Thursday, July 11, 2013
Friday, May 24, 2013
An Epiphany of Sorts
I'm always surprised when I see how fast time has gone by and how long it has been since I have written. I feel like I just wrote the previous blog a few weeks ago and it's actually been months. The fact is, things in my life kind of suck right now. Eh, not even kind of. They do suck. Really really badly and I don't want to turn this blog into a big bitch fest or whine fest or woe is me fest so I just don't write at all. Maybe that should change now that I've had a sort of epiphany I'll tell you about in a bit.
My dad is still sick and struggling. I'm struggling with my future and where it will lead. I still haven't found a job. I've been randomly breaking out in hives from all the stress. And on top of all that, I've been sick as a dog this week myself.... bad bad sore throat. Seriously the most painful sore throat I've ever had. I'll never forget when I was 14 years old, I had to have my tonsils out. The big selling point that doctors and parents used to get their kids more at ease with having this surgery was that you will never have another sore throat again.
Biggest lie ever. Granted, I have a lot less of them since I had the surgery but I do still get them. And this pain took me to see my doctor yesterday. She jabbed that swab on a stick down my already aching throat to give me a strep test. I don't know how you react when someone jabs a stick down your throat but I almost hit her! I felt so bad. It really was an instinct/reflex. And after all that it turns out I don't even have strep. In fact, before she jabbed me she was looking in my throat and said she didn't think it was strep because it seemed the infection was further down my throat. And then she looked in again and said, "hmm your uvula is kind of swollen."
My uvula!? In case you don't know, the uvula is that little thing hanging in the back of your throat despite the fact that it sounds like a part of the female anatomy. But I was thinking something else and I kept my cool until I got my prescription for antibiotics and left the office. As I was walking to my car I started to giggle. And by the time I got the car I was laughing my ass off and my uvula was not liking it! I couldn't help it. How do you hear the word uvula and not think....
The whole way home I was muttering to myself, "I don't know Babs" and giggling to myself. And it is here where I had my sort of epiphany. There are things in my life right now that truly and strongly suck. But through it all I am always able to find some humor in the situation I'm in and I can still laugh through the pain both physical and emotional. That's pretty cool.
So while I drink yet another cup of hot tea and honey and moan about my aching uvula, I'm going to laugh!
My dad is still sick and struggling. I'm struggling with my future and where it will lead. I still haven't found a job. I've been randomly breaking out in hives from all the stress. And on top of all that, I've been sick as a dog this week myself.... bad bad sore throat. Seriously the most painful sore throat I've ever had. I'll never forget when I was 14 years old, I had to have my tonsils out. The big selling point that doctors and parents used to get their kids more at ease with having this surgery was that you will never have another sore throat again.
Biggest lie ever. Granted, I have a lot less of them since I had the surgery but I do still get them. And this pain took me to see my doctor yesterday. She jabbed that swab on a stick down my already aching throat to give me a strep test. I don't know how you react when someone jabs a stick down your throat but I almost hit her! I felt so bad. It really was an instinct/reflex. And after all that it turns out I don't even have strep. In fact, before she jabbed me she was looking in my throat and said she didn't think it was strep because it seemed the infection was further down my throat. And then she looked in again and said, "hmm your uvula is kind of swollen."
My uvula!? In case you don't know, the uvula is that little thing hanging in the back of your throat despite the fact that it sounds like a part of the female anatomy. But I was thinking something else and I kept my cool until I got my prescription for antibiotics and left the office. As I was walking to my car I started to giggle. And by the time I got the car I was laughing my ass off and my uvula was not liking it! I couldn't help it. How do you hear the word uvula and not think....
The whole way home I was muttering to myself, "I don't know Babs" and giggling to myself. And it is here where I had my sort of epiphany. There are things in my life right now that truly and strongly suck. But through it all I am always able to find some humor in the situation I'm in and I can still laugh through the pain both physical and emotional. That's pretty cool.
So while I drink yet another cup of hot tea and honey and moan about my aching uvula, I'm going to laugh!
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Resentment
Resentment. That's the word that continues to dominate my thoughts. And I try, I try so hard not to feel it, think it, live it. But it gets harder and harder not to. Because it's there. It's always there. I can't ignore it anymore.
