Funemployment. How to do it right.

Chaska, Minnesota

                December 30, 2010 • (952) 448-2650

IMPORTANT Read this article carefully or have someone read it to you. Remember, you must read and understand this handbook. A Spanish version of this handbook is available upon request.
¡IMPORTANTE! Lea este manual con cuidado o consiga alguien quien se lo lea o interprete. Recuerde, usted debe leer y entender este manual. Una versión en español de este manual está disponible.
Merci.

Is this the new usual?

Congratulations, you're funemployed.
Unemployment isn’t fun, but you can make the best of it. Instead of moping, this is a good time to add to your skills, to catch up on things, and to explore what it means to be your own person. It can be a time to heal and to grow. Here are some positive things I have found to do when unemployed:

* Seek employment. [Your crappy small town] Workforce Center is a vital resource that will help you search effectively. It is a place to go to use a computer and talk to supportive people. They may also be able to help you find a course to upgrade your skills.

* Exercise. Part of the 50 hours a week you are not spending on a job can be spent getting enough exercise. A minimal routine is to walk at least two miles a day at least five days a week.

But all of that is stupid, you could tell at one glance and didn't bother to read it, that maybe because you're Funemployed! 

Def Do: 

• Catch up on your hobbies. Really, how effin long is that "scarf" going to remain half done in the back of your closet? Granted, it's too late to hoist off as a christmas gift but you probably know a Capricorn. And what of that model airplane you got three years ago? Why doesn't it have a wicked awesome flame decal, hanging majestically from you ceiling yet? 
• Party. I mean, not every day. But damn, you don't have any work to do. You should be joyous! Have a few drinks before you go out. Never pay a cover and metro home. You really don't need to spend more than 6 bucks to have a memorable night now and then. (Foggy nights cost exponentially extra) 
• Sexersize. Seriously, you're not overly tired, you're not too stressed out and YOU DONT HAVE A HEADACHE (!!) 
• Share. Look, son--I'm not saying give away your last 5 spot, but people dig others who share. Think of it as social credit. I accept all forms of sexersize as social credit and I am happy to pay in kind. 
• Stay up late. Creativity come to us in it's most honest when we explore our solitude. Plus, sleeping-in is half the fun. Truly, if these were in "an order" this would be number one, Maslow. 
• Visit. Go see someone you know in a far away place, (at least a different area code). Time your visit so that they are happy to have you and can afford to take you out to dinner and junk. Half the adventure will be in the travel to and fro[do]. C'mon, Bo may know baseball, but you should be ashamed to be less of a Took then any Baggins over or under hill. 

Def DON'T:

• Gripe. I mean really, this too shall pass. Do you really have to bring everyone down around you? 
• Penny Pinch.  Alright, so this is no time to be popin bottles at the club comma gettin slizzard. But I think we can agree that a 7 dollar lunch now and then with a friend isn't out of the question. If you didn't come here to have fun, go home and wait for the lights and gas to be turned off around you. 
• Start using phrases like 'wind-riffled.' Seriously, Funemployed does not equal poetic. Let funempolyment be your poetry. If you are busy sucking the marrow you don't have to say so, in fact someone already has.
• Go viral. I'm lying. Do just that. Do something that will get you paid on the internet that you were already going to do anyway, you silly ass. Get the Gregory brothers to give you more than half and run the damn talk show circuit. 
• Get it twisted. No one took your job: you lost it or you quit, either way move on. Please don't wallow, it makes you stale. (See also, Gripe) 

Work cited:

ALABAMA UNEMPLOYMENT AND WORKERS’ COMPENSATION MANUAL A GUIDE TO SIMPLIFYING ALABAMA’S EMPLOYMENT RELATED LAWS (2009)
http://www.ado.alabama.gov/content/media/publications/SmallBusiness/WCUCpublication728091.pdf

UNEMPLOYMENT INSURANCE  Claimant Handbook
A Claimant’s Guide to the Requirements of the Idaho Employment Security Law
http://labor.idaho.gov/publications/ui_handbook.pdf

The Urban Dictionary, RE: Funempolyment.

A final note to all our satisfied customers, someday you'll have to work again. I know. I'm sad too. But it's really all about the balancing act we all must participate in to survive. But remember I'm not only the funempolyment president, I'm also a client. (That's what my mom used to call the crazy people she took care of/worked for.) Make of that what you will, I guarentee  it won't be money.

