#redhead-monster

On my latest list of places to apply for there are quite a few ‘temp’ positions that in their description state that if the job is done successfully there’s a chance for a full time turn around, so here’s hoping with those! But I hadn’t considered looking into temp agencies before, will do on that. Cold calling I’ve held off on so far, but could probably stand to assemble a list for soon.

And don’t worry, shamelessly pumping my family’s extended network has absolutely been occurring periodically, and will very likely continue to be accessed!

That is simply straight up bullshit, and this is coming from a soon to be college grad. For me applying entry level is the best I can do without a lot of job experience/master’s degree, but if anything I feel like I still have so much more to learn since I’ve never consistently been in a formal work setting before like you have. From my perspective I’d say you have the leg up with hands on experience, over me with education alone. 

Applying entry level is absolutely tough. The application process is insane as is turn around, so I’m certainly having to thicken my skin for rejection or even worse never hearing back at all.

(x)

The shelter is called the Gifford Shelter and it is the oldest no cage, no-kill cat shelter in America and there's even Kitty Cams and a feral cat rescue program! Their website is giffordcatshelter(.)org and in particular I think you will like this picture I posted of Checkers: instagram(.)com/p/BB-vQ9aAox7/ Thank you! Give the Ellybean a million kisses NO MATTER HOW MUCH SHE HATES IT, THEY'RE FROM ME. (2/2)

They live in a shoebox of an apartment. No, seriously, Shitty’s mom comes to see it when she isn’t giving him the cold shoulder about not going into business, and she says, out loud, “My closet is bigger than this.” After that, dinner is -- strained.

But anyways -- shoebox. Lardo can stretch her arms out and touch the walls of the kitchen between the stove and the cabinets, and the refrigerator opens the wrong way, and the oven sets off the fire alarm nine times out of ten. The living room windows stick shut, and their bedroom has carpet the color of baby poop, and Lardo fucking loves it.

She misses the Haus, of course -- misses being around the boys, and feeling like she has a purpose beyond her gallery internship and her days working at the diner down the street, and all of that. Meal plans were a plus, too.

But here, in their tiny apartment, she can come home from waitressing and flop on the couch on top of the piles of textbooks and print outs and Shitty’s pants. “Hi,” she says, spitting out a mouthful of case studies.

“Hey babe,” Shitty says, beaming at her even as he twists his hair up to better study some Supreme Court case. “I ordered take-out.”

“You,” Lardo says, “are alright.”

“Just alright?” Shitty asks, laughing a little even as he shoves aside some of the reference books to make room for her on their Goodwill couch (50 dollars and worth ignoring the tear in the armrest for). “Not perfect, or wonderful, or --”

“Just alright,” Lardo says, face splitting with a stupid grin that she can’t wipe away no matter how hard she tries. Not that she’s really trying. “Just okay. Average. Run of the mill. My okay, goes to Harvard Law boyfriend --”

Shitty tackles her against the couch, tickling her ribs and rubbing his mustache against her neck, making her squeal and hit his back with her fists. “Just alright?” he repeats, indignation rising, “I’m offended, Lardo.”

“Ah, well,” Lardo gets out. “You’ll survive.”

“At least,” Shitty says, lifting his head up to brush his nose against her cheek, “I have this super wonderful awesome girlfriend who’s gonna revolutionize the art world. Sort of makes up for being alright.”

“I guess,” Lardo says, laughing, and then Shitty’s kissing her and as hard as she tries it’s hard to keep laughing when you’re being well-kissed.