WOW! Where has the time gone? I didn’t realize it has been this long since I have posted anything, but with the summer I’ve had, that’s not surprising. So here is a quick update.
I am still jobless. And at the moment I’m not looking. Because a number of weeks ago I went to my doctor for a sinus infection and she saw a suspicious bulge in my throat. Three weeks, two visits to specialists, one CT scan, one MRI, and one biopsy later, I am scheduled to have the benign tumor that apparently started in a salivary gland and grew to amazing proportions removed on Monday.
This will be a fairly complex procedure. And I won’t be able to speak or eat solid foods for at least a couple of weeks. So hopefully I will vent my communications frustrations by resuming posts to this blog. After all, I still owe you the garter removal story.
So I’m going to take most of the rest of the year to focus on recovery. And I’ll just have to trust that the perfect job will be waiting for me after that. Here at home. Where I want to be.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
Diogenes, I have your man
I thought I would take a few minutes out from panicking about getting a job and talk a little bit about how I met my husband, Lionheart. This came to mind because yesterday I listened to Meatloaf’s “Paradise by the Dashboard Lights” which was our garter-removal song at our wedding (more about that later).
On the evening of Friday, April 4th, 2003, I went to a book-signing for author Laurel K. Hamilton at a bookstore about 20 minutes south of where I live. She writes the series “Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter”. Not everyone’s cup of tea. I got there early enough to snag a good seat (although referring to a metal folding chair as a ‘good seat’ is the height of irony) and, since I always have a book tucked in away in my purse, I pulled it out and started to read. I was vaguely aware of someone taking the seat next to mine but didn’t look up or pay any attention, since, for me, reading is an addiction and not something I stop doing for trivial things like food or people. This person turned out to be a man, a very persistent man, who insisted on conversing with me. I finally gave in and put my book away and we talked – about the author, her Anita Blake books, her other books, then other books we know and love, and so on, until time got close to the author’s appearance.
This happened to be a book signing where you show up and take a number, then get in line in numeric order. He had gotten there early enough to pick up his number plus four numbers for his friends who were supposed to arrive later. When the time got close and his friends hadn’t shown up, instead of simply giving away the four tickets, he stood up and organized a ‘number exchange’. If your number was higher than one he was holding, he gave you that number and then you had to find someone else with whom you could exchange your old number. Sounds clumsy and time consuming but he accomplished it quickly, many folks were happy because they had moved up a few places in line, and the book signing started on time.
He was in line ahead of me and disappeared after his book was signed (I found out later it was because his friends had finally arrived). After my signing I went up to the registers to pay for my other purchases. While I was standing in line, with about ten people in front of me and about ten people behind me, he suddenly popped his head around a display sign and, right there in front of all those people, asked, “Would you like to go out sometime?”
Now let me explain something: I have naturally blonde hair and big boobs, and I guess blondes really do have more fun, if they are so inclined, because I get hit on. A lot. Everywhere. Although I’m sure the boobs play a “big” part of it, too, pun intended. There is no flattery to me in this. The men who are hitting on me don’t know me as a person and probably could not care less – it seems to be a knee-jerk reaction. Or some other reaction occurring below their belt, anyway. So I mostly walk around in a “shields up” mode (yes, as implied above, science fiction and fantasy are my two favorite genre) with this sentence at the tip of my tongue and ready to fire: “Oh, thanks so much for asking, but I’m not interested at this time, sorry.” Because I was just not into casual dating. I had been single for six years and loving every minute of it.
But something in my brain short circuited when he made his invitation and refused to let me fire off my standard rejection sentence, giving me, as my daughter calls it, a serious case of the ‘uhhb duhs’. You know, when you just stand there and say, “Uhhb duh, uhhb duh, uhhb duh” until your brain finally kicks in again and you can manage a coherent sentence. The sentence that did finally come out of my mouth was, “I’ll meet you over in the coffee area after I pay for my books and we can talk.” He said, “Okay, see you there,” and walked away.
I just stood there for a moment in shock. Then aloud I said, “He asked me out!” and a voice from the back of the line said, “Go for it!” Then I said, “But I’m older than he is!” and a voice from the front of the line said, “That’s okay. My aunt is seven years older than my uncle and they’ve been married for twenty-three years!” Wow! Good advice from total strangers! Who’d have thought?
So I paid for my books and met him in the coffee area and we talked for over an hour and at the end I told him I don’t go out with men I’ve just met, but that the next night was the weekly Parents Without Partners dance and he was welcome to join me there if he was so inclined. He said to give him the directions and he would be there. I was surprised and skeptical. It would be a long drive for him, since he lived about an hour south of the book store.