I'm trying to establish a life for myself. I keep trying and I keep failing. Part of it is my own fault for being unable to secure a job after 11 years out of the workplace. I waited too long. I have no one to blame for that but me. I tell myself that it will happen, that I need to be patient. Not only with finding a job but with my heart's desire too. And then it feels like it will never happen. Circumstances get in my way constantly.
Just today I was taking a shower and a very strong desire to run away from home overtook me. And I actually started to contemplate it. To plan for it. I started to tie up a few loose ends so that I can go, just go and not have them hanging over my head... an oil change, a haircut, a candy order that I needed to fill. Get them done and then go... go somewhere, anywhere but here. It'll hurt him, the man, but thinking of that stopping me adds to the resentment. Do I always have to do what is best for everyone else, but me? When do I take care of me? What do I do for myself that gives me joy or happiness? The answer to that is that I occasionally get a new tattoo. That brings me joy, happiness and it's all for me. Other than that, my existence seems to be to fulfill other people's needs. And that leads to more resentment.
So I dreamed of getting away, running away. Not forever, but long enough to clear my head and decide what I really want and where I want to be. Enough time to stop feeling so much resentment towards so many.
The man... always trying not to harm him, not hurt or upset him. So much like my mother in that regard it pisses me off. Repeating history all the while telling her to stop doing that but not listening to my own words. Existing to make his dinner because I feel like I have no other purpose.
My mother... whenever I make plans, plans of any kind whether they be to go away for a weekend or spend a day to myself either job hunting, writing, reading or just taking care of me, she needs something and I go. And I resent it. I resent that there are so many things she can't seem to do for herself. I resent that I am the only one she can call who will always go and help. I resent that I have little to no help when it comes to her or my father.
My father... probably the neediest of a all. He is not well and continues to go downhill. He refuses to do anything for himself. Just flat out refuses. He no longer wants to walk (he has a prosthetic leg and can walk with the aid of a walker) so insists on using the wheelchair. But he also refuses to push himself once he's in it. He wants whoever is there to push him while he sits back and does nothing. This week he was admitted to the hospital, again, for congestive heart failure. This has been going on since before Thanksgiving, but he never would say what was bothering him. He had a stomach ache, that's all he would say. He'd been to the doctor a few times, and that was all he would tell them too so they prescribe antacids and things like that. No one caught that he had a ton of water sitting in his lungs for months. Yesterday the doctor took a needle and drained his lung of a liter and a half of liquid. And today they sent him home. He's not well. He's unable to walk and he seems kind of spacey. Maybe he's had another stroke, I don't know. But my 4 ft 11 mother cannot take care of a 6 ft 2 father who cannot walk or do anything for himself anymore.
My siblings... I can hear in my siblings voices that I should go there and stay with them to help out, even though they don't come out and say it. Because if they do, they will be on the business end of a big fat "fuck you, you do it!" One lives in FL, one lives in AL and one lives here. I resent that two moved a way and the third is planning his move with his family within two years, which will leave me here holding the bag completely with our parents. Not that I get much help from him now, but I get some and some is better than none.
I resent that everyone can live their lives but me. I resent myself for feeling this way. I resent myself for seemingly doing the right things for everyone but myself. I resent myself for feeling selfish because of these feelings. I resent myself for letting my life take a back seat to everyone and watching life pass me by. I resent that there is no end in sight to any of this.
I'm trying to establish a life for myself. I keep trying and I keep failing. Part of it is my own fault for being unable to secure a job after 11 years out of the workplace. I waited too long. I have no one to blame for that but me. I tell myself that it will happen, that I need to be patient. Not only with finding a job but with my heart's desire too. And then it feels like it will never happen. Circumstances get in my way constantly.
Just today I was taking a shower and a very strong desire to run away from home overtook me. And I actually started to contemplate it. To plan for it. I started to tie up a few loose ends so that I can go, just go and not have them hanging over my head... an oil change, a haircut, a candy order that I needed to fill. Get them done and then go... go somewhere, anywhere but here. It'll hurt him, the man, but thinking of that stopping me adds to the resentment. Do I always have to do what is best for everyone else, but me? When do I take care of me? What do I do for myself that gives me joy or happiness? The answer to that is that I occasionally get a new tattoo. That brings me joy, happiness and it's all for me. Other than that, my existence seems to be to fulfill other people's needs. And that leads to more resentment.
So I dreamed of getting away, running away. Not forever, but long enough to clear my head and decide what I really want and where I want to be. Enough time to stop feeling so much resentment towards so many.
