Andrea Wilson Woods' Blog

Just now, without thinking, I applied for a “communications writer” position at Walt Disney. About halfway through the application process—right about the time I was supposed to attach my cover letter—I realized how ridiculous I was being. I already teach two writing classes, critique more than 100 resumes per week, run my nonprofit Blue Faery (an unpaid position), and I really want (and need) to start writing the second draft of my 450-page memoir.

I don’t have time for another job without giving up something, but I am always looking for the Next Best Thing (NBT). Some people might assume my odd behavior is just an overreaction after six months of unemployment, but no, unfortunately, I have always acted this way. I used to read the Sunday classified ads every week, now I read Craig’s List every day. I used to cut out and tape the classified ads (often the size of my thumb) on sheets of paper in my legal pad, now I print out the Craig’s List ads and store them in my folder. In many ways, the Internet has made me even more of a job junkie because I have alerts on Monster, CareerBuilder, Mediabistro, and countless academic websites. However, I value this technology because I have gotten four out of my five last jobs through job alerts on the Web.

I’ll admit part of my search for the NBT is about money. I’m scared—I barely make enough to pay my bills, and soon my student loans will kick in, making my financial obligations more substantial. The only time I stopped looking for a job was when I was making more money than I needed, but unfortunately, I was terribly unhappy and left that position after only six months. Being numb for two hours every night when I returned home from work wasn’t worth not worrying about the bills.

Anyway, this NBT behavior can be traced back to my mother who was never satisfied in any job she ever had even though she made a decent living as an RN in Birmingham, Alabama. My mother always thought the hospital across town would have nicer doctors, friendlier nurses, more flexible hours, etc. As she job-hopped, we moved a lot—four times in five years. Ironically, the only time my mother had a “normal” job (i.e., not the graveyard shift) as a supervisor at a prestigious nursing home, she was bored. She hated working the same hours as everyone else. She complained that her salary was too low, she had to shop when the stores were busy, and she didn’t like driving in traffic. Never mind that she was keeping the same schedule as her children, mother quit in search of the Next Best Thing.

I pressed the “Submit” button on the Disney application, but I didn’t bother to write the cover letter because my time is too valuable. I don’t really want nor need the job. I allowed fear to cloud my judgment. As long as I have food, shelter, and clothing and I can pay the necessary bills (e.g., utilities, phone), I will be fine. As for my other debt, I’ll figure it out; I always do.

I need to stop looking for the Next Best Thing; I’ve already found it.

AWW — XoXo

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July 10, 2006

I was at my psychiatrist’s office today. I like his office for its sheer variety of magazines: current and past editions of W, American Photo, and Entertainment Weekly (EW) lie on the table. I cannot picture Dr. Kadoyan reading W and who knows about American Photo, but EW is for patientss’ trivial reading, something to pass the time. Every enlightened doctor’s office has piles of EW, People, and/or Us magazines in the waiting room because patients like them. The articles in those magazines are short, easy-to-read, and usually a good distraction from whatever problem brought you there in the first place.

However, I stopped reading entertainment magazines years ago. I let the subscriptions run out or canceled them. I was a Cosmo girl in college, but while I was pursuing acting I read TV Guide, Premiere, Movieline, and of course, Entertainment Weekly without fail. I could tell you which movie was number one on any given week and how much it grossed when it opened. I could tell you details about almost any actor’s life, who was sleeping with whom, and {insert trivial detail here}. One day I realized how much space this useless information was taking up in my brain. I looked at all of the unread books on my shelves and thought it is time to read a story, not a log line, a review or a list of who is wearing what name this week.

But upon seeing all those silly magazines, I couldn’t resist picking up a copy of EW dated 5/26/06. I skimmed and then went straight to the back of the magazine, something I would never do with a book. That’s when I saw it—a new feature or a one-time piece titled Stupid Questions: This week with Reba McEntire. Now what I’m trying to figure out is why Reba (who appears to be a down-to-earth woman) would agree to answer questions that she knows in advance are labeled stupid. Maybe the editor didn’t tell her. My favorite stupid question was: Who is a bigger redneck woman: you, Gretchen Wilson, or the always popular write-in vote Britney Spears? Not only is the question stupid, but it is also mean.

I thought to myself none of the above. Reba doesn’t strike me as a redneck. I don’t know who Gretchen Wilson is (sorry Gretchen), and Britney is what we Southern gals call white trash. Or trailer park trash. Except Britney is rich. “Rich, white trash” seems to fit. Reba answered, “I’m gonna vote for Britney Spears. Bless her heart.” Now I have difficulty feeling sorry for a young woman who has more money than she’ll ever need, has horrible taste in men, and has endangered her child on at least one occasion. I want to scream at her, “Pull yourself together, divorce your husband, take some parenting classes, and figure out what makes you happy!”

