Requests From an Intern

Having been a registered intern for the past few years and worked in a variety of settings, I am surprised @ the amount of supervisor horror stories I have, both heard, and personally experienced.

The following is a list of requests for supervisors to consider:

1) Remember when you were an intern...
And working a number of odd jobs in order to support yourself through that unpaid internship? Yeah, I'm doing that right now. So, please take that into consideration when you text me @ 9:40pm about tomorrow's 7:30am meeting and don't act shocked when I am unable to make it...

2) I'm not 22...
And this isn't my first internship (or even career), so have someone else (or God-forbid, you) pick up the new plant for the office, 'cause hauling a lemon tree on Muni would be a bitch...

3) I know you have plenty of money...
And not just because you drive a BMW, but also because of the two months a year you take off for  vacation and those pictures of your trip to Bali you showed me on your iPad. So please don't charge me $60 a month for tea, 'cause even if you do spend that much (your fault), that's a week worth of groceries for me...

4) Seek out your own therapist (or consultation group)...
So I don't have to hear about your home foreclosure, asshole husband or how my friend's suicide affected you.

5) Help me find my own words...
Not try to make me a mini you. I get it, you're amazing & I should probably just refer all of my clients to you, but they can't afford you. And I only cost slightly more than a night out at the movies...

Thanks. 

Turning 30 (Serious & Spiritual…Hey, I warned you :)

I turned 30 yesterday and have been having mixed feelings about it…Not so much about turning 30 itself, but being 30 and in my current situation (i.e. a single gal, with no hope in sight/credit card relying intern…really, need I say more?). My pity party lasted the good part of a week before I got over myself and realized how fortunate I am to be healthy/living in a wonderful city with amazing friends and a supportive family (…not so bad after all, aye?)

So to celebrate the big 3-0, a dear friend and I hiked out to the beach to have a little lunch and enjoy the beautiful weather (tank tops and sunshine in October!?!? Yes please :).  As I contemplated the last ten years of my life and all that took place, I began to think about my future too; hopefully a husband, some children, winning the lottery (the big one, not just a scratcher) and aging gracefully (think Demi Moore).  It was during this fantasy that an old belief popped up (an excuse really), something that I had been telling myself and others for a long time… “I’ll find a partner when I am leading the kind of life I want to be leading.” Variation “I need to be the person I want to be before I will find the husband/love I want.” Well, fuck that…

While standing at the mighty ocean’s edge, I began to think about her power and grace. Then it dawned on me, the ocean didn’t create her own water…it had to come from sky! (And I might add, sometimes travel a long way to get there…) Then once its time on earth is done, it returns to the sky only to be reborn again and become part of ocean once more. Repeat. A wave of relief washed over me as I applied this concept to my own life…it is part of the life cycle to be incomplete. Then we find friendships/relationships that feed us energy and provide us with that little something special that fulfills us so we can do our work and live our best life. A new belief began to take form, “I don’t have to wait until I am complete within myself/career/financially, but can continue to receive “rain” growing stronger, brighter and more me in a relationship.”  Well obviously, this new belief feels right and true…Now if I can only keep that old one from popping up again, as my dad would say, “Then, I’ll be in business…” 

Tales from the Nanny

After realizing how much money the government takes for taxes, I decided to work “under the table” as a nanny until I can get back on my feet (Don’t get your panties in a bunch IRS, this is a few hundred dollars we are talking about here).  But boy, I had no idea what I was getting into…

Finding gigs was actually pretty easy. With it being summer and all, families were in desperate need of coverage for nannies out on vacation, busy with summer internships or just because they needed a break from their own damn kids.

My first family had a little girl I will refer to as Boo-Boo Daddy (BBD) because she was just learning to talk and everything was BBD…I mean EVERYTHING. There would be times the precious little creature would be screaming BBD only for me to find out later that all she wanted was a glass of milk. Or another time when she decided she didn’t want to poop in her diaper, so she took it off and shit on the floor. Awesome, really fucking awesome.

I ended it with BBD because after four hours with the kid I would be so stressed out that I would have to immediately go home and smoke a cigarette then take a nap…The damn kid was just too overwhelming!

So, for my next family, I decided to try to take it down a notch. Something more mellow and more like my upbringing, so I set up a time to meet with a couple who are both therapists like me. I had a little bit of trouble finding their house and arrived about 5 minutes late (obviously not a good sign for someone you are thinking about hiring, but I was late nonetheless). Dad Therapist answered the door and lead me down a very cluttered hallway filled with boxes and I casually inquired, “Did you recently move in?” “Oh, no,” he replied, “We’ve lived here for years.”  As we turned the corner into the living room, I began to notice a smell, something like kitty litter and all that comes with it. “Do you have cats?” I inquired. “Oh, yes,” he said, “We have two. They are our other babies.” And proceeded to bore me with the names, ages and special talents of each critter. (Don’t get me wrong, I love animals and have lovely little fur ball of my own, but I think I was too overwhelmed with the stuff and smells to really take it in).

