Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Television

I decided to write thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to Television.

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Dear Television,

What happened to us? I remember a mediocre childhood filled with lively anecdotes about how my parents would spend their childhoods running around outside, while all I managed to do each summer was stare at you, Television, and watch my stories while casually sipping glasses of iced tea. Yes, it seems that even back then, I was a grumpy 75-year old woman stuck in the body of a child. Where the f*ck are my glasses?

Anyway, Television, in recent years, we have become estranged, as I am now able to watch nearly anything I want, whenever I want on the interwebs. Hope was all but lost for you until I came back to my parents’ house a few months back and discovered they had hooked a computer to you! Now I can watch television on the computer on the television! In my unemployed fury, I am able to watch countless hours of Netflix before the price of my subscription becomes too expensive for me to afford ($16/month)!

As I was perusing through the computer on you, Television, I noticed a video on YouTube about taking control of your life. A psychologist who went to some online school that’s accredited in Fiji made the video. With such solid credentials, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get my life back together, so I grabbed some iced tea and hit play. The barely licensed psychologist suggested to me (yeah, that’s right, he was talking directly to ME. That’s how the interwebs work) that I make a list comparing my standards during a good period of my life to my standards now. Then I can figure out what specifically I need to change!

 

Things that need to be changed in my life: Everything.

At least I still have Netflix…until September,

Mala

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Ticket

I decided to write thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to Ticket.
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Dear Ticket,

After braving the worst place in New York (Times Square) for three hours, I made the disappointing discovery that even the matinee show of “The Book of Mormon” cannot be paid for in stale cookies. As I sadly pushed my way through the poorly dressed tourists, comedians trying to pass out fliers for their one-man shows, and right-wing protestors who prominently list every bad word they want to see stricken from the English language on their poster boards, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was you, ticket! Well, it was a human dressed as you, passing you out!

Human form of you waddled up to me, and asked, “Do you want a ticket?” “To the ‘Book of Mormon’?” I exclaimed! “No no, to success,” said the human form of you. “Oh, screw that,” I said. No offense, ticket, but I really just wanted to see dancing fake Mormon people singing on stage. It was that kind of day. You know, Sunday.

Anyway ticket, the next morning, I began writing my 400th cover letter. By this point, I have stopped changing the headers to reflect the organization to which I am applying, opting instead to write “You people,” or “Grrrrrrrr.” As I started writing the first line (“Why the hell am I still unemployed?”), I saw an ad on my computer pop up asking if I would like a free ticket to success? I was having a hard time writing, ticket, so after I finished the second line in my cover letter (“A blind monkey could do this damn job”), I clicked on the ad. Interwebs directed me to you, ticket! Well, a picture of human form of you, passing you out! Apparently to get my ticket to success, I’d have to go back to the worst place in place in New York.

Being the resourceful time-waster I am, ticket, I decided to use interwebs to find you online. First I tried Ticketmaster, then Eventbrite, then Facebook, then I got distracted watching videos with cute puppies, then I decided to figure out where the word “puppy comes from,” (ça vient de France), then I started reading the French news, then I decided that was boring, and then I ate a hot dog, but that reminded me of puppies again, but I wanted a real plot, so I started watching old episodes of “Lassie” before I remembered people telling me Lassie was racist, so I fell asleep without turning off my computer and lost the two lines of my cover letter that I wrote: “Dear Grrrrrr, Why the hell am I still unemployed? A blind monkey could do this damn job.”

SO. On Tuesday, I saw a special morning feature of “The Book of Mormon” was playing. I decided to go to the worst place in New York to see if I could buy my way in with a box of stale cookies. As I pushed my way back through the poorly dressed tourists, I felt another tap on my shoulder. Human form of you, ticket, had waddled up to me again. “Do you want a ticket to success?” It asked me. “No! I want to see closeted gay guys singing and dancing about Utah!” I screamed. "Well you’re in luck!” Human form of you told me. “Success is a right-wing mega church located right here in Times Square!”
“Oh.” I said. “I’ll take three.”

Times Square sucks,

Mala

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Facebook

I decided to write thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to Facebook.

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Dear Facebook,

I know what you’re thinking. This shirt makes me look fat. Also, you are not an object. But judging by the statistics of daily page views of you on the interwebs, Facebook, you are clearly the object of many people’s desires. Of course, this still does not mean you are a tangible object as the rest of my letters have featured. To this I say: that template makes you look fat. Now what!? Burn!

