So I met -- scratch that, BEAT! -- a deadline I set for myself. My goal was to have an updated resume ready by October 1 to send out into the world in search of a Cool New Job. Well, yesterday I finished my revamped lil resume and uploaded it to a few different company sites in hopes of getting hired.
It just makes me feel so nervous.
It's weird that I can write blogs, talk to webcams, and tweet my most random thoughts for anyone to see, but when it comes to sending out a resume I feel very self-conscious and exposed.
I'm worried about things like, am I coming off as too braggy? Or am I not selling myself enough? Is someone going to look at my resume and laugh at me and then delete it? Or even worse, grumble, "stop wasting my time, idiot" as they move on to the next one? Here's the thing: I will never hear any of that negative feedback, but I still feel very self-conscious about the possibility of it happening! Is that crazy?
And the other thing is, I always sort of feel like sending out a resume is like tossing a message in a bottle out into the open sea. Is anyone even going to see it?! Or will it just float around until a killer whale mistakes it for a baby seal and eats it?
I don't really know where the killer whale fits into this analogy. I'm just sayin'.
Anyway, if you know anyone who's interested in hiring a well-spoken, well-organized, positive-thinking (except when it comes to resumes) multitasker with a penchant for problem-solving, let me know.
And if they laugh at my resume, don't tell me.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
Smooth move, Ex Lax!
That's what my mom's friend Ron would say.
~Kenneth the Page, 30 Rock
Well, after six months I finally did it.
I took Lola outside...and forgot to bring my keys. Hence, locked out. Of the building.
Nice.
What was even nicer is that since we've been having really nice, warm weather, I've been lazy about putting shoes on before taking Lola outside. So I was barefoot. And in my PJs.
Yup.
So of course I realized just as the door was latching shut that I had locked myself out, and then I also realized it was like 1:00 in the afternoon, meaning pretty much everyone else in my building was at work. So no one was really coming in and out of the building at this time.
We had gone out the back door, so we walked (barefoot, mind you) around the building, through the grass toward the front door. And I just have to say, walking through the grass barefoot is kind of like walking through a minefield, only instead of mines there are little -- and big -- piles of poo that you have to constantly scan the ground for so you don't step on one.
This story would probably be better if I told you I DID step on a doggy-poo landmine, but that would be a lie. If you'd like to pretend I did for the sake of entertainment, that's fine with me.
So we got to the front door, and I just stood there...like a goober.
What next? Uhhhh...
We have a dial system that allows residents to ring people in through the front door, and for a moment I thought about just pushing random numbers until someone let me in. But considering I don't really know anyone in my building, I thought that might end up being super awkward.
Then I thought, well maybe I should push the button for the main office, and then I got those memories about living in dorms and how the RAs would tell you at the beginning of the year to always carry your keys with you because if you got locked out you were gonna get charged for it. So I hesitated because I didn't want to get...like...fined for getting locked out. Do they even do that at my building?
Luckily I didn't have to risk it because just then a guy came and unlocked the door on his way inside, letting Lola and me back into the building.
And then I stepped in dog poo.
KIDDING! Nothing gross happened.
The end.
~Kenneth the Page, 30 Rock
Well, after six months I finally did it.
I took Lola outside...and forgot to bring my keys. Hence, locked out. Of the building.
Nice.
What was even nicer is that since we've been having really nice, warm weather, I've been lazy about putting shoes on before taking Lola outside. So I was barefoot. And in my PJs.
Yup.
So of course I realized just as the door was latching shut that I had locked myself out, and then I also realized it was like 1:00 in the afternoon, meaning pretty much everyone else in my building was at work. So no one was really coming in and out of the building at this time.
We had gone out the back door, so we walked (barefoot, mind you) around the building, through the grass toward the front door. And I just have to say, walking through the grass barefoot is kind of like walking through a minefield, only instead of mines there are little -- and big -- piles of poo that you have to constantly scan the ground for so you don't step on one.
This story would probably be better if I told you I DID step on a doggy-poo landmine, but that would be a lie. If you'd like to pretend I did for the sake of entertainment, that's fine with me.
So we got to the front door, and I just stood there...like a goober.
What next? Uhhhh...
We have a dial system that allows residents to ring people in through the front door, and for a moment I thought about just pushing random numbers until someone let me in. But considering I don't really know anyone in my building, I thought that might end up being super awkward.
Then I thought, well maybe I should push the button for the main office, and then I got those memories about living in dorms and how the RAs would tell you at the beginning of the year to always carry your keys with you because if you got locked out you were gonna get charged for it. So I hesitated because I didn't want to get...like...fined for getting locked out. Do they even do that at my building?
Luckily I didn't have to risk it because just then a guy came and unlocked the door on his way inside, letting Lola and me back into the building.
And then I stepped in dog poo.
KIDDING! Nothing gross happened.
The end.
