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***This web site was put to rest in August of 1998. It's "sister site", kaleidoscope took it's place. In November of 1998, both sites were demolished since the author ran out of time and energy. Feel free to visit kaleidoscope and browse about. It is highly improbable that either site will be reinstated but I can't say "never". ***
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Thursday, August 28, 1997(To give you a little background, I am a 26 year old female who, because of a series of circumstances, has found herself out of work and living with her parents. A highly unpleasant situation to say the least. This journal was created for those of you who care, to keep up to date on my job search and highlights of my terribly droll life.)
I had a bank interview (for a project manager position) and it was everything I could do to keep my eyes open during the 3 long hours of monotone interviewing with trite, senseless questions. As I was leaving, they gave me a 7 page (and that's no exaggeration) application to fill out. I got to a page with a section in which I explain why I left my previous employer and am I eligible for rehire. I figure it would have been easy enough to fudge such questions, until I realized that they send the form to that previous employer for verification. Not that I'm ineligible, but I don't want to take any chances.
It's probably all for the better. No sense taking a job if I can't even stay awake during the interview.
Well, I never did hear from that bloody stiff upper lipped bank with whom I interviewed. Not that I wanted to work in such a confined, controlled environment, but it's always nice to feel wanted.
On the upside, my headhunter found what appears to be a very interesting job in a nearby mountain-town. I had a phone interview which went okay, and I'm going to meet with them next Wednesday. The company is a textile firm and it's an assistant product manager position. As it is now, I'm relatively excited about the prospect. Keep your fingers crossed.
My cat has seen fit to urinate all over my parent's new house. I think that maybe he is feeling a bit overwhelmed about a new location and this huge dog that perpetually terrorizes him. Not to mention the mortal bitch of a siamese cat who owns my mom. Anyone with ideas as to how to get the cat without bladder control under control, you just let me know.
Met with the textile company Wednesday, just before heading off to the beach. It's a good thing I had a pseudo vacation right then because I called my headhunter (the one who found the job) during the trip and was told, in more words, that I wouldn't be hearing from that company again. Despite my rehearsals for the interview, some questions were asked that I didn't know how to answer... such as, "What did you like about your last job?" I couldn't very well say, "Well... nothing." Which was what initially popped into my head. So I told her that I liked the work environment (which I did, the people were great) and creating presentations (of which I did very little). That wasn't the only question I screwed up. She also asked what I didn't like (everything else), so I had to fabricate and answer for that as well.
For the trip to the beach, we put Emma in the kennel. That's a mistake I never intend to make again. She came back smelling like she spent the extended weekend in a sewage plant, not to mention the trouble she has merely sitting down (I think they failed to clean out her cage). She seems to be healing, but if she's not all fixed up by Monday, I'm going to give that vet/kennel a very large piece of my mind.
The now notorious friend of mine, JEN, harassed me for not having updated this page in a few days, so I figured I would give her something new to read while she was twiddling her thumbs at work.
Technically speaking, it's Thursday, but since I've recently turned into a vampire, 2AM is theoretically my evening and I go to bed around 3 or 4. So, despite all of the whining in my customer service days about working the late shift (3PM to midnight), it seems as though my body would rather be awake into the wee hours of the morning. This way, I am able to stay up and watch Mary Tyler Moore - my addiction.
The Braves' aren't going to the series and this upsets me terribly. I don't tend to have a whole lot of use for baseball unless my boys are playing. As I recall, though, they had a lag a few years ago. Hopefully, they'll come back next year. I hate to think that the hoity toity new Ted Turner Field is nothing but bad luck.
There is a crazy woman who lives in this neighborhood. Every time I'm outside with Emma (who rarely needs a leash) and she walks by the house, she freaks out and goes into paralysis as if the big evil puppy is going to chew her feet off. The lady just stands there, terrified, and stares. Emma, of course, senses her fear and starts barking like a maniac, which doesn't help matters. Her bark is so loud and piercingly clear that she could scare the living hell out of some sheep (which is what border collies are bred for). Not to mention frigid old ladies.
So tonight, when Crazy was strolling past the house with what appeared to be her husband (poor chap), it happened to be about the time I was letting Emma out. This time the lady, again, became paralyzed while her husband essentially told her she was nuts for being afraid of a 40 pound dog. Despite his assurances and my apologies, she snipped, "That's the second time that dog has done that. The next time it happens I'm going to issue a complaint." I just said, "Okay" between reprimands and went inside.
Bloody freak.
