The bottle might be half empty but the glass is half full

Been taking a bit of a break from blogging and wallowing and spent the weekend in the park in a bikini instead. Well, that's not entirely true. That was the plan...until I actually saw myself in the mirror and decided that a Guantanamo Bay-style boiler suit is a perfectly acceptable attire. Until I lose about 10 kilos. Or buy a new mirror...

Been trying not to think about this situation with The Man. And once I saw the Dictator, that became unbelievably easy. All I can think is Sasha Baron Cohen and how I love him. Sasha, if you're reading this, please dump that Australian shiksha of yours and marry me instead! 

Got a phone call regarding the other job I was interviewed for last week. Didn't get that one either. They went for someone with more work experience. Instead of sinking into my normal rage-frustration-depression mode, I decided to try out a new approach I just read about and find something positive about all these hardships. It does seem to work for some...

So, I didn't get either one of the jobs I finally, after months of trying, managed to get interviewed for. I'm going to treat that as a valuable experience and priceless practice. Next time (in 2015?) I'll be even more prepared and ready to win them over. Either that, or I'll just offer to sleep with the interviewer.

So, I'm stuck with an internship a lobotomized monkey could do. At least it's not stressful. No more 12-14-hour days, turning up to work on Saturdays and taking turns with your colleagues crying in the toilets. I get to leave at 4pm and have plenty of time to focus on other things. Such as finding a stressful job. And unlike in one of my previous jobs digging flower beds (and the occasional vertebrae...) at a cemetery, I get to work indoors and wear pretty things. Such as those bunion-inflicting shoes...

So, I don't have a boyfriend. That gives me a chance to spend quality time with my boy-friends. Like watch football, get pissed and wake up with the remains of a kebab from the night before plastered all over my face.  Or continue my career as a culture-vulture (2 operas under my Fendi-belt - there's no stopping me now!)

This positive approach probably has a shorter life-expectancy than a fruit fly, but who knows. Before I fall right back into my Chardonnay-fuelled sarcasm, I just might learn a thing or two. 

Like that being a bitch is one of the things I truly excel at... (Which is more than can be said about these taxidermists...)