The man... always trying not to harm him, not hurt or upset him. So much like my mother in that regard it pisses me off. Repeating history all the while telling her to stop doing that but not listening to my own words. Existing to make his dinner because I feel like I have no other purpose.
My mother... whenever I make plans, plans of any kind whether they be to go away for a weekend or spend a day to myself either job hunting, writing, reading or just taking care of me, she needs something and I go. And I resent it. I resent that there are so many things she can't seem to do for herself. I resent that I am the only one she can call who will always go and help. I resent that I have little to no help when it comes to her or my father.
My father... probably the neediest of a all. He is not well and continues to go downhill. He refuses to do anything for himself. Just flat out refuses. He no longer wants to walk (he has a prosthetic leg and can walk with the aid of a walker) so insists on using the wheelchair. But he also refuses to push himself once he's in it. He wants whoever is there to push him while he sits back and does nothing. This week he was admitted to the hospital, again, for congestive heart failure. This has been going on since before Thanksgiving, but he never would say what was bothering him. He had a stomach ache, that's all he would say. He'd been to the doctor a few times, and that was all he would tell them too so they prescribe antacids and things like that. No one caught that he had a ton of water sitting in his lungs for months. Yesterday the doctor took a needle and drained his lung of a liter and a half of liquid. And today they sent him home. He's not well. He's unable to walk and he seems kind of spacey. Maybe he's had another stroke, I don't know. But my 4 ft 11 mother cannot take care of a 6 ft 2 father who cannot walk or do anything for himself anymore.
My siblings... I can hear in my siblings voices that I should go there and stay with them to help out, even though they don't come out and say it. Because if they do, they will be on the business end of a big fat "fuck you, you do it!" One lives in FL, one lives in AL and one lives here. I resent that two moved a way and the third is planning his move with his family within two years, which will leave me here holding the bag completely with our parents. Not that I get much help from him now, but I get some and some is better than none.
I resent that everyone can live their lives but me. I resent myself for feeling this way. I resent myself for seemingly doing the right things for everyone but myself. I resent myself for feeling selfish because of these feelings. I resent myself for letting my life take a back seat to everyone and watching life pass me by. I resent that there is no end in sight to any of this.
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
When Staying Over Your Parents House...
Lately I have found myself staying overnight at my parents house for various reasons at different times. In doing so I have come up with several rules to follow for these occasions.
Rule #1: Do not pack and wear your warmest pajamas no matter how cold it is.
My parents turn the heat up so high I feel like I'm in the tropics when I'm over there! The first night I was sweating so much I was crawling around on the floor, looking very much like Mr. Magoo I'm sure, since I didn't have my glasses on, looking for the floor vent so I could close it. When I got up the next morning and looked at the thermostat, it read 80 degrees!! O.M.G!!! There is something seriously wrong with that. But my dad is always cold and he doesn't like long sleeves. So in the dead of winter, they just keep turning the heat higher and higher instead of giving dad a sweatshirt or a sweater.
Rule #2: Do not plan on watching any of your shows while staying at your parents house because even though they assure you that there is cable on the TV in your room, the TV itself is so old the numbers only go up to 20. The remote is wonky, the TV is weird, the numbers stop at 20. As if I don't have enough reasons to feel like I'm 10 years old again while at my parents house, this one just drives it home!
And speaking of shows, dad watches the worst stuff on TV. Westerns. if it's not a game show. And if all else fails, he watches Gunsmoke or Bonanza reruns. So Rule #2B is, pack a book or two. Better yet, just being your Ipad, Kindle, Nook or device of your choice if you have one.
Rule #3: This rule only applies if you are staying at your parents house when there has been a time change. Be prepared to change many, if not all, of their clocks. Most likely they have either forgotten, decided not to bother, don't know how to change them or didn't realize there even was a time change.
Rule #4: Discard all old, moldy, spoiled and expired food because they never will. There is that mindset in older people "waste not, want not" so you may have to achieve this one on the sly. But do it. Oh please do it! What lead me to doing this is that I went to make a box of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese for the nieces. I know, I know it's gross to begin with but kids like it so what can you do? So I grab a box from mom's pantry and go to make it. The boiling of the noodles goes fine, I have my butter ready and once the noodles are cooked, drain them and add the butter. Then dump in the disgusting powdered cheese. Something is amiss. The neon orange is not there, instead the "cheese" is red. Not just a little off from orange, but RED. And I'm stirring it thinking, "wow, it's really been a long time since I made one of these, I wonder why it's red?" And I'm stirring thinking it will turn orange. It doesn't. I can't shake this "this is just not right" feeling so I grab the box and look at it. The expiration date on the box was June of 2008!!! Promptly the whole thing went in the trash.
