Important Question #5 : Where Have I Been?

The past few weeks have been pretty hectic. Several important questions have come up, though question number one has left me no time to write about any of the others... Curses, question one. Curses. Here's a quick catch up:

1. Why can't I get a job?

My tragic, never ending joblessness is the number one reason why I've disappeared from the online world. I wish that the vast amount of cover letters I produce per day could be listed on my resume, or included as a writing sample. That's just about all I do now, and it's getting kind of impressive. Uh, and depressing.

The knife took a twist when I met with several members of the American Museum of Natural History's PR Department (who were not hiring), and got way positive reviews, along with pity-filled facial expressions, words of encouragement and general references to a crumbling journalism industry. Fantastic.

At what point does "it's the economy" lose its panache? When you start going door to door with your resume. And if this TGI Friday's in the Bronx got over 4,000 job applications, odds are I'll be stuck blaming the economy for a while. Competition is steep. At least I'll have a story to tell the grandkids.

2.Why won't Beacon's Closet take any of my clothes?

This place takes "thrift store" to a whole new level, and sends my ego crashing to the floor. I've never felt so shunned as to blame it on the weather, but this may be a good time to start. "Now buying for fall," says the sign above the counter where Beacon's employees sift through piles of clothes, make their fashionista judgments, and decide the fate of my weekly budget. So, it's fall stuff only now. Is that why you didn't take my vintage, ballroom style party dress-- with satin bows at the gathers, no less!? That thing is a gem in any season, and you know it. Put on a jacket.

Now I have a suitcase filled with all my eccentric aunt's Saks Fifth Avenue purchases from the mid-80s, and no drive to bring it in. Well, you better believe I'll spend the weekend convincing myself this is Beacon's loss. (And then get really jealous of all the cool stuff he has.)

3. What's all that banging?

From the Williamsburg Bridge to the Nassau G, thuds have been abounding around town. This mysterious construction noise resonates amongst the stalled luxury condo projects, like a modern twist on the tell-tale heart, and confuses the crap out of me. The metallic clanging echoed off of every building, and seemed to come from all directions at once.

While running around town (probably handing out resumes), I had complete empathy for the dogs I saw, with their ears perked up and their heads cocked to the side, wondering, "Where is that noise coming from?" Despite my much larger human brain, I too could not figure it out.

4. How Do People Make Friends?

Williamsburg residents are more aloof than cats who refuse to come down from the top of the fridge. Plus, you can't lure them with tuna. The key, I guess, is to find another type of lure. Free concert tickets? A secret graf art alter-ego? Those things are not easy to come by.

It seems that I am not alone in my plight. There is a whole section of craigslist devoted to platonic relationship seekers. While I did peruse through lists of girls seeking girlfriends, and while they were far less creepy than expected, there is no way I would ever contact one of them. Ever. Going to "hang out" with a total stranger is awkwardness to end all awkwardness.

What do you say the first time you meet? It's got to be like a first date times 12. Small talk is bad enough when it has sex drive and the potential to get free stuff backing it up. Get rid of those two factors, and it's a sinking ship from the start.

In the end, there's no way to force a friendship, not even with lures and the power of the interwebs. You just have to wait until you bump into someone pretty sweet. Now that college is over, the bumps will be few and far between. Maybe it's time I get a cat.

Important Question #4 : What's the Deal with the MTA?

Dear MTA Rent-a-Cop:

What is your deal, man? I have an unlimited metrocard. Why does the "entered without payment" box on my $100 ticket marked?

If you were there to see me and two other friends cram into the turnstyle and barrel through together, didn't you also see us swiping our cards for four and a half minutes like maxed out housewives on a shopping binge? We were dedicated, man. We stuck with it. And, alas, the metro system failed us.

"Not enough tokens," it said in emotionless blue-steel pixels. "Please swipe again."

I paid almost $100 to gleefully hop on any train I so please. Hell, after that much money I should be able to make personal visits to your office just to pinch your pseudo-authoritative cheeks and shake 'em around like Aunt Gina after one too many martinis.

And while we all know that you are barely scratching the surface of real cophood, let's pretend for a moment, and assume that the phrase "serve and protect" may apply to you. Watching us fumble around in the station was a perfect opportunity to have a little bit of useful value. You could have served us with a helping hand right then and there, swallowed some pride for a moment and taken a stab at being a good person. And, hey, if you were a little too tired or self-important in that moment, you could have asked one of your buddies at the station to help you out. There were seven of you, afterall. I guess leaning idly against counters and eating cheetos is draining.

Or maybe rather than "serve and protect" the MTA authorities' mantra is "To annoy and fill quotas." I hope my $100 goes to fixing the turnstyles.

Oh and by the way, my friend-turned-partner in crime is BLACK. She has dreadlocks and BLACK skin. I assume for her sake that the ticket marked "white" will be null and void, on account of your oblivious incompetence.