But now here is the part that I’ve spent all this time building toward. I think it defines the whole basis of our relationship. He said, “I’ll be there, but I have to warn you, I can’t dance.” And I replied, “Well, that’s okay, but I CAN dance, so I’m not going to just be sitting there hanging on to your shoulder all evening.” And he said, “I understand.”
Not in that pitiful, subdued, manipulative way, but in that game show host/announcer sort of way, like “Heeeeeeeeeeer’s JOHNNIE!” “Aaaaaaye understand!” Like it really was okay.
There it is. Total honesty. Are you listening, Diogenes? We say it all, we lay it on the line, and the other person takes it and is okay with it.
I had to be okay that he didn’t dance and he had to be okay that I would dance with other men and leave him sitting. And I did. And he did. Except he found other ways to interact – the monthly birthday cake ended up on our table and he cut and served the slices to folks as they came up, always with a quip or a comment of some kind with each slice. And I danced swing and cha-cha and foxtrot with other men, and some slow dances with him. And then we left the dance an hour early and went to the 24 hour diner next door and sat and talked for another two hours.
And the next day I called to thank him for coming up to the dance and he asked me out to a movie, and I said yes. And six months later he asked me to marry him, and I said yes.
And he suggested “Paradise in the Dashboard Lights” as our garter removal song, and I said yes.
But that is another story.
On the evening of Friday, April 4th, 2003, I went to a book-signing for author Laurel K. Hamilton at a bookstore about 20 minutes south of where I live. She writes the series “Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter”. Not everyone’s cup of tea. I got there early enough to snag a good seat (although referring to a metal folding chair as a ‘good seat’ is the height of irony) and, since I always have a book tucked in away in my purse, I pulled it out and started to read. I was vaguely aware of someone taking the seat next to mine but didn’t look up or pay any attention, since, for me, reading is an addiction and not something I stop doing for trivial things like food or people. This person turned out to be a man, a very persistent man, who insisted on conversing with me. I finally gave in and put my book away and we talked – about the author, her Anita Blake books, her other books, then other books we know and love, and so on, until time got close to the author’s appearance.
This happened to be a book signing where you show up and take a number, then get in line in numeric order. He had gotten there early enough to pick up his number plus four numbers for his friends who were supposed to arrive later. When the time got close and his friends hadn’t shown up, instead of simply giving away the four tickets, he stood up and organized a ‘number exchange’. If your number was higher than one he was holding, he gave you that number and then you had to find someone else with whom you could exchange your old number. Sounds clumsy and time consuming but he accomplished it quickly, many folks were happy because they had moved up a few places in line, and the book signing started on time.
He was in line ahead of me and disappeared after his book was signed (I found out later it was because his friends had finally arrived). After my signing I went up to the registers to pay for my other purchases. While I was standing in line, with about ten people in front of me and about ten people behind me, he suddenly popped his head around a display sign and, right there in front of all those people, asked, “Would you like to go out sometime?”
Now let me explain something: I have naturally blonde hair and big boobs, and I guess blondes really do have more fun, if they are so inclined, because I get hit on. A lot. Everywhere. Although I’m sure the boobs play a “big” part of it, too, pun intended. There is no flattery to me in this. The men who are hitting on me don’t know me as a person and probably could not care less – it seems to be a knee-jerk reaction. Or some other reaction occurring below their belt, anyway. So I mostly walk around in a “shields up” mode (yes, as implied above, science fiction and fantasy are my two favorite genre) with this sentence at the tip of my tongue and ready to fire: “Oh, thanks so much for asking, but I’m not interested at this time, sorry.” Because I was just not into casual dating. I had been single for six years and loving every minute of it.
But something in my brain short circuited when he made his invitation and refused to let me fire off my standard rejection sentence, giving me, as my daughter calls it, a serious case of the ‘uhhb duhs’. You know, when you just stand there and say, “Uhhb duh, uhhb duh, uhhb duh” until your brain finally kicks in again and you can manage a coherent sentence. The sentence that did finally come out of my mouth was, “I’ll meet you over in the coffee area after I pay for my books and we can talk.” He said, “Okay, see you there,” and walked away.
I just stood there for a moment in shock. Then aloud I said, “He asked me out!” and a voice from the back of the line said, “Go for it!” Then I said, “But I’m older than he is!” and a voice from the front of the line said, “That’s okay. My aunt is seven years older than my uncle and they’ve been married for twenty-three years!” Wow! Good advice from total strangers! Who’d have thought?
So I paid for my books and met him in the coffee area and we talked for over an hour and at the end I told him I don’t go out with men I’ve just met, but that the next night was the weekly Parents Without Partners dance and he was welcome to join me there if he was so inclined. He said to give him the directions and he would be there. I was surprised and skeptical. It would be a long drive for him, since he lived about an hour south of the book store.