Friday, September 11, 2009
thumper
One of my favorite lines from the Disney classic Bambi is a mantra Thumper recites in a way so adorable I'll never forget it:
"If ya can't say somethin' nice...don't say nothin' at all."
Well, Thumper, I have a new one:
"If you can't say something nice, don't make something up."
Right? I feel like sometimes nice people get into a nasty habit of coming up with something nice to say even (and especially) when they don't mean it. I don't mean saying "good job" to someone who just sang the national anthem about a step and a half off-key. I mean saying to that person, "Wow, you were really great! You have such a wonderful voice!"
Because it's one thing to be polite, but it's something else completely to just be needlessly dishonest.
Remember in Mean Girls when Rachel McAdams told that one girl that she loved her skirt, but then turned around and told Lindsay Lohan that was "the ugliest effing skirt I've ever seen?" So why did she make a point to compliment the skirt in the first place?
I realize not everyone is trying to be a Regina George, but what ARE we trying to accomplish when we say stuff like that? I've always wondered if it was some sort of knee-jerk reaction to thinking something mean or negative. Do people think an unkind thought, and then immediately spit out a compliment to morally redeem themselves? Or do they open their mouth, realize they're about to say something rude, and instead make a last-minute turn in the opposite direction?
Maybe no one else gets why I'm so riled up about this...It just bugs me that sometimes people seem to go out of their way to say something nice when they really don't mean it. And then it makes me wonder if anything nice they've ever said to me is even true. I would rather they not try to make me feel good than falsely flatter me.
Of course, if you just have to spit out whatever uncharitable thought you were thinking and you have a faithful friend who won't tell anybody about it, there's always Clairee's variation of the "if you can't say something nice' mantra:
"If you can't say something nice about anybody, come sit by me!"
That one works too. ;)
"If ya can't say somethin' nice...don't say nothin' at all."
Well, Thumper, I have a new one:
"If you can't say something nice, don't make something up."
Right? I feel like sometimes nice people get into a nasty habit of coming up with something nice to say even (and especially) when they don't mean it. I don't mean saying "good job" to someone who just sang the national anthem about a step and a half off-key. I mean saying to that person, "Wow, you were really great! You have such a wonderful voice!"
Because it's one thing to be polite, but it's something else completely to just be needlessly dishonest.
Remember in Mean Girls when Rachel McAdams told that one girl that she loved her skirt, but then turned around and told Lindsay Lohan that was "the ugliest effing skirt I've ever seen?" So why did she make a point to compliment the skirt in the first place?
I realize not everyone is trying to be a Regina George, but what ARE we trying to accomplish when we say stuff like that? I've always wondered if it was some sort of knee-jerk reaction to thinking something mean or negative. Do people think an unkind thought, and then immediately spit out a compliment to morally redeem themselves? Or do they open their mouth, realize they're about to say something rude, and instead make a last-minute turn in the opposite direction?
Maybe no one else gets why I'm so riled up about this...It just bugs me that sometimes people seem to go out of their way to say something nice when they really don't mean it. And then it makes me wonder if anything nice they've ever said to me is even true. I would rather they not try to make me feel good than falsely flatter me.
Of course, if you just have to spit out whatever uncharitable thought you were thinking and you have a faithful friend who won't tell anybody about it, there's always Clairee's variation of the "if you can't say something nice' mantra:
"If you can't say something nice about anybody, come sit by me!"
That one works too. ;)
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
if i could write songs...
...I'd write one about today.
But unfortunately, I don't possess that gift. So I'm just going to describe it to you.
Lola and I went for a walk downtown. It was perfect: sunny, comfortably cool, warm but not enough to break a sweat. Jeans and t-shirt (and scarf!) and sunglasses weather.
We took a lap around the courthouse square and passed the Java Roaster where there are ALWAYS people sitting around outside, which is one of the reasons I love the place so much. Today it was a friendly older man who gave Lola a good ear-scratch, a very school-of-ag looking student studying a text book, and a couple of biker dudes.
Lola and I turned the corner and headed toward the pedestrian bridge, passing Red Seven where people were enjoying the most scrumptious cuisine I have ever smelled. We decided to work up an appetite and started across the bridge.
As we climbed the depot stairs, a train passed underneath us, which is always fun for some reason. Lola looked so cute climbing up and down the stairways that got us to the pedestrian bridge. Something about those wrinkly little legs hopping steps and those perky little ears flopping and that pink tongue sticking out sideways just gets me!
We said hello to another older gentleman who was resting next to his walking cane on a bench in the middle of the bridge, and we met a dad with a beautiful baby girl in a stroller.
Then we walked past what looked like a yoga class in session on the west side of the bridge. It was the most ragtag group I'd ever seen, but they seemed to be enjoying learning their poses. Next to them sat two scruffy guys who were drinking who knows what out of a paper bagged bottle. One of them asked me if I was single and I laughed as we walked away (quickly).
