I am probably the only person who can't tell these two apart...

They should be cast in a movie together as twin sisters. That movie will be known as the only twin movie where it is not just one actor playing two roles, and the only movie where the unrelated characters actually look convincingly alike. That's my two cents. I normally don't think about hollyweird celebs, much less write about them, but...

I am so fucking BORED!

You can’t know how glad I am that it’s Friday, and fifteen minutes to the end of my day. I have the whole weekend to myself because Hubby is working. There is a good chance that I will actually have time to work on putting together the new apartment. Ha! We’ve been there a month, and we’re still not finished. Am I putting you to sleep yet?? *Yawn*

Chicken Soup for the Smartypants' Soul

I miss being an undergrad. I miss it so much that I’m crashing classroom web logs attempting to engage in some kind of intellectual discourse. I heard that either you use it or lose it, and I would rather be shot in the head than be caught sitting around with the office barbies chit-chatting about American Idol or gossiping about Tom Cruise’s weird-looking baby.

Today I crashed a poli-sci class site and responded to a student who thought we all ought to be weighed against the same measure:
“I wanted to pose an idea this week, apart from the discussions we currently have going regarding education. Jacks and I were discussing the trend of education the other day and how it seems to lack structure.

For example, some schools and institutions rely heavily on the idea of "higher thought"; grades do not matter-the ideas you have are what matters. Other schools emphasize testing and preparation for one main goal in which you receive a steep grade.

Before i continue, this is not a complaint about any experience thus far at school, it really is something that makes me concerned. Education is what it implies....education. You take a course to learn. I am taking this course, for example, to gain knowledge and perspective on world politics. And yet, somewhere in the process, many students fall into the track of learning for grades. It is merely a repercussion of the pressures to succeed in this generation.

The entire idea of learning to learn has somehow vanished and it is falling on this generation and those that follow us to determine how we perceive education and its uses. If we are teaching to simply receive a score or performance review, then maybe every person should attend a vocational school where they can perform tasks they are simply good at. But, if we want to go and learn things we are interested in and do not already contain knowledge for, we must figure out how to administer a general performance analysis. Does anyone have thoughts on this? I have just been thinking about it and it really interests me.”

So I said, “As good-natured as it may sound, developing and implementing one ‘general performance analysis’ is just another way of attempting to homogenize curricula and the process of learning. What you and your acquaintance noted is not a ‘lack’ of structure or anything else, but actually is the result of the diversification of education that encompasses different ways of teaching, thinking, and learning.

Redundant though it may sound, we are all different. We all have different motives in seeking an education, and we are motivated by different kinds of rewards.

To deconstruct your concept, you have said that ‘Education’ (with a capital E) has some specific set of implications, and that the term itself reflects those implications. Sort of a closed loop of coded language that becomes meaningless without context.

I think your suggestion is treading along dangerous waters, as is any suggestion that there should be but one way to experience a thing for consistency's sake or "the greater good."

Certainly none of us has experienced all that there is to see, feel, taste, hear, or touch, which is what makes life so rich. Maybe you don't like the sensation of chewing scrambled eggs, but surely you wouldn't campaign to keep others from enjoying their scrambles eggs. I'm sure you are sincere about your concerns for the state of ‘Education,’ but I think it wise to stick with creating and participating in your own educational experience, without sacrificing or diminishing the value of the educational experiences that others are fostering for themselves or for their students.”

A little rusty, but not too bad, I don’t think.

As many of you know, I like to write. I have been journaling and writing bad cathartic poetry and short non-fiction bits for years and years. One day I would like to be paid for it, but for now I am answering the phone at an advertising agency. My online journal is my only lifeline to myself right now. When I was at the University, I looked forward to graduating and the opportunities that were supposed to be waiting for me as a college graduate.

But alas, you all know the story. The mall, the temp service, the 200 jobs I applied for, the poverty level income, the one interview I went on. I recently read no less than three articles describing this phenomenon as a growing trend in the job market; the devaluation of the Bachelor of Liberal Arts degree. But as a graduate from the Women’s Studies department, I am determined to not let The Man keep me down. I WILL get a job where I can use my degree AND my intellect (before it evaporates like so much Chicken Soup for the Soul), mark my words!