But now here is the part that I’ve spent all this time building toward. I think it defines the whole basis of our relationship. He said, “I’ll be there, but I have to warn you, I can’t dance.” And I replied, “Well, that’s okay, but I CAN dance, so I’m not going to just be sitting there hanging on to your shoulder all evening.” And he said, “I understand.”
Not in that pitiful, subdued, manipulative way, but in that game show host/announcer sort of way, like “Heeeeeeeeeeer’s JOHNNIE!” “Aaaaaaye understand!” Like it really was okay.
There it is. Total honesty. Are you listening, Diogenes? We say it all, we lay it on the line, and the other person takes it and is okay with it.
I had to be okay that he didn’t dance and he had to be okay that I would dance with other men and leave him sitting. And I did. And he did. Except he found other ways to interact – the monthly birthday cake ended up on our table and he cut and served the slices to folks as they came up, always with a quip or a comment of some kind with each slice. And I danced swing and cha-cha and foxtrot with other men, and some slow dances with him. And then we left the dance an hour early and went to the 24 hour diner next door and sat and talked for another two hours.
And the next day I called to thank him for coming up to the dance and he asked me out to a movie, and I said yes. And six months later he asked me to marry him, and I said yes.
And he suggested “Paradise in the Dashboard Lights” as our garter removal song, and I said yes.
But that is another story.
Monday, May 18, 2009
So how is the job search going?
It has been 12 weeks and I have submitted 42 job applications and had zero interviews.
I am never going to find a job.
I am never going to find a job and we will lose our house.
I am never going to find a job and we will lose our house and end up living in our car.
I am never going to find a job and we will lose our house and end up living in a cardboard box because we had to sell the car.
I am never going to find a job and we will lose our house and end up living in a cardboard box and I will never see my grandson again because my daughter is already pissed because they were renting our house while I was working out of state and when my contract ended suddenly because the new CEO cancelled the project we had to unexpectedly move back into the house with my daughter and her husband and my new grandson and try to cope with two households’ worth of furniture and boxes and stuff and the garage is full and the basement is overflowing and my husband is sleeping in a little room off the basement and I am sleeping in the ½ floor bedroom in the attic with my cat who can’t understand why she can’t leave the attic because she is a cat and can’t concede the fact that my daughter’s two dogs would eat her.
And my daughter doesn’t think they should have to pay any rent at all now because after all they have lost their privacy and she can’t see the decorations on her dining room hutch because our baker’s rack is sitting in front of it holding the (very) few kitchen items that we have unpacked even though the amount of rent they are paying is only half the amount of the mortgage plus utilities and we were covering the other half and still are covering it with the pittance that is unemployment. Which means that most other expenses like groceries and prescriptions have to be paid with a credit card. But two of her Millennial friends have told her that she shouldn’t be paying rent now so she knows she is not crazy for thinking that she shouldn’t have to pay any more rent so by making her continue to pay rent we are forcing her to ‘keep us in the manner to which we have become accustomed”. So my husband reduced their rent by twenty percent and she said, “Big whoop.” She says we should be using our savings so they don’t have to pay rent.
Savings? What savings? Oh, you mean the savings that have disappeared while waiting four years for my husband’s Social Security Disability hearing? Four years that he hasn’t been able to work since his surgeon pronounced him “no longer able to perform meaningful labor”? Four years waiting because our Social Security system is so messed up that the court cases are backlogged four years or more?
Savings that were finished off when I first moved out of state to take the contract I got after I was laid off of the job I had for twenty-eight years? Savings that were already gone when, four months into a six month contract, I was told that they liked me so much they weren’t going to wait for the six months to end, they already knew they wanted me through 2009 and I could look for permanent housing and move my husband up there with me? But that was okay because working the rest of the year would pay off the credit card and put a nice little nest egg back into the savings? Which didn’t happen because my “all the way through 2009” contract was cancelled at the end of February so the move back home had to also be put on a credit card? Along with just about every else now?
When everything else went sideways, I always had my job. When my twenty-four year marriage spent the last twelve of those years dying a slow and painful death, I had my job. When my daughter blamed me for the divorce, I had my job. While I was ‘finding myself’ after the divorce, I always knew ‘who’ I was at my job. When my next husband had to quit his job due to a medical disability, that was unexpected, but I still had my job. When I was laid off the first time with a thirty day notice, from the job I had been in for twenty-eight years, in two weeks I had another job waiting for me – my last day at the old job was on a Friday and my first day at my new job was the next Monday.
