Lacin' Up Mah Dancin' Shoes

I've been calling this step the Recession Obsession.

You take two steps forward, only to be pushed back about twelve. Then when you can't move any more after many attempts forward, you obsess about why the hell people who could barely speak the English language are whiling their days away in offices on the 20th floor of some Manhattan skyscraper.

This happened to me yesterday while I was training for a new live-in nanny position I acquired (note to self: send a quiche to craigslist); I perused Facebook during some downtime to find this girl I graduated high school with had a fabulous job. Then the Recession Obsession took over and I discovered a lot of kids I graduated with had full time jobs.

After banging my head against the wall and downing half a bottle of wine, I realized that it probably had nothing to do with original talent, but everything to do with connections. The half-baked losers who hung out by the dumpsters were languishing in some snazzy consulting office feeling like the smug sh*s they became while I was tending to the needs of children who had grown up in the same manner I had.

It must be a horrible, horrible mistake.

My dancing shoes are worn out, definitely time to give these tired old soles a rest. If someone had told me that stupidity wins the race, I would have stopped studying long ago.

Oh well, at least I get to sleep more.