04.02.2003 - Going Nowhere

"Santa Cruz is a beautiful place to poke a lady." This is what my friend tells me in the phone call that punctuated my turd of a Spring Break.

All I wanted to do with my nugget of time away from classes, papers and tests was get the Hell out of Cowtown for at the very least a long weekend. Having spent my entire "vacation" holed up at home or in the office, hearing about my friends humping on the sand ranked somewhere between, "Jeff, this is your new roommate, Carrot Top," and, "I think we can get the tumor, but you're going to lose your testicles," on the list of things I didn't want to hear.

Sometime during Finals Week, I decided I wanted to go to Los Angeles for some Chicken'n'Waffles and a show or at least somewhere on the coast so I could put my feet in the ocean, which provided me the convenient excuse to use time that should have otherwise been spent studying researching hotel and airfare deals on the Internet.

Soon enough, the idea snowballed. First, I realized piling in a car with a few friends for a road trip would be more fun than flying anywhere. Then I figured, if we're driving all the way to LA, we might as well go the four extra hours to Vegas. I have relatives who live there that probably wouldn't mind a visit. I could have an actual Spring Break adventure this year instead of my standard break, which usually involves going to work every day and trying to keep myself from strangling anyone who raves about what a great time he had in Cancun re-enacting his favorite scene from "Girls Gone Wild."

As many of my friends will graduate in June, this Spring Break serves as the last significant chunk of time off they'll see in the foreseeable future. You'd think they would be down to spend that time on the road, seeing the Pacific, yelling at prostitutes or crying after drinking too many margaritas and losing their rent money on the craps table. You, however, would be wrong.

I hadn't anticipated having any trouble convincing people to come with me, but everyone I asked acted like they'd come down with an incurable case of the herpes if they left the state of California.

Some had vacation plans already, some couldn't take time off of work, while others insisted on being giant dry vaginas about the whole thing. One friend in particular chose to spend his last Spring Break ever putting up a vanity website rather than party with me a few hundred miles away and risk seeing a complete stranger's genitals in a place that actually has some semblance of nightlife.

While the obvious solution was to use my break to find new friends, I instead spent my time working and wallowing in self-pity. One day, I got crazy and bought new pillows. I thought to myself, "this is definitely less pathetic than getting drunk in another state."

Suddenly, just as I found myself about to give up all hope, a ray of sunshine came down from the heavens to momentarily trick me into thinking Jesus doesn't hate me after all. A pal informed me he got accepted into the Ph.D. Program at USC. He said he had to drive down to meet with some professors, and since he knew I wanted to go, I could tag along.

Hallelujah!

I couldn't wait to get into work that Monday to ask my boss for some time off. Unfortunately, when I got in, she couldn't wait to tell me that taking the time off wouldn't be a problem, as I would be unemployed at the end of the week.

It's not as terrible as it sounds. The company for which I work was recently purchased by a large corporation, and since the conversion took effect, it became abundantly clear that my services would not be needed until the end of May as had been initially estimated. However, seeing as how it wouldn't be wise to take a vacation when I may not have any serious income any time in the near future, my plans were foiled again. And that sucked.

I spent the rest of my week in a whirlwind of faxed resumes, phone calls, pavement pounding, interviews and freaking out about not having stable employment. By the time I reached the end of the week and I received the call from my buddy about his lady-poking exploits, I had exhausted all my resources. Frustrated and tired, I grabbed a book and flopped out on the lawn in my backyard to read and get some sun.

For some reason, having the sun in my face, a book in one hand and a beer in the other made me forget about not being able to get out of town and the potential that I might have to whore myself out to freshmen for free meals at the Dining Commons if I don't get a new job soon. I felt strangely content. Those four hours of blissful relaxation and the resultant mild sunburn may not have been as great as being able to call my friends and tell them crude tales about my scandalous beach escapades, but they were almost good enough to make up for an otherwise forgettable Spring Break.

--Jeffy