This time it was unexpected – that Friday morning I had a job, that Friday afternoon they told me the project was cancelled and they had no other work for me. I moved home the next week and immediately developed bronchitis that lasted three weeks. The depression has lasted longer. Even though my husband is trying to run interference, my daughter still insists on taking her pissy mood out on me by crying and yelling at me and then not talking to me. We don’t unpack anything because, after all, tomorrow I may get another job in another state and we will move again and leave the house to her, and leave behind my new grandson, and I don’t want to move to another state. I want to stay home. And have a job. And see my grandson. Four people are depending on me to do that. Because my husband can’t work. And my recently graduated son-in-law also got laid off a few months ago which is a mixed blessing because he has been able to stay home and take care of my grandson but now his unemployment has expired and anyway any entry level job he could find in his field would only pay enough to pay for child care so what’s the use? So he stays home with the baby. And doesn’t speak to me either.
So out of four adults currently living in this house, only one of them is working. Work they get paid for, that is. And only one of them is talking to me. When we manage to get together, that is. And in the mean time I polish my resume and submit it and wait for the phone call that will never come. And try to remember what day of the week it is. Because something seems broken. And I don't know how to fix it.
I am never going to find a job.
I am never going to find a job and we will lose our house.
I am never going to find a job and we will lose our house and end up living in our car.
I am never going to find a job and we will lose our house and end up living in a cardboard box because we had to sell the car.
I am never going to find a job and we will lose our house and end up living in a cardboard box and I will never see my grandson again because my daughter is already pissed because they were renting our house while I was working out of state and when my contract ended suddenly because the new CEO cancelled the project we had to unexpectedly move back into the house with my daughter and her husband and my new grandson and try to cope with two households’ worth of furniture and boxes and stuff and the garage is full and the basement is overflowing and my husband is sleeping in a little room off the basement and I am sleeping in the ½ floor bedroom in the attic with my cat who can’t understand why she can’t leave the attic because she is a cat and can’t concede the fact that my daughter’s two dogs would eat her.
And my daughter doesn’t think they should have to pay any rent at all now because after all they have lost their privacy and she can’t see the decorations on her dining room hutch because our baker’s rack is sitting in front of it holding the (very) few kitchen items that we have unpacked even though the amount of rent they are paying is only half the amount of the mortgage plus utilities and we were covering the other half and still are covering it with the pittance that is unemployment. Which means that most other expenses like groceries and prescriptions have to be paid with a credit card. But two of her Millennial friends have told her that she shouldn’t be paying rent now so she knows she is not crazy for thinking that she shouldn’t have to pay any more rent so by making her continue to pay rent we are forcing her to ‘keep us in the manner to which we have become accustomed”. So my husband reduced their rent by twenty percent and she said, “Big whoop.” She says we should be using our savings so they don’t have to pay rent.
Savings? What savings? Oh, you mean the savings that have disappeared while waiting four years for my husband’s Social Security Disability hearing? Four years that he hasn’t been able to work since his surgeon pronounced him “no longer able to perform meaningful labor”? Four years waiting because our Social Security system is so messed up that the court cases are backlogged four years or more?
Savings that were finished off when I first moved out of state to take the contract I got after I was laid off of the job I had for twenty-eight years? Savings that were already gone when, four months into a six month contract, I was told that they liked me so much they weren’t going to wait for the six months to end, they already knew they wanted me through 2009 and I could look for permanent housing and move my husband up there with me? But that was okay because working the rest of the year would pay off the credit card and put a nice little nest egg back into the savings? Which didn’t happen because my “all the way through 2009” contract was cancelled at the end of February so the move back home had to also be put on a credit card? Along with just about every else now?
When everything else went sideways, I always had my job. When my twenty-four year marriage spent the last twelve of those years dying a slow and painful death, I had my job. When my daughter blamed me for the divorce, I had my job. While I was ‘finding myself’ after the divorce, I always knew ‘who’ I was at my job. When my next husband had to quit his job due to a medical disability, that was unexpected, but I still had my job. When I was laid off the first time with a thirty day notice, from the job I had been in for twenty-eight years, in two weeks I had another job waiting for me – my last day at the old job was on a Friday and my first day at my new job was the next Monday.
