Watch Boy Stalker + Tall Mocha w/ Extra Whip=Migraine

So in a nutshell, for the past few days I've endured incredible-y bad migraines. Im actually experiencing one of these incredible-y bad migraines as I type, so although I haven't blogged in a good 2+ months, I still have decided to keep this entry fairly short and too the point. Does this sadden you? If so you can blame Orlando aka Watch Boy Stalker....but for time purposes we'll call him WBS.
So....this is my story. Every day I faithfully visit Starbucks before I head into work. I go in at the exact same time every morning....9:55am. At this exact time I order a tall mocha with extra whip and an ice-d lemon pound cake. No. not the entire cake. Just a slice. Its become so regular that on my last visit I was told upon arrival, "Goodmorning hun, since its the holiday season we had to put the ice-d gingerbread pound cake in the case but we still have some ice-d lemon in the back for you" So on one of these fateful mornings as Im headed to work, with mocha in hand, and crumb of ice-d lemon pound cake slice in mouth, I am approached by said boy, WBS. In short here is our convo.

WBS: hey....can I talk to you for a second
SBG:What do you want?
WBS:Why is your face looking like that?
SBG:Im trying to figure out what you want from me
WBS:Well, I work right across the way at the watch place...I see you go into Starbucks every morning at the exact same time and I want to get to know you....Can I take you out to lunch sometime.
SBG:Listen, next time you decide to approach a woman out of the blue you need to introduce yourself first.
WBS: Oh I apologize...my name is Orlando...
SBG: Well, Orlando, my name is Renee, nice to meet you...(I proceed to walk away)
WBS:...Hey wait...you never said if I could take you out!
SBG:....I go to Starbucks the same time every day...you'll see me again.

So after this, I vowed to sacrifice my morning coffee and danish, by never going to Starbucks again, in order to avoid Orlando...aka WBS. However a few days later I thought I would beat the system by going at 11 oclock to throw WBS off, and still go to Starbucks. In essence....the smell of espresso broke me. I gave in. Orlando was at the watch store. He saw me. I was caught. sadness. So fast forward to a week later, when Im sure you can relate to my surprise when I looked up from my paperwork to find Orlando standing in front of me. ...

SBG: How did you find out where I worked?
WBS:I was in here a little while ago and I was watching you the other day, but I didn't want to say anything...
SBG: I cant believe you came to my job....
WBS: You never told me if you would go out with me or not...

The rest of this conversation is unecissary. Just know this...I since have not been to Starbucks for the past 5 days, therefore I am going into Caffeine Withdraw, therefore I am experiencing wildly painful heachaches, all because of my stalker WBS...with whom I still have not gone out to lunch with, and will continue to starve every morning and endure painful migrains in order to avoid his creepy-ness. So finally, for Christmas, all I ask for is a Duncan Donuts Gift Card. Thank you. Good night.

YOU'RE FIRED!!

I cant sincerely claim that these were the exact words that came out of my manager's mouth that fateful Wednesday afternoon It was more or so like, "Well hun, I think this job is 80% business and 20% creative....you're more cut out for a job that’s 20% business and 80% creative." ...and she based this on one week of work in which i was only asked to make numerous scans, develop excel reports and...just basic admin tasks?

We'll, there you have it folks. Four+ years of college...a dozen or more design studio courses, late nights in the darkroom...late nights in the sewing room, countless crazy mornings stumbling around the city (Bethlehem or NYC?...take your pick) searching for the perfect cafe mocha to get my designer juices flowin...only to find out in my first "real" position that I, double college major graduate, intern queen, fashion extraordinaire....am TOO Creative for my job. The design gods never cease to amaze me.

Flash back to about 4 weeks, prior to...lets call it, "the day of exil". It's about 2 pm at my little retail job at Victoria’s Secret. I toss the last Very Sexy Extreme Plunge Pushup Miami tan (yes, not brown, its Miami tan) bra into the bin and secretly declare to myself. I WILL NEVER PUT AWAY ANOTHER Bra (unless its my own)! I will NEVER straighten up another panty table. I will NEVER again pretend to get excited when the packaging changes for the Dream Angels collection! Sound the alarm! Burn all the bras!!...anddd snap out of it.

My little declaration meant nothing, as I still was pretty much jobless according to my standards. Of course I made a little bit of money doing the retail thing, but not enough to even put a small dent into my 4+ years of college loans....ughhh and for what? I'd interned at some of the top fashion houses in the world...made my connections, freelanced here and there, only to end up stackin bras and countin panties! This was not the life of glitz and glamour that I dreamed of!

So you can imagine my sheer excitement when I learned that I had landed, what I thought would be the most promising entry level fashion job in the world....and they even threw in a clothing allowance...was I dreaming?....ughhh

....so fast forward to the, "day of exile". ...
Boss She-Devil states, "Well, ill let you finish out the week...I usually am good about letting people do that." ...Shes "usually good about letting people do that?!"...does she always fire people after a week and a half?...I told her no! (can you believe it?) I told her that I at least needed a second week to be able to get another job! (in reality I needed wayyy more time than that, and she really could have gotten sued for pulling such stunts, but I’m not even going to go there.)

So I got what I asked for. Another week in hell, but at least another weeks salary to last me until I found something else. And would you believe that it all happened in the beginning of the greatest week of all?...the holiday for all fashionistas....Fashion WEEK?!...and would you believe that my little desk faces outside looking over 42 street and Bryant Park where I can practically count the beads of sweat covering the men who put up the big white tents in preparation? Did I do something bad in a past life?!

Whatever. Whatever is what I say. If this little skinny brown girl contains too much creativity then so be it! I got what I needed from that job....and yes, I spent every last drop of that clothing allowance. No matter what, I gained some great experience, and skills that I can take to another job that hopefully is 80% creative and 20% business oriented. ha.

Ha, I laugh in the devil's face... who apparently wears Prada on the weekends, and Elie Tahari during the work week.