inordinately pleased but trying not to jinx myself

when i worked in real estate, i pretty much hated it. i hated writing about the same damn shit all the time [i.e., will the housing bubble burst or no?], i hated interviewing realtors about topics i didn't care about, and i hated the aura of tacky fashion and bad hair surrounding the entire real estate industry. it was my first job out of college and i dreamt of being in fashion editorial and writing about glamorous things while living in "the big city"—wherever that may be. so, of course, i moved to LA and swore that i wouldn't go back to real estate again; i'd get my ass into the fashion industry and it would be awesome.

well, life, as it is, has a funny way of foiling even the best intentions and plans.

clearly, LA didn't work out. turns out: it's a shallow, provincial pit of despair crawling with superficial and mean-spirited idiots! it's no wonder they're punished frequently and relentlessly with all-consuming forest, park and house fires. burn, bitches, burn! anyway. there was no way i could find glamorous fashion editorial work out there [you know, since my name isn't lauren conrad and i don't have my own show on mtv] seeing as, despite there being condé nast and time inc. branches out there, they're small as hell and low budget, and the most prominent publisher of all is flynt. yeah, no thanks. hustler obviously contains no fashion—or rather, no clothes, period—and is, by my standards, not at all glamorous, while all of flynt's other publications have to do with hunting or fishing or outdoorsy shit like that. whatever. i hate camping.

so i settled with a job in high-end fashion wholesale. and, while the building i worked in, the california market center, was really nice [and was recently shown in an episode of america's next top model as "the heart of the fashion district" or some shit like that by jay manuel with his horrible platinum hair], the position kinda sucked rhinoceros balls. i was an account executive in a showroom run by a cheap-ass chinese biatch who basically screwed me over by not taking taxes out of my wages and claiming me as an independent contractor even though i was a full-time employee that pretty much ran the fucking showroom while she sat around with her thumb up her ass. i just finished paying off said taxes (all $5000+ of them) last month. meanwhile, that is precious money i could have saved to move out of my sister's house! i hope god smites that bitch one of these days, i really do.

i quit that job the same week that my closest friend in LA moved to NY and my boyfriend and i broke up. once my boyfriend and i broke up, i needed a new place to live, since we lived together. i fell into a deep and impenetrable rage-slash-depression and there was nothing i could do but move to NY, too, and start over since i had no desire to start over in LA. once in NY, though, it was harder than i'd anticipated to get a foot in the door of the fashion editorial industry. because i didn't have the "storybook" resume, i had to rely more on making connections within the industry than on my actual talents. well, i eventually got there.

i finally attained my dream: i landed a job at instyle! granted, it was only a freelance assistant position, but i was in, nevertheless! i was so freakin' excited, i could barely contain my elation. and yet...it wasn't as sweet as i'd imagined it'd be. first of all, that mag is fucking frumpy and they don't even know it. its pages are filled with ugly outfits and objects, the page layouts are totally crappy, the ad placement is distracting and poorly done, and hal rubenstein's writing gets more and more cheesy and "eh?"-inducing by the issue. he's fucking ridiculous.

the thing is, i kicked ass at my job. i was amazing. i went above and beyond all expectations and still didn't get a permanent position! i may have been a little too vocal about my opinions during an interview for an editorial assistant position, perhaps. i may have been too smart for the position, too [in fact i know i was], considering one of preliminary interview questions was, "if my hairdresser in LA were unavailable, what would you do?" like, what the fuck kind of question is that? everyone's a diva. but i suppose that's how it is in an industry driven by catty, self-important women. i actually found out from one of the interns that the higher-level editors at instyle look for people who are actually stupid but hard-working. that way, they do as they're told and don't rock the boat with their opinions on how to change the magazine, which they view as being fine the way it is. that's not me! c'est la vie.

so i've been contemplating other options. i've still been applying to positions at condé and hachette, but i'm trying to broaden my horizons. maybe i'd like working in scientific/biology-related editorial? i didn't take IB bio for two years in high school for nothing, you know. i love me some genetics and neurobiology. or maybe i'd be better off in public relations writing press releases? maybe i should look into the marketing/advertising side of magazine publishing. or maybe, just maybe, i should try real estate again. ivanka trump does it. it's almost like she's bringing sexy back.

anyway, i have an interview on wednesday at the real estate group, a "young and dynamic" brokerage firm with a pretty sweet website. if i got the job, i'd do online marketing and writing, which apparently would provide me with a lot of creative leg room. there is certainly very, very little of that in le fashion editorial. and, most importantly, it's not a company full of fucking women! my interview is with two dudes and i'm totally excited about that because, let's face it, dudes are so much easier to deal with than a bunch of premenstrual bitches. i have a good feeling about this, too, though i really don't want to jinx myself [i seriously need a job, like now]. the director of marketing, who i corresponded with via email before setting up the interview, put these little smile emoticons in two of his messages to me, like this: =]

that's gotta be a good sign. i feel like i can always tell when interviews aren't going to go well because of the unfortunate occurrences beforehand. for example, i had an interview with an HR girl at time inc. after my instyle gig, which was just okay. it was tepid. the girl was very waspy and i hate those snotty, waspy types. i didn't leave with any sense of confidence that she had my back or would be looking very hard for a position for me. and i should've known it wouldn't go as well as i'd have liked because that morning, while walking down the front steps of my sister's house to get to my cab, one of my heels got caught in a cuff of my nice theory pants and ripped it! thankfully, my mom has since taken out the cuffs and lengthened the pants to make them wearable with higher heels, but i was really, really upset when that happened. then, last week, i had an interview at a beauty and fashion PR firm for a copywriter position. that interview actually went well, i think, but i was the first person they interviewed and i haven't heard back from them. i actually can't really see myself working in that particular environment, nor did i feel like i really clicked with the company, but i wouldn't turn it down. anyway, the initial vibe of the emails exchanged to set up the interview was terse and cool; i feel like that's always a little off-putting. the morning of that interview, too, had some mishaps. first off, it was raining. secondly, i twisted my fucking ankle upon disembarking from my cab to avoid a large puddle. thirdly, i scuffed the toe of my shoe while traversing the stairs to the wrong platform at the train station—i was most upset about this. clearly i care not for my physical well-being as long as my clothes and shoes remain intact.

that being said, i really hope the smiley emoticons and very chipper conversation i had on the phone with one of the marketing director's associates are good omens. and that i don't injure my person or my outfit on the day of the interview—or ever! but again, i don't want to jinx myself. i just need a job! dear motherfucking god, do i need a job.