May the end of your year be as post modern as possible. (Read as debaucheous) It is too a word. This here is my talko.

Half Elf Video Blog

Holidays aren't for haters.
                   Happiness isn't a destination.

We're gunna make a super sonic man outta 

              Y  O  U  ! 

Holidays Gone Wrong! (Blog Swap)

Hello my lovelies by inheritance, I am TOAR from Thoughts of a Randomista, but normal people just call me Lynn. Erin and I were supposed to join in on 20 something blogger's blog swap on Monday the 20th but as you can see, we are fucking rebels. I like to blog about everything from internet porn and hand jobs to dumb ass white people who don't know what the word "Killer" means. Yes, I am a raunchy racist but I can't help it. My mom is a white baptist and my dad is a black Muslim, I am bound to have an identity crisis. Right? Anyway, at Thoughts of a Randomista I like to create an open environment (Random Writing Chaos!) to talk about all these cliches and make fun of people. It's all in good fun so get your draw out of your ass. Lastly, TOAR is having a giveaway for it's 1 year anni-berfday! So follow TOAR to get more info! Now on to more important matters like crazy families drunk off their asses during the holidays. I give you: "Holidays Gone Wrong"
Every year during thanksgiving and Christmas, my family likes to have this huge get together (like most I suppose) to eat food and talk shit. Now, my family isn't the kind that just likes to fight amongst themselves, it's a different kind of holiday experience. My family is a bunch of hippies therefore, you never know what to expect! We don't plan anything because it is simple... Eat, Drink, and be Hippies!
My point is, there is so much to do to have the perfect holiday but in essence you are just fucking it up.
Why must there be the perfect pie? Let me tell you right now, no one gives a fuck! We are going to eat it and then go to sleep and shit it out later.
Why do you have to deep fry a turkey? You are asking for death to come and stab you in the face with his black-sword-stick-thing-amagig.
Why do we have to have 527282 different kinds of rum in our eggnog? Tequila and whip cream will do just fine.
Why must we gather in a huge circle around the dinner table and everyone has to say a part of the prayer? People?! We are hungry folks that are trying to look at the babies open their over priced presents. I mean of course we have to bless the food, but we do not need 50 people saying their own version of "dear lord, thank you for this food we are about to receive..." Just be done with it! "good food, good drinks, thank god, let's eat!" <-- SIMPLE lol. One person is just fine. Why can't we just get along? I know there are people out there who are as blessed as I am to have a fuck-awesome family like mine. They fuss and fight and bicker and it gives me a damn head ache. Let's not even talk about what happens in the kitchen! Women are so ruthless. I just want people to have an interesting and eventful Holiday. Do you have any stories to share? any of your Holidays Gone Wrong? ----------------------- View Erin's view on "Holiday's Gone Wrong" on TOAR. To Contact TOAR, email her at: thoughtsofarandomista@gmail.com

From a time less caring

From a Time Less Caring 

The floor, sweat.
Pound, pound, pound, lights flashing, sweat.
Prague.

I feel the squeeze of my jaw muscles and run my tongue along the inside of my teeth. It's an effort to unclench them, the constant pressure feels so good.  I nod my head to the heart beat of this club. Experience dictates, I will ache when I next wake, after coming down, again. A crescendo in the music and a shiver up my spine remind me how far away all of that feels. Taunni, in her silver v-neck half shirt, is suddenly connected to the hand giving me a bottle of water. It's cold against my clammy palms and a grin splits my face as I drink while bouncing to the music, mostly missing my mouth, spilling its cool traceries down my breasts, soaking the skin even of my belly. I hand it back, caressing her arm up to the elbow and then I'm lost again. The beat is all I know.

I wake up in a hostel. Not mine. He's still sleeping. Or he's faking. His pants are only half undone. My boots are still on. Someone is rustling a plastic bag. He shifts and slides his hand up my skirt. I close my eyes. I feel like being dead again for a few more hours and when I wake up again I'm alone except for the cleaning staff. They don't speak English but I know I'm to leave. My student card and koruna were shoved in the sleeve of my top, I find it tucked under the pillow. It's too early for my makeup to be this smudged and my stocking this ripped. I head to the laundry room of the hostel and pick through a tumbling dryer until I find something, ball it up guiltily, and change into the pants in a pubic toilet.

