This is to apologize to my dad for calling him old and to endear me to you.

Anyway, being “freelance”, or as some jerks call it “Got No Job”, or as I call it when I am filling out a weekly form, “unemployed”, that means I have to spend a lot of time thinking about what exactly I’m good at. I even made a list. I’m exceptionally good at list making, by the way. Unfortunately, the stuff I am good at doesn’t always naturally (or legally) translate into me having a job. Even some of the whacky shit people hire other people to do in Hollywood is harder to come by than you think. You can’t just walk into Howie Mandell’s house and offer to wash his hands for him. I know. I tried.

One of the things I’m really good at is the thing where you write about the stuff in your head which is the stuff you think about the things you see and do and hear. That last sentence is a perfect example. I don’t know how I churn out such sensicle bits of amazing, but they flow out of me like mixed metaphors out of a unicorn diamond fountain. I’m telling you guys, I write good.

And I regularly find myself writing for free, only it’s not for free. My payment comes in the form of thumbs ups, or people rating my Yelp reviews. I’ve got, like 35 “Funny” ratings on Yelp, and I’m not even trying. Also, I’ve been reviewing music and comedy for AV Club, Beatweek, and LA Record for years now. Also, at age 8, I wrote a compelling letter to the Kellogg’s people regarding the quality of their in-box toys, which did not come pre-stickered, leaving those of us children with shaky hands to apply our own stickers and face the painful thunder of a million playground bitches mocking our slightly askew sticker jobs. That letter resulted in a whole box of pre-stickered toys, and a letter signed by Tony the Tiger.* In any case, I am rather certain that it was my stellar writing that got my message across.

So, since I’m already writing for free, and since I have a bit more time on my hands lately, I’ve decided that I’m going to start filling the world with more of my reviews. Hey, if I’m not working for anyone in particular, that means I can say whatever the hell I want, however I want to say it, and gradually build up more samples of my writing that will either cause people to hire me, or be used against me when my children have me committed.

What you got for me internet? You got a business you opened, a product you’re selling, a music you made, a book you wrote, or a sandwich for me? I like all of those things, you know? So, get in touch. Reach out. And if you don’t, whatever. I’m still going to be here, writing on the internet, until some anti-piracy act makes me stop. Stay tuned for some reviews, y’all.

*As I write this, I am wondering how the hell a tiger, with such huge, furry paws, was able to place those stickers with such precision.

Warning- NSFW  and if you care deeply about maintaining an idea that I am a rather wholesome lady, just don’t click play.

That’s right. American Golf is interested in me. Amy, you’re an angel. Your golden hair and your winning smile in combination with your incredible perception for matching me with the right job make you an enviable goddess whose visage ought grace a postage stamp. I wouldn’t be surprised if you and you alone hold the key to revitalizing our damaged economy. You ought to be appointed the new Secretary of Labor immediately. And so, indebted to Amy for finding me this position, I wrote back to her.

And also, in acknowledgement of her hard work on my behalf, it would have been a slap in the face to not jump at the job opening she found for me. And so, I applied. My cover letter:

Dear American Golf,

I’m sending you my resume because Amy, over at Career Builder, said that you would be interested in me. If you know Amy as well as I do, you’ll know that she’s pretty spot on when she figures out who would be a good match. After all, she did base her recommendation on my experience and qualifications.

While I have never in my entire life done anything even remotely related to accounting, I have a really good feeling about this. I’m sure someone from your team can explain all of that to me. I do have a son in 8th grade, so I could use his Algebra books as a resource whenever a big report is coming up.

I look forward to hearing back from you and setting up my office. What are your policies on decorating, by the way? I once worked at a place that didn’t allow us to bring our own rugs. That just doesn’t work for me. If your company has any sort of rug policy, I feel like we should discuss that up front.

Best, Nikol

So, fingers crossed, everyone. By this time next week, I may be gainfully employed as a Staff Accountant for American Golf. Dreams actualized. All thanks to Amy.

Then there were the years of laying in bed on my belly, feet kicked up behind me and a marker with it’s cap all chewed poised in my hand and I turned the pages of the massive Sears catalog. I would limit myself to five things, thinking that if I circled more than five, I would be punished by karma for being a greedy pig, so I spent hours making small dots next to the things that I wanted, slowly reviewing and determining what I wanted the most. I remember that I got one of the things on my list one year, a Cabbage Patch Preemie doll, but most of all I had wanted…

Glamour!

