HELLO, I NEED A JOB. Gone are the days of my Peter Pan daydreams because um, my bank account let me know that childhood is most definitely OVER. As is my modeling career, I guess. Is it just me or does seeing Kylie Jenner – like even a picture of her – just reinforce that life is unfair? My dad is an auctioneer, bro. My mom writes for a Catholic newspaper. And while Kim would be a lovely half-sister, my sister has four dogs and a husband and not an iota of fame or fortune. What do I have to tell myself again? Pull myself up by the bootstraps? I’m Alaskan; Xtratufs don’t have straps, dammit. It is difficult for me not to be whiny about this. I have staved off getting an actual career for years and now I’m applying for entry-level jobs. ENTRY. LEVEL. JOBS. Some dude the other day told me to get a job in insurance and I nearly called 9-1-1 to have him arrested. The jobs I do want are on the other side of reality in some whimsical fairyland, I guess, but I am continually pestered by capitalist-scumbags who tell me that *everyone* is hiring. I did not toil away in college for years (and pay out of my own pocket, THANKS NOBODY!) to work for the *everyone* who is hiring because that *everyone* is McDonalds and of the like. No disrespect to McDonalds, but I truly don’t want to work on my feet all day. I’ve been there and done that. Pass. But I will take some chicky nuggets to wipe my tears, thanks. The pandemic took the wind out of my sails (but not my lungs, lol, fuck you, covid!). I was modeling with an agency that I loved and living in Los Angeles. I had a boyfriend who played professional basketball overseas and we were making it work. Then we both lost our jobs and had to move back to Alaska, the pandemic foisting life changes on us. And guess what he did! JUST GUESS. If you guessed ABANDONED ME, you are correct. I mean, the dude straight up was like, “bye. see you never.” And while I thought we could go through this rough patch together, the man got himself a whole new career and life sans Jasmine – and as a firefighter, getting paid a COPIOUS amount of money. Dumb money, if you will. Completely quelling out whatever sparks there were between us, my heart was left ravaged by the passion that once burnt so brightly (and where is my writing job already?! COME ON) and I couldn’t look away from. I’m a competitive person by nature, but man, I am getting gun-shy and worn out. I’ve done too many races and when the shot goes off, I want to walk off the track, curl into a ball, and cry. But knowing that my ex-boyfriend is getting paid over 40 dollars an hour? Infuriating. I’ll burn it all down for that much money, believe me. And the most upsetting part is that I have to put myself out there; I have to find a job, move again, find a boyfriend again. Do it all. Again. Alone. Like I have done before. And I’m 28, so apparently it ALL must be intentional. Dating with intention. Finding a career. Blah, blah, blah. So, HIRE ME. I’m motivated. Fueled by anger, oxygen, and an unending supply of heartbreak. That’s the boy scout fire triangle, right? Look how well rounded I am. I need a job.