Taunni is still asleep in our room. I bang on the door many times before she answers.
"I told you to bring your key." She says sulkily. Her makeup is much worse. I hand her a pita stuffed with pickled vegetables, tan colored sauces and crushed falafel and fall on to our bed.
"Where did you get those awful pants?"
"No idea."
"You left without telling me again. I was busy with a couple of Spanish girls and I turned around and you were gone."
I move to the table where I had abandoned my own sandwich. As usual I was both terrified and fascinated to hear stories that I could not remember.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, one minute you had some shirtless Brit danced up against the wall and the next moment both of you were gone."
"What did he look like" I asked, all together too urgently. I took a bite, chewed it slowly, trying to reign my composure, my headache pulses as I slide back into a noncommittal interest.
"Some blond dude, with chops."
"Oh, barf. At least he wasn't the one."
"One what?"
"The one I woke up next to. He had dark hair, brownish and down past his ears." I rub my temples as I remember him.
"Sky, I keep telling you not to drink when you roll."
She sounded all together too frustrated, and even with a mouth full of food I said, "Hey, listen--no one asked you to babysit me. And don't fuckin act like you haven't left me in some club."
"Fuck you."
"No, I mean it. Denmark, fuckin first night there. Yeah. Thought I forgot, didn't ya? So get over yourself." I took a self righteous bite but it was all show. I felt sick from the inside out. She was right. We'd been traveling for over a month and a half now, seen the interior of so many clubs and churches. They all looked the same to my colorless eyes, and all though I had held her hair a time or two while she was sick, I still had nothing on her. It was getting to the point where I was encouraging her to drink more, take more hits, pop more pills because it annoyed me that I couldn't remember what she could. She held it over me and it could all be lies. I wanted it so badly to be lies or for her to be just as guilty.
Exasperated, I tore off my pants and headed to the shower stall in the corner of the room. I was starting to be bad for her, as I always eventually am.
I ignored her and myself for twenty minuets, scrubbed under my nails, shampooed my bush and shaved my legs. You could always feel brand new after you shaved your legs.
Taunni's pack was done up on the bed as I stepped wet-footed  up to my things heaped between the bed and the wall. She was leaning against the window there, scribbling in her journal.
"Is there any hot water left?"
"Should be." I shake out a crumpled top,  but trade it in for something with slightly longer sleeves. I glance at her sideways.
"You look ready to leave. I thought we'd stay on one more night."
"I'm all paid up."
My guts clenched, but I betrayed not even an eye brow's shift in concern.
"Well,  have you looked up the cost of new tickets to Budapest,  ours aren't till tomorrow."
It was funny how she could think of herself as the practical one and yet over look so obvious a detail.
"I'm not going on to Budapest. I'm going back to Paris to meet my sister."
I spun in frustration and made a small sound.
"I told you this could be an option, Sky. I told you I might head back if she got the position."
"Well, you also told me she hadn't, so I guess I just sort of pushed it out of my head."
"Sort of a skill of yours, isn't it? Pushing things out of your head."
I turned to face her.
"Your sister isn't. in. Paris."
"Are you calling me a liar?"
"Why are you going back?!" I raised my arms up big to match the sound of my voice. She bit her lip and shook pitifully, eyes filling with tears and in that moment I hated her for being so weak.
"I need a break." she said almost levelly.
"Well, good. Fine. Just take a break, then." I stomped over to the dresser and played with some change there. Was I so worthless that she would actually leave me over a little partying? She was the one who had cheated on her girlfriend. I still had that on her. She was going to be sorry, in the end, not me. But I tried a different tack, "Look, take a break. It isn't easy living with the same person for this long. Living out of suitcase, train to train..." I kept my voice soothing and calm as I walked back towards her on the bed,  "Having to share all the hard times and all the missteps." I pushed her bangs up on her forehead and when she didn't flinch I knew I was winning."We're making the kind of memories that most people never get a chance to share."
She pulled her face away from me violently and stood up.
"Memories, heh. At least you took pictures. Goodbye Skyler."
She flung her bag up on to her shoulders and then she was gone. Maybe I threw something at the door. It might have been my shoe or my sandwich. I don't care.
I went on to Budapest without her and then on to Pecs and yes, I took lots of pictures. Next I went back to Poland and met up with some folks from facebook but she never emailed me once. I didn't even see her at the start of fall term.  When I asked, her old girlfriend told me she had transferred to a different university.

