Friday, July 22, 2011

Our house, in the middle of our street ...

Paul and I are broke as all get out, but at least our home is coming together nicely. We plan to hang up more of his photos and my artwork (the one above our couch was taken from our trip to the Great Wall). There's also a definite need for more plants, shelves, and storage. Paul's grandfather build closet organizers for us, so we can utilize the vertical space in all of them.

We're really enjoying this place. Although it's located in the heart of downtown, we're surrounded by leafy canopies and Victorian homes, so we don't get the noise and pollution. A shrinking wallet from paying property taxes, hydro, mortgage, and credit card bills is a cause for concern though. Thankfully, I have Employment Insurance to tide me over until I get back on my feet. However, it's not enough to cover any extraneous expenses, like gas and groceries, which are coming out of my savings. I know my parents think I should go back to school and get a degree in something less risky, but I think if I can make it past this hurdle, I'm mentally prepared to live like this (that is to say, simply) for life.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

New horizons

Unemployment isn't terrible. Not ideal, but also liberating as all-get-out. I have a couple of freelance possibilities in the future for a casting agency and some magazines. But what I'm really focused on is getting my little business idea off the ground. Paul's friend, Natalie, suggested we could start a matchmaking service together. I've been looking into a government-sponsored program that could get this project off the ground and Natalie's eager to have us interview people to gain insight into the market.

I reckon, I already give so much relationship advice, I might as well do it on my own terms and get paid for it!

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Corporate Shenanigans

The executive assistant I had worked with quit her job two weeks after I was let go. She brought along a host of juicy gossip over wine and cigarettes at the park. Like how ...

... her (former) boss is allegedly putting up his mistress in one of the chic downtown condos he owns. Her boss has a well-known reputation for being the most arrogant, precious, coddled, and demeaning person in the industry. He tried to make Harvey Weinstein wait at a meeting, just out of sheer unmatched ego. "Harvey is a household name," she says. "He is no Harvey."

... my (former) boss likes to get rip-roaring drunk and did so at the recent charity golf tournament. His $135,000+ car (charged to the company account) had to be driven back to the office by some underling. He then proceeds to throw a tantrum because she parked it in the wrong spot. In an unrelated incident: the assistant selected to replace me went into his office to clean up the water he had spilt when he broke his glass. She had to pat around him because he refused to acknowledge her presence and proceeded to continue his conversation with his colleague over her head. (*Note: Oddly enough, I never encountered this kind of behaviour from him. I guess he didn't feel like he could be himself around me. Ha!)

... the hiring process with regards to assistants is based on how attractive the executives find them. This admission made me feel soooo dirty. Can you imagine being hired to be ogled at by a bunch of petty, middle-aged fat cats?

... when they travel to markets (to purchase films), they act like a bunch of lecherous frat boys. I am not surprised by that revelation. How much fucking golf can someone take before they need to go fuck a ho in France?

... the hardest worker there, who idolizes these evil men in corner offices and sacrifices her life for them, is actually considered "weak" and "desperate" by her closest mentor. Why? Because he said she didn't "fight harder" for her raise. Yet, even with her promotion, she still goes on coffee runs for them and sends their photos to hotels beforehand so the staff will recognize their big heads when they arrive.

Lesson learned: You can either give up your soul for the carrot or get fired for not playing the game. Either way, they'll never let a girl join the big boys table.

Shit, I need to go smoke a bowl.