This time it was unexpected – that Friday morning I had a job, that Friday afternoon they told me the project was cancelled and they had no other work for me. I moved home the next week and immediately developed bronchitis that lasted three weeks. The depression has lasted longer. Even though my husband is trying to run interference, my daughter still insists on taking her pissy mood out on me by crying and yelling at me and then not talking to me. We don’t unpack anything because, after all, tomorrow I may get another job in another state and we will move again and leave the house to her, and leave behind my new grandson, and I don’t want to move to another state. I want to stay home. And have a job. And see my grandson. Four people are depending on me to do that. Because my husband can’t work. And my recently graduated son-in-law also got laid off a few months ago which is a mixed blessing because he has been able to stay home and take care of my grandson but now his unemployment has expired and anyway any entry level job he could find in his field would only pay enough to pay for child care so what’s the use? So he stays home with the baby. And doesn’t speak to me either.
So out of four adults currently living in this house, only one of them is working. Work they get paid for, that is. And only one of them is talking to me. When we manage to get together, that is. And in the mean time I polish my resume and submit it and wait for the phone call that will never come. And try to remember what day of the week it is. Because something seems broken. And I don't know how to fix it.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Chicken soup, anyone?
Sorry I haven’t been posting as much lately. A lot is going on but none of it is productive – for some strange reason having bronchitis doesn’t contribute much to job hunting, I don’t know why. I will post again when I’m functional enough to actually generate a thought.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
A response to a response...
Elisa Doucette at Ophelia’s Web posted a response to an article that appeared on Brazen Careerist. Here is the response I wrote to her post:
I, too, read the original post but chose not to comment there. My first thought on reading it was that another guy with man-boobs and a flabby gut wants US to look pretty for him. And I didn’t want to say that, since of course I have no idea what the author looks like – perhaps he is a ripped hunk! But…somehow I doubt it.
Your remarks, however, take the topic somewhere more interesting. The bottom line, of course, is that appearance does mean something, and expectations are often generated by appearance, whether we like it or not or think it is fair or not. My personal experiences have shown me this and I have altered my appearance because of it.
I have naturally blonde curly hair, big boobs, and am a software engineer who works in large office settings dealing with a multitude of people. I am generally a happy person and I tend to smile a lot. I also have a strong, decisive personality and don’t suffer fools gladly. I have no hesitation in speaking up, speaking out, and taking charge. If I am in a group that is trying to accomplish something and there is not already an obvious leader in place, I automatically take over and lead the group.
When I first started in my profession I wore skirt suits for a professional appearance, yes, but chose soft feminine suits, blouses, and accessories in my favorite pinks, mauves, blues, etc. And I had quite a problem with people. When I first met someone they seemed to like me and like working with me, but that would quickly change. Suddenly there would be discord and they would be unhappy with me, and there would be tension, stress, and so forth. My technical expertise was never in question (this wasn’t a “dumb blonde” issue), so it took several years for me to figure out why the change of attitude – it was because my appearance did not match my personality.
I believe that, in my case, our culture had set up a basic expectation that a smiling perky blonde dressed in soft feminine colors and clothing is someone who would be always pleasant and obliging and amiable and who would defer to whatever the other person wanted. Based on my appearance they were expecting this type of girl. When my strong personality made itself known they would be thrown for a loop, as the saying goes. Like petting a cute little kitten only to find out that it was really a tiger that just ate your arm.
So I changed my appearance. I bought suits in grey and camel and navy instead of pink and cream and mint green. Still skirt suits, yes, but more tailored in appearance and color. I bought silk tees and shells instead of blouses with ruffles and bows. And I kicked my makeup up a notch. Yes, I always wear a full face of makeup – I love being a woman - but a bright coral lipstick has a lot more punch than a pale pink lipstick.
I generally buy my clothes during one or two shopping trips, once in the spring and once in the fall, so I was able to make this change very quickly during my fall shopping trip that year. I immediately noticed an improvement in my dealings with people, and when meeting and working with someone new the relationship stayed on an even keel – no sudden changes because I no longer clashed with their perceived expectations of me.
So now I project an image more in keeping with my personality. I always feel very feminine but now I feel even more powerful. And frankly, I don’t care if someone with whom I am doing business thinks I am feminine or not. I don’t care if they think I am nurturing or not. I do care if they think I can do my job or not.
As for my personal life, I found that when I dressed “stronger”, I attracted men with stronger personalities. No more tiptoeing around some man trying not to crush his poor little ego, no more trying to hang back so he could maybe, hopefully, please show some assertiveness for once. I am happy to say that my husband has as strong a personality as I do and loves me for it. He is happy to have someone that HE doesn’t have to tiptoe around. We sometimes bump heads figuring out who is going to take charge in a particular situation but have so far resolved it without blood shed.
So, no, I don’t think a skirt is a sign of weakness, providing it is the right skirt for the job.
I, too, read the original post but chose not to comment there. My first thought on reading it was that another guy with man-boobs and a flabby gut wants US to look pretty for him. And I didn’t want to say that, since of course I have no idea what the author looks like – perhaps he is a ripped hunk! But…somehow I doubt it.