That led me to grabbing a garbage bag and going through the pantry and refrigerator and going through everything. I'm sure mom was horrified by all I was throwing out but it had to be done. It's November and she still had peaches in the fridge! Do you know how long peaches have been out of season around here? Is it any wonder that they were shriveled into little pebbles? And then I found the orange color that was missing from the cheese powder. It had transferred itself to an unopened jar of pineapple preserves. Correct me if I'm wrong but shouldn't pineapple preserves be yellow, not orange? Yeah I thought so. The date on the preserves was 2010!
After all this, I am very grateful my parents welcome me back. After all, it's for their own good that I do these things. At least, that's what they used to tell me when the tables were turned :)
Rule #1: Do not pack and wear your warmest pajamas no matter how cold it is.
My parents turn the heat up so high I feel like I'm in the tropics when I'm over there! The first night I was sweating so much I was crawling around on the floor, looking very much like Mr. Magoo I'm sure, since I didn't have my glasses on, looking for the floor vent so I could close it. When I got up the next morning and looked at the thermostat, it read 80 degrees!! O.M.G!!! There is something seriously wrong with that. But my dad is always cold and he doesn't like long sleeves. So in the dead of winter, they just keep turning the heat higher and higher instead of giving dad a sweatshirt or a sweater.
Rule #2: Do not plan on watching any of your shows while staying at your parents house because even though they assure you that there is cable on the TV in your room, the TV itself is so old the numbers only go up to 20. The remote is wonky, the TV is weird, the numbers stop at 20. As if I don't have enough reasons to feel like I'm 10 years old again while at my parents house, this one just drives it home!
And speaking of shows, dad watches the worst stuff on TV. Westerns. if it's not a game show. And if all else fails, he watches Gunsmoke or Bonanza reruns. So Rule #2B is, pack a book or two. Better yet, just being your Ipad, Kindle, Nook or device of your choice if you have one.
Rule #3: This rule only applies if you are staying at your parents house when there has been a time change. Be prepared to change many, if not all, of their clocks. Most likely they have either forgotten, decided not to bother, don't know how to change them or didn't realize there even was a time change.
Rule #4: Discard all old, moldy, spoiled and expired food because they never will. There is that mindset in older people "waste not, want not" so you may have to achieve this one on the sly. But do it. Oh please do it! What lead me to doing this is that I went to make a box of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese for the nieces. I know, I know it's gross to begin with but kids like it so what can you do? So I grab a box from mom's pantry and go to make it. The boiling of the noodles goes fine, I have my butter ready and once the noodles are cooked, drain them and add the butter. Then dump in the disgusting powdered cheese. Something is amiss. The neon orange is not there, instead the "cheese" is red. Not just a little off from orange, but RED. And I'm stirring it thinking, "wow, it's really been a long time since I made one of these, I wonder why it's red?" And I'm stirring thinking it will turn orange. It doesn't. I can't shake this "this is just not right" feeling so I grab the box and look at it. The expiration date on the box was June of 2008!!! Promptly the whole thing went in the trash.
That led me to grabbing a garbage bag and going through the pantry and refrigerator and going through everything. I'm sure mom was horrified by all I was throwing out but it had to be done. It's November and she still had peaches in the fridge! Do you know how long peaches have been out of season around here? Is it any wonder that they were shriveled into little pebbles? And then I found the orange color that was missing from the cheese powder. It had transferred itself to an unopened jar of pineapple preserves. Correct me if I'm wrong but shouldn't pineapple preserves be yellow, not orange? Yeah I thought so. The date on the preserves was 2010!
After all this, I am very grateful my parents welcome me back. After all, it's for their own good that I do these things. At least, that's what they used to tell me when the tables were turned :)
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
When You Want It...
... nothing else will do.
That's kind of how I feel at the moment. I had a job interview last week. And honestly, I put no expectations on it at all. When I applied, I didn't know what I was actually applying to. I didn't know where it was or what it was all about. My sister posted the job listing to my Facebook wall, a listing she saw on a friends wall and, knowing I've been looking she thought why not post it to me. So, sure, what the heck. I'll apply. And wouldn't you know, they emailed me for an interview.