Anyway Facebook, as my perpetual vagueness may have indicated, I have been under the influence of unemployment for longer than that I would like to admit. I find this ironic, as so many people who have trouble deciphering between then v. than, their v. they’re v. howthehelldidyoupassthirdgradegrammar, and supposedly v. supposibly (not a real word), have jobs. Perhaps this is the reason that you decided to rearrange our profiles such that the interests we right write are featured much less prominently then than corporate and celebrity pages? Hippies think it’s because we’ve been taken over by “The Man,” but I know the truth. I also find it strange that hippies now use Facebook.

As having a job seems to so often preclude the ability to write, I have decided to make my profile on you, Facebook, more job friendly by instituting the following changes:

1.    I will fail to use punctuation of any kind because who needs commas and periods they are just overrated things that interrupt my idiot stream of conscious when I write my opinion on lame things

2.     In facct I think I willl stop cheking spelling two

3.     Inspired by the latest episode of “Modern Family,” I will use meaningless song quotes, such as “Don’t Stop Believin’ “ and “Get this Party Started!” whenever possible in lieu of actual thoughts.

In addition to these changes, Facebook, I will take other measures to emulate mindless profiles, including summarily barring words such as “emulate” from my vocabulary, and posting 350 pictures of me waving and eating ice cream. I will also make sure to “like” statuses that recount mundane, daily activities of my friends, and list every movie with Bradley Cooper[1] as my favorite. Oh, and Farmville. I will also make sure to show my genuine interest in fascinating games, such as Farmville.

To be fair, Facebook, I have some incredibly intelligent friends doing high quality work all around the world. Thanks to them, I believe there will be no poor people and I will be able to download iPhone applications straight to my brain by the year 2020. After a critical look through their Facebook profiles, I have come to the following conclusions:

1.     They don’t spend a lot of time on Facebook

2.     They are better than me. Sometimes in every way possible.

To alleviate this concern, Facebook, I will use the oldest tactic known to man: false self-aggrandizing. For starters, I will use the well-known strategy of listing myself as fluent in any language I have ever heard of. Didn’t know I can speak Burmese, Amharic, and Galician? Guess what? I can’t! But Facebook says I can! Second, I will say I went to an Ivy League school. I’m South Asian, this won’t be questioned. Third, I will only link articles of global importance to my profile. Acceptable subjects include macroeconomics, linguistics, Middle Eastern politics, and puppies. Yes, puppies are of global importance.

So you see, Facebook, through deliberate tinkering of my profile on you, I will convince the world that I either have no brain, or a super brain, as these seem to be the two extremes of people who are most often employed. I have yet to decide which direction to pursue, but rest assured that whichever way I go, it will be a side of me you have never seen before, because it is not true. Thank you Fakebook!

With falsity,

Mala

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[1] Is this a real person? How do I even know this name?

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Mailbox

I decided to write thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to Mailbox.

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Dear Mailbox,

As I was brushing my teeth last night, I congratulated myself for actually brushing my teeth last night. Also as I was brushing my teeth last night, I realized that every single one of my teeth were hurting. This could only be explained by two things. I was merely having a dream about brushing my teeth (my dreams have gotten boring while I have been under the influence of unemployment), or the toothpaste I found in the kitchen is not actually toothpaste, but instead yogurt in a tube. From watching the movie “Inception” 14 times, I knew the only guaranteed way to confirm I was not dreaming would be to die. But then if I were wrong, I would be dead. That would suck. So I decided to just eat whatever was in the tube. Thankfully, Mailbox, it turned out to be yogurt. But by the time I figured out I was not dreaming I was too tired to get real toothpaste, so I went to bed. Mailbox, I hope the conversation we had today was not just a dream. Imagine how insane I would sound if I told people what we talked about didn’t actually happen!

Anyway Mailbox, I decided a few weeks ago that “walk” is a very boring word. On my saunter this morning down to Pharmacy, I saw your lower lip sadly flapping in the wind. I may avoid listening to strangers’ sob stories, but I have a heart, Mailbox, so I asked you what’s wrong. You told me that in the past few years, you feel like you have lost your way. You used to be highly respected, for you used to transport all of life’s important documents: bills, invitations, boarding passes, and acceptance letters. Now with interwebs, you’ve been reduced to transporting junk mail, crappy movies on Netflix, and the occasional postcard from Malastan.