Now I do realize that there's a leash law and all that. In fact, I've been known to say things like, "Just because you have kids doesn't mean that everyone thinks they're cute" (not to the parents, of course, but to myself or whomever I'm with) as they're running up to me and my dog, eyes bright with anticipation. Meanwhile, I know that the dog will only jump on them, then the parents will get upset and I'll want to say, "It's your own damn fault. Keep those kids under control." But I won't. I'll just apologize as though it's my fault.
And with Crazy, I understand that she has an irrational fear of dogs. She's probably also afraid of heights and big cities. I doubt she likes to drive or go very far from home. Though she seemingly walks every day, I imagine it's the only contact she has with the outside world. Maybe she was bitten by a schnauzer as a kid and has hated little doggies ever since. Of course, this is all speculation...
So what will I do? I'll take Emma out on a leash. Why? Because that's just the kind of person I am. I wouldn't want Crazy to have a heart attack or live her life in terror. The dog will still bark at her as she strolls by. And Crazy will still think that I am a horrible person. But she'll be on a leash (the dog, not Crazy).
Maybe I'll look for Crazy before I take Emma out in the evening. When she's about 50 yards away, I'll move real close to the road, staying on our property, of course. Crazy will walk by very slowly, in terror. Emma will start barking and Crazy will become ice. And all I'll be able to do is say, "Hi", with Emma's piercing yap in the background.
But, of course, I'm not that insane. Just a bit frustrated with my lack of control over a dog who gets entirely too excited when new people are around.
I saw Crazy again. I was out jogging in the dark with Emma (on a leash) and there she was. I wasn't sure if it was her, at first. About 50 yards away, I saw this figure, frozen in silouette on the other side of the road. For an instant, I thought it might be a murderer - then I remembered where I was. I think she was standing there trying to decide if my satanic puppy was coming to get her. Just staring, trying to adjust her weary eyes in the desperate lack of light. Once she realized that everything was safe, she proceeded.
I made sure she saw the grin on my face.
I think it's safe to assume that I really need to get out more.
Well, I have another interview tomorrow. It's with a Sharper Image type store in the local mall. For an Assistant Manager position. When I stop to think about the retail business during the holidays that are coming up - and the possibility of working in that industry during that time period - it sort of makes me want to go find a very tall building to jump off of. Not to mention the prospect of working in the mall again. Suddenly, I'm beginning to wonder just how much I've regressed.
Let's think about that for a minute... I like to sleep late. I'm living with my folks. In my hometown. Despite the fact that I like to sleep late, mom wakes me up when she thinks it's time. Possibly, I'll be working in the mall. Mom makes my dinner. I have to clean the house. Which isn't exactly mine. Mom said to me the other day, "As long as you're living under my roof, you obey my rules." I gave her some very choice (my choice, not hers) words. I'm broke. And I don't choose my own groceries. Which eliminates the overabundance of bread that is normally in my diet.
Not to mention the fact that I think my brain is rotting due to inactivity. I find it difficult to hold a thought for very long before my mind wanders to fantasies of maxxing out my Visa and moving to Australia. Delusions of grandeur.
So maybe what's really happening is that I'm not getting older, but younger. Right now, I feel about 17. At this rate, in about another 3 months (mind you, if I'm here in three months, I won't really be because someone will have found the body of my mother buried in the back yard), I'll be 8. I'll forget how to type. I'll start crying when I get a splinter. I'll have dreams about flying (I always dreamt about flying as a child). Mom will start saying things like "If you don't eat your dinner, you don't get dessert." And I'll start feeding food to the dog under the table.
So, if you find that this site hasn't been updated in a while, perhaps what has happened is that I've regressed enough to where I can't even type anymore. In which case, you might consider inviting me to come live with you so I can resume life as usual, again.
The interview with the store went quite well. Ironically, it's located in the exact location of the store in which I worked as a teenager. I suppose that's to further induce my regression. The people were marvelous but still, the thought of working retail during Christmas makes she shiver with fear.
Oddly, though, I got a call this morning for another interview. This time for a marketing/graphics position. I don't know how qualified I am, but I suppose I'll find out.
I can't quite figure out why there are suddenly interviews coming out of the woodwork. I did change the manner in which I send letters to customize the resumes for each position. Perhaps that has something to do with it. At any rate, I certainly hope something will give soon.
Before I kill my mother.