Your remarks, however, take the topic somewhere more interesting. The bottom line, of course, is that appearance does mean something, and expectations are often generated by appearance, whether we like it or not or think it is fair or not. My personal experiences have shown me this and I have altered my appearance because of it.
I have naturally blonde curly hair, big boobs, and am a software engineer who works in large office settings dealing with a multitude of people. I am generally a happy person and I tend to smile a lot. I also have a strong, decisive personality and don’t suffer fools gladly. I have no hesitation in speaking up, speaking out, and taking charge. If I am in a group that is trying to accomplish something and there is not already an obvious leader in place, I automatically take over and lead the group.
When I first started in my profession I wore skirt suits for a professional appearance, yes, but chose soft feminine suits, blouses, and accessories in my favorite pinks, mauves, blues, etc. And I had quite a problem with people. When I first met someone they seemed to like me and like working with me, but that would quickly change. Suddenly there would be discord and they would be unhappy with me, and there would be tension, stress, and so forth. My technical expertise was never in question (this wasn’t a “dumb blonde” issue), so it took several years for me to figure out why the change of attitude – it was because my appearance did not match my personality.
I believe that, in my case, our culture had set up a basic expectation that a smiling perky blonde dressed in soft feminine colors and clothing is someone who would be always pleasant and obliging and amiable and who would defer to whatever the other person wanted. Based on my appearance they were expecting this type of girl. When my strong personality made itself known they would be thrown for a loop, as the saying goes. Like petting a cute little kitten only to find out that it was really a tiger that just ate your arm.
So I changed my appearance. I bought suits in grey and camel and navy instead of pink and cream and mint green. Still skirt suits, yes, but more tailored in appearance and color. I bought silk tees and shells instead of blouses with ruffles and bows. And I kicked my makeup up a notch. Yes, I always wear a full face of makeup – I love being a woman - but a bright coral lipstick has a lot more punch than a pale pink lipstick.
I generally buy my clothes during one or two shopping trips, once in the spring and once in the fall, so I was able to make this change very quickly during my fall shopping trip that year. I immediately noticed an improvement in my dealings with people, and when meeting and working with someone new the relationship stayed on an even keel – no sudden changes because I no longer clashed with their perceived expectations of me.
So now I project an image more in keeping with my personality. I always feel very feminine but now I feel even more powerful. And frankly, I don’t care if someone with whom I am doing business thinks I am feminine or not. I don’t care if they think I am nurturing or not. I do care if they think I can do my job or not.
As for my personal life, I found that when I dressed “stronger”, I attracted men with stronger personalities. No more tiptoeing around some man trying not to crush his poor little ego, no more trying to hang back so he could maybe, hopefully, please show some assertiveness for once. I am happy to say that my husband has as strong a personality as I do and loves me for it. He is happy to have someone that HE doesn’t have to tiptoe around. We sometimes bump heads figuring out who is going to take charge in a particular situation but have so far resolved it without blood shed.
So, no, I don’t think a skirt is a sign of weakness, providing it is the right skirt for the job.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Nine days
Well, it has been nine days since I was laid off. What have I done in those nine days?
I updated my resume. I started hitting the jobs sites most popular for technical jobs and submitting my resume to these sites. I have applied for nineteen jobs that I found on these sites. And I have applied for unemployment, which is a first for me.
I have already received a call for a job that is seven states away from where I am now. It probably won’t work out, but it makes me face a question that I have been avoiding – will I relocate for another job? A posting on Anita Bruzzese’s site was very timely for me, and I posted a comment there, which she was kind enough to answer. Basically I said, I am the sole support of my family, so…
I suppose I will. My technical skills fulfill a rather specific need so I will probably have to go where the need is. Assuming someone somewhere needs my particular skills at this particular time.
But I don’t want to.
For the past ten months I have been living in another state, in a city that is 300 miles away from home. It’s a nice little town, with one mall and one movie theatre, with the next closest ones about three hours away. But since being told THE NEWS I have been feeling absurdly optimistic about going home. Where there are three malls and four theatres within a twenty minute drive of my house. And (probably) no jobs.
But little bubbles of happiness keep working their way through my brain anyway. Some part of me keeps thinking that, once I’m home, everything will be all right. Of course, the practical part of me has to chime in and remind the optimistic part of me that going home doesn’t mean I’m going to find a job there. And the fearful part of me, the part that keeps my stomach churning and the good ol’ acid indigestion going, doesn’t care either way; it just wants security. “Too bad, that doesn’t exist right now,” I tell my stomach, “get over it.”