Mailbox, I understand. Just last year, I was on a 47-hour flight back from Dubai, writing a thesis about shit no one will ever read. I was doing productive-ish things, wearing socks that matched-ish, and saying intelligent-ish things! But this past year, I have been reduced to staring at computer, waiting for an email saying I got rejected for a job I didn’t even want in the first place. That used to be you, Mailbox! I used to get my rejections from you! And when the inevitable bad news came, it would be you that took the punch – literally! My parents had to buy three of you my senior year of high school. But now Mailbox, you only bring me joy! So I am writing this letter addressed to you, Mailbox, so you can open it up and understand how sadly dependent on Netflix I am.

Now Mailbox, I am also going to write something that may not be easy for you to hear. Though you contain envelopes and packages that sustain us victims of unemployment, it is also true that you may have reached your peak in life. I’m sure whoever created you had high hopes for your future, and indeed, you have served so many so well. However, in the case that interwebs are here to stay, please know that your glory days will not be forgotten. In an age when select pictures were mailed with careful consideration instead of posted with 350 others to Facebook, you reigned supreme, and you will not be forgotten. I say this out of a profound appreciation for you...and because I am deathly afraid I already peaked, too. But no matter what Mailbox, I am here to thank y…wait, hold on, I have an email.

I’ll finish this later,

Mala

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Mars Robot

I decided to write thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to Mars Robot.

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Dear Mars Robot,

As we have never met, I want to start by formally introducing myself. I’m Mala. Yeah…

I recently made the discovery that the interwebs not only has pictures of important things, like cute puppies and hoodies, but also contains the news! After reading about three stories that discuss the merits of cute puppies wearing hoodies, I stumbled on this article about you, Mars Robot. It appears the rocket scientists at NASA have stopped debating whether Pluto is a planet, and have come to the conclusion that we will one day need to inhabit Mars since we screwed up Earth so badly.

Seeing as I am still under the influence of unemployment, I decided that instead of doing something lame with my time, like reading a book or thinking, I will instead start a new country on Mars: Malastan. I know the name has no apparent connection to me, but since the countries of Turkmenistan, Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, and Kazakhstan are so well known, easily spelled, and peaceful, I figured I too, should have a stan.

Sadly, Mars Robot, it seems as though you need an extra $1 billion to complete your work before I can start Malastan. It is for this reason I write you this letter. I would like to help, Mars Robot. I have decided that I will participate in a walk-a-thon to raise that extra $1 billion for you! I even started a Facebook page! The event will take place next Sunday, from 2 – 4 PM in Central Park. I plan on walking an upwards of 4 miles, and already have 5 supporters! All I am asking of these supporters is to donate $50 million per mile I walk, and you’ll be set, Mars Robot! Do you prefer cash or check?

Since I have single-handedly solved your budget crisis, Mars Robot, I thought I would take this opportunity to run a few ideas for the country of Malastan by you. Let me know what you think. Email works. I also have a cell phone, which may or may not be working. I am not entirely sure since no one has called me since I fell under the influence of unemployment. But enough of the sob stories, what do you think?

Flag: Belgium’s tri-color with a giant ‘M?’ embroidered on the front

Anthem: World Town, by M.I.A. (do copyright laws extend to Mars?)

Constitution: Something that embodies the spirit of rights and diverse opinions, unless the opinions are different than mine.

Currency: I was thinking about chocolate coins, but apparently Mars can get really hot.

Capital: New York City (Should have mentioned that I plan on taking NYC with me.)

Also, I would like to emphasize that all citizens of Malastan are entitled to two custom-fitted black t-shirts, a JOB, and season 7 of Will and Grace. Oh yeah, and food, housing, blah blah blah.

Okay, thanks for the input, Mars Robot!

With political savvy,

Mala

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Napkin

I decided to write thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to Napkin.

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Dear Napkin,

A few nights ago, I made the terrible decision to go outside. You see, Napkin, since I have come under the influence of unemployment, I have lost all ability to properly communicate with humans. Communicating with humans, along with other arduous tasks, such as bathing, eating, moving and breathing seem redundant, as I appear to serve no function. However, my friend made a compelling argument in her text message: U suk. comee out. who iz thiz? Clearly my friend needed me, Napkin, so I decided to do some research on the interwebs to see how to be a supportive friend in social situations/make everyone see how the world has become an utter failure by keeping me bogged down under the influence of unemployment.