I tried to make my way to the sofa, but had a little trouble getting over/around the glorified play pen that had been set up for the little bundle of joy. “Probably to keep her away from the cat piss,” I thought.

As I waited for Daddy T to go get the rest of the crew, I took in the room and all of the stuff in it, ‘cause man, there was a LOT of stuff…probably not like a “Hoarders” amount of stuff, but pretty damn close. To make matters worse, none of the blinds or windows were open adding to the already claustrophobic feeling of the place and the smell.  “How do people live like this?” I wondered. Open a freaking window! Let some light in… The rest of the interview didn’t go any better and when I left, I didn’t even inquire as to when we would be speaking again. The thought of having to spend 8 hours a day in that room made me a nauseous…I was fucking outta there…

Luckily, not long after, I landed a gig with a wonderful family. Their little boy, who I will call Frog, is the sweetest, most lovable little boy on the planet…No joke, I just wanna hug ‘em and squeeze ‘em and kiss ‘em, but the kids gotta sleep and eat…so we just kick it. I find myself filled with gratitude on my early morning walks over to Frog’s house. Although we won’t be in each other’s lives for long, we will have spent just enough time together to make an impact on each other’s lives. I’ll teach him how to sneak on the back of the bus and his mommy will pay me enough money to pay my rent J  

Polk-a-Dot Undies

While out for dinner last night with my gorgeous friend, Molly, I noticed we were getting some attention from a table with very decent looking guys at it. Hanging out with Molly, this is the norm because dudes always stare at her because of her goddess-like good looks and long, blonde mane; but this time, the one of the guys was looking at me! I mentioned to Molly that she just might be my good luck charm...

But then to my horror, I discovered why I, not my friend Holly was getting all the attention…

The Sitch: Molly and I were grabbing a little pre-concert din din before going to see our favorite bluegrass band...thus, dressed for the part, I was wearing a nice little dress and boots. But, being summer in San Francisco and FREEZING, I was also wearing tights. What I failed to remember was that they were not leggings, but the see-through kind. So, when I slid off my boots and hiked my legs up Indian style to enjoy my tortilla soup in comfort, I was actually giving this table of dudes a full frontal view of my crotch donned in bright green underwear with gigantic white polk-a-dots. (Now that things have gotten really personal, let’s just add that unlike my jeans, which get worn out in the thighs, this particular pair of tights is actually ripped and has a decent-sized hole in the crotch…)

So, I’d like to apologize to you, long-haired, jewish-looking boy eating a burrito with your buddies last night…I’m not sure what you saw, but I’m damn sure it wasn’t pretty. Oh, and that hole in my tights, that was an accident, sicko…I don’t usually go around wearing crotchless tights…

Me vs. 10 lbs.

With my upcoming role as bridesmaid quickly approaching, I thought it might be a good idea to try to lose ten pounds. Why? I have no idea. While I could probably stand to loose the weight, I feel good and my dress fits perfectly. Still, knowing I am about to be on parade in a strapless dress in front of old college friends and potential husbands is motivation enough to want to look good…really good.

Hearing good things about SparkPeople.com (namely that it is free), I signed up to start tracking my calories and receive motivational emails about weight loss. You can even join a special online bridesmaid format for specialized “you-can-do-it” support.

My first day things went really well and I gave myself a little imaginary pat on the back for having met my caloric and nutritional goals for the day, but then things headed downhill…The following day was Sunday, a day of gluttony, filled with brunch out, afternoon cocktails and ice cream with the Sunday night movie. But then Monday rolled around and it was the Fourth of July, which being a holiday, is essentially like another Sunday all over again.  My day began with a pre-hike, Fourth of July celebratory donut, which I promptly washed down with a 20 ounce Mountain Dew; I knew things were going to be ugly, at least calorically speaking. 