Christmas Market

I am pretty sure I can't imagine a worse place on Earth to live besides Paris.....if you were starving. All the good smells from the cheese shops, bakeries and street venders, (chestnuts roasting over an open fire--for real)--make the food trucks in DC look like well, just about as unsavory as it already sounded. Say it again, "food truck"  --utilitarian at best.

As you well know I do my best to live in a deasert first universe and with that in mind I give you a short photo collection of the Christmas Market dans les Champs Elysées (You should totally click that link, Sebastien almost died of embarrassment when I played it.....ok so I had it up to 11.) Anyway, back to deasert--photos first, explication second. 

Various dried fruits

Various dried meats

Chocolate in tile format

Tackie porch hangings

He's notta scarea you

This guy wants to do me, so hard. Break a few eggs, indeed.

Light-up flowers, maybe for your porch or other tacky place.

The dish towel is the perfect gift when you want to say, "kinda!"

Just once I want to go to a party and proclaim that I carved a snake with a chainsaw, IRL

I took all these photos just for you

Well, I'm also a creeper..

As well as an American in Paris

We had a really wonderful promenade. We bought three saucisson from the meat stall in picture two-- one with nuts, one with figs and one with a strong blue cheese. We had a big lunch before we left but it was still really hard not to buy savory crepe or a big Belgian style waffle smothered in nutella...but we did share a steaming cup of mulled red wine. Speaking of nutella, you should meet my new favorite cereal, regard! To the left you will see the cereal--click it, make it larger. To the right you will see the artistic rendering my enamel made based on my new diet. As you can see my teeth are a congress divided. Stupid Cry babies.

We might be in Paris for Christmas because the TGV is 80 euros for a one way to Alsace where his family still lives.
I don't mind at all.  Everywhere is home with him. The French love their outdoor markets and I was very excited to learn that I wouldn't have to wait until the spring to see them again.  There will be another Christmas market only two blocks from here on Saturday. Unless we finally get motivated, something comes up, we'll go to that too.

And finally super friends, it turns out I got the head count wrong. I live with two Italians, a German, a Bulgarian, three french girls and one French guy, who all speak both french and english as good or better than me. Stupid jerks.

Life aboard the Kestrel

Hey there Pilgrims. I's me, Erin...Live from Paris where I no-longer seem to be dying of a dehydration induced fever. My landlord just left for Martinique with my six hundred euros in his pocket and he won't be back till mid-January. But I am not here to be a negatron! (well, not at least for mega-long)

 

We moved into our apartment  in the 10th Arrondisement,  last night. Its a 5th floor flat that we share with 6 other people. There are four Frenchmen, three girls and a boy, a Bulgarian and an Italian, both male. Last night was our first night here. Once we figured out how to make the IKEA bed work in ways no longer suited for a comedy routine, we slept soundly.

Our chamber has a balcony and those long planked-Parisian-parquet-floors people fight in line for. (Which explains the price) They've provided all the furniture but we're going to go today to try and get a coverlet that matches the curtains. The colors of the room are gold and white and natural wood brown so we were thinking gold, navy blue or brown would be best. But we'll see.

The last time I shared housing was in Toledo Ohio, I took a room for 100 dollars a month in an artist collective there. It was a beautiful building with a community concert hall, long dark wood passages and about 300 artists of every persuasion renting either studio space, sleeping quarters or both. I slept on a foam mat on the floor of my five by eight room. I painted the walls myself. My friend Zach said he liked the color I had chosen, that it was good for dreaming. I had a small fridge, a desk and I was finishing my first novel at the time. I took no pictures but posed in many.

I discovered Toledo because a friend of mine was living there in an old big windowed apartment, a lot like this a few blocks from the collective. She through the most amazing party of my life. There was drinking, singing, pretty lights and just this all around sense that I should be there. I woke up nude in a bed by a window. The silk soft of the curtains blew over the cream of my skin as a million church bells rang out in chorus. My band mate and I applied and then took up residency that fall.

