I really do not want to be a cow comforter.
I hate looking for a job. Several weeks ago I wrote a desparate plea on facebook for someone, anyone to let me know of any potential job opportunities. I mentioned my ever-increasing temptation to sell my own plasma for art supplies and to support my Ben and Jerry's habit. I got three responses, one of solidarity from Jen, one from Lourdes being helpful, and an invitation from Gaby to sell juice. Juice? Picturing my tiny apartment filled with crates of unsold juice, I decided to begin my job search in earnest. My first action was to check and see what on-campus jobs are offered. Sometimes you get lucky and the jobs pay better than say, fast food. Plus, not as difficult as other jobs as most are behind a desk, inside. However, most of the jobs I could find that don't require federal work study were science or agricultural jobs that I am not qualified for. I refuse to help rear mosquitoes even if they are doing research for the greater good about them!
So, I am still looking for what my parents call a "real job". The cool local magazine is like, volunteer only, so that's no source of income. Amazingly enough, no one is looking for an ice cream taste-tester or someone to wear fabulous clothing and go listen to new bands. Darn.