After a long day of hiking and beaching, I returned home feeling revived from the sunshine and ready for some BBQ and brews. Not wanting to make a pig of myself @ the BBQ and also not wanting to wait to eat, I ate I nice big salad before heading out. Upon arriving at my destination I was glad I did because the only items left were hours-old kabobs and some dried up looking macaroni salad (hello people, mayonnaise in the sun?!?) I shrugged, broke out my beer pong champion coozie and started chatting it up with my new friends…

Having lived in foggy San Francisco for six years, we were ecstatic for a clear night and finally able to enjoy the fireworks from my friend’s roof. We even got in a little star gazing before it got too cold and we all headed home. Not wanting to abandon my ten-pound weight loss goal less than 72 hours in, I logged in to track my day’s calories. Breakfast = 1 glazed donut, 1 20 ounce mountain dew, Lunch = Spinach salad with strawberries, sliced almonds and (fat free!) balsamic vinaigrette, Dinner = Four Budweisers and six cigarettes. The results were tallied and I was way under my suggested calorie range! Satisfied with my success and my day, I climbed into bed smiling and thinking, “Maybe I’ll try to lose 15 lbs…”

Yoga Guy

It seems even to cliché to write, but I have met him…yoga guy…not as bad as this yoga guy, but still…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DJsQcnB6GC0

Being unemployed allows for lots of free time to try out new yoga studios. Armed with my yoga mat and yoga BFF, I headed into class ready to relax and renew.  Knowing myself and that I do not respond to change well (at all) I decided to sit quietly meditating before class to get used to the new space and check-in with myself to see what I needed from class. I was just getting settled when I heard someone ask, “Are you saving this spot?” I looked up to see the urban legend that I had heard so much about, abominable yoga guy, completely covered head to toe in hair, and wearing shorts which left nothing to the imagination. Being the budding bodhisattva that I am, I promptly responded, “all yours” as enthusiastically as possible. “Okay,” my inner monologue began, “this is your practice for today. Notice: judgment, annoyance, just notice…oh, fuck!” Urban Tarzan had begun his pre-class ritual of attempting to reach his toes, huffing, puffing and grunting the whole time.  “Ok,” I thought to myself, “what are my options here? Move, leave…” But before I could finish my thought the lights dimmed and the teacher began guiding us in the opening meditation. 

Things went surprisingly smoothly for the first half of class.  Besides trying to hide my “that’s nasty face” (best illustrated here)

every time yoga guy dripped sweat onto his mat or took a break to “mop up,” I was able to get into my own yoga groove, but as the class began to reach the end the teacher decided we were ready to try some hand stands.  Already exhausted from the day/class, I did my usual pony kicks (i.e. preparatory jumps) and focused on maintaining proper alignment.  Yoga guy, however, had a different approach…He began throwing him legs up in the air - grunting and farting (yes farting) the whole time. Afraid for my life, I abandoned my practice and curled up near the end of my mat, as far away from the flailing neanderthal as possible.  The pose, usually called child’s pose, quickly became frightened animal pose as I made note of each of yoga guy’s attempts at levitation. 

The teacher suggested one last attempt before beginning our cool down and as I prepared to flip over onto my back for savasanna, I saw out of the corner of my eye that yoga guy was really wobbly and in fact was falling over and headed in my direction! I moved my hands out of the way before one of his giant feet landed smack on my mat.  I couldn’t help but stare at the rivers of sweat creating lines in his overgrowth forest of leg hair.  “Oh, sorry,” he said, “my bad.” He removed his foot only to leave a footprint of sweat on my mat that quickly turned into a little pool of foulness.  With this being my first time at the studio and the instructor already dimming the lights for final relaxation, I looked around quickly for where they might have the mat spray and towels, but finding nothing, I grabbed the blanket I was planning on using to keep myself warm and laid it over the tiny pool of filth. Curse words floated through my inner monologue, then sheer annoyance and disgust.

As soon as the final Om was chanted, I hopped up to return my props and tell my yoga BFF all about the events of the past 90 minutes. Looking uber Zen herself, she took one look at me and mouthed, “what’s wrong?” I mouthed back, “later.” Then headed to the bathroom to wash my hands in case I had accidentally come in contact with any of the yeti’s bodily fluids. Taking a few deep breathes of the lavender soap, I felt ready to face the world again or at least my friend and move on with my day.

I found my friend waiting for me outside the studio. “Great class,” she said, “What did you think of it?” “Ha,” I said, but before I could launch into the full story, Yoga Guy came out of the studio and gave a little wave in my direction before heading off down the sidewalk.  “Do you know him?” she asked, “He’s kinda cute…” Unable to control myself any longer, I made the combination stink eye/death stare in his direction and responded, “Yyyyyeah, he's all yours...” 

I'm back!

...whoot, whoot, I'm back! It took a long weekend at the natural hot springs, a few days of laying in the sun reading smut and my roommate gone for ten days (so I can eat bacon in my underwear, my favorite "I live alone" activity;) but I am finally back to me! I have officially let go of my corporate "experience." And I know this because after dinner, with some actual energy to spare, I had a little Roy Orbison-Baha Men-Cee-Lo-Cyndi Lauper Dance party.  Hmmmm, maybe that's why my neighbors across the way greet me with a knowing smile when I see them on the street even though we've never met.  Either that or because I usually forget to close my blinds...