We roamed abandoned buildings and made over night trips to Detroit, to see the artisan squats or shows at the 555. We went to the library at least once a week by foot and when I left I took many volumes of books that I never planned to return. For work and in between my band's weekly gig at a small jazz club, I built mountain dulcimers, parked cars, waited tables, sanded floors and worked an after school program to make ends meet.

Once in awhile someone of means would take us out to eat but I lived generally off of baloney, baby carrots, raw spinach and soy milk. Someone put free loafs of bread on the third floor and it was whole grain, too. It wasn't so hard. If all my plans fell through, it's the first place I'd go.

Sebastien and I haven't explored Paris much. Its different when you decide to live somewhere, you just sort of figure all the attractions will be there, should you want them. We are also reluctant to spend a lot of money until we secure work. I was planning also to join a gym but I'm not sure that will now be necessary with a five floor walk up and stairs all along the metro. If you think Georgetown is hard in heels, well it's got nothing on the calf, toe and thigh work I'm getting in now.

Well, I need a proper latte and we need to see which of these butchers to frequent, so off I go!

Karaoke Cum Swap

 Remember when you first got into cum swapping and it was all you wanted to do? Well that's how I feel about this monthly Karaoke Blog swap we have going over on 20 something Bloggers, you can find my video montage and horrible song choice over here on Bianca's Blog: Bianca and the B-sides. Seriously, who doesn't love B-sides?

Speaking of things to love, we've got our swapper to introduce. She hails from San Fran and her blog is hella rad and innovative because she shares it with her partner and they both give their versions of events. (Kinda like the Vampire episode of the X-files) So go ahead and check out How to Survive Love: The Whole Truth, when you get a chance! 

Thanks, Erin! And thanks to all of Erin's devoted followers that are going to take the time to listen to me sing the last song you will ever hear until you decide you've had enough and want to rip off your ears. 

Well, I hope it's not that bad. You may, however, get that same feeling of motion sickness that you got when you watched Paranormal Activity. I was only trying to show you my gadgets and gizmos a-plenty, but I may have spun around too many times. I should probably explain what you are about to watch. 

I began this week with the full intent of singing I Can Hear the Bells from Hairspray. I even rehearsed and practiced it a few times. However, right before I was about to record the video, a light bulb of amazing went off when I realized The Little Mermaid was my true calling. My eyes widened, I jumped up, gave a shriek of excitement and began dancing and singing to Part of Your World. This was the song of my life childhood. I LOVE this movie. Oh, Ariel. I wanted to be her. I wanted her hair! I would sing this song in the shower and act it out. Yes, I really did that. Don't dare say this isn't a show tune! It's a

Broadway musical now, and that's all the justification I needed. So here it is...with an added bonus clip to show you how nervous that I was to begin the karaoke process. And if you want to check out December's blogger of the month, the real Mandy Moore gettin' her sing-on, hop on over to my blog.
Enjoy!

 

If your interested in participating in next month's Swap let our favorite cussy hussy know.  Try not to mention that she looks like a trucker lesbian in her video...she's kind of sensitive...

XO

David a dit ca

Who would have thought I would be getting a chance to meet my favorite living writer? I was still working that silly temp gig in DC when I learned that David Sedaris would be in  an anglophone books store here in Paris this evening.
I knew he would be promoting and reading from his new book, but I had read that in early November, and it hasn't stayed alive in me the way some of his other books did. For those of you whom have yet to read Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk, all the protagonists are animals.  It is amusing to see the categories of behaviors we all associate with animal grafted effectively on to portrayals of real people you might encounter at your local super market--anthropomorphizing at it's funniest. But it's also quite depressing as he touches on some of the worst tendencies in the human existence-- betrayal, deceit, despair, rationalization--sometimes all at once!
Nevertheless, hoping against hope that he would not just read from his new book, we weary Anglophones packed in to the Village Voice like so many sardines. I really wanted to hear something from  Me Talk Pretty One Day or Holidays on Ice--both feeling topical given the season and city. Sadly, I wasn't in the same room with him for his reading, instead I watched him live on a closed circuit TV right by the signing table. He read the title story and recounted the book naming process he outlined for me on the The Jimmy Kimmel Show and then again on the Daily Show making the experience more like a movie when I've read too many reviews and seen too many trailers. Thankfully, he read next from his personal journal and I have posted a short wobbly video of those below.