When I got that email I almost immediately turned down the interview because it was then that I saw where the company was located, and it was pretty far from where I live. Probably at least an hour drive each way. I even wrote the reply turning down the interview, but something stopped me from sending it. I deleted it and rewrote the reply telling them when I was available to interview that week. We set it up for last Thursday. And I kind of dreaded it a little. The drive, that drive! It kind of haunted me.
For once, I wasn't really nervous about going to an interview. My mindset was that this was merely for the experience of interviewing. There is no way I'm going to take a job with such a long commute. I'll just go, have another interview under my belt and that's that. So off I go with my little GPS program for the Iphone. And a funny thing happened. It wasn't over an hour, it was about 43 minutes. Hmmm, I'm stunned by this, but suddenly it doesn't seem as daunting. The drive was very easy, all highway, and felt very fast. This is actually doable. But still, I don't want to get ahead of myself.
Considering I gave myself an hour and 15 minutes to get there, just to be safe, I'm SUPER early for the interview. I sat in my car for a few minutes, but then just said fuck it, and went in. It was small, with a little sitting area with a leather sofa, a huge dry erase board in front of it, a funky swag light, a bookshelf and a very large portrait on the wall. On the other side there were three cubicles, one of which was pictured in the job listing when I applied. And no people. No one was there. One of the cubicles had a nice computer set up that was running, and well, the door was open so I knew someone was around. So I sat on the sofa and waited, looking around. What I noticed immediately was that the computer set up was Mac. Ahhh Mac! I'm a Mac girl through and through and part of the problem I'm having with my job search is that I don't have much Windows/Office experience and that is what most everyone wants.
After I'm there for a few minutes, a guy comes out of the back and is a little surprised to see me. I tell him that yes, I'm super early because I didn't know how long it would take me to find the place. He has long hair, is wearing jeans, and the pièce de résistance, he's wearing a Radiohead t-shirt! I immediately feel at ease and like I have really stumbled upon the right place. And so the interview commences and it's amazing. The place is a start up, but it's gaining speed and things are moving fast. They need someone soon and it's all clicking into place. This is where I want to be. This is where I belong. This job was made for me.
Alas, I have to meet with the other partner who is not there that day so we immediately set up a second interview. That was this past Monday. A second interview? What do I do? I have a standard interview uniform that I wear, but now that I have a second interview I can't exactly wear it again. So I must find something else. I settle on black pants, a black tank top and a zebra striped cardigan over it. And as I'm getting dressed I realize that my tits have a mind of their own and refuse to be contained in the tank top. I'm standing in front of the mirror and all I see is cleavage. This just will not do. I cannot go to an interview with a CEO of a company looking like Busty McGee! I'm slightly panicked because I don't have a huge wardrobe and I don't know what I'm going to wear now. I tried, really tried to pull the tank top up so it wasn't overly revealing but it just didn't work. I finally settle on a different zebra sweater, one that buttons to just below the neck with no chance of a wardrobe malfunction.
And I'm off. Once again I'm stunned by the shorter amount of time it has taken me to get there. Again it was about 43 minutes, give or take. This time when I walked in, only a few minutes early, both guys were there, working at their desks. Yes this is a small office. It would be the two guys and me. That's all. That is my kind of work environment! What I mean is small... no politics, no bitchy back stabbing. That was how my last job was, just me and the director and it was great. I worked there 10 years and loved it. I have everything they need. I have all the qualifications, experience and I'm ready to just start. But for whatever reason, the second interview has made me feel self conscious and a little uneasy. The person I met with this time wasn't as laid back as the first and I didn't have that immediate feeling of relax, even though the first thing he said was that they were informal and I should not feel uptight about the interview. And so we talked, and it was nice and he was nice but I didn't have the same feeling. I guess it's because this guy kept talking about my commute and how far I live and he said even though that in and of itself is not a deal breaker, it is a concern.
I left there unsure of myself, unsure that I would be able to land this job. They plan to make a decision soon, so now it's just a waiting game. My hope is that they do not find someone with the experience I have who is closer to the office. In my thank you letter for the interview I made it very clear that I want this job, and if you're so inclined you can again steal my line, "I really hope you'll give me a chance to prove to you what an asset I would be to your organization. " I liked it. It's not vague and conveys my desire to work there. That should count for something shouldn't it?