I can forgive Reba for answering EW’s stupid questions, but I cannot forgive Britney Spears aka “Miss Rich White Trash” for being stupid.

AWW — XoXo

P.S. Since I initially wrote this piece, Britney has had another child, obtained a divorce, gone crazy and become sane again. I, however, still only read “entertainment” magazines at doctors’ offices or while I’m standing in line at the grocery store. I do subscribe to The Week, Writer’s Digest, and Inc.

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During my most formative years, my family underwent many changes. My parents divorced, my father got remarried, my brother moved in with my dad and stepmother, my mother and I moved to another state, and my mother had another child, my half-sister Adrienne. Maybe due to the chaos or the fact that my mother wasn’t the best role model, I looked to films (and music) to learn some of life’s most valuable lessons.

Fast Times at Ridgemont High (1982) This comical spoof of the 80s culture with a terrific ensemble cast taught me that, unlike Stacy, I didn’t want to lose my virginity to a stranger; I wanted to be in love. I also didn’t want to become pregnant (especially by a sleaze bag) in high school. * I was and I didn’t.

Sixteen Candles (1984) When her entire family forgets her 16th birthday, Samantha hates her life—even more so when her school crush Jake accidentally finds out about her feelings for him. This movie made me believe that the awkward sort-of-pretty-but-not-gorgeous redhead could end up with the handsome hunk. It didn’t happen until my senior-year spring break in Daytona Beach, but I did eventually land the best looking Canadian guy—a true “pretty boy.” Being with someone who is more beautiful than you are is a strange feeling, but instead of being jealous, I became used to the constant stares of bikini-clad women looking at him. After all, he was with ME.

The Sure Thing (1985) One of my favorite John Cusack films, The Sure Thing chronicles the journey of two very different college students, a goofy guy and an uptight girl, as they try to get to their spring break destination in California. He’s going for the “Sure Thing” and she is visiting her oh-so-perfect boyfriend. Naturally, they hate each other. Besides laughing my ass off, this movie taught me that personality wins over looks every time. My best romantic relationships usually have rocky starts—from a guy dumping a drink over my head to my 195-pound dog stepping on my boyfriend’s balls (an incident that almost ended the relationship). However, these bumpy beginnings taught me that I not only need someone who will stand up to me, but I also need some verbal sparring to keep things interesting. Only a smart, funny, confident man can meet those requirements. If he happens to be attractive, too, well, that’s just a bonus!

St. Elmo’s Fire (1985) A movie about what happens to a group of friends after college graduation, St. Elmo’s Fire launched the careers of actors such as Demi Moore, Rob Lowe, and Andrew McCarthy. Although the film may seem a bit cheesy now, its theme is noteworthy: strong friendships can survive almost anything: sex, infidelity, drugs, obsession, etc. These characters remained friends through it all. We all expect to work at our romantic relationships, but friendships need the same kind of attention. I’ve learned since, however, that both parties have to want to make amends or the relationship will not survive.

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (1986) This light-hearted comedy reminded me that maybe I shouldn’t take myself so seriously. I actually saw this movie in the theater and for some reason stayed through all of the credits. I’m glad I did because Ferris tells the viewing audience “It’s over. Go home.” I laughed so hard and eventually took my own day off during “Junior Skip Day”—my graduating class’s reaction to the traditional Senior Skip Day. When most of (some students went to school—what party poopers!) the entire junior class couldn’t fit into his office, our principal decided punishing us all with suspension would be silly because he would be giving us permission to miss yet another day of school. I felt just like Ferris; we beat the system!

The Breakfast Club (1985) Following the success of Sixteen Candles, John Hughes wrote and directed The Breakfast Club, a simple film about five high school stereotypes who discover they are not so different when they are forced to spend the day together in detention. What I like most about this film is that it teaches us that at certain times in our lives, whether it’s passing time in school detention, sitting in a jail cell, or lying sick in a hospital bed, social status ceases to matter. No matter what, we are all human beings. The characters explain it best in the final voiceover of the film:

“Dear Mr. Vernon, We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it is we did wrong, but we think you’re crazy for making us write an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us, in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. But what we found out, is that each one of us is a brain, and an athlete, and a basketcase, a princess, and a criminal. Does that answer your question? Sincerely yours, The Breakfast Club”

Thank you Steve Bloom, Cameron Crowe, Amy Heckerling, Carl Kurlander, Rob Reiner, Jonathan Roberts, Joel Schumacher, and of course John Hughes for creating wonderful films that guided me through my youth.

P.S. The music in these movies is quintessential 80s and absolutely timeless.

AWW — XoXo

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