Where is my Fairy Godmother?

Edited to add lyrics!

“Its a pretty good crowd for a Saturday
And the manager gives me a smile
cause he knows that its me they’ve been comin’ to see
To forget about life for a while

And the piano, it sounds like a carnival
And the microphone smells like a beer
And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar
And say, man, what are you doin’ here?

Oh, la la la, de de da
La la, de de da da da

Sing us a song, you’re the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well, were all in the mood for a melody
And you’ve got us feelin’ alright“
~Billy Joel (Piano Man)

I must have watched one too many Disney movies as a kid. I really, honestly, and truly thought this life would turn out better.

Every little girl has dreams, and I doubt she dreams of one day becoming me. I never knew what I wanted to be when I grew up, but this isn’t it either. I thought I’d be someone. I thought I’d matter. I thought I’d have something useful to contribute to society. It thought I’d do something(s) noticeable. At the very least, I thought I’d be happy.

A friend hired me to do some work for him. Actually, I think he took pity on me. He and a partner are working on a hobby/restoration/”investment” project and have now hired three others (all of whom would be otherwise completely unemployed) to do the dirty work. And it is very dirty. But it gives me a purpose and a reason to get out of bed in the morning. The pay is decent, and since I’m only part time, I can still be searching for something permanent.

But I hate, hate, hate the work. The best thing about getting laid off was thinking that I would never have to do this shitty work again, and for this project, I’ve got the worst of it, because the other two wouldn’t do it. But I’m so torn, because it puts food on the table. Beggars can’t be choosers, right? And I’m definitely a beggar looking for work.

I want to work in an office. I want to sit at a desk and not have to work in awkward places or contorted postures. I want to be clean; I want to feel pretty. I want to stop inhaling chemicals “known by the State of California to cause cancer”. I want to employ my mind, because someone once told me I was intelligent, instead of continually abusing my small tired body.

Unfortunately, there are also lots of qualified people looking for office work against who I must compete. I’m finding that it is simply impossible to convince a hiring manager that I am capable of switching occupations.

So, I’m sitting in my local bar (b/c they have wireless internet) and drinking whiskey, while a part inside of me dies. And tomorrow I’ll get up and do it all over again. Yeah, this really is the life.

Happy St. Paddy’s Day

“A barrel of malt, a bushel of hops, you stir it around with a stick,
the kind of lubrication to make your engine tick.
40 pints of wallop a day will keep away the quacks.
Its only eight pence hapenny and one and six in tax.

He must have been an admiral a sultan or a king,
and to his praises we shall always sing.
Look what he has done for us he’s filled us up with cheer!
Lord bless Charlie Mops, the man who invented beer beer beer
tiddly beer beer beer.”
~Traditional Irish Drinking Song (Beer, Beer, Beer)

I went out last night. Truthfully, I wasn’t looking forward to it. The party host, my Red-Headed Friend (RHF) has two roommates, who host a few huge drunken costumey ordeals a year. I am an introvert and a non-drinker, so these parties tend to be a little too much for me.

But last night I was pleasantly surprised. RHF had St. Paddy’s Party with lots of Guinness, beef stew, and a large collection of musicians (fiddle, guitar, drums, whistle, banjo) in attendance. The musically-inclined friends were fantastic. They had a large repertoire of fast and tricky Irish tunes. I never even knew some of them played, and they certainly had never all played together before. I’m a musician, too. I play the tenor saxophone, but compared to these guys, not very well. I can’t play without sheet music and nobody ever taught me how to improvise or solo properly. But anyway…

The party was more laid back and quieter than what I was expecting, with was more than okay by me! I got the chance to have real conversations with some friends I hadn’t seen in a while, and meet some new people. I even got a job offer from one of the new peeps if I wanted to drive all over and teach CPR classes. Actually, it doesn’t sound like a bad deal; I’m going to think about it. RHF and I even had some one-on-one conversation while setting up Irish Car Bombs. He and I work for the same company and used to be very close to a couple friends who have since moved away, but we’ve never really known each other well. He’s cool; he marches to the beat of his own drum and really knows who he is.

And then, a little later, a whole bunch of other people showed up. Several of these people work for my former employer; most of the others work in the same industry as my former employer. All conversation turned to that industry because some loudmouths made it so. This seems to happen a lot. This industry is the foundation of most of my friendships, even though most of us have moved on. We have gotten to the point in our lives/friendships where we are starting to have diverse interests. I like this; it makes us more multi-dimensional. Although we have our equivalent of “and this one time, at band camp” reminiscing stories, we’ve grown. And then these children show up. I don’t care about them or their stories. I’ve been there; I’ve done that. I’m so sick of meeting these people, and judging by the look on RHF’s roommate’s face, I’m not alone.

I need space. My former employer helped make me who I am, but I wish that wasn’t all that defined me. I love many of my friends, but I need to branch out. I need to find people who share other interests and create new memories. I don’t want to be stuck and pulled back into my past. There is a future, out there, somewhere. I just don’t know how to get there. I can’t even find the rainbow that leads to the pot o’ gold.

Oh. Interesting fact I learned last night: St Patrick is honored because he eradicated the snakes from Ireland. I am terrified of snakes. St. Paddy is my new hero.