That's kind of how I feel at the moment. I had a job interview last week. And honestly, I put no expectations on it at all. When I applied, I didn't know what I was actually applying to. I didn't know where it was or what it was all about. My sister posted the job listing to my Facebook wall, a listing she saw on a friends wall and, knowing I've been looking she thought why not post it to me. So, sure, what the heck. I'll apply. And wouldn't you know, they emailed me for an interview.
When I got that email I almost immediately turned down the interview because it was then that I saw where the company was located, and it was pretty far from where I live. Probably at least an hour drive each way. I even wrote the reply turning down the interview, but something stopped me from sending it. I deleted it and rewrote the reply telling them when I was available to interview that week. We set it up for last Thursday. And I kind of dreaded it a little. The drive, that drive! It kind of haunted me.
For once, I wasn't really nervous about going to an interview. My mindset was that this was merely for the experience of interviewing. There is no way I'm going to take a job with such a long commute. I'll just go, have another interview under my belt and that's that. So off I go with my little GPS program for the Iphone. And a funny thing happened. It wasn't over an hour, it was about 43 minutes. Hmmm, I'm stunned by this, but suddenly it doesn't seem as daunting. The drive was very easy, all highway, and felt very fast. This is actually doable. But still, I don't want to get ahead of myself.
Considering I gave myself an hour and 15 minutes to get there, just to be safe, I'm SUPER early for the interview. I sat in my car for a few minutes, but then just said fuck it, and went in. It was small, with a little sitting area with a leather sofa, a huge dry erase board in front of it, a funky swag light, a bookshelf and a very large portrait on the wall. On the other side there were three cubicles, one of which was pictured in the job listing when I applied. And no people. No one was there. One of the cubicles had a nice computer set up that was running, and well, the door was open so I knew someone was around. So I sat on the sofa and waited, looking around. What I noticed immediately was that the computer set up was Mac. Ahhh Mac! I'm a Mac girl through and through and part of the problem I'm having with my job search is that I don't have much Windows/Office experience and that is what most everyone wants.
After I'm there for a few minutes, a guy comes out of the back and is a little surprised to see me. I tell him that yes, I'm super early because I didn't know how long it would take me to find the place. He has long hair, is wearing jeans, and the pièce de résistance, he's wearing a Radiohead t-shirt! I immediately feel at ease and like I have really stumbled upon the right place. And so the interview commences and it's amazing. The place is a start up, but it's gaining speed and things are moving fast. They need someone soon and it's all clicking into place. This is where I want to be. This is where I belong. This job was made for me.
Alas, I have to meet with the other partner who is not there that day so we immediately set up a second interview. That was this past Monday. A second interview? What do I do? I have a standard interview uniform that I wear, but now that I have a second interview I can't exactly wear it again. So I must find something else. I settle on black pants, a black tank top and a zebra striped cardigan over it. And as I'm getting dressed I realize that my tits have a mind of their own and refuse to be contained in the tank top. I'm standing in front of the mirror and all I see is cleavage. This just will not do. I cannot go to an interview with a CEO of a company looking like Busty McGee! I'm slightly panicked because I don't have a huge wardrobe and I don't know what I'm going to wear now. I tried, really tried to pull the tank top up so it wasn't overly revealing but it just didn't work. I finally settle on a different zebra sweater, one that buttons to just below the neck with no chance of a wardrobe malfunction.
And I'm off. Once again I'm stunned by the shorter amount of time it has taken me to get there. Again it was about 43 minutes, give or take. This time when I walked in, only a few minutes early, both guys were there, working at their desks. Yes this is a small office. It would be the two guys and me. That's all. That is my kind of work environment! What I mean is small... no politics, no bitchy back stabbing. That was how my last job was, just me and the director and it was great. I worked there 10 years and loved it. I have everything they need. I have all the qualifications, experience and I'm ready to just start. But for whatever reason, the second interview has made me feel self conscious and a little uneasy. The person I met with this time wasn't as laid back as the first and I didn't have that immediate feeling of relax, even though the first thing he said was that they were informal and I should not feel uptight about the interview. And so we talked, and it was nice and he was nice but I didn't have the same feeling. I guess it's because this guy kept talking about my commute and how far I live and he said even though that in and of itself is not a deal breaker, it is a concern.