When I was nine I went into foster care right before Christmas. In the abruptness of the move, I no longer had my clothes, my books, or my favorite tapes to listen to. So I had learned that it was best to want something small enough that I could keep it close to me. That year, what I really wanted was…

Avon Faux Pearl Necklace

But then I got older, and moved more, eventually ending up in Edgar County Children’s Home, where we could make lists of the things we wanted so long as they were able to be purchased at K-Mart. Used to using Suave hair care products before they were doing knock-offs of the good stuff, the number one item on my list was…

Pantene Pro-V Conditioner

A few Christmases later I was still at The Home, and I seriously liked this guy, Patrick, and each day I would rush home after school to call him. We had a payphone in the hallway at the home, and it took nickels. I would call him, and each ten minutes I would need to deposit another five cents. So, that year, I only put one item on my list. It was…

Nickels! And Lots Of Them

I never got the Nickles, by the way. I do remember getting a framed picture of Marilyn Monroe with a note on the back telling me that I should try to have a less tragic life than she had. But a few years and a few homes later, I was living in a Jewish foster home. So, I got to experience Hanukkah. And that year, I remember that the gift I wanted most of all was…

Red Doc Martens!

As an adult, I’ve had a mixed bag of years, from many years of people pulling together to make sure the kids and I had a great Christmas, to the years of getting iMacs and ceramic knives, to years of being happiest to get phone calls, pajamas, and socks.

And this year came on me quickly, barely noticed because the seasons don’t change all that much here in LA. Life is good, and for the most part I’m content with the things I do and don’t have. I’m no longer at a place where I feel guilty wanting things, but I’m not crying in my Christmas oatmeal because I didn’t get them.

But there is one thing I really want this year, and it’s a really big thing to want. This year, the thing I want more than anything is to be able to express to every person I’ve ever had in my life, however briefly, is that I’m thinking of you. I love you. And you have all made this season mean more to me than I can express. I am so fortunate that I had the life I had, because where there isn’t tradition, there is a culmination of rich memories, making it possible to move forward knowing that there were so many people who gave me their time, and shared their Holidays with me.

Merry Christmas, everyone. If I forgot to tell you this, I love you.

So, first I wanted to say that I am still confused about the time when I was a kid and you brought Stanley Bean some presents, and we even saw a news report telling us that you were in the area. You’ll recall that on Christmas Eve of that year my brother and I spent our time caroling at a nursing home, and because I figured you’d want me to be extra damn awesome, I even let that one really scary woman who reminded me of a Skeksies touch my face. I was frightened, Santa, but I knew I needed to act right.

The thing about Stanley Bean is that he never ever brushed his teeth. He was a pretty rotten kid, and he got in trouble at school all the time. So, it was confusing to me when, come Christmas morning, despite the fact that I was so fucking well behaved that I regularly got three M&Ms for good behavior while my classmates got two, you didn’t give me a damn thing. Maybe the M&Ms were my year long gift, like playing annuity in the lottery, but had I been presented with the option I would have chosen a Mr. Microphone and some brand name cereal.

I’m grown up and aware that Stanley had a difficult home life, which caused him to act out at school to try to get attention. I don’t begrudge him the Christmas presents he got. However, I do feel like you owe me a few.

I would like very much, Santa, to be in amazing shape by March. I got some free personal training recently, and it occurs to me that I would benefit greatly from having the face of a trainer in front of my, begging to be punch, in order to motivate me to keep my shit together and do 20 reps instead of- well, instead of no reps at all.

And it’s not just for me, Santa. I want this for you, too. I want you to not have to make your elves knit me larger sweaters, and I want you to stop all of your fretting over my health. Plus, if you do this, I will totally send you pictures of me in a bathing suit. I’ll send them in an envelope that says “Heating Bill” so Mrs. Clause doesn’t get nosy.

What do you say? Help me get in shape? Wouldn’t it make you so happy to see me happy?

Holiday Best,

Nikol

And this also means I need to get better at job interviews. I may be pretty good at first dates, but this is a different game. If things start to get uncomfortable, and I wink at someone or do that little head thing I do where I angle and make my eyes get all anime starry, chances are I’m just going to weird people out.

So, wish me luck. Here goes. And if anything amusing happens along the way, I’ll let you know all about it.

I’m trying this whole “be a better person” thing, and part of that means that I should be more mindful of my carbon butt print. These are the things we’re doing. But what else should we do?

One of the things I love most is pickling. Today I filled out a kickstarter application I really want to start selling my pickles, and eventually open a food truck that features crazy pickle recipes. Check it out : I’ll update it as I go along./ Fingers crossed.

This morning I was having trouble sleeping, so I caught up on some of his stuff. You should read it, too. That’s why I’ve been going on and on about him.

So, go read it.

“There was an adequate amount of Port-o-sans. The few cops visible were the LAPD’s bike-bound squad of “courtesy officers,” or whateverthefuck they’re called. They wear purple shirts that make them look like the world’s most militant kickball team. They kept to themselves, returned eye contact and smiled when smiled at. This is different, I gather, from New York, where the NYPD is crushing people’s femurs and throwing haymakers at nancy-boy college kids.”