, I couldn’t be getting tattooed anymore.

Ryan doesn’t remember many of his dreams.  I remember them almost every night. Especially the ones in the early morning. Why?  What does it matter?

I am only writing this down because I am taking a break from job hunting and wanted to escape from reality for a minute. Because I’d rather be reliving the wild things than painfully climbing through reality.  I guess. Also because wolves and vampires and Jax from Sons of Anarchy saying my name is pretty amazing. And sexy. I guess.

 

Hands in the Sky:

I have been, once again, overlooked for the hospital library position.  ”Other candidates are being considered.”  But, but there’s good news. I called on the original library assistant position I applied for about a month ago, and they’re still looking!  I’m still in the running.  So this is me, throwing my hands in the sky, asking the Big Man, or whoever, for a shot at something amazing.  Please.

PLEASE.  PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!

Out:

The wedding invites have been sent!!!

 

I went to get the wording printed and the great guys at FedEx Office were honest and said that the toner would not go well onto the really nice cardstock I spent 9,00,876 hours cutting and gluing and stamping and addressing for nothing. So.  They redid them all for me, and it took them 4 hours.  Really. This happened.  I cried.

That’s why they’re late going out.  But they’re out.  And they are amazing.  So great, that when you get yours you should probably put it on your fridge, and not in the trash with all the other invites you get. Because I worked really really really hard on these. Okay, if it looks better in the trash, put it there…Don’t let me dictate your mail feng shui. But still.

 

 

 

Dead:

I have cut, glued, designed, folded and hand written 78 wedding invitations.  I am not done.  I am going to explode.

Things have been pretty quiet around here, this past weekend especially.  Ryan and I watched approximately 945 hours of Sons of Anarchy, he played a few video games and I napped.  Mostly it’s all subtle.  The stress of wedding invitations and finding a job and worrying about money and bills and the rings i still have to buy for Ryan and holy cow only eight weeks until the day…..save me.

But I did find a couple of funny things I wanted to share….

Summer Breeze:

I’ve been busy with getting the wedding invites made and addressed.  I think it is taking me longer than the average do-it-yourself-bride because I am struggling, once again, with the idea that they aren’t good enough.  I’ve put so much effort into each individual invitation and I’m worried they aren’t good enough. When in all actuality, they’re probably fine.

I’ve been job hunting every day, and had one interview.  She said if I didn’t hear anything by mid-week, it means I’ll probably be getting a letter saying they found someone else.  It’s Thursday.  And maybe she could feel my heart wasn’t in it…that I was genuinely interested, but my heart wasn’t there. Because it wasn’t.  My heart is on the wedding and trying most fervently to get a position within a library.  ANY LIBRARY will do, I’m not picky.  But come on people.

All this cycling and self-loathing, stressing out and working hard on little things has caused me to have migraines nearly every day this week.  From allergies or slumped and hunched over these invites, I’m not sure of the exact cause I just know they’re crippling.  I had one the other night with seizure-like shakes and my body locked up like someone was sitting on me.  I’ve been told this is probably not from anxiety, but rather a complex migraine.  Either way, it isn’t good.

So now here we are today, overly hydrated, somewhat depressed about a job, and stressing over the wedding now more than ever.  I just spent the better part of two hours writing a letter to the President.  Telling him about us, our story…Ryan and I.  Telling him how I feel and how he should keep a look out for the actual invitation.  Ha.  Like the actual President will really have time to really read a letter from some no one girl in some no place town. I probably won’t get a response.  Let alone him coming to the event.  So why did I put so much into it when I should be working on something else?!?! Why am I still stalling and blogging instead of inviting?!?!  Because.

Because I am tired.  I’ve done over 50 invitations and addressed 40 of them, run out of invites and now have to make about 20 more.  Then address those.  And I’m worried people will look at them and laugh or make a joke.  When I tried so hard on them.  It’s obvious they weren’t professionally done.  There’s slanted cuts and crooked lines.  But they look good, I guess, I mean, I didn’t just throw them together willy nilly.  I mean, it takes me about twenty minutes to get them assembled and about another fifteen to get the envelopes addressed with good handwriting and mild embellishment.