It was shady and cool at the other end of the bridge, so I gave Lola some water and sat on a bench to read a few chapters of a Jane Austen book. Then it was time to go back.
We ran into three teenage kids who liked Lola. One of them asked me if I wanted to hear a song and I said yes. He pulled out a guitar and sang and played "No Rain" by Blind Melon and it was pretty good! He attracted a little crowd there on the bridge as he played.
After the song, we moved on, pausing to say hi to a family with two adorable little kids. They had cameras with them; obviously a perfect day and setting for some pictures.
We crossed the bridge and passed Red Seven again on the way back to the car. People looked so classy sitting on the patio under the square umbrellas, all dressed up for a special night out. The servers sailed around the tables removing and replacing big, square, steaming dishes that smelled irresistible.
We walked past the Lafayette Theater where a skinny guy in the ticket booth was eating a plate of noodles. I smiled at him and he smiled back. Then we went across the street and found the car. Lola climbed into my lap, which I usually don't allow when I'm driving. But this time I rolled my window down and let her hang her tongue out the window as we climbed 4th Street to the apartment buildings.
Now Lola is asleep, snoring her adorable pug snore on her little blue bed. I've got the living room window open. I can hear voices and dinner plates clinking through other open windows in the building. The crickets and every other insect in nature with a sound to make are creating little symphonies out in the woods. I love that sound.
Now it's dinner time and I know that as soon as I cross over the baby gate into the kitchen, Lola will wake up and start jumping around in anticipation of food. Then the sound of the skillet and the kitchen faucet will drown out the summer sounds coming through the window. Before I know it, it will be time for work.
So I'm going to hang on to this peaceful moment just a little bit longer.
But unfortunately, I don't possess that gift. So I'm just going to describe it to you.
Lola and I went for a walk downtown. It was perfect: sunny, comfortably cool, warm but not enough to break a sweat. Jeans and t-shirt (and scarf!) and sunglasses weather.
We took a lap around the courthouse square and passed the Java Roaster where there are ALWAYS people sitting around outside, which is one of the reasons I love the place so much. Today it was a friendly older man who gave Lola a good ear-scratch, a very school-of-ag looking student studying a text book, and a couple of biker dudes.
Lola and I turned the corner and headed toward the pedestrian bridge, passing Red Seven where people were enjoying the most scrumptious cuisine I have ever smelled. We decided to work up an appetite and started across the bridge.
As we climbed the depot stairs, a train passed underneath us, which is always fun for some reason. Lola looked so cute climbing up and down the stairways that got us to the pedestrian bridge. Something about those wrinkly little legs hopping steps and those perky little ears flopping and that pink tongue sticking out sideways just gets me!
We said hello to another older gentleman who was resting next to his walking cane on a bench in the middle of the bridge, and we met a dad with a beautiful baby girl in a stroller.
Then we walked past what looked like a yoga class in session on the west side of the bridge. It was the most ragtag group I'd ever seen, but they seemed to be enjoying learning their poses. Next to them sat two scruffy guys who were drinking who knows what out of a paper bagged bottle. One of them asked me if I was single and I laughed as we walked away (quickly).
It was shady and cool at the other end of the bridge, so I gave Lola some water and sat on a bench to read a few chapters of a Jane Austen book. Then it was time to go back.
We ran into three teenage kids who liked Lola. One of them asked me if I wanted to hear a song and I said yes. He pulled out a guitar and sang and played "No Rain" by Blind Melon and it was pretty good! He attracted a little crowd there on the bridge as he played.
After the song, we moved on, pausing to say hi to a family with two adorable little kids. They had cameras with them; obviously a perfect day and setting for some pictures.
We crossed the bridge and passed Red Seven again on the way back to the car. People looked so classy sitting on the patio under the square umbrellas, all dressed up for a special night out. The servers sailed around the tables removing and replacing big, square, steaming dishes that smelled irresistible.
We walked past the Lafayette Theater where a skinny guy in the ticket booth was eating a plate of noodles. I smiled at him and he smiled back. Then we went across the street and found the car. Lola climbed into my lap, which I usually don't allow when I'm driving. But this time I rolled my window down and let her hang her tongue out the window as we climbed 4th Street to the apartment buildings.
Now Lola is asleep, snoring her adorable pug snore on her little blue bed. I've got the living room window open. I can hear voices and dinner plates clinking through other open windows in the building. The crickets and every other insect in nature with a sound to make are creating little symphonies out in the woods. I love that sound.
Now it's dinner time and I know that as soon as I cross over the baby gate into the kitchen, Lola will wake up and start jumping around in anticipation of food. Then the sound of the skillet and the kitchen faucet will drown out the summer sounds coming through the window. Before I know it, it will be time for work.
So I'm going to hang on to this peaceful moment just a little bit longer.
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