I left there unsure of myself, unsure that I would be able to land this job. They plan to make a decision soon, so now it's just a waiting game. My hope is that they do not find someone with the experience I have who is closer to the office. In my thank you letter for the interview I made it very clear that I want this job, and if you're so inclined you can again steal my line, "I really hope you'll give me a chance to prove to you what an asset I would be to your organization. " I liked it. It's not vague and conveys my desire to work there. That should count for something shouldn't it?
Thursday, September 6, 2012
And Now, Some Levity
As some of you may (or may not know), every Wednesday I go to my parents house and take my mom out to do her weekly shopping and whatever else needs to be done. A few weeks ago she wanted to return a top she bought at Macy's because she didn't try it on first and it didn't fit. So we did that and then headed over to the shoe department. Alas, like most woman, my mom and I are shoe fanatics and Macy's had some shoes on a 75% off clearance rack. Mom found a pair she liked and so did I. She headed up to the counter to pay and I said, "did you try them on?" She said no. So I became the mom and said, "try them on because if I come over next week and you say you need to return your shoes because they don't fit, I'm going to be really pissed!" So like the dutiful faux daughter she is, she tried them on. And she bought them.
Sure enough, when I got there this week she says, very sheepishly I might add, "I have to take the shoes back to Macy's." I'm perplexed, she tried them on. I saw her do it. But they don't fit. They fit when she tried them on sitting down, but she didn't walk around and her toe was right at the tip and thus, too small. Oy. And then she tosses in, "by the way, the new Clinique gift is in at Dillard's so I want to get that too." Terrific. Now I'm not just going to Macy's, I'm going to the mall, something I hate to do.
The shoe return goes by easily and uneventfully. Then we head to the other side of the mall to Dillard's. The Clinique counter is jumpin! Jumpin with a bunch of old ladies just like my mom who are chomping at the bit to get their free gift. The free gift that, by the way, my mom complained about on the way there. "blah blah blah, it's always a make up bag! Why can't they give us something other than a make up bag??" To which I say, "um mom, they sell make up." Anyway, the line is comprised of a bunch of old bitties who want their freebie. So we wait. And I take a spritz of Happy (which I love), and wait. And wait. While we wait, mom decides to get out her Dillard's card so she's prepared. What's this? She can't find it. In her large menagerie of credit cards, of which she has a separate wallet for, she cannot find Dillard's. She's got everything else under the sun, but Dillard's isn't there. It's not really any big deal, they can look it up, but it's the principle of the thing. She used the card to buy something online several weeks ago and the card is most likely sitting on her desk by the computer. She decides she'll just use her Visa. OK. Whatever.
We wait.
Finally it's our turn and mom hands the salesgirl the bottle of the make up she wants. Because you do realize of course that you have to spend $25 to get the free gift (worth about $10 no matter how much they seem to want you to think it's worth). She gets mom her make up and now the fun starts to happen. I swipe mom's Visa for her, because mom quite often refuses to put on her glasses and therefore cannot see well enough to work the little machine where you swipe your credit cards. All the while I'm playing mom and she's playing daughter as I bitch at her for not putting on her glasses and say, "just give it me!" and I do it myself. The salesgirl is amused by the scene in front of her. The Visa doesn't go through. Why? Because it's expired. So then we tell the salesgirl that she does not have her Dillard's card with her. Not a problem, she tells us. She can just look it up and tells mom that there will be a series of questions on the little screen on the credit card machine. Oy. She still didn't put on her glasses. So she struggles to see the questions until, of course, I get annoyed enough to say, "just let me do it!" Of course I realize this is her ploy all along. I just keep falling for it! And salesgirl continues to chuckle.
Something is still amiss. The machine keeps asking the same questions over and over, going back to the beginning. Salesgirl doesn't know what is happening so she decides to call direct. Luckily we were last in line so we aren't holding anyone up because this is taking awhile. Salesgirl gets an automated call and tries to input the information mom has given her. But it is doing the same thing as the machine was, and going back to the beginning instead of giving her the card number. What the fuck is going on? No one knows.
Salesgirl comes up with a new idea. She will go about the process of opening a new account for my mom and when the system realizes she already has one, it will give them the account number. OK, have at it. So as mom is giving salesgirl more information, another one pulls me aside and says, "Some dude (actually she knew his name, I don't remember it because I don't know jackshit about the Browns) from the Cleveland Browns was in this week and he bought $4,000 worth of merchandise and his transaction didn't take this long!" We laughed, although I think I cried a little on the inside.