Cha-ching You Long Time

Men are stupid. And selfish. I realize I’m generalizing, but I’m not very PC and you’ll get over it. What I’m trying to say is that my husband pisses me off. He can be sooo sweeeet—when he WANTS SOMETHING.

We’ve been fighting a lot lately and we’re trying to get along, so I scratched his back for about a half hour while we were sitting around watching TV. When I was done, I asked for a foot rub and he squeezed each foot like you would squeeze a fruit quick to see if it’s ripe while hurrying through the fruit section at the grocer on the way home from work. Then he says, “I’m too tired, I’m going to bed.” That was three days ago, and still nothing. Since then I have given him money, cooked him food, bought us pizza, and cleaned. Do ya THINK he could have given back a little? No, he’s still too tired. He wanted to cuddle the last two nights, so I let him cuddle my knees and elbows until he finally gave up. Last night I even slept under a different blanket.

He hasn’t even kissed me for like a week or two, and next time we decide to be intimate, he’s going to whine that I don’t give him what he really wants. Well, that’s just too fuckin’ bad, isn’t it? Maybe you’ll think about that next time I ask for some affection, jerk. But he won’t. He has some kind of, like, relationship amnesia or something. He forgets why I’m pissed off, and is genuinely offended when I remind him why. You see, I’m supposed to just get over it and not hold a grudge; I’m being petty. He doesn’t understand that he makes me feel like an ATM with a glory hole!!!

Money Changes Everything: I Would Like Some

Ugh, what a rough weekend. I am a basket case, but that’s a subject for another blog…

I am at work on five hours of sleep and I am about to give Jimmy John my very last seven dollars. I am so tired of being broke.

My husband and I like to pretend that we have a different income than we actually do when it comes to necessities. We can’t afford his employer’s healthcare plan at a whopping $140.00 PER CHECK, but we’re signing up anyway. We also cannot afford to lease his parent’s minivan at $100.00 per month, or insure it and gas it at who-knows-how-much per month but we’re going to do that anyway too. So much for getting a land line phone or cable or internet. Thank goodness for hubby’s laptop and free wi-fi at the price of a cup of raunchy coffee!

Needless to say, we are both going to have to get second jobs, but at least we’ll finally have a vehicle to get us around. Well, kind of anyway—it’s tough to share a vehicle between two people who have a combined total of four jobs. I guess we’ll see how that goes. I have a feeling I will still be on metro transit’s shit hole on wheels.

Oop—there goes my last seven dollars. This sandwich better be good!

What. A. Bitch!

Want to hear something funny? A woman from a headhunting agency called me and I got her all riled up. She described a management trainee position to me, one that required two weeks’ training out of state. I asked what company it was with, and she refused to disclose the information. So then I asked her what kind of staffing agency it was, do the companies pay for the service, or the candidates? She replied that the agency was "full service" where some jobs are one way, some the other. But I have met with an agency like that before, and NONE of the jobs are paid by the companies--I mean, really, what company would, if given the choice?

After I told her that as a rule, I refuse to give anyone money to get a job, she told me that I've been out of school too long to start something new, and that the longer I am out of school, the less valuable my degree becomes. She said that there are no jobs in editing and writing, and that she bets that if she calls me in six months that I won't have landed a job in that field, but that she knows I won't admit it. She added that she wouldn't hire me anyway because it's clear that I lack direction (because I took 15 months to decide whether to go to grad school and what career track I want to pursue) and because I am not flexible (because I will not fork over--literally-- thousands of dollars to get a job that I might not even like)!

Huh. The minute I land a writing or editing position, I am going to send her my business card or a copy of a job-offer letter (Rule #1: get it in writing) with a note attached that says, "You. Were. Wrong."

Ugh, Monday.

