Cover Letter 3

Dear Mr./Ms. I’m Too Good to Tell You I Won’t Hire You,
I am writing in response to the job that you’ve posted on this job board. I see that the job has been posted for 30+ days, so you must not be finding what you want, or are just doing this for reporting purposes and will close this job without hiring, so I figure I don’t have anything to lose.
I say that because I don’t have the experience you’re looking for. Instead of spending the last five years doing what you’re looking for, I’ve spent the last five years taking various levels of abuse from customers and incompetent managers alike. While I may not be able to do many of the listed job functions without a bit of training that your organization no longer provides, I can communicate effectively, without breaking out into curse words; I am able to find busy work to occupy eight hours of time since you don’t like for people to work from home or have a four-hour work day; my mind is sharp until I have a mental breakdown and I’m a quick learner, but y’all don’t really care about that shit.
Anyway, my customer service laden resume is enclosed and I typed out all of this shit in the application again. If you made it this far, congratulations. I am looking forward to your computer generated rejection email.
Regards,
D. Simpson

Cover Letter 2

Dear Mr./Ms. Fuck Face McGee,

I’m interested in the job you’ve posted.

However, I don’t have any of the experience you’re looking for, nor the education. But I have balls. I’m a quick learner if you’re actually willing to train, or hell, give me a book to study. Help me help you. I don’t want to go back to customer service, those people are insane. And I keep getting pulled back in, it’s like Pookie from New Jack City, they keep calling me and calling me.

Anyway, just consider it. You might be surprised.

Regards,

Me

I Don’t Know What I Want to Do

Picture perfect, I paint a perfect picture*…

I live in the South now. Louisiana to be precise. It’s a long way away from the creative bubble that Los Angeles, my hometown, is. I thought I wanted to be part of that bubble and for some time, I worked to gain access to that bubble – I minored in film and television at UCLA, attended a trade program in new media production after college, spent countless hours, sacrificed numerous trees in writing down my ideas, moved around on the outskirts of Hollywood. Now those pages sit colleting dust, my Canon T4i that I received as part of my tuition package sits on a shelf, this blog even sits unattended to for nearly a year….

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Continue reading “I Don’t Know What I Want to Do”

I Never Wanted to Be the Quirky Black Girl, but Here The Fuck I Am

Apologies for the expletive in the title. I know some of y’all still follow that raggedy sense of respectability and whatnot.

Look at the featured picture* and tell me that’s not what you might think of when you hear the phrase “quirky Black girl.” I challenge you to give me another answer.

I resent that phrase and you want to know why? Not only is it another box that people try to put people in, but because once upon a time quirky wasn’t the word that people were using. Quirky is a cute word, not quite an Instagram model, but a girl next door. It conjures up images of birds and running in fields of grass and AfroPunk and pins and buttons and pink colored hair and interests that lay in the nerd realm or a carefree sense of being. Quirky is blue skies and dewdrops on grass and a fresh spring breeze. Quirky is summer in the city. It’s spending time “finding yourself” and tumblr accounts and blue checks on Twitter.

Fuck that.

Once upon a time, quirky was weird. Weird stinks. Weird is overbites and under bites and cystic acne. Weird is repulsive. Weird is thin, oily hair and wrestling t-shirts and nasal voices. Weird is surprisingly masculine. Weird is misunderstood. Weird doesn’t have too many friends. Weird grows up and has a constant chip on its shoulder and possibly seeks authority so that it can inflict the same pain and suffering onto those that once inflicted pain and suffering on it. Weird can’t relate. Weird is out of the loop. Weird is a damp basement with one light where a body might be buried in the concrete floor.

I was weird and I didn’t want to be that shit.

I wore that shit like a scarlet letter and I tried to wash it off as much as possible. I started cursing a lot, tried my hardest not to be a dweeb, tried avoiding dating fellow dweebs, and you know what? That shit don’t work. I couldn’t stop being weird. I was born in that shit, baptized in the waters of Lake Minneweirdo. Now I’m just a weird ass Black girl that curses a lot.

So when my sister called me quirky recently, I flinched. That shit hit me to the core because today’s quirky was yesterday’s weird and pre-29-year-old me still holds on to that stigma of being a weirdo and fuck you motherfuckers for celebrating the shit you used to shit on, where were you when I was running through the schoolyards pretending I was a Martian because they didn’t have one on Space Cases? Where you ass was at in 2003? You wasn’t with me shooting in the gym!

So if that’s what y’all want to call it now, I’ma be quirky. I’ma be weird. I can’t wash that shit away. No amount of dick weed booze self-hatred and denial is going to get rid of it, in fact, it makes it even more apparent. I can’t be anything else than what I am and as much as I have tried to be anything else, this is my lane, this is my niche. I don’t want to be anything but this. If you want to call it by a cute little name, then so be it. Just run me my blue check so I can start gatekeeping this shit while claiming to be for the culture.

 

*Follow the photographer here: https://www.instagram.com/melodyjacob1/

*Reggae Horn* I’M BACK! (Administrative Vol. 1)

I’ve been gone for a minute, but I’m back with a whole heap of new posts for your reading pleasure, including:

  • Why the label “quirky Black girl” irks me to no end
  • Why I’ve finally accepted that I don’t know what I want to do
  • The cover letters I wish I could send to employers
  • Why I’ve currently thrown the WWE in the bushes
  • Why I’m trying to throw Twitter in the bushes
  • And much more!!!

Live from a bayou deep in the heart of the Louisiana Territory, this is Bored Ambition!!!

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Just imagine that this says Bored Ambition

In the Shadows of Performance

I’ve made it no secret that my mind can be my own worst enemy. Ever since I was a child I wanted my stream of consciousness to be quiet; I even asked my father of all people if it was something that I could shut off and his answer, to make a short story shorter, was no. So ever since that time, I have had to listen to myself and myself is the goddamn devil sometimes.  Continue reading “In the Shadows of Performance”