They are finally done and viola! A new account is opened in my mom's name. This is not what the salesgirl told us would happen. At this point though, it doesn't matter. I want to get the hell out of there, mom wants her fucking free stuff and the salespeople probably hate our guts. The transaction is mercifully over and we leave. As we are walking, and mind you, we aren't even out of the Clinique area yet, mom turns to me and says, "Oh... the Dillard's card is in your father's name."
Deep breath. I swear I cannot make this shit up!
Sure enough, when I got there this week she says, very sheepishly I might add, "I have to take the shoes back to Macy's." I'm perplexed, she tried them on. I saw her do it. But they don't fit. They fit when she tried them on sitting down, but she didn't walk around and her toe was right at the tip and thus, too small. Oy. And then she tosses in, "by the way, the new Clinique gift is in at Dillard's so I want to get that too." Terrific. Now I'm not just going to Macy's, I'm going to the mall, something I hate to do.
The shoe return goes by easily and uneventfully. Then we head to the other side of the mall to Dillard's. The Clinique counter is jumpin! Jumpin with a bunch of old ladies just like my mom who are chomping at the bit to get their free gift. The free gift that, by the way, my mom complained about on the way there. "blah blah blah, it's always a make up bag! Why can't they give us something other than a make up bag??" To which I say, "um mom, they sell make up." Anyway, the line is comprised of a bunch of old bitties who want their freebie. So we wait. And I take a spritz of Happy (which I love), and wait. And wait. While we wait, mom decides to get out her Dillard's card so she's prepared. What's this? She can't find it. In her large menagerie of credit cards, of which she has a separate wallet for, she cannot find Dillard's. She's got everything else under the sun, but Dillard's isn't there. It's not really any big deal, they can look it up, but it's the principle of the thing. She used the card to buy something online several weeks ago and the card is most likely sitting on her desk by the computer. She decides she'll just use her Visa. OK. Whatever.
We wait.
Finally it's our turn and mom hands the salesgirl the bottle of the make up she wants. Because you do realize of course that you have to spend $25 to get the free gift (worth about $10 no matter how much they seem to want you to think it's worth). She gets mom her make up and now the fun starts to happen. I swipe mom's Visa for her, because mom quite often refuses to put on her glasses and therefore cannot see well enough to work the little machine where you swipe your credit cards. All the while I'm playing mom and she's playing daughter as I bitch at her for not putting on her glasses and say, "just give it me!" and I do it myself. The salesgirl is amused by the scene in front of her. The Visa doesn't go through. Why? Because it's expired. So then we tell the salesgirl that she does not have her Dillard's card with her. Not a problem, she tells us. She can just look it up and tells mom that there will be a series of questions on the little screen on the credit card machine. Oy. She still didn't put on her glasses. So she struggles to see the questions until, of course, I get annoyed enough to say, "just let me do it!" Of course I realize this is her ploy all along. I just keep falling for it! And salesgirl continues to chuckle.
Something is still amiss. The machine keeps asking the same questions over and over, going back to the beginning. Salesgirl doesn't know what is happening so she decides to call direct. Luckily we were last in line so we aren't holding anyone up because this is taking awhile. Salesgirl gets an automated call and tries to input the information mom has given her. But it is doing the same thing as the machine was, and going back to the beginning instead of giving her the card number. What the fuck is going on? No one knows.
Salesgirl comes up with a new idea. She will go about the process of opening a new account for my mom and when the system realizes she already has one, it will give them the account number. OK, have at it. So as mom is giving salesgirl more information, another one pulls me aside and says, "Some dude (actually she knew his name, I don't remember it because I don't know jackshit about the Browns) from the Cleveland Browns was in this week and he bought $4,000 worth of merchandise and his transaction didn't take this long!" We laughed, although I think I cried a little on the inside.
They are finally done and viola! A new account is opened in my mom's name. This is not what the salesgirl told us would happen. At this point though, it doesn't matter. I want to get the hell out of there, mom wants her fucking free stuff and the salespeople probably hate our guts. The transaction is mercifully over and we leave. As we are walking, and mind you, we aren't even out of the Clinique area yet, mom turns to me and says, "Oh... the Dillard's card is in your father's name."
Deep breath. I swear I cannot make this shit up!
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