It’s Monday again. It’s fucking cold and grimy and cranky outside. My weekend was real decent so I will make an attempt at thinking happy thoughts despite the shitty weather and it being Monday. I saw a great band on Friday night. Well, it was actually a soloist playing with a couple different groups. It was the CD release show for Javier Trejo.

See, way back this past May sometime, my man and I were like, “Whatever happened to Zack de la Roca?” (lead singer for Rage Against the Machine). So we Googled him and came up with a little bit of information about his whereabouts and his current projects, listened to some bites, and followed some links to other musicians. One of the musicians that we liked enough to jot down was Javier Trejo. We went looking for a CD a couple times, but came up with nothing. Obviously it wasn’t released yet.

It was Friday after work that I picked up a City Pages to see what was going on in town and noticed the ad for Javier Trejo, so I called the hubby right away and said, “Dude! We are totally going!” But upon closer inspection, I noticed that this Javier Trejo was being followed up by the Beads. Then it dawned on me that I know the guy! Not like best buds or anything, but he has been fronting the Beads for forever, and I used to see them every Monday (or was it Tuesday?) at the Terminal Bar during my wild years.

Anyway, the show was even better than I had anticipated. Each set was different, and it was all amazing. First up was Javier doing some quiet, lounge-y, Latin-flavored Grateful Dead-influenced blues, just he and his guitar. Very nice, I got the CD. Then he followed it playing with the New Primitives—hands-down my favorite part of the night because I am a percussion junkie. They are an Afro-Cuban group with a really full, tight sound.

After that, Javier was up there with 2 guys doing a sort of a country-western set, and for one of the songs he was doing a kind of Arlo Guthrie bit that was hilarious. There were some songs with Spanish lyrics, a guest vocalist, and the Beads played. There was so much going on that night that I can’t describe it all, but these were my favorite parts.

I hope to go see the New Primitives some Thursday night soon before their stint is up. They are playing every Thursday at the Cabooze through October, maybe longer, I didn’t look. I know it seems like a lot of opportunities to see them, but I’m not much for going out on weeknights, and neither is my husband. But I can see myself making a special exception or two in this case.

Can't Get Enough of These!

Romeo and Juliet

But, soft! what homeboy through yonder lazy bum lays around?
It is the jerk, and Juliet is the TV.
forget, fair booty, and piss and moan the bitchy dill hole,
Who is already a monkey and a flamer with the lawn jockey,
That thou her burnout art far more fried-out than she:
Be not her shit heap, since she is smarmy;
Her wee-taw-did ass-face is but funky-ass and bee-ahtch
And none but thugs do clock it; knock it off.
It is my lady, O, it is my block!
O, that she knew she were!
She hassles yet she gets on nothing: what of that?
Her pony ride discourses; I will dick around it.

I Am Going to Get You....

Mad Libs!

We The People...

We the assholes of the United States, in order to jam a more perfect heavy metal, establish rude boys, insure hep tranquility, provide for the common manglers, promote the general boot, and eighty six the blessings of hemorrhoids, to ourselves and our blaster rays, do ordain and be-bop this constitution for the United States of America.

Mad Libs!

Think different

Here’s to the creepy ones, the fuckers, the hairballs, the jerks.
The swampy pegs in the rank holes.
The ones who hump things differently.
They’re not fond of jumper cables, and they have no dickweed for the status quo.
You can ram them, vamp with them, gobble them, dunk or wipe them.
About the only thing you can't do is snort them.
Because they grunt hamburgers.
They erupt. They explode. They snog.
They flip. They urp. They bark.
They snoodle the noodle forward.
Maybe they have to be crazy.
How else can you launch at an empty lunch and see a work of frog?
Or sit in an oven mitt and mug an old bag that’s never been dashed?
Or leap at a red garbage and see a wad on wheels?
We make plums for these kinds of people.
While some may see them as the bananas, we see peach.
Because the ones who are spiney enough to change the fuzz, are the ones who smash.

Job Searching is a Full Time Job. Why Aren't I Getting Paid?!

