I guess I should have been more specific when I made my wishes, huh?My life up until this exact moment has been an uncanny series of "Close, But No Cigar" moments. I don't know why it would have been easier just because I'm closer to the beach.Ah well.I need to find a job. Not necessarily because I need the money. But because this beautiful condo building grows out of the corner of a suburb, my boyfriend takes his car to work with him and there's not much by way of fun in comfortable walking distance.I've met some friendly people. The neighbors are super-cool, but busy. Every once in awhile, someone will shock me and wave hello while I'm walking my dog. But there's not much else going on beyond that.I have to get out. Meet some new people. Find my way.Besides, having a successful banker as a boyfriend when I only list myself online as an "aspiring singer" isn't a good look for a Black man. If I looked like that pretty White woman with her hooker boots hanging out of that ride in the picture above, no one would think twice about my being unemployed and having a boyfriend with a good job.As it stands, everyone seems to want to know what I'm "doing." Worse than that is the implication that I'm "kept." Pfft. These Adidas on my feet, I bought them. These tattoos on my arms, I paid for them. Those records, that 3DS, this new book I'm reading, I bought them. I need a haircut badly. I'll be buying that too. I left Sacramento bruised, but not broke.My boyfriend is very attentive, loving and generous. He's the king of little gifts and charms, and I love him for it. Snowglobes, flowers, the other day he came in with a vintage "Howdy Doody" tin lunchbox that I pointed out in a store window. He's awesome. But, while he's bought me dinner and keeps us stocked in dish soap, he's never bought me a Lexus. My dog doesn't have a diamond choker around his neck. There's no salon/spa days. No shoe shopping day trips or trendy lunches at too-clean cafes across from high end boutiques. His credit card stays in his own pocket.I'm going to have to work for the things that I want, whether he wears a tie to work or not.Problem is, I spent the majority of my young adult life caring for my dysfunctional family. The highest I can list on any resume or application is "some college." I wouldn't be happy in a job that required a suit, even if one was offered to me. But they're not. And most of the jobs that I'm suited for, now that my family responsibility is over for me, would have my co-workers being high school kids who just need the experience. I'm not a bright-eyed teen anymore. But I never had the opportunity to learn a trade. And I don't have the time to now.I went through the Craigslist job listings, and man, was it depressing to see the only things that I'm qualified for. My biggest hope is a job at a local laundromat, if they don't care that I'm not bilingual. It's an honest living, but a far cry from where I thought I'd be in this stage in my life. If caring for your sick father was an attribute serious employers gave a damn about, I'd be in there. But they're not gonna care that my hands are rough from hours of lifting and disinfecting, or that I sold my car to buy his medication. It's all about the experience.I wanted a job as a food server, but most of the spots around here require five years restaurant experience, and I'm way too flighty to fake the funk. I'm going to call on Monday to follow up on this grocery store I applied at. Their uniforms are sleeveless, and I haven't seen a worker there yet with a tattoo, so fingers crossed.I guess there can be something fairy tale romantic-ish about a blue collar worker who just wants to sing the blues. That's an angle that I'm willing to go with.But for an aspiring singer without a car, stuck in a suburb in Southern California -- I'll take whatever story I can get.Except that I'm kept.I'm not kept.

read more: Kept