So for now I have declared a moratorium on the job search to prepare for going home next week. Lionheart with stay here and handle the big move, in about two weeks, of everything back to our home. Which my daughter Bar (and her husband and their new baby – my first grandchild, which, since I am going to be Nana, I have been calling nana-baby. Sorry, I digress.) is renting from us. While we’re here. Living in another state. Which we won’t be, soon. Unless I get a job somewhere else, in the next three days.
I don’t want them to move from the house; after all, presumably at some point in time I will get another job and it probably won’t be within driving distance of home. So my daughter and I have discussed it and come up with a sort of way to divide the house into our own living areas. Although neither one of us had the courage to discuss the kitchen. It’s hard to divide one kitchen between two women. But I’m sure we’ll work something out. Eventually.
Until it’s time for us to move again. But I’m not going to think about that. I’m just going to enjoy the thought of going home again. And holding nana-baby. We’ll see what the next nine days bring.
What experiences have you had with relocating for a job? Did you actually own a home when you had to face this question? Was it hard for you to "leave home"?
I updated my resume. I started hitting the jobs sites most popular for technical jobs and submitting my resume to these sites. I have applied for nineteen jobs that I found on these sites. And I have applied for unemployment, which is a first for me.
I have already received a call for a job that is seven states away from where I am now. It probably won’t work out, but it makes me face a question that I have been avoiding – will I relocate for another job? A posting on Anita Bruzzese’s site was very timely for me, and I posted a comment there, which she was kind enough to answer. Basically I said, I am the sole support of my family, so…
I suppose I will. My technical skills fulfill a rather specific need so I will probably have to go where the need is. Assuming someone somewhere needs my particular skills at this particular time.
But I don’t want to.
For the past ten months I have been living in another state, in a city that is 300 miles away from home. It’s a nice little town, with one mall and one movie theatre, with the next closest ones about three hours away. But since being told THE NEWS I have been feeling absurdly optimistic about going home. Where there are three malls and four theatres within a twenty minute drive of my house. And (probably) no jobs.
But little bubbles of happiness keep working their way through my brain anyway. Some part of me keeps thinking that, once I’m home, everything will be all right. Of course, the practical part of me has to chime in and remind the optimistic part of me that going home doesn’t mean I’m going to find a job there. And the fearful part of me, the part that keeps my stomach churning and the good ol’ acid indigestion going, doesn’t care either way; it just wants security. “Too bad, that doesn’t exist right now,” I tell my stomach, “get over it.”
So for now I have declared a moratorium on the job search to prepare for going home next week. Lionheart with stay here and handle the big move, in about two weeks, of everything back to our home. Which my daughter Bar (and her husband and their new baby – my first grandchild, which, since I am going to be Nana, I have been calling nana-baby. Sorry, I digress.) is renting from us. While we’re here. Living in another state. Which we won’t be, soon. Unless I get a job somewhere else, in the next three days.
I don’t want them to move from the house; after all, presumably at some point in time I will get another job and it probably won’t be within driving distance of home. So my daughter and I have discussed it and come up with a sort of way to divide the house into our own living areas. Although neither one of us had the courage to discuss the kitchen. It’s hard to divide one kitchen between two women. But I’m sure we’ll work something out. Eventually.
Until it’s time for us to move again. But I’m not going to think about that. I’m just going to enjoy the thought of going home again. And holding nana-baby. We’ll see what the next nine days bring.
What experiences have you had with relocating for a job? Did you actually own a home when you had to face this question? Was it hard for you to "leave home"?
Monday, March 2, 2009
My cat is my role model
“The smallest feline is a masterpiece.” Leonardo da Vinci
I am a cat person. Don’t get me wrong; for pure unconditional love, the kind that has saved my sanity in the past, you can’t do better than a dog. They are ready to come at every call and lick your face or play fetch or just curl up on your feet and keep them warm. Dogs are great.
But they are also obsequious.
And sometimes I just find that annoying. They seem to have no self-respect.
Cats, on the other hand, are the epitome of self-respect. Self-respect is defined as “having the proper esteem or regard for the dignity of one’s character”. I think it should also say, “See CAT.”
Cats have such a bone-deep conviction of their worth that they have no trouble whatsoever maintaining eye contact with you. See, with dogs, eye contact has to do with dominance. If one dog wants to challenge another, he looks him in the eye. If the other dog breaks the gaze and drops his head, he loses. If he maintains eye contact a fight will usually ensue to determine which is more dominant. Dogs repeat this behaviour with humans (who are also pack animals). Either you are dominant over your dog, or he is dominant over you. Think I am kidding? Look your dog in the eye for any length of time and see what happens.