After thousands of milliseconds of planning, you and I hatched the perfect plan. Sadly, my text-message “friend” turned out to be a 13-year-old girl in Arkansas, but with all the milliseconds of time we invested, there was no way this plan would not be (poorly?) executed. You were strategically sitting by the bartender, scoping out the scene. I entered through the back, and made a dash to the bar where I collected you. Then, I smelled one of those tiny onions no on ever seems to have in their drink but are always available at bars, and started crying.

The plan worked brilliantly: three people asked me what was wrong and what I thought smelling onions would achieve! Each time they asked, I pulled you out, and with the help of dramatic hand gestures, start drawing complicated diagrams illustrating the very fundamentals of human life and/or where my favorite taco place is. Unfortunately, in my third round of illustrating this mad genius, one of the bar patrons noticed that my diagram did not successfully articulate how the entire world is against me, but was instead, a giant smiley face. F you, Emoticons.

Thankfully, my research on the interwebs prepared me for how to deal with awkward situations in bars. Unfortunately Napkin, this also entailed the death of you. I suppose it’s a bit stupid to write a letter to a dead Napkin, but some would argue it is stupid to write a letter to any Napkin, regardless of its state of living. Still others would argue Napkins do not fall under a category of living nor dead. To continue this debate, please turn to the corner of 2^nd Ave and 23^rd Street, where a lively group of first graders will be happy to discuss this further.

Ahem. Anyway Napkin, interwebs suggested the best way to deal with awkward situations at bars is to either buy a round of drinks for everyone or show how happy and free-spirited you are. As my net worth is in the negatives, I decided to demonstrate my light and airy side. So, I took you and a few of your cousins, ripped you guys up and threw you in the air while screaming “It’s snowing, It’s snowing!” Then, when I had accumulated a giant mass of napkin shreds, I made a bar-napkin snow angel! That showed those bar people, Napkin! In one night, I had demonstrated my cultural knowledge through tacos, my genius through diagram drawing abilities, my emotional depth, AND my fun and creative side! With such a multi-faceted nature, there is no way anyone could possibly think me being under the influence of unemployment is my fault! One woman even offered to check me into rehab!

With a fun and airy attitude,

Mala

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Boarding Pass

I decided to start writing thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to boarding pass.
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Dear Boarding Pass,

Sometime around noon on December 23, 2010, I went upstairs in my parents’ house to take a nap. 36 hours ago, I was roughly shaken by my mother, who informed me it is 2011, and that I indeed have been asleep for twelve days. I tried to pass this nap off on my terrible affliction of unemployment I contracted in May, as it has caused an addiction to watching documentaries about hibernation on the interwebs. But being the unsupportive parental units they are, my parents were upset that I slept through Christmas, New Years, a four-day vacation to the Dominican Republic, and my birthday.

Anyway, boarding pass, my family apparently failed to notice my lack of presence until my mother asked me to get a picture of her at a Dominican beach. Sadly, even the Delta check-in attendant imagined my body long enough to print you. On the upside, my parents saved you and promptly handed you over to me when they woke me up five days later! True, this vacation was my sole opportunity to travel in the foreseeable future. True, it was supposed to knock me out of my semi-comatose unemployed state. True, it was entirely paid for. But also true, I can just as easily live the Dominican experience through you, boarding pass, right? FALSE.

Listening to you talk about all the great Dominican things you saw inspired me, boarding pass. You see, even though the US government invested in those giant, expensive scanners that can see if you’re made out of explosives or if you’re an Arab, they failed to invest in salaries that attract TSA officials that aren’t either semi-retarded or just don’t give a shit. After talking it over with scissors, crayon, and glue, we hatched a plan! Now I know you hate cosmetic surgery, boarding pass, but think of our manipulation of you as a makeover.

Before leaving, I had told my mom that I was going upstairs to take a nap, so that bought us at least 5-6 days. When we got to the airport, you were so calm, boarding pass! Even though I misspelled the word “Dominican” on you, you never missed a beat! We made it through the Arab detector and to the gate without any problems. All we needed to do was have you scanned! I found a seat at the gate, and together, we started imaging the sun, the beach, the abundance of cheap food, the napzzzZZZZZZZZZ....

