Never cared much for nihilism

Associate editors, assistant stylists, closet organizers, and mousy interns: to the general population, they are a minority of civilians who, while successfully escaping monotonous cubicle hell, submit themselves to a more treacherous demon: The Industry.

For me, these people are simply trying to do what they love. Long hours, invisible pay, countless slaps in the face -- and they gladly return to work the next day. For all involved and those who long to be, there lies a picture even bigger than W's advertisements.

I'm a 19 year old wannabe, student, idealist, and mouth who is currently homeless and seeking a self-validating, albeit unpaid internship. Trial and error = summer 2008. Though stagnant, I am at my highest level of aspiration and steadily tackling the endless search for home, job, and self.

But forget lemons and lemonade. Last night I haphazardly threw unbridled ambition, a flair for auto-didacticism, and sheer insanity into a cauldron and made
.

By the afternoon, I'll know whether the seventeen hours I spent researching everything from cast-iron tub demolition to brick veneer laying was worth sleep-deprivation. I discovered my first project on Saturday. Per usual, I was scouring Craigslist for a place and decided to class things up a bit by paying Markdavidny.com a visit. Once there, I found it! And by "it," I mean a whirlwind of potential clouded by bad 70s-style carpet and moldy wallpaper. It was like uncovering the Holy Grail, only to discover a smack-addicted prostitute in South Jersey: devastating, salvable, and intriguing all at once. A finding that only a keen eye gives a second thought.

It's the apartment that Violet Sanford never fixed up in Coyote Ugly. Only, it's a loft. My rent stabilized Carrie-Bradshaw-esque-though-I-severely-abhor-SATC- loft. Mine.

I have stalked Marlon Suarez (Mark David's VP) since I laid my eyes upon the proverbial diamond soaking in its proverbial rough. He should be giving me a phone call tomorrow to confirm availability. I've already dubbed the moment my "ring of fate."

Perhaps Mr. Suarez deserves a special ringtone?

I'm Amina. I do not have any contacts or note-worthy relatives, but as you can see, I'm well on my way to fulfilling that wide-eyed ingénue role-- starting with my first apartment in New York City.