Cats don’t do that. They will look you in the eye for as long as they like. They could not care less if you keep looking back at them, or if you look away, or if you look back and forth. They don’t lose anything by looking away first; that’s usually just their way of saying you simply are too boring at that moment to hold their attention. I have a private theory that people who hate cats have low self-esteem and can’t tolerate this dismissal by (what seems to be) an obviously superior being.
With all that being said, in some ways my cats act like dogs.
They actually come when I call them. They learn their names because I use their names. I have a relationship with them. If the only time you see your cat is during the ten seconds a day it takes to dump food into his bowl, you’re not going to establish a relationship. When they come to me they know they are going to get loved and petted on until they stretch and purr, it feels so good. In my house, hands are for loving and toys are for playing. So I never flip a cat over on its back and roughly scrub my hand over its belly until its nature gets the better of it and it tries to disembowel my arm with its hind claws while holding on to my hand with its front claws and teeth. You know exactly the action I’m talking about. The one that people do, then take their cats to the vet and have them declawed because they scratch. Of course they scratch! That’s what they’re designed to do in that situation! If you do that action with a toy instead of with your hand, both you and the cat can enjoy the play and the cat can keep his toes.
So my Sassy Kitty serves as a prime example of a well-adjusted, self-respecting personality. She can show her affection without compromising herself. She can play with a shoelace dragged across the floor with the total abandon of a kitten. She has no problem standing up to the Cute Puppy that joined our lives a year ago when he misbehaves. And it boggles my mind that a creature one twentieth the size of an adult human can sit on the floor and gaze fearlessly into that human’s eyes.
So let me love, play, assert myself, and stand up to the giants in my life with all the self-respect and aplomb of my cat.
Aplomb – defined as “imperturbable self-possession, poise, or assurance”. It should also say “See CAT”.
What unusual role models do you have in your life?
I am a cat person. Don’t get me wrong; for pure unconditional love, the kind that has saved my sanity in the past, you can’t do better than a dog. They are ready to come at every call and lick your face or play fetch or just curl up on your feet and keep them warm. Dogs are great.
But they are also obsequious.
And sometimes I just find that annoying. They seem to have no self-respect.
Cats, on the other hand, are the epitome of self-respect. Self-respect is defined as “having the proper esteem or regard for the dignity of one’s character”. I think it should also say, “See CAT.”
Cats have such a bone-deep conviction of their worth that they have no trouble whatsoever maintaining eye contact with you. See, with dogs, eye contact has to do with dominance. If one dog wants to challenge another, he looks him in the eye. If the other dog breaks the gaze and drops his head, he loses. If he maintains eye contact a fight will usually ensue to determine which is more dominant. Dogs repeat this behaviour with humans (who are also pack animals). Either you are dominant over your dog, or he is dominant over you. Think I am kidding? Look your dog in the eye for any length of time and see what happens.
Cats don’t do that. They will look you in the eye for as long as they like. They could not care less if you keep looking back at them, or if you look away, or if you look back and forth. They don’t lose anything by looking away first; that’s usually just their way of saying you simply are too boring at that moment to hold their attention. I have a private theory that people who hate cats have low self-esteem and can’t tolerate this dismissal by (what seems to be) an obviously superior being.
With all that being said, in some ways my cats act like dogs.
They actually come when I call them. They learn their names because I use their names. I have a relationship with them. If the only time you see your cat is during the ten seconds a day it takes to dump food into his bowl, you’re not going to establish a relationship. When they come to me they know they are going to get loved and petted on until they stretch and purr, it feels so good. In my house, hands are for loving and toys are for playing. So I never flip a cat over on its back and roughly scrub my hand over its belly until its nature gets the better of it and it tries to disembowel my arm with its hind claws while holding on to my hand with its front claws and teeth. You know exactly the action I’m talking about. The one that people do, then take their cats to the vet and have them declawed because they scratch. Of course they scratch! That’s what they’re designed to do in that situation! If you do that action with a toy instead of with your hand, both you and the cat can enjoy the play and the cat can keep his toes.
So my Sassy Kitty serves as a prime example of a well-adjusted, self-respecting personality. She can show her affection without compromising herself. She can play with a shoelace dragged across the floor with the total abandon of a kitten. She has no problem standing up to the Cute Puppy that joined our lives a year ago when he misbehaves. And it boggles my mind that a creature one twentieth the size of an adult human can sit on the floor and gaze fearlessly into that human’s eyes.
So let me love, play, assert myself, and stand up to the giants in my life with all the self-respect and aplomb of my cat.
Aplomb – defined as “imperturbable self-possession, poise, or assurance”. It should also say “See CAT”.
What unusual role models do you have in your life?
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