::12 hours later::

Well, brilliant, boarding pass! Your damn Dominican description made me fall asleep, and we missed the flight! I am not a person of fate, but I am a person of laziness, so there is no way in hell I am trying this again. All in all, that was a miserable failure. However, I am willing to forgive you, boarding pass, if you lie to the world and tell them I made it down to the DR. I may not have a job, but I still have integrity, albeit false. Just remember the lesson from this misadventure, boarding pass: it NEVER pays to try.

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Wrench

I decided to start writing thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to wrench.
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Dear Wrench,

I remembered this morning that I had left my resume in microwave to marinate in red wine and basil. For some reason, after 2 weeks, resume was completely soaked and couldn’t be saved! So, I decided that perhaps marinating resume was not the best course of treatment for unemployment, and hit the interwebs to hatch my next plan.

As you may know, my latest goal is to go abroad to Argenbabwebodialand or somewhere in Afrasia, and I stumbled on this little known institution called the “United Nations.” It seems as though two things are always needed in Argenbabwebodialand: security guards and people who know how to use water pumps. I could totally be a security guard! Unfortunately, I don’t have any outdated Men-in-Black style sunglasses, and I spent all but 45 cents of my money on ginger snaps, so that didn’t work. Imagine how embarrassing it would be to show up to my interview without my sunglasses!

Since my masters degree appears to be nothing more than a $65,000 piece of paper, I figured it was time to learn how to become a master…wait for it…plumber. Remember when my dad bought you from the hardware store and attempted to show me how to use you? He didn’t mean to throw you under the bed that day. It was my fault. Whenever he said the word “bolt,” I would take off running, so he got mad and gave up. But I found you, wrench, no need to worry no more. Wrench, together I figured we could master the art of water pumps in 15-20 minutes, so I took my 45 cents to buy two dozen donuts and a pair of jeans from K-Mart that sit below my butt crack.

Wrench, I am so impressed with you! On our first try to change a pipe, we only flooded three rooms! And when we tried to put the water heater on max, it only took us three attempts to figure out which way to turn the knob! Those things are confusing. Pretty soon wrench, we will rule the streets with our mad plumbing skillz. That’s another qualification to check off on my UN application, right along with “French” and “Doesn’t cry a lot!” Watch out Argenbabwebodialand! Wrench and I are coming!

Now wrench, supposing I get accepted for this job in Argenbabwebodialand, there is a chance I will not be able to take you along. It appears airport security has new regulations that classify you as a weapon of mass destruction. If perchance you could crawl into a bottle that holds three ounces or less, you stand a much better chance. If not, I completely understand, and have even secured you a job if I leave!

It appears this “United Nations” joins many other organizations in establishing a new branch of human resources titled “The Department of Wrenching Hearts Out.” They have arbitrarily rejected SO many qualified people, that they need a separate office just properly wrench and dispose of these people’s hopes, dreams, and desires! I spoke to the office in mid-town, and they said you are more than welcome to join anytime! So you see wrench, even if I go to Argenbabwebodialand, you will be well taken care of.

With bolts,

Mala

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to World Map

I decided to start writing thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to World Map.
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Dear World Map,

After once again meeting this strange box called “television” for a third time this month, I made the pleasant discovery that BBC News has beamed itself down and delivers actual world events on a DAILY basis! Naturally, I have no attention span since this chronic case of unemployment has effectively shut down my brain, but I did catch the words “asylum” and “Sweden” before I fell asleep. World Map, no one has heard anything about Sweden…well, ever, so after I woke up three hours later, I went straight to you to find this tall white and occasionally brown people oasis. There it was, sitting on top of everything else in a beautiful shade of purple. Imagine what it must be like to live in a purple country!

Apparently, the Swedish are known for more than just making reasonably priced modern furniture. They are also known for being perfect at everything ever! So I decided to apply to Sweden as an asylum seeker! After eating a candy cane for brain food (the “Candy Cane Equality” movement died – corrupt leadership), I carefully thought out my asylum reason. Thinking is hard! After 30 seconds, I settled on this: Possession of a brain and persecution due to unemployment status.

It’s perfect, World Map! They can’t possibly deny me! I mean, every time I try to tell people in the south that health care and education are good things, they throw paper balls at me and shout about gay people marrying sheep and painting their guns pink! And then when I go to the north and try to sign a lease on an apartment, they tell me I need a job, but the job people tell me I need to live in the city before I can be hired! I took a human rights class, World Map, and this is against my right to leuqwojdlasd. It’s never-ending, World Map, and Sweden must do something! Yeah, justice!