Why do I care what people think so much?  It’s not their wedding, it’s my day with the love of my life, sharing it with these people.  They should feel lucky that they got invited, and yet, I am over-the-top anxious they’re laughing behind my back.  Because I did the invites myself.  I am a fool of a Took.

At the end of the day the invitations don’t mean as much as the fact I get to marry Ryan.  That feeling, that electricity in my marrow feeling like my soul is humming, I cannot get over.  I am so excited and so happy he chose me.  That’s the best part, not the crooked invites or my helpless and messy hair, not the job hunting…I’ll be job hunting for the next decade if we move as much as we do.  I may as well just work at Walmart. But at the end of it all, every day, the mess the stress the second guessing, I get Ryan.  And my soul, the fiber of my being, the center of my heart, is finally at peace and content with life, with where I am.  Finally.  After all those years searching, existentially, for the meaning, the greater thing…I’ve found it.  In Ryan.  And I am happy.

So I apologize if your invite is a little off center, or smudgy. I am deeply sorry if it’s not fancy enough.  But if it matters that much to you, then please.  Come to the wedding and see that there is something so much more and powerful than a flipping piece of paper. In Ryan’s heart and mine.  And that, is better than the summer breeze outside.  Better than ice cream.  Better than any letter I could ever write to the President.  The love we have is better than any job or place we move.  It’s my comfort and my greatest achievement. I cannot put it on a resume, but loving Ryan, will be my life’s best and most honest work.

The Perks of Being an Aimless Adult:

I’ll be the first to admit, I am flawed. Lazy, nearly goal-less, not great with money and sarcastic beyond necessity. Can you imagine, if I was that honest in a job interview? Ha.

But that brings me to my plight.  Because although I am incredibly negative about myself and quite possibly the most self-loathing person on this planet, or any other, I have good points too.  I am personable, kind- mostly, creative, and chaotically organized.  I can be awkward, I tend to be quiet but if I’m anxious I over-talk to compensate, I am funny, and above all things, I put my heart into whatever I am working on.  Be it hand-made invitations, job applications, blog posts, or cooking dinner, there is something of me in it.  Unfortunately, this lethal combination of faults and skills has thusly led me to believe I am pretty useless.

No matter what, when, how or where we move, Ryan will always know and have a job.  I will never have that luxury.  Which is fine, honestly, I knew this going into the move to Omaha so many millennia ago to be with Ryan.  Because I knew I would be fine following his career.  Because I knew, as hard as I might try, I’d never fine a job like that with my pointless degree. I will work odd jobs that I don’t even like, just so he doesn’t stress over money.  Because I love him.  Again, this is really something I am normally okay with.  Normally.

I guess hindsight is better than 20/20.  Because as I sit here and look back on all of it, I realize, by not having a dream job or even an inkling of a maybe-want-to-try job back then, I have set myself up for a lifetime of filling out job applications to Target and random assistant positions.  What’s worse is, my degree that I worked so hard at, graduating in 3 1/2 years from a 4-year institution, really does nothing to help me. And my skill set, although applicable in many a broad reaches, is hard to spin positively anymore. I have become more disillusioned than ever with myself.

There is no point to this really, except that I am pretty jaundiced about finding even a part-time piss-ant job.  I just want to pull my weight in this partnership with Ryan, and lately, I have not been, using wedding planning or college as an excuse to brush off the obvious lack of income on my part.  Because at every turn or move we make, this…this “skill set” and resume and degree and combination of job-nessessary attributes, does me more harm than help.  I hear NO more than I care to admit and it brings me down, I start believing I am really not a note-worthy or memorable or even good candidate for even the Target jobs.  Seriously, Target tell me NO every single time. I don’t want to work a dead-end retail job, I think I deserve to be just a tiny bit picky about this.  I do not want to work as an indifferent employee.  I want a job that, although may not be ideal, at least I feel visible and helpful.  Although, I am sure even that is too much to ask for.

With all of this admitted and out there, I need to go job hunt.  For real.