Chapter 3 - Hope is just as bad as f*****g karma

Patience and hope are not my strong suit. Nope, don’t have it. Nope, don’t want it. Yet, I need it. For a woman, it’s crazy that I don’t have patience. How would I ever hope to survive the long tedious wait for my future husband?

Yeah…No…I’m more of a “grabbing the bull by its horn” kind of girl.

Now, doesn’t that sound sexy?

Well, it’s not.

As Pissed-Off Professional, I would like to say that I am a geeky graduate who loves Doctor Who and Harry Potter. Who wears glasses all the time, and would rather go to the movies than the club. I’m the girl who can’t walk in high heels without slowing her pace to a sloth, but who can work a skirt like no other Mexican woman in her 20s. A girl, who dreams of managing the marketing department of a movie industry, owning her own business, and eventually traveling the world.

I don’t see a man anywhere in this dream. Well…maybe the cabana boy who would serve me pina coladas as I read on the beach.

What’s sad about this is that I’m daydreaming about my super expensive vacation when I should be applying for more soul-sucking jobs. Jobs that will have me stuck at my desk for 40+ hours a day, and that would eventually make me plot the murder of my future boss and stalk my friends on Facebook.

It’s so sad to realize that the only hot guy in my life, at that point, would be the semi-good looking college student behind the Starbucks counter that majored in “New-Age Philosophy” and who would most likely get my name spelled wrong.

But that’s the American dream, right? To get an education and to get a job that doesn’t require any manual labor. To pick yourself up by your bootstraps and to continue on to success.

Do you guys now that one factor that makes all the difference in the American dream? The one that separates the boys from the men?

It’s luck. Not f*****g hope.

How can I accomplish my American dream when I send out three to five job applications a day with no response for months?

Let me tell you this, I have a small red book that I use to document all the job applications that I submitted. It’s getting to the 50’s.

Yesterday, I f*****g wailed for my failure to not being chosen from that marketing internship in chapter 2. I cried to my mom. Yes, before you waste my time in my reviews about if I live with my parents. I do. It’s cheaper, and as I continue to be rejected in my current job searching adventures the possibility of living in a cheap a*s apartment with cockroaches scares me.

I’m not Peter Parker.

This morning I woke up with a puffy face smeared with dry tear marks and a headache. My mom said I looked like s**t.

Thanks mom.

Yesterday, I got an email (which you read) from Mr./Mrs. Dipshit about finding a better candidate. Today, I got an email that they are thinking of interviewing for another marketing internship in another company.

It’s funny how the world works. Was it my hope that got me this possible internship or was it luck?

Neither, I sent an application out yesterday and got a response today.

This means that I passed the intern-match machine, and now I have to go back to the ring and fight. Again.

Great, this is f*****g great.  

Take my advice current soul-sucking job-searching applicants, don’t believe in hope. Hope is best friends with karma and those b*****s will beat the f**k out of you.

“May the odds be ever in your favor”. 

Author's Note

Ignore grammar problems, I'll do it when I get my Hogwarts' letter