I am thoroughly exhausted. I have been working on the same resume and cover letter for two full days. I have asked two different people to critique, and while it IS really helpful, I keep feeling like they are never going to be good enough to send out.

I thought I had tailored my resume enough, but I have not. My work experience is all in there, but I am learning how to make what I've done sound exactly like what the job description is asking for. Close is not good enough. If they want someone who knows how to TOW-MAY-TOW, you can't say that you know how to TOE-MAH-TOE. I thought I had a powerful cover letter, but it turns out that my language smacks of overcompensation.

There is no way to know what they want, either. The only way I learned what I was doing wrong this week is that I have 1.) an in-law who does the work I am trying to establish a career in, and 2.) a family friend who works for the entity that I am applying to. It’s kind of funny trying to satisfy both critiquers; there is one part of my cover letter that person number 2 keeps deleting that person number 1 insists I should leave in. I think I will take person number 2’s word as the last because she is the one who is working where I want to work.

Which leads into the importance of SUBTEXT. If I want to be an editor, I cannot, under any circumstances, have any errors in my resume or cover—they must be impeccable. And if I say I am organized, my formats must be visually and logically organized. My cover and resume must be mirrors of each other in terms of subject order and flow of ideas. I am under a lot of pressure here. When I do finally get a job, it had better be worth the effort!

Yum

Don't Quit Your Day Job

…that is, if you even have one.

Since I graduated from the university in May of 2005, I have applied for nearly 200 jobs and in return I got ONE interview and half a dozen post cards that stated, "Dear (Name): Thank you for your interest in our company...Unfortunately, your qualifications do not match our current needs...." Meanwhile, I have been temping for the last seven months since I left the mall.

My first assignment was temp-to-hire at a wealth planning firm that deals heavily in life insurance (getting the clients insured and then selling those policies for cash in the “secondary market” two years later). I was told I would be a receptionist, but I took on as many extra projects as possible because I just wanted to get hired somewhere—anywhere. I ended up tackling several major data entry projects and even going after reimbursements for the company.

I started there in the beginning of February and within 3 weeks, the rest of the staff wanted me to stay around. I was really flattered so I made a casual inquiry and was told by the independent contractor who was the liaison between the firm and my agency that I should submit my resume. I went one step farther and submitted my resume along with a letter of interest to the liaison, Mike, and the President/CEO of the firm. This was in late April. By August, I had followed up four times, having had to re-submit my resume because he lost it. Each time I was given the brush-off, “Uh yeah, you just let me know when you move. I don’t want to hire you until you’re settled because I want to make sure you can get here.”

During this whole time, Mike continued to recruit, advertise the open position in college newspapers, and interview for the position that I expressed interest in. Each lawn jockey that came in for an interview was white, male, very young, wealthy, and conservative. I joked with the staff members that were in support of hiring me that maybe the qualifications for the job were that the ideal candidate must have a penis and vote republican, and clearly I was unqualified.

By now I was getting frustrated because my rate of pay was commensurate with sitting on my ass and answering phones while playing computer solitaire, and the work I was actually doing would normally be paid much more. I made one final push (more like a shove) to get him to take me seriously.

I asked Mike if he would be willing to meet with me to discuss the status of my application and to go over some expectations, and I forwarded the email to my contact at the temp agency as well. He never mentioned that he got my email, and I had to go to him once again and ask if he read my email, and if so, would he meet with me. He submitted to my request, but looked like someone who has been cornered at a party by a previous one night stand whose phone number he threw away.

I brought in my resume, and he sat down and looked it over as if for the first time. I was cordial of course, but I had to break it down for him. I told him that my impending move should not bear any importance because as it stood at the present time, I was spending two and a half hours on the bus each day to get there, and anywhere I move would be closer if I was offered a job. I explained to him that in the receptionist role, I was operating way below my capabilities and really wanted to do something more challenging and learn some new skills. I added that if I were offered a position as a receptionist, I would turn it down because I would not be able to meet my financial obligations at that rate of pay. He informed me that I was not qualified for the policy holder services position that he was recruiting for because I did not know enough about policy analysis and performance. I tried to push back with an assurance that I am a quick learner, and cited some of the nuances of the industry that I had already picked up, but I was stonewalled.