I submitted my asylum application three days ago. But since it’s a common online application, it only took 15 minutes to apply to five countries! Since I had 23.75 hours of free time, I decided to throw my dad a surprise party for his birthday. I sat down at computer and starting searching on the interwebs. Five minutes later, I was watching “Glee.” Netflix tells me this is because I have a strong affinity for shows in which in real life, the kids are 25 years old, and the adults are 35 years old. “Glee” is also important for other reasons. Actually, it is just one reason: Vitamin D! World Map, I know you really liked that episode where the 25-year-old kids got hopped up on Vitamin D to make it through a particularly hard day, right? So I decided to take Vitamin D pills too!

Within minutes, I was saying ridiculous things like, “I think I will go outside today.” And, “My socks match!” Or, “Unemployment has made me a better person.” Then I hit my head and passed out. When I came to, there you were, standing over me with that look of concern. I think I even saw a tear or two in Spain and Turkey’s eyes. World Map, I hit rock bottom in those two hours, and I am so thankful you were there to remind me of what is most important: cake. I didn’t order a damn cake for the party. Thanks for the reminder, that would have been embarrassing!

See you in Sweden,

Mala

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Pad of Paper

I decided to start writing thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to Pad of Paper.
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Dear Pad of Paper,

We have a lot of catching up to do, don’t we? Before yesterday, the last time I had seen one of you was in 1998, before I got my first laptop. You are deceptively simple, Pad of Paper. I spent 14 minutes yesterday just trying to figure out where you keep all of your information. Then I realized you don’t have any! It’s me who needs to fill that in! I suppose that’s what got me hooked initially. Computer has created so much data about me that if it ever went rogue, I’m pretty sure it could it could predict my movements before I do! It has gotten a bit overwhelming, Pad of Paper. I knew it was time to take a break when I used the interwebs to sign into my Netflix account a few days ago, and it told me I really enjoying watching movies from the “Mind-Bending Foreign Pantomime with a Strong Leading Dog” category. How did it know!? So I decided to pull you out the next morning and start with an object that has less knowledge inside than I do. That was hard to find!

Pad of Paper, you are so non-judgmental! You don’t highlight things I misspell, like bussines, with a harsh red line. You don’t care if I use the passive voice to say things like “The cake was eaten by me. It’s none of your bussines.” You don’t care, and it’s brill-yant! My unemployment has now seeped into my bloodstream. In these critical stages, Pad of Paper, I need to complain uninterrupted. I need to let my genius flow out so that some day, I can take all the brill-yant things I wrote down on you, and shake them violently in front of my HR rep’s face! You go “crinkle crinkle,” Pad of Paper. When I shake computer, it doesn’t go “crinkle crinkle!” And without that “crinkle crinkle,” how will the HR department know how bad of a mistake they made letting me go wasted all of those months? A bad mistake, Pad of Paper, a bad mistake made by HR rep.

Pad of Paper, the great thing about you is that you have so many other uses besides storing information. I am not sure if anyone has ever thought of this, but when I take one of your sheets and crumple it up, I can make a ball! Then, I can take those balls and throw them at people! I heard on Fox News that President Obama is the devil. Then I heard on MSNBC that President Obama is Buddha. That has no relevance, just thought I’d share.

Anyway Pad of Paper, this Friday, I propose a little field trip to Wall Street. Apparently those assholes who ruined the economy wrote down on other Pads of Paper how to keep destroying the economy before those three guys were carted off to a really nice prison that sort of resembles a five-star hotel. We have to take action, Pad of Paper. First, with the use of at least 10 or 12 paper balls, we will ambush security and gain access to the buildings. Then, with another 15 or 20 paper balls, we will systematically and brill-yantly steal all those secrets from those assholes! Then WE can destroy the economy! We’re going to be so rich, Pad of Paper, that I won’t be able to write my salary down on you! Together, we can make sure those Wall Street assholes are punished, even taxed! They will regret what they did. All the bad bad mistakes made by them!

With papercuts,

Mala

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Gavel

I decided to start writing thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to gavel.

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Dear Gavel,

After the interwebs decided to stop working last night, I finally figured out what function that strange box labeled “television” plays. 14 hours into the Law and Order: SVU marathon, I became inspired! To go to Law School? Hell no. To become an NYPD officer? Heller no. To go into business with you, gavel? Why yes!

