Did anyone actually enjoy 2009?

Singing along to: nothing

I know, I know, all the cool kids did their 2009 recaps last week, back when it was actually 2009. Let's just blame my lateness on the post-traumatic stress, okay? Because 2009 was awful, probably as bad as 2005, formerly the gold standard of crappy years.

2009 exploded into (onto?) my life like a crap-filled balloon--almost literally, since according to my Twitter, I started off the year by stepping in dog poo in bare feet. It was, as I suspected at the time, an omen.

To get more specific, allow me to recap the four requests I made on January 1, 2009:

1) A real, full-time job that pays a living wage and doesn't kill my soul.
2) More bookshelves.
3) Minimal graduation-related depression.
4) Pants that fit.

NONE OF THOSE THINGS HAPPENED. NOT EVEN THE PANTS.

My pants situation, in fact, has gotten even more dire, since I ruined a pair of jeans, a pair of khakis, and my black dress pants this year, and have been unable to find suitable replacements for any of them.

And let's not EVEN talk about the employment situation. I am still working at the caterer, and I'm sure you can imagine how much business is booming for high-end caterers in this time of economic peace and love and cups running over, because who doesn't want to have a $30,000 wedding when they can't even pay their mortgage? Business is booming so much, in fact, that instead of getting the pay raise I haven't gotten in three years, I got a pay decrease. A decrease. That's what we all got for Christmas, a 5% pay decrease through April 1, on top of the decreasing hours we've all seen because business is so bad. I didn't think it was possible to hate that job more than I did, but it turns out it is possible. In fact I reach new depths of hatred and despair every time I go in there. (That's when I can even summon up the energy to hate it--most of the time now, I just feel an all-consuming apathy.)

I had a job interview last Wednesday, for a job that could be pretty okay, despite being in a horribly inconvenient location (Virginia). I should hear back about that sometime this week, and what I hear will either be 2009's parting raspberry or the beginning of good things in 2010. (And the beginning of all-new reasons to stress, but at least it would be stress that pays more than NINE DOLLARS AND TWO CENTS AN HOUR, because YES, that IS what I make at the caterer now despite the fact that I've been there five years and I can tend bar* now.)

So? 2010? Whatever. I'm too burned out to care.

*I know what you're saying: you're saying, "Claire! If you can tend bar, leave those fools and go work as a bartender! Make copious money!" Unfortunately, I am not that good of a bartender yet. I can hold my own against wedding crowds behind your average ten- or fifteen-liquor open bar, but have you seen how many kinds of booze real bars have? Have you heard the kind of weird-ass drinks people ask for? I'm not there yet.)