My last hope was the other open position for an underwriting assistant, but Mike said he wasn’t ready to move on it for another four to six weeks, and then he would begin recruiting and advertising for resume submissions and I would be included in the pool of candidates. I was roiling in disbelief! Apparently he is unfamiliar with the conventions of the “Temp-to-Hire” agreement, which is that the duration of time working serves as a probationary period in lieu of an interview, and that if the employee is adequate, the company hires said temp. He was suggesting that I still needed to measure up against all the graduates just coming out of school into the workforce. Mind you, I have a fucking degree, plus fifteen years of work experience with nine of those in supervisory and managerial positions! And I am not qualified to fill out insurance forms and fax medical record requests?

Mike concluded the meeting by calling me “hon.”

At that moment, I saw RED. Then my mind quietly closed the door on the idea of working there permanently with a soft, yet satisfying, CLICK. I called my home office to let them know that I was again brushed aside, and said that his calling me “hon” made it clear that he did not take me seriously, so I would like to pursue some other opportunity. This was a good hunch, because as it turned out, Mike began to remind me consistently to offer clients a beverage. He did this in the presence of each client, and not five seconds after I had already offered them something to drink. And in six months, I had never forgotten to do so in the first place.

I went back and forth with the temp agency trying to convince them that a job offer was not forthcoming, and they kept going back to Mike and hearing, "Oh we're just not ready yet, I can't make any promises, we're looking into it..." and they wouldn’t make a move. They kept telling me to be patient, sit tight, see what happens. But the end of our rental agreement was fast approaching.

On principle, I refused to look for an apartment close to this firm without a solid job offer because the distance between my husband's place of work and their office was nearly impossible to navigate. They are about 15 or 20 miles apart with inner-city spanning the entire stretch between. There is no express mass transit that goes the entire distance, and it ends up to be an hour and a half from one point to the other. It was either live by my work, or live by his because we are not willing to tolerate living in the neighborhoods at the half way mark.

So we decided, fuck it then. Let’s just find someplace cute and cheap in a decent neighborhood. The place we found was great: well maintained and affordable in a quiet area, but very close to the hubby’s work. Because of the hellish commute, I was finally able to convince the agency to put in my notice and find me a new assignment.

Coincidentally, as soon as my agency informed Mike that I was leaving, applications flooded in for the underwriting assistant position, and someone was hired for the policy services assistant. The gals in the office shared some of the resumes they received, and they were terrible! I mean BAD, as in how could these college grad applicants not know that they shouldn’t use “pedialyte@yahoo” for their professional email, or list as their experience two jobs that lasted less than a month each. And the person they actually hired? Male, 22, and out of school for 3 months—yet somehow is more qualified than I to provide service to policy holders. I was really glad at that point to be leaving, and taking my professional resume and outstanding work history with me.

Two people even sent me e-greetings on my last day, one of which said she would miss having a “personality” like mine around the office. At four o’clock that day, the President/CEO approached me in the copy room and told me that he just found out that it was my last day, and I had an unprofessional moment, “You have GOT to be kidding me!” Reproaching, I said, “I’m sorry, I am just surprised that Mike didn’t tell you.” He requested that I stay in touch, and said he was sorry it didn’t work out, maybe some future opportunities, blah blah. I told him I tried my best to get hired, but there wasn’t anything else I could do (except maybe beg and get low-balled, but I didn’t say so).

I had had such an aggravating experience there, and I couldn’t tell the CEO why I was really leaving because I don’t want to burn any bridges since that’s a real bad habit. But most of the staff knew why I was going. The CEO’s personal assistant knew how many times I applied and followed up. And the general counsel knew that I was not about to tolerate being referred to with the sarcastic term of endearment, “hon,” meant as a power play. In the end, I just blew smoke up Mike’s ass and told him I was leaving because, gee, our new apartment was just too far away, and it was too long of a commute to their office.