Gavel, if I have learned anything from that Law and Order: SVU marathon, it’s that the bad guys of New York City are always rich white people with mommy issues. I have also learned that people with black robes who bang gavels on wooden desks command respect. I have thus hatched a new plan to get me back on track to employment!

Now gavel, sometime between now and January, I plan on finding my right shoe. And when that happens, I will dress myself up in my nicest hoodie, and put on my black robe from graduation. One time use, my ass. Together, gavel, we will travel to midtown, and storm the UN offices, demanding to be seen for an interview. The security guard who usually kicks me out will have no choice but to let us in, because he’ll think we’re some important judge! Once we get into the room for our interview, this is when you take the stage. I will say things such as. “Yes, I have 20 years of experience.” And, “No, I was not arrested for a felony last year.” After each sentence, I will bang you on the desk, gavel. This will show that pompous HR rep that I mean business! Finally, when the HR rep asks why I think I am the best candidate, I will start banging you on the desk to the beat of “Footloose” until the HR rep caves in or dies. Together, gavel, we shall prevail!

While I see absolutely no flaws in this plan, gavel, there is a minor possibility that it will not work. Should this happen, we will order a pizza. We might as well get fat, who the hell cares? Anyway, after pizza, we can hit the town! You are so versatile, gavel! We could be a pretend judge on Law and Order, pretend to be a judge in City Hall, invent a new kind of gavel banging massage in Chinatown, even be a construction worker! Screw those stupid hammers, you are so much prettier! Jobs abound for us, gavel. Your banging abilities will surely mean that the doors will open for us. And if they don’t, you can break them down, one Footloose song at a time.

With respect,

Mala

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Susy's Mascara

I decided to start writing thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to my friend Susy’s mascara.

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Dear Susy’s Mascara,

Hi, how are you? You may not remember me, but we’ve met a few times. I’m that odd-looking Indian girl who usually has some kind of processed sugar stuffed in her mouth. Well, Susy asked I write you, as you might have been feeling neglected these past few months. She would have written you herself, but since she moved back to Brussels and speaks to her family in Italian, she just couldn’t find the words in English. We know how uncomfortable things get for you when she speaks another language, being that you are a native New Yorker with no foreign language education and all…

Remember that one time we all went to that club in Hell’s Kitchen and everyone there was at least two out of the three following adjectives: awkward, Jewish, ugly? I vaguely remember – it appears those three shots of vodka and two shots of espresso threw me into a near diabetic coma. But no matter, unless my mind is making up shit again, I remember you being a star! You scored us no cover and like three free drinks a person! Ah, the glory daze. You rocked the house that night, and unless none of that never actually happened, I have not forgotten how capable you are, Susy’s mascara.

Anyway Susy’s mascara, times have been tough for her lately. As you may know, she too has been afflicted with this horrible ailment known as “unemployment.” It seems there are millions of cases reported around the globe. Now I realize you are water-resistant for emergencies involving rainstorms, tears, and Diet Coke explosions, but please understand that even so, you draw attention to Susy’s eyes.

Interviewers often ask questions such as:

-       Why aren't you fluent in Creole, Swahili, Latin and this language we just made up?

-       Why aren’t you 30?

-       Why won’t you work for free?

-       Why don’t you know how to polka dance?

And when this happens, Susy tends to make weird facial expressions trying to articulate sentiments such as:

-       I hate you.

-       You suck.

-       What?

-       I wonder if I brought my brass knuckles?

So you see, Susy’s mascara, any extra attention brought to Susy’s face tends to be bad in these situations. If you could, say morph into a cute pair of shoes, this would enhance your chances of being used.

Susy’s mascara, you should know that Susy is looking to take a job in Africa. Don’t tell her I told you, but there is a slight possibility she will bring you along. Of course, according to National Geographic, there is a sad lack of Jewish nightclubs in Africa, so your skills may be used in another capacity. And by that, I mean you will either be given as a gift to a village woman, or you will be used as body paint should Susy randomly get lost in one of those tribes that Keira Knightly uses for Vogue photo shoots.

So, as you see, Susy’s mascara, your time with her might be limited in coming years. My suggestion would be to scour the interwebs for job listings in Rome, Paris, or some other city that advocates (requires?) make up. If you would be so kind, please pass this message on to eyeliner and eye shadow, okay? They should have fair warning of the impending doom this unemployment malady has waged against the eye make up of the world!

Yours truly,

Mala