...or rather, trips and stumbles into it, knocking over a few glass vases, which is really more her style.
Now is a good time to start a blog. I`m a writer, ya know, and fish gotta fly. Or something. I figured this is a good time because I just started my new job yesterday, which will turn into a full-time endevour in a few weeks. I`ll be serving tables at an authentic French café-bakery; a job I got by drastically embellishing my experience in my current job, at a ice cream scoopery-tea house, where I do much more of the former and very little of the latter. I actually know very little about serving, baking, or French cuisine at all, but goddamn, I know a lot about pretending like I do.
How I wound up here requires a little back story. I won`t write much about it; it`s boring, and besides, I`m all about mystique, ya know.
In February, things were very different. I was with my then-live-in-boyfriend, M., and attending school full time in a variety of writing and sociology classes. Very few people knew that M. and I were desperately unhappy. I started dating M. at the young age of fifteen, which everybody knows is too damn young to date anybody, let alone somebody you plan to spend the next four years with. But we lived together anyways. Talk about having all your eggs in one grenade.
One day, a trivial argument was the end of it.
I lived with my best friend, S., for a few monthes while I got used to this whole `single` thing. And once I got the hang of it, boy, did I run with it. There was a brief but passionate affair with an unemployed actor; then, afterwards, there was an unnoficial affair with his (female) roommate. There was (and is) a whole lot `o the feminism. There was beer. Egads, the beer.
I`m living now with my Sister, her husband Brother, their son Munchkin and second-trimester fetus Babytoo. I`m not going back to school, at least not yet, which leads me back to the bakery.
I know what you`re thinking: art student dropout waiting tables smells like a whole lot of nihilism. But not at all. I`m all about optimism. I`m trying to think of this as a different kind of school, with more tests but less homework, which sounds OK except I heard a rumour that it`s not fair. And I`m trying to think of `croissant or baguette?' as more of a cute catchphrase than a death sentence. I haven't been able to find existentialism in ice cream - yet - unless carpal tunnel counts.
Oh, and M. and I are back together. Secretely, of course.