fearlesstemp: (working girl)
You know those annoying free registration form thingies on the internet? Most of the time you don't really feel like sending your home address to some random company, so you just fill out the form with bogus information, right? I used to do this all the time. Did you know that there is someone sitting on the other end who has to sort out those bogus entries?


Temp jobs need to be measured by a variety of factors - someday I will draw up a weighted scale, which includes (but is not limited to) privacy of work zone, accessible & fun lunch locales, a benevolent policy concerning tardiness. But a key factor - probably the key factor - is just how many times you find yourself fantasizing about stabbing yourself in the hand with the nearest sharp instrument to get out of the rest of the day's work, because the sharp bleeding pain would be better than the slow soul death of whatever cruel task you've been assigned (on a tough day, this could be defined as liberally as being asked to pick up the phone, or speak civilly to anyone at all).

But this latest job! This latest job takes the cake, I think. I spend all day scanning 3500 free registration forms for fake ones - like Homer J. Simpson from Springfield, or Harry Potter from England. You may wonder: What if there are actual, non-fictional Homers and Harrys? Well, even so, they would still be booted for their obscenity-riddled company lines. The jokesters can never resist the obscenities! Homer@fuckoff.net? Genius!

Also, I am all by myself in a little cubby and while I can hear people having funny conversations around me, I cannot see them or participate in any way, and so I feel like a pathetic girl of the week on some episode of The X-Files or Touched By An Angel. In the former, some supernatural phenomena a la Buffy's Invisible Girl would cause me to disappear without a trace in between lunch and quittin' time. My new coworkers would know little about me, save the fact that I drink Diet Coke like it's water and have eaten a Three Musketeers bar at my desk both days. Were my strange eating habits a symptom of a larger, alien-caused problem? Or did I just disappear because NO ONE CARED? Scully would insist that I just left on my own when no one was looking, and then they'd go out and stand by my car in the blustery February cold and Scully would look vaguely distasteful but try not to be cruel about it, and Mulder would make an inappropriate joke, and one of them would say, "...I wonder how she got this way" just before they cut to commercial.

I am still undecided as to my ultimate fate.

In the Touched By An Angel version, Roma Downey would be a temp who starts after me and to whom I offer advice re: lunch locations (Panera's on Wednesdays - potato soup day! My life is so sad.). At the end, of course, the magic light of divine inspiration would appear, and she would deliver unto me my ultimate life path, and maybe I'd even run into an appropriate love interest at the Citgo station after I'd burned rubber out of the office complex with some inspirational, cheesy music blaring from my car, ready to start my new life.

(I was trying to figure out a way for John Dye to be there, because I LOVED him, but he was the Angel of Death, and I don't want anyone to die right now - but the show figured out a way to put him in every episode, so I guess I will too. He was there too.)

SPEAKING of ultimate life paths – tomorrow I have a meeting with the school where I'm hoping to get my MAT. I am supposed to bring to this meeting all of my transcripts, especially the ones from another local university that ran a foreign language program through the high school I attended – I took college level Spanish in high school and I need to find out if what I took meets the state requirements for a foreign language. (No, I never took any in college. I am an Ugly American. Foreign languages bore me to tears. I would love to know how to speak one – it would be awesome to be able to pronounce foreign locales or menu items at nice restaurants without sounding like you're trying to do a hick impression, but the actual act of learning a foreign language is so boring to me that when I think of hell or torture, I think of my high school Spanish classes.)

I submitted my request early last week, right after I made the appointment for tomorrow and – get this – I gave myself PLENTY of turnaround time. Okay, well just enough turnaround time. The max they say is standard plus one day, if you must know.

Today dawns, have no transcript, yada yada yada – I call them to see if I can pick it up in person.

"Oh," Registrar Lady says. "Yes, we've got it right here. We can't process it because there's a hold on you. Some library books were returned late?"