I just got back from interviewing for a customer relations position. In sending the resume, I thought the position (having been termed "customer relations" not "customer service") might have been customer service on a larger scale - i.e. dealing with companies, not consumers. But alas, I was wrong. It turns out that it's a position very much like the one I had at a telecom firm not too long ago (which, for those of you who don't know me, was just about the most miserable 2 years of my life). In fact, once I was told that they get a "high volume of calls" it was everything I could do to keep from running screaming out of there. So, needless to say, that's one potential out of 4 this week that turned into a big, fat "no".
After discussing the situation of Crazy with my folks, it appears as though she is somewhat notorious as the neighborhood freak. When I mentioned her actions to dad, he asked "Is she the one that's about 9 feet tall?" She is, and thin as a pencil. Not only that, but she literally is the crazy woman who lives on the corner. Despite the well groomed yards in this neighborhood, all well kept by various lawn services, hers is primarily pine needles and wildflowers. With very little grass. When you look at the lot, it almost looks like she lives in a jungle.
On my way back from the interview, I saw an ambulance in front of her house. Fear not, though, its lights weren't on. She probably called them when she took her temperature (as she probably does every day) and found that it was not 98.7 but 99.1. She got a bit excited and thought something might be wrong. Apparently nothing was. Dad said he saw her walking on his way home from work.
I'm still waiting for that moment when Emma tries, yet again, to be her friend...
Due to the rapid deterioration of my mind, I signed up with a temp agency today. Who knows where it could lead? Besides, if I don't start getting out of the house once in a while, any social graces I have will evaporate and I'll have to start looking for a small cave to live in.
I don't think I'd like living in a cave.
Emma took it upon herself to annhilate 2 square inches of berber carpet in my parents' great room. I was on the web, minding my own business, when I checked up on her. She looked at me, guiltily, and I knew she had done something terribly wrong but is seemingly unable to control her urge to destroy. I thought she had pulled out the carpet beyond repair. But it's amazing what you can do with scissors and a little super glue.
Can anyone out there tell me why companies insist on using form letters to tell you how unqualified you are for a job? They are just about the most useless pieces of mail (well, other than verification of rejection). "Though your qualifications are impressive, we are going to pursue our search with other applicants." Why aren't they so bold as to say something like, "We don't like the fact that you're left handed." or "You were rude and egotostical and we don't want that kind of person working with us." At least that way, us wayward homeless folks would have some idea of what we are doing wrong. "Good luck in your job search" isn't very encouraging.
Now that I've gotten that off of my chest, I realized today how like children my pets are. For instance, when talking to Emma, I refer to Loki as "her brother". When she is bad, I tell her to "go to bed" (not unlike, "Go to your room"). "Bed" is where she sleeps. I have to be careful to give the animals equal amounts of attention. I feed them. They get dessert if they eat their dinner. I teach/train them. I yell at them when they do something wrong. At those times, I desperately want to beat the living hell out of them, but don't.
Before I know it, I'll be sending these pets off to college.
I know, I know... it's been a kazillion years since I have updated anything on here. But to be quite frank with you, I've almost run out of ideas. Unfortunately, AOL only gives us limited access to the cgi-bin so new ideas are hard to come by. But for those avid readers out there (yes, all 2 of you), I am planning on adding something interactive and a little more fun tomorrow. Keep your eyes pealed (or is it "peeled"?).
Well, I started a new temp job today and though my mind is finally cranking a tad, it isn't necessarily for the best. The work is essentially customer service (that hated profession) so I spent my day letting people know how wonderful I thought they were (all lies). It does pay well considering, and with that car payment screaming, "You have to pay me! You need me!" I feel it's reasonable punishment for my circumstances. Not only that, but since I finally left the house to do something other than walk the dog, the festering desire I ordinarily have to chop my mother into tiny little pieces waned a great deal. Mom's okay. I think I'll keep her around for awhile.
Other than that, Emma has continued to chew on various parts of the house while Loki joins her in the christening with his bladder's production. Given this, my father would like to chop Emma into tiny little pieces - what a life we lead. But he doesn't. And they don't throw me out. I don't know why...
Sure I do. I intrude on what was supposed to be there relaxing reclining years with a dog they hate and a cat that they'd like if he didn't turn everything that was once white (i.e. all carpet in the house) to a pale yellow. Not only that, but as time wears on, dad has visions of his youngest daughter spending the rest of her life saying, "Do you want fries with that?" - therefore deeming the bloody fortune he spent on my education completely useless.
Not a very nice situation for any of us, I suppose.
Believe it or not, it finally happened. After what was becoming eternity, a company finally realized what an asset I'd be to their organization. I have found, and taken, a position with them (in a very small town - which may prove to be an interesting change from Atlanta) which I expect to enjoy and will lead to great things in the future. At last, at last...
