save me from becoming a face-eating zombie.

In eight weeks I am officially homeless, unemployed, and basically a complete disappointment and failure at life.  EIGHT WEEKS. That's 56 days (no, i did not use a calculator to do that math....ok, yes i did. add "total lack of mathematical ability" to my list of reasons why I suck). My thesis-- it's far from anything that even remotely resembles finished. My job prospects: as non-existent as my boyfriend, and let's not even get into the pathetic-ness that is that area of my life. But, on the bright side: I finally found a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses! Of course, that comes with its own negative: I'm addicted to online shopping, but as I will soon be as poor as a goatless goat farmer in a third world country, shopping is one of my favorite habits that I'm going to have to break. The "reasons why I suck" list just keeps getting longer...

    

Completely impractical, yet so Penny Lane. I will be such a cute bum with eyes protected from the sun. Tan lines may be rough though...

  

So, I sit here doing nothing conducive to lighting my bleak, bleak future, instead blogging and listening to the same Kopek song over and over (seriously, you should be listening to it, too!). I can think of a million useful things I should be doing. I could work on thesisy crap...but I hate it and would rather make up new words such as "thesisy" and copyright them and make 10 cents every time someone says them. And reader, you've already said "thesisy" three times now, because it still counts even when you just say it to yourself in your head, so that's 30 cents you can go ahead and send my way. Make your checks out to the "Prevention of Kelli (thesisy) Becoming a Dirty Homeless Person (thesisy) Fund." By the way, you're up to 50 cents now. I thank you for your generosity. Also, thesisy.

I could try to search for jobs. But in looking for jobs, it helps if you know what kind of job you are actually looking for. And it's not that I don't know what kind of job that I want. It's just that I have set my heart on one that is ridiculously difficult to find unless you know the right people. You see, I love music. I love music more than I love cake and waffles, and I loooovvveeee cake and waffles. Almost as much as I love my Mama. (That's a lot, y'all.) More than anything, I want a job that involves music. Only problem with that: My complete and total lack of musical talent. I failed miserably at learning bass and drums, which I blame more than just a little bit on my teacher, but mostly on myself for lacking talent and coordination. I still want to be able to have that on the road, touring band experience, though. 

But, alas, therein lies a whole other set of problems. If I'm not in a band, reasons to be touring with a band are few. Applications for rockstar wife or girlfriend are hard to find (I know, because I googled it.) And I haven't quite hit the low point in life where I can really commit to being a groupie or a band-aid. Plus, through my past experiences, I found that as much as I enjoyed being a girlfriend who could just stand around looking all pretend-special because I was 'lucky' (ha) enough to be with the band, I loved actually working for the band even more. I can't count the number of stands, cymbals and drums I've carried into the bar (usually wearing five inch heels, like a boss), or the hours I spent sitting at the merch table trying to peddle shirts, panties, cd's and broken drumsticks. In no way was anything I did on any large-scale level. I was just another girlfriend of just another member of just another small-time local band. But that was my taste, albeit a tiny one, of what could be out there for me. And now it's all that I'm craving. I want to be a merch girl.            

But...I know no bands who are touring now. I have no real connections to anyone else who knows any bands that are touring now. So I'm lost as to what to do. And lost is a feeling I do not tolerate well. Now my future lost feelings are permeating my current blog writing feelings and I don't even know how to finish this long and rambling rant. Other than by saying if you're a band in need of a merch girl, then holla. Please. I admit that I have no clue how to be a real life merch girl, but I learn really fast and I'm a really hard worker. Plus, I'm not sure how long I can sanely live in Tompkinsville. My bets are on only a couple weeks, a month tops. By then I'll probably be hooked on bath salts and meth, eating people's faces off all zombie-style. Don't make me do it. Please.

Thesisy.