I have always wondered if someday, somehow, my abuse of the library system would come back to haunt me – but I have to say I was honestly surprised and shocked when it happened. I returned books late, and while I'm almost positive I paid the fine, we are talking about ME here, and it's entirely possible I didn't.

But. Even if I go and pay the fine tomorrow, even if they release the hold, even if I show up in person with cash in hand for the transcript – STILL they refuse to give me my transcript in fewer than three-to-five business days. I think I had a rage blackout a la Summer Roberts at this because if they had CONTACTED me when they first realized this, as I REQUESTED ON MY FORM if there were any problems, I could have handled this in plenty of time! Well, maybe not plenty of time! But probably by the skin of my teeth!

Now I have to go into the meeting tomorrow without it! And look like the flake I am!

That was only the beginning of my annoying bad day. Other events:

-THEY CANCELED AMERICAN DREAMS. Or at least that's what they're saying on the TWoP. I almost cried in the middle of Registration #1789 (approx) of the day.

-I arrived at my tutoring session at 5:30, thinking I was a half hour early, just enough time to throw together a lesson plan for the hour-long session we'd planned for six. Except my student was there. And had been there since 5, which was when he thought we were supposed to meet. I had to freestyle basic literacy for ninety minutes.

I must not be Nancy Negativity all the way through though, right? I seriously just typed Nancy Negativity there, didn't I. I'm leaving it there to remind myself how dangerous alliteration can be.

Non-Heinous Events:

-I may be able to leave the current wretched temp job in a couple of weeks – one of my old temp assignments (remember the Evil Republican Law Firm? It's looking shiny in comparison to my current digs) needs someone to fill in for a while and I may take it on if they will work with my schedule.

-I made a really good omelet for dinner.

-I bought new lipstick and I love it so much that I actually did a Before/After demonstration for my mother in the kitchen after work.

-In the quest to find any old records of my Spanish grade/credit, my mother went through her Drawer O' Motherly Pride and unearthed my VERY FIRST BOOK! The Lost Baby, by Jessica MyLastName. It was dedicated to my mother and featured a cute little plot and illustrations that look like they were done by an intoxicated bear. A family goes camping and leaves the baby behind! What to do, what to do! (For those of you stressing out – spoiler warning! – the baby is found and fine.) I don't know if any other elementary schools did this, but I thought this was an awesome thing – we made up these books, and got them typed up and drew pictures with markers and had them semi-bound and then PUT IN THE SCHOOL LIBRARY. You could take them out using your library card! There was an About the Author on the back and everything.

And now I must go stress about the interview and figure out what I'm going to WEAR. And also sleep.
fearlesstemp: (working girl)
The All Irish Law Firm is located within spitting distance, if one had a truly righteous command of one's spittle, of the Evil Republican Law Firm. I spend every lunch hour running around town with my head down, hoping I won't be recognized by one of my old annoying coworkers or (much, much worse) old bosses. I left their office when my original assignment was up (even though they asked me to stay) because I said I was moving on to other things, and here I am, temping still. I have a hard enough time making peace with myself about this – explaining it to others is beyond my ability.

Of course I ran into someone on my second day. She grabbed my elbow from behind while I was walking past an underground parking garage after work. I almost had a coronary.

"Is it – Jessica! I knew it was you!" the elbow-grabber said. "That hair!"

"Yup," I said, patting my head. "Can't miss it. How are you, Paula?"

Paula replaced me at the ERLF, and in the short time I trained her, I became familiar with a few things: her skill with the possible insult/possible compliment, her ability to take credit for other people's work, and her stunningly plastic personality. She got along swimmingly with Mr. OCD Boss, of course. They were cut from the same cloth.

Oh, I feel so mean! Even so, watch me not delete the above paragraph.

Paula babbled at me for a few minutes about the ERLF's new office (just down the road!) and then we parted ways. Of all the people I could have run into, she wasn't the worst, but not the best. A good start, I suppose.

I had lunch with Jane, my favorite person from the ERLF, on Thursday and we spent most of the time gossiping about the ERLF (which we did not do when I actually worked there, because I generally try not to gossip about work at work. But now I've moved on!). We are going to try to meet every week. I have a lunch buddy!

She revealed to me that she doesn't like Paula either. I feel quite vindicated.

Other things revealed to me: Mr. OCD Boss has gone crazy. He walks around criticizing secretaries for having messy desks (I'd like to see him be a secretary for an attorney specializing in litigation and have a neat desk. He does tax and estate law and spends all day rewording pointless letters.), has ordered the copy room to be rearranged four times, and recently scolded someone for attaching the phone extension list to the wall next to the phone in the copy room. He took it down and made someone go out and buy a color-coordinated cork board to hang next to the phone, and then tacked it up there.

He makes some of the secretaries kick in for part of their parking fee and re-ordered all of the tins in the kitchen because he didn't like the color. He also made them re-order a box of post-its because they were green, not yellow.

I thought I had gotten over how much he annoyed me! Apparently not. I will link to one of my final entries about the ERLF here. A year later I can look at it and say: I was right.

Also last week: I heard back about a job I'd applied for five months ago. i've written this lj entry before! save yourselves! read no further! )
fearlesstemp: (working girl)
Clearly the only solution is panhandling. Had another job interview today and, as usual, wish for some kind of work-oriented Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind machine where, immediately after an interview, I could undergo a procedure and erase all memory of the horrid, horrid event. Wouldn't that be lovely? Then I could stop reliving that moment where I found myself staring down at my hands with no. idea. whatsoever. What I had been talking about.

(Still can't remember right now.)

Oh well. Oh well! Life goes on. Right? Right.

If nothing else, I totally wore a kickass pantsuit all day today. I felt all powerful and important everywhere I went, including Dunkin Donuts, where I got myself a congratulatory Coolata for surviving the interview (it was so delish). I looked like I had an Important Job! I walked around in my pinstriped pantsuit and recently-purchased too-large shoes (sometimes waiting till the night before an event to purchase shoes is not the best plan of action – on the upside, Kleenex stuffed in the toes seemed to work, since the shoes didn't fall off at any point) and felt great until the image of Successful Professional was, inevitably, shattered by me getting into my beat-up blue car.

The post-interview self-loathing is but a shadow of the self-loathing atomic explosion that took place on Monday, when I placed a phone call to Annie, one of my best friends since high school, to catch up after playing phone tag for weeks. I blabbed and blabbed about all sorts of boring things, nothing important, and then asked her what was going on. She started telling me and then segued from one story to another by saying, "And I have to get ready in a little bit because A is taking me out for my birthday," in a matter-of-fact way.

A smoother person than I would have said something like, "I was waiting to see how long you'd take to mention it! Like I'd forget – Happy Birthday! I wanted to let you know that FedEx messed up and the present's going to be at your house at the end of the week – stupid company!" And then laughed.

Instead I took a moment to recover from the mute horror stage and then responded with, "Oh my GOD, that's RIGHT, it IS, and I am SO SORRY! I know when your birthday is, I do! I just lost track of the days! Happy Birthday!! I am the WORST FRIEND EVER!"

Annie was very gracious and kind but I still spent most of the night wishing there was a cultural ritual one could go through to rid oneself of this kind of shame and agony. Public flogging, or a certain sum of money, perhaps.

Clearly the only solution is a Truly Awesome Gift. Am going to get on that tomorrow.

Also tomorrow, I have a Truly Awkward Social Engagement to look forward to. The other day my uncle Mike and I had the following conversation:

Mike: (in cheesy fake New Yawk accent) Hey, sweetheart.

Self: Hi Mike.

Mike: So listen, I was talking to a friend of mine at the V. Golf course the other day [insert description of said friend which I, naturally, cannot remember at all now. I have a vague sense that he works at the golf course? And is someone's son? Or has a son?], and we were talking about writing, and creative outlets, and he's been going down to New York City to find people to talk about this stuff and looking for a person to talk about it with up here, maybe set up a group. I, naturally, thought of you.

Self: Really! Well, okay.

Mike: So would you want to get together sometime? Talk about stuff?

Self: Uh, sure.

Mike: Great. Bye!

And I hung up, slightly weirded out, but figured that would be the end of it and I'd never hear of it again. Naturally I got another phone call on Monday.

Mike: How's Thursday at 5:30?

Self: What?

Mike: The Pro Shop? At the V. Golf Club? I'll introduce you guys and then you can get talking.

Self: Uh...okay.

Mike: Great!

Self: Should I, like, bring stuff to look –

Mike: No, just yourself!

And then he hung up and I stared at the cordless phone for a while.

The question: Have I been set up? Have I? Who IS this guy? Is he, like, my uncle Mike's age? Or is he young? I have visions of a 65 year old groundskeeper showing up tomorrow night and me having to make conversation for two hours. Oh God. I want to die. Why can't I just be normal? Why didn't I get more information? Why can't I remember what information I was given? I mean! I think it's a set up! But I can't ask! Because if it's not, how absolutely, positively mortifying would it be if I asked? I would look all desperate! And I am not desperate! Not really.

There's also the problem that I don't really write anything! I write ranty unedited essays about my boring life! Like this one! With too many exclamation points and lots of caps lock and, very often, repetitive sentence structure! Also, too many commas.

It is so late. I have spewed most of my crazy neuroses and now must go to bed. I didn't get to write about my awesome evening with Anna, whose birthday I did remember when it came in February, and who is leaving the country next week! Maybe I'll write about it tomorrow. It should be documented, if only for me.
fearlesstemp: (lionel)
Another day, another dollar, another rejection letter from a job I'd wanted rather badly. Ah, the joys of Bush 43-era job hunting. For those keeping track, the main joy of Bush 43 era job hunting is being able to blame Bush 43 for one's inability to get a job (instead of recognizing one's own personal and professional failings, which is far less fun).

Oh blah blah blah. I almost didn't write this entry because I feared it would be boring, self-pitying, and morose. It will most likely be all three but I have decided that I don't care! Ha! Watch me not care! Watch me throw caution to the wind like the rebel I am!

Anyway. I still feel rather lame, mostly because I feel guilty for whining when in fact I know I'm a very lucky girl in most respects. I have to come up with a Word macro so that whenever I start an entry like this, it will enter a three-paragraph explanation of how I'm okay, really, and I know things will work themselves out, and I'm sorry if this is annoying people, but I just need to vent.

You know what would take my mind off of things right now? Brad Pitt. In strategically-placed battle armor. Leaping. Yes. Okay. I feel better!

In other words: I saw Troy! I loved it! Was there ever any doubt?

the key to joy is low expectations )

ETA: Oh my goodness, this retelling of the movie is funny as hell.
fearlesstemp: (Default)
What to do, what to do. With my life, with my wardrobe, with my cell phone plan. I just don't KNOW. I'm not good at this decision-making stuff. But occasionally decisions have to be made, like right now. Or maybe later. By tomorrow at the very latest.

I have made one decision: I am going to buy The Forsyte Saga, and justify it as a late Christmas present. Because I, well, really want it! And that's enough for me.

Anyway, so the thing is, I'm taking this lame history grad class, and I don't really like it, and am tempted to drop it, since it's mostly meaningless and I'm not even sure if I want to get my masters in history or not. I don't know what to do! At all! I have no skills! And I feel like if I end up in another long-term soul-sucking temp job I'm going to flip out, so I've decided I need to formulate a life plan, or something. I feel like I would be able to deal with the soul-sucking temp jobs better if I had a goal. And I mean an actual goal, not, like, "Win the Lottery!" (which has been my goal so far).

The problem is that every day I want to do something different. Yesterday I had decided I wanted to be a writer! Like, a journalist or magazine writer! And I was going to go back to school for Communications, or something! And gain skills and get a good job!

And then this morning I woke up and decided I wanted to be a teacher! History, or maybe English! I wanted to enrich young minds and give them a complex view of the past and/or great literature.

And then I have my occasional altruistic kicks, where I want to be a social worker or something, and help kids who need it.

What would be awesome would be if I could be like Charles Gunn on Angel, only without the possible evilness, and go into a strange room and meet with some member of the animal kingdom (I lack the nerve to deal with a big cat; maybe something a bit less scary, like a penguin, or a donkey) who can bestow upon me all of the knowledge/skills/experiences necessary for me to be capable at all three professions, and then I could just hop from one job to another.

But, sadly, that technology does not exist outside of the Whedonverse, and so I have to actually make a decision. Eventually. Preferably soon.

In other news: They really, really need to stop showing that Sprint commercial with the green multi-eyed Bogeyman in the closet. Because it FREAKS ME OUT! Seriously! I have to hide my eyes every time it comes on, and I don't know why! At all! I just tried to describe why it disturbs me, but in describing it, I was so disturbed, I had to cut myself off and delete the description.

In closing: I have nothing to wear tomorrow!! All I have are skirts, and my latest thing is that I have some bizarre newfound strength in my fingers, and I've put giant holes in the last two pairs of stockings I've tried to put on, which is frustrating. I cannot find any of my other pairs, and the only tights I can find are brown, which is frustrating because I have, like, one brown outfit, half of which is currently dirty.

I know! Such problems! I suppose the theme of this whole LJ entry is Jess Needs to Grow Up and Be More Careful With Her Wardrobe. Or, possibly, Reification. One or the other.
fearlesstemp: (Default)
I have a job interview tomorrow.

Ah, interviews. How I loathe them. I swear, I drop forty IQ points when I walk through the door and spend the bulk of the interview trying to figure out how to get them back. The last interview I went on, I actually had to ask them to repeat a question. Seriously. Like one of those really sad beauty pageant finalists.

Ah, my last interview. My last interview was...what's the phrase I'm looking for? A disaster. It opened with me having to fill out some kind of occupational survey ("What qualities do you possess?" on one side of the pamphlet; "What qualities make a good employee?" on the other. Both with the same list of qualities) -- it was so nerve-wracking. Do I answer honestly? Do I shade in "absent-minded" and "forgetful"? Or do I shade in "detail-oriented" and "punctual"? Basically: Do I tell the truth or shamelessly lie?

I ended up somewhere in the middle. I mean, come on, I had to shade in "punctual" even though I am chronically late because, duh. And really, would you hire an absent-minded secretary?

I felt kind of guilty about it, though.

And then we moved on to the interview portion. Which lasted an hour, and consisted of being asked questions from a stapled-together packet. Ok, here's the thing: It was a secretarial position. And dude, being a secretary? Is not easy! You work hard, you don't get paid much, you have to smile and be nice and pretend to laugh at your bosses' jokes. It's not easy!

But! Really! Do you need to know what my greatest disappointment in life is in order to know if I am the person you want typing up your memos? (Answer: To be honest, at the moment, sitting through that interview ranked pretty high up there) Do you really need to know where I see myself in five years to know if I can handle covering reception over lunch? (Answer: Living in a villa with JC Chasez) Is it really imperative that you know what I would like to improve in order to know if I'm the gal to order the lunch platter for your weekly meetings? (Answer: What? Improve in myself? The world in general? I don't know! Get me out of this God-forsaken wood-paneled conference room!!!!)

I think I'm going to walk into the interview tomorrow, slam down my resume and announce, loudly and with authority, the following: "Listen. I can type 80WPM (well, really 77, but who's counting?), I can speak conversational English (on a good day), I'll show up (unless there's an *NSYNC concert in the tri-state area), and I practice good personal hygiene (true). I can recognize an affidavit of service and I know how to use one (mostly). And I think that's all you need to hear to decide if I'm the temporary legal secretary for you."

And then I swish my hair dramatically and stalk out of the room.

Ah, screw it. We all know I'll go in tomorrow and be all timid and nice and trip over my words as I try to explain just what, exactly, my priorities are.
fearlesstemp: (Default)
This is so frustrating!

I applied for this job a while back and to do so, I had to draw up a new version of my resume, put together writing samples, write a specialized cover letter and I can't FIND ANY OF IT. It's so annoying because I meant to hold onto it so I could just make copies of the stuff (the writing samples, at least) and not have to go through my computer and pick things out all over again when I wanted to apply somewhere else but I've somehow managed to LOSE IT ALL and I could just kill someone. Preferably myself.

Dammit! Am such a massive tool! What is wrong with me? I keep having traumatic wavy-lined flashbacks to my mother standing in the kitchen, hands on her hips, scolding me. "Now don't lose this stuff, Jessica! You'll need it again! Put it somewhere where you can find it!" And I gave her this dismissive "Pfft!" Because really. Like I'd ever lose such useful stuff!

And of course I have. And I don't feel like looking for it. This house is so annoyingly big, what with the having-more-than-one-room thing. At least when I was at college, I had one little cubby-sized room to tear apart. It only took so long. Now I live in a house with multiple rooms and lots of places for things to go. And, also, my mother, who will be there live and in person to shoot I-Told-You-So-Looks and How-Did-I-Produce-Such-A-Ditzy-Daughter-Glares.

Maybe it's just hiding under that pile of crap on the kitchen counter. Off to check...

Ok. Not there. Have no friggin' idea where it could be. In my searches, though, I have come across my VHS copy of Casablanca, two pairs of socks squirreled away in my nightstand (very random), and my acceptance letter/scholarship package for Boston University from 1998. What was I thinking?? How did I turn them down? Why did I stay here in Upstate New York? I must have been on crack.

Obviously. I'm storing socks in my nightstand, after all. They were nestled next to my J-14 Life Story and a VHS tape of Roswell. Also discovered: my collection of *NSYNC stickers from the sticker machine at my local grocery store. They're a precious commodity since that sticker machine now hosts lame fake-psychedelic stickers. It's very sad.

I need to send this stuff in tomorrow! It is imperative! Ok, maybe not imperative, but it would be nice! My attitude toward the lack-of-job-or-career thing has taken a swift turn from benign neglect to sheer panic these last couple of weeks. I can always tell when I'm getting freaked out because I find myself muttering daily affirmations while driving around in my car, like, "I may be unemployed, directionless, and contributing little to the rest of the world, but that doesn't mean I'm not a good person."

And I know, I know, we all weep for the Sad Plight of the Suburban College Graduate. I realize how ridiculous I sound and I hope that this comes off not as asking for sympathy but as, instead, an expression of my annoyance with myself! And why am I sharing it with you? Because I'm just that annoying, I guess.
fearlesstemp: (oh goodness)
The tools at my temp agency have yet to send me my last paycheck (and yes, my last day at work was November 1, it's been over three weeks) and so I just realized that I have to sign onto the online banking thingamajig and see about transferring funds so two checks don't bounce. I haven't done this yet because I have horrid fears of the money disappearing in the transfer and me never getting it back. But I will be daring!

I really need to get a hold on my spending. I know I've said that before, but now I mean it! No more justifying making stupid purchases by saying things like "But I don't smoke! So I'm saving like five bucks a day right there! I'm *totally* allowed to buy a TV Guide!" This Must Stop.

Also, this unemployment thing Must Stop. The economy sucks up here, yo. Though you could say that just about anywhere, I'm guessing. Something will turn up.

Holy shit! I have far less money than I thought I had! This Really Must Stop! Also: Must work on balancing checkbook more often and using ATM/Check Card less frequently.

See, I wasn't being too strict because there was this potential job that would have paid well and started in December and I was kind of thinking positive, thinking that if I acted like this lack-of-paycheck thing was a short term deal, then it would be a short term deal. Must reevaluate. Methinks that plan could likely end me up in debtor's prison.

Needless to say, I did not get the job. Which kind of sucks, even if it's not something I would want to do forever -- it was temp to perm and they gave temps paid holidays! PAID HOLIDAYS! What a lovely company! Not too lovely, though, because they didn't want to hire me -- clearly they have issues.

I keep buying crap for no good reason while, at the same time, doing nothing to secure my future. I'm self destructive in, like, the most boring way possible. Why can't I go out and drink myself to distraction? Maybe then I'd meet new, interesting people! New, interesting drunk self-destructive types, yes, but new, interesting people nonetheless! Instead I make foolhardy magazine and book purchases and eat out too much.

Ah well, it will all work out. And anyway, why think about mangled finances when one can indulge oneself in comfort TV? Gilmore Girls it is.

Also, why plot one's life when one can find out which Buffy & Enneagram's 9 Personalities One is? Results behind the cut tag.

Read more... )
fearlesstemp: (Default)
Was struck with undesirable introspection tonight, and thusly spent a good part of tonight wandering around in a funk trying to figure out What It All Really Means. And then I found A Few Good Men on TBS and I realized dude, who cares.

The last few days have been a roller coaster of minor inconveniences, which I will note here even though they're boring because, well, it's my journal and I have that kind of power. On Wednesday night we ordered subs for dinner, and on my way out to pick them up, I caught my heel on the front stoop and went over like a board onto the sidewalk below me. Let me tell you, I am still feeling that tumble. Mostly in my right side.

No permanent damage, but really! So embarrassing! It was nighttime and I turned on the light by the front door when I left so I fell right in the halo of light it offered and anyone looking in the direction of my house would have seen me do it. And then would have seen me lie there for a minute laughing at how funny it was. It kind of sucked, though. Falling like that is made more fun if there's a friend there to witness it. By yourself, it's kind of pathetic.

I have been exceptionally spacey ever since. I wonder if the tumble dislodged that one sector of the brain devoted to keeping me operational. Yesterday the general post-fall achiness caused me to attribute the telling pre-monthly visitor mild cramps to general post-fall achiness and well, let's just say it's a good thing I was wearing black. And then I met some friends for dinner but had forgotten my wallet and had to bum off of them. And then today I found this pair of jeans in my closet that I haven't worn in forever and got all excited about having a new pair of jeans to add to my casual wardrobe, and that was all well and good until I was sitting in my car halfway to work and looked down to notice the MASSIVE orange stain on the left leg which was the reason I never wear said jeans. I think it's rust or something. I don't know, half of my clothes are messed up because I spilled one thing or another on them, it's hard to keep track. And tonight I drove the wrong way down a one-way street and only realized it when I was sitting at an intersection wondering why the streetlight wasn't giving me a green light or any real indication when it was my turn to go.

Other news of note: I am often bitter about my job because it is stressful and busy and, well, doesn't afford me the amount of slack time I would appreciate in a job, but honestly? It's not so bad. Mainly because the people I work with are pleasant. Well, mostly pleasant. Ok, there are at least three pleasant people I work with, and blessedly one of them is Mr. Boss, who called from his lunch out with the law clerk and the new baby lawyer to get dessert orders from all the secretaries, and also let me leave at three with the rest of the office even though I had oodles of work left, and also asked me about the job interview I had last week. When I told him I didn't get it, he was all nice and helpful and told me to call certain people up about sitting in on zoning boards and I didn't have the heart to tell him that it was the whole sitting on zoning boards thing that kind of turned me off of the reporting gig in the first place.

Speaking of the reporting gig, yes, I was cruelly denied. Or to quote the oh-so-cheesy Keith Hernandez Just For Men commercial of late, I was "REEE-JECTED!" It's just as well. I didn't want the job anyway (really! I didn't! Look at my entry from this weekend BEFORE they rejected me! This isn't a defense mechanism), but it would still be cool to be the one doing the turning down instead of being turned down myself. How dare they, like I did, recognize how incompatible I am with the job? Bastards!

And that's all that's fit to print for now.


Oct. 5th, 2002 01:54 pm
fearlesstemp: (Default)
The interview! It went well, pretty much, though I don't think I'll be the offered the job and I don't think I'd want it even if I were. The commute would be more brutal than I'd imagined (likely almost an hour to the newspaper office, and then another half hour or so to the towns I'd be covering, so conceivably two to three hours a day in the car), and there's the two year commitment thing, and also the pay thing (significantly less than I'm making as a temp), and also the whole I'm likely to suck at it thing, so probably not.

The woman I interviewed with was very nice, though, and we had a nice conversation. She told me I was a lively conversationalist and that she enjoyed talking to me, even if I did ramble often and at length while not fully answering the questions she asked. The first one she hit me with was "Tell me a little bit about yourself" and dude! So could not answer! Even though that had been one of the main practice questions I'd been working on while commuting to and from work every day! Totally choked. But then! Later! When she asked me about the strengths and weaknesses of my writing and I talked aimlessly for like five minutes, she said to me, "You know, not to discourage you from this job, of course, but they way you answered that question, addressing and exploring the different layers -- have you ever considered academia?" How weird is that?! Especially since last night I was talking to a friend who's in grad school and thinking that that sounded nice. Random!

Though part of me wonders if that's how she lets down everyone she doesn't think is good enough for the job. "You know, not to discourage you from this job, but from the way you just described the past few years you've spent in the New York State prison system on assault charges, addressing and exploring the different layers of your experience -- have you ever considered academia?"

And then after she'd talked to me for an hour, she put me in this little office with a computer, a phone, and a stack of press releases and had me write an article. Scary! I had to, like, call people on one of the press releases and write an article. I wasn't very good at it and I think that's what really brought my attention to the fact that I'd be a sucky reporter. I don't like the whole "dealing with people" and "being beholden to facts" thing.

It was a learning experience! Also, how weird is this? I was so totally nervous on my way to the interview, kind of freaking out, and then I turned on my radio and what was the local top forty station playing? TEARING UP MY HEART! How bizarre is that? It was fate! God acting through my car radio to bring me calm! And then I went into Breugger's to get lunch before I went to meet with the lady, and what was playing there? THIS I PROMISE YOU! Freaky.

In other news: Earlier this week I went out to babysit my little cousin Emma, who was feeling very sick and so I picked up a book for her as a little present, The Paper Bag Princess. I won't tell the whole story, but it ends with the Princess deciding that she doesn't want to get married after all because her Prince is kind of a jackass. I read it to Emma the night I babysat and dude, the ending? Totally flipped her out. She couldn't BELIEVE that they didn't get married. It's so funny, because you don't realize how ingrained that is even with a five year old! Every fairy tale and book a little girl reads ends with that line -- and they got married and lived happily ever after -- and when this one didn't, she didn't know what to make of it! She had the funniest, most perplexed look on her little face and kept saying things like, "But Jessie, when do they get married?" no matter how many times I explained to her that Prince Ronald wasn't nice enough to Princess Elizabeth and she was happier without him.

I'm not sure if she really liked the book, but she did ask for me to read it to her again when she went to bed, so I guess that's a good sign. I will make a little feminist out of her yet!

Ooh, must dash. I have a candle party to attend. Don't you love social gatherings where you're forced to buy things?


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February 2009

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