And then I got to meet him. He kind of treated me like I was at the dentist office, or as though he were Santa Clause. His tone wasn't condescending but accommodating in a familiar professional way slick with many shinings. It was only off putting in the least because it made clear that there was a He and then the rest of us.  I asked him to sign a copy of Naked and an insert from the New Yorker to hang on my wall. I think I'll frame it.
During the brief question and answer period that followed his reading David asked if we would tell him jokes and although I thought of many better ones after on the RER out of Paris, I could only come up with dead baby jokes at the time. He said that when he tried to tell a joke to someone and they stop him and say they've already heard it, that he feels punched or slapped. But being on a 58 city tour and having heard jokes at every reading we shouldn't feel accosted if he's heard ours.  The dead baby joke format is simple and crude. He said he'd heard most of them and even if he hadn't, once you know the equation they're easy to decipher.
ME: What's the difference between a pile of dead babies and a Camaro?
DS: I don't have a Camaro..
ME: In my garage!
DS: I've modified that joke.
ME: How?
DS: What's the difference between a Camaro and an erection?
ME:What?
DS: I don't have a Camaro.
He said it in this wonderfully creepy voice too.
"I couldn't be happier that you said that," I responded honestly as I deposited my new treasures in my bag. David asked me where I was from. I mentioned Cape Cod and of course he was familiar. I asked him in French if he had vacationed there. He said he had not, but that he had visited it for one day when his sister Gretchen was graduating.
It was weird for me to hear the name of someone I had read about from the person who wrote it. When he said her name a little part of me jumped up and said, oh--I know her! But I don't actually, just as I didn't actually meet David. But I did pay 14 euros for a book I once owned to have signed by his stage persona, a fair deal--as I could easily pay more than that to spend time with a person and only get sex. I by contrast got to meet my favorite author David Sedaris, practically a national treasure and he had just told me that he had an erection. I don't mean to create a false dichotomy, but I'm fairly certain he doesn't have a Camaro.

various ridiculus things

At the partial behest of my lover boy I packed waayyyyyy more then could ever be considered helpful, useful, savvy, and or intelligent for our move to France..

A short list of the ridiculous

• 10 pairs of shoes (just for me and 6 pairs are boots!)
• 42 books. Yes, really. 42 books, in English to read before bed.
• 200 miniatures, many as yet unpainted
• 2 charlie cards for access onto the Boston T (Metro)
• 10 belts...only two of which are his
• 3 purses and 3 backpacks
• 2 sets of swimming goggles. 
• 1 pizza cutter

I said I would make it a short list so I'll stop there. But those are the things that came with us to Paris among our two hundred pounds of luggage. I am sure I brought at least twenty above the knee skirts which are wonderfully useful when it's SNOWING.  Paris in the snow...my sister thinks it so romantic. I'm like, the only thing romantic about us being in Paris so far is that neither one wishes the other dead.

This has been just another one of those times that show us what a strong match we are. We packed our stuff up, our entire apartment--mind, loaded it on to a truck and drove it to storage. In the morning, after having slept on the floor for 3 hours we unpacked the truck and loaded it all into a 15 by 5 storage space. We then caught a taxi cab for our international flight and got on the plane while they were doing their final boarding call. How many bags did we check? Well, as it turns out, the german air carrier we thought we were using was really being handled by United airlines. And as such, our weight limit expectation was different. (Lufthansa said 66 United, 50.) So now we have to redistribute all of our things to fit into three bags, pay BY CHECK 25 dollars for their crap bag and 50 dollars to have it on the air craft, which was better then 200 dollars per over-weight bag. Another bonus to almost missing our flight was that if your bags go on the plane last, they come off first!

So now we're here in Savigny-sur-Orges, just outside of Paris. We're staying with friend's of Sebastien's papa. They insisted we unpack all of our things until we find an apartment, which we now have done...which I am now weary of.. Comfort equals stagnation. It's been mathematically proven.

Now all that is to be done is work finding and habitat acquisition. Maybe dinner. I don't know if you know this but fat gained in France is not fat at all, just culturally sensitive.  

New Video Karaoke Blog swap coming up. I really think you're going to want to see this one so check minez out. The theme is show tunes, if you still want in contact Sara.
Ok party peoples I need some dinns.