On the less bright side, however, due to Loki's destruction of various spots of carpet throughout the house, he is now quarrantined to the laundry room. He meows all night and shoves his paws under the door, trying to get out. Although I am upstairs above him, I still hear him pawing and crying.
Given that situation, my parents have the lake house (shack) close to the new job (otherwize, I'll have a long commute until I find a place in town). Because the house is rather old, all of the water pipes are exposed to the cold air outside and are liable to freeze in the winter. To remedy this, we've been shutting the water off during the cold months for the past 15 years. However, I'm trying to make a deal with dad so that I can move in (only temporarily) to the lake house until I find a rental in the new town. He doesn't seem to be too anxious to look into that, but I think if I remind him of the animals' destruction, he might give the other option more consideration.
At any rate, work starts soon so expect to see fewer changes to this site.
I have a friend, Brad, who was complaining about not seeing his name anywhere on this site. I think he is probably a bit self absorbed and egotistical, but I thought I'd put his name in here all the same. He thinks I'm madly in love with him when in reality, it is he who is in love with me. It certainly makes for an interesting situation. He asked me to whisper sweet nothings to him, but as there is no talking on a web site, that is only slightly impossible. However, his name is now here so he'll be off of my case (I hope).
I started the new job today, and I really think I'm going to like it. I have a real office with a door and a window (at my last job, I shared an office with a door and I didn't get the window side). Also, the job consists of things that I adore (advertising, graphics, marketing in all shapes and forms) and believe I am good at.
All I need to do now is get out of this house. I'm sure mom doesn't enjoy hanging out with my insane dog all day long. Every time I look for a house to rent in the new local paper, the ad says "no pets". With all the trouble I've gone to in keeping these animals so far, I'm not about to get rid of them now. I'll just have to convince someone that they are very well behaved, never chew anything up, weigh a mere 20 pounds and have never wet the carpet. All lies.
With the holidays rapidly approaching, I am reminded of Christmas Eve at our house when I was younger. We used to get together with my mom's family in Atlanta or Florida. All 15 of us would be crouched around a round table with a 6-foot diameter. There was always entirely too much food for us all to consume. Most of us would be playing poker and drinking either Old Weller whiskey or beer into the wee hours of the morning. When Christmas arrived, my cousin and I (being the youngest) were delegated the task of sorting out presents. Opening them was a 2 hour vigil as only 2 people at a time would open gifts.
It was always great fun and I regret that we don't get together like that anymore. The families have grown, creating new families. At one point or another, it just became to difficult to meet. Oh, the holidays are still filled with plenty of food and alcohol, but the fantastic thrill of too many people crowded around too small a table is a difficult image to give up.
Well, I do hope Santa was good to all of you. The day after Christmas is always so anti-climactic for me. Such a letdown. All of the anticipation of the holiday is over and there is nothing to look forward to but going back to work. Not that I dislike what I do, mind you... In fact, most of what I do is design ads - what I would essentially be doing were I at home (this site). All the same, though, work is work and we would all rather be spending our time goofing off.
It occurred to me yesterday that I hadn't seen Crazy in a while. We told the story to my sister and she suggested that perhaps the Dear Old Crazy Woman had passed away. Dad and I assured her that Crazy still lurks. We drove by their house (as we do almost every day) and noticed that they aren't very festive. I imagine any decorating has to come from the husband - and I'm sure he doesn't put a whole lot of energy into it. And there are STILL leaves all over the place. We also noticed that there is a small shed painted in army camoflage tones behind their house. The building is probably 10X10 and I thought maybe Crazy was living there. Or maybe that's where her husband goes to get away from the insanity. I am still hoping I'll see her with Emma again soon...
It's snowing! It's snowing here in the Southeast and I am truly thrilled. A big fat "thank you" for El Nino (if that is, in fact, causing this excess precipitation). Given this "inclement" weather, my company is closed. In fact, I've been told that the entire town shuts down when it snows. So here I am at home, keeping my devoted readers (3 or so of them) entertained.
Tell me, why is it that when you go to a car wash, there is always some asshole (pardon) who hovers over the workers, instructing them as to how to wash his Saab? If he's such an expert, why doesn't he do it?
I hate Saabs. I think they are the most hideous monstrocities around. Right up there with meat loaf.
Only a few more days until we all say goodbye to 1997. I can't wait. Perhaps I should consider sleeping for a few days so nothing else goes wrong.
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