What Do You Do With a BA in Music? or, Eden Uncharted's Big Come Back

Contrary to popular belief, I am not in a ditch somewhere, covered in petrol, on fire.  I am alive and well (well?), and though I have been shirking my blogging duties as of late ("of late" meaning here "for the past 5 months"), I'm hoping that I can finally man up and get into a writing rhythm again.

Also, many people are asking me why on earth I privatized this little piece of Internet tomfoolery--after all, I've spoken pretty clearly here about how this space is for me and my health, and it ISN'T about getting or not getting jobs and/or subsequently ruining my as-of-yet-non-existent Big Girl career.  There comes a point in every job-hopping, existential-angst-ridden 20-something's life, however, when you realize this shit ain't working anymore, and you gotta do something about it.  So today I did something about it.

Let me back up.

We all know how I ventured into the financial sector this spring, and what a HORRIBLE experience that was.  I dealt with people accusing me of stealing their money, of not knowing how to do "simple" transactions (said transactions would've been a lot easier if the people I was dealing with understood that their debit cards are, in fact, linked to their checking accounts, but that's just splitting hairs at this point), and of being tardy to work too many times ("tardy" meaning here "punching in at 8:31 instead of 8:30."  Fascist financial bastards...).

So after 5 months of that crap, I called my former boss (aka, Head Spa Bitch) at La Spa and essentially begged for my old job back (I may or may not have suggested I would rather scrub toilets and make minimum wage than work at a bank with a decent salary and benefits).  The Fates smiled on me that day, however, because HSB said, "Actually, we're thinking of creating a new marketing position, and your name came up.  Let's meet to discuss."

That is the Reader's Digest version of how I came to 1) be back at La Spa and 2) work as Director of Marketing, even though I have 2 degrees in music and nary a clue how to do marketing--a fact my new boss (aka, NOT Head Spa Bitch, but rather Pompous Dickhead) at La Spa likes to overlook:

New Boss, or PD:  Eden, is this marketing initiative going to be a good return on investment?  If so, I'll invest.  If not, no deal.

Me:  Well, New Boss, I can't predict that; I've done lots of research with other companies, and that data is unavailable.  I can guess, but I can't give you hard numbers.

NB/PD:  What do you mean you can't give me numbers?!  You're in marketing, you're supposed to know these things!! [For full efficacy, this statement must be delivered with substantial blustering and condescension]

Me:  ...........I'm a musician.  Which you knew when you hired me.  I've "been in marketing" as you say for 3 weeks now.  So.......no.  Just.....no.

This is a conversation I've been having for over a month now.  It's getting harder and harder to keep a straight face every time it happens.  Because, seriously.  SERIOUSLY.

This, along with the fact that I went $75,000 in debt to earn the aforementioned music degrees, means I sure as hell better be using them in some way, and not working for Financial Fascists or Pompous Dickheads.  Or, if I AM forced to work for Pompous Dickheads, they better be Musical Pompous Dickheads.

So today I applied for 4--count them, FOUR--jobs with the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra.  These are the dream jobs, people.  Please keep all available phalanges crossed that this time, THIS time we'll get it right.  'Cause Baby Girl's gotta pay off those student loans and finally become the Yuppie my liberal arts degree has destined me to become.  I figure that working in a Gay Pride-loving, symphony orchestra-having city where I have equal chances of running into one of the Indigo Girls as I do running into Ted Turner gets me pretty close, yeah?

And this is why I've made the blog private.  The ASO suits don't need to be privy to my expletive-ridden angst....at least, not yet.  I like to lull my employers into a false sense of security, and then drop 14 F-bombs over lunch.  It's part of my charm.  But for now, I need to appear professional and "with it."  Once I've landed one of these Dream Jobs I can let my neurotic, irreverent self shine, both online and in real life.  Until then, let's at least pretend that I can keep my shit together, shall we?

Also, this: