My job search is not going so well.
In the last few days, I’ve responded to 11 Craigslist ads for office assistant/receptionist type jobs in my area. I have only gotten one response back, and that is because it was an autoresponder set for the Independence Day holiday. I’ve applied at Costco, and was supposedly “next on the list” to be hired as per my sister who works at a different warehouse; they’ve since hired which means that I failed the 70+ question ethics test.
Which I would like to say is the stupidest invention ever. My problem with the ethics tests that most places require job applicants to take is the way they score them. I am an inherently honest person. I can’t really help it. It doesn’t occur to me to lie or steal or slack off. So when I answer these tests truthfully and honestly, I tend to fail. Why? Because it comes across as too perfect.
What would I do if I caught a co-working lying, stealing, slacking off, or one of a million other things that they’re not supposed to do? I would deal with it as if I owned the company I work for, and thus would inform the person who needs to know. Also, I hate working with people who do those things, and would prefer they not work with me. So yes. those are honest answers to those questions. However, when you score too perfect, they believe it means you are answering questions as you think they think you should answer (confused? think through it slower, and it becomes clear). But I’m not. I’m really not.
So, no Craigslist responses. I failed a Costco test for being too perfect. No available jobs in my field in Sacramento. And the regular go-to places for job hunting (Monster, et al.) don’t seem to be offering up office assistant positions.
Obviously, I have to keep looking. I do need a job. I’m not picky. I like working, no matter what the work is. There was the perfect job listing this afternoon on Craigslist. It was for a receptionist position in a downtown law firm with a supervisor. I would rock that position, especially since they made it clear there would be someone monitoring/training you (that’s always my biggest fear with these jobs; that it will be a small office and I will be the only one who “knows” that position, and thus would manage to screw something up by doing it wrong).
I really hope I get an email response from them tomorrow. It’s pretty much my dream job at this point.
But tomorrow is another day, and another five applications. I hope I find a job by my birthday.
How do you know when your world has fallen apart?
When everything gets put on hold for a month while you try to pick up pieces that have been ground into dust.
For those not in the know, my dad died at the end of May. On the night I graduated, actually.
Since then, my life has been in a holding pattern. I haven’t even begun looking seriously for a job. Instead, I’ve spent the last month being the family housewife, doing chores and running errands while they try to pull themselves together enough to get through the work day.
I was the only one of the four of us able to sleep after he died, the only one able to hold it together while the world cracked. A lot of it has to do with having E here by my side, making sure that I still do the normal things that make up life. But I know I’m a bit depressed. I don’t want to get out of bed in the morning. I don’t want to face that still my dad is gone. It’s hard for me too, since sometimes I don’t feel like I miss him. Being in Chico for the last two years has gotten me used to the day-to-day without him. For me, it’s when something happens that I’d want to tell him, or an event that I know he wouldn’t miss.
I haven’t even really began my job search. My family’s been laying off while we work through it, though if my dad was still here I’d be required to give a blow-by-blow on all my attempts for a job. I guess they figure that as soon as E starts working I’ll be tired of being alone that I’ll find one soon enough. Which is true. Much as I like spending the day with E, I’m begining to be annoyed at feeling like I haven’t accomplished anything in a day.
I want to write too, but for some reason I get the feeling that a book full of death poetry will be no one’s idea of a good time. For the time being, I’ve got an “I hate you for leaving me” journal that I write in whenever I miss my dad. I’d like to begin bloging in earnest again, too, but every time I try to do that, I let my self get distracted by something and get away from it again.
So no promises. But hopefully you’ll be seeing a lot more of me in the future.
I’m moving.
Which isn’t really much of a surprise since…I GRADUATE ON SATURDAY!!!!!!
Sorry. Excited.
What I’m not excited about though, is the actual moving part. Sure, I love packing up. I love going through my stuff and deciding what needs to come with me on the next leg of my journey and what can be left by the wayside as so much cruft. But I do not like the physicality of moving. Carrying boxes, beds, couches out the door and down a flight of stairs into a waiting truck? No thanks. It’s exausting to move.
Even worse is that this time, almost everything I own is going into storage for summer. Not because I’m doing something awesome like backpacking through Europe (though that was an option that I had to sensibly turn down due to extreme lack of money), but because I’m moving back in with my parents while I save up for my own place, again, and search for a job that will not make me a mindless bore.
My theory is that if I have nothing with me, I’ll have that much more of an incentive to not overstay my welcome and move on before my parents threaten to kick me out (much as they did when my brother finished his degree).
It’s made packing so much more difficult, because I have to divide things up into storage and to stay close. Right now, I’ve designated on drawer in my already-cleared-out craft dresser as the “take to parents” catch-all. Such random things have fallen in, so far. My OSX install disc1, a knitting project, my job search folder, an empty notebook that is destined for greatness, the thank you notes I’ll have to fill out after next week.
I am going to miss Chico, no doubt about it. But I am looking forward to moving forward, scary as it is2. I can’t say that school is my fallback any more. I mean, sure I could get a masters, but that’s not a fall back, that’s a trying to spring forward move.
But I need to find a job, find my niche in this crazy world. So lucky that I’ve got great friends to keep me sane while I try to reach a brass ring I’ve never even seen before.
But does anyone want to carry my couch down the stairs? I’ll help you pack your boxes (though I might make you get rid of that stuff you’ve been hauling around for years)…
- If only because I had to unpack it to fix my mac after the fiasco of the 10.5.7 update that completely borked and required a trip to the Apple store to fix. [back]
- Did I mention I’m graduating? [back]
I love camping.
After a dearth of camping going on in my life—I hadn’t been since before I started back in school, over four years ago—E and I have gone camping twice in the last month.
The first time was over spring break. We camped two of the nights, since we were going with the flow. We actually had to buy the tent down in Laguna Beach, since we had originally planned to sleep in the back of the Jeep, but completely forgot that we had stuffed it full with all of our gear and thus had no room for us.
Those two nights, we camped in San Clemente and Oceano Dunes. It was the first time I had camped that close to the ocean and not been freezing, previous experience being Dillon Beach, near Petaluma, which I recommend to no one in a tent.
Then last weekend, we went camping at Lake Shasta for E’s birthday.
It was our first two-day stay, meaning we didn’t take down camp immediately the next morning, and was our lesson in being better prepared. Which we were not.
E’s parents have these really awesome “camp boxes” which hold everything you need to camp, besides food, tent, and sleeping bags. Because we took the boxes this time (not over spring break), we didn’t really look through them to see what we needed. Turns out, we still needed a lot.
For example, I am the official camp dishwasher. I don’t mind this job1 as long as I am well prepared. And still, not prepared. I was expected to clean caked-on pans with… napkins. We forgot a scrubbie, again. At least we remembered to grab the soap from the kitchen sink, otherwise we would have been without that, too.
We were also minus a hatchet, which would have made it much easier to gather firewood, since we couldn’t break the larger pieces that would have burned better.
I love camping, though. It’s always nice to find more things that E and I seriously enjoy doing together. I’ve missed camping, as my parents have pretty much given it up since their RV went down the crapper, and they won’t camp without it. I have great memories of camping, and really do think it’s a great way to get away.
E and I have plans to try to go camping every month or so. We’re working on our own camping boxes2, planing on scoping yard sales for items on the cheep. After all, silverware doesn’t have to match when we’re camping.
And while we’re not “green” people in the sense that we try to be as green as possible, we both agree that we should limit our camping paper products. It’s much cheaper to use cloth towels and plastic plates, then using a bunch of paper that is just going to get thrown in the fire.
I’m so glad we went camping. It was fun to get away, and finally get caught up on our reading3. And also to unconnect. It was the first time in awhile that I took a weekend away from the laptop, and being unconnected with the world is pretty relaxing. I couldn’t do it for a long time, but a few days here and there is a good call.
(P.S.: This post isn’t anything where I thought it would go. I thought I’d write about our unintentional three-mile hike, but instead got distracted into the thought of getting back into camping. In another time, I would have held of and re-written it to be where I thought I wanted to go, but I promised to try a post a week, and if I tried to rewrite it, it would sit in post-limbo for another month.)
- Since I love doing dishes, it’s natural that this roll falls to me. And I know it’s wierd that I love doing dishes [back]
- We seriously sat down with a notepad and listed everything we needed, that we never remember. Flashlight, anyone? [back]
- Anyone walking by camp would have thought we were devout… we were both catching up on our Bible as Lit reading, so we had our bibles out and about all weekend. [back]
I don’t really think it needs to be said, but I’ll state the obvious: I’m a huge dork. My brother’s only been telling me that for the last 20 years, and I know he’s not wrong. But my dorkiness comes and goes—sometimes I feel downright hip—but today, today I am going to bask in the completeness of my inner dork, nerd, and geek, rolled into one.
Gather around, and let me tell you a story.
Once upon a time, I was a dorky seventeen, working at the local Taco Bell. I would work late nights, mostly because, well, my friends did. And these friends, they liked to play Magic the Gathering (MtG) late into the night. And as a girl playing, I was a huge novelty. My friends gave me cards, made my decks, forgot about me when we played in massive group games to the point where I might, and did, win.
MtG: Arena
I enjoyed playing, and there was a book that was passed around, called Arena, that was pretty much the most awesomest book ever. Well, by ever, I mean in the history of MtG. Which at that time, wasn’t a terribly long list; from what I gather, Arena was possibly the first.1 But what I liked about the book, and probably what other people liked about it too, was that the main character was someone like us—someone who controlled mana and cast spells, as you do in the game. It was unique in that for a fantasy, it was a different look at the world. It was the introduction of “the plainswalker.”2 The plainswalker in the book was the position the player had while playing the game. Instead of a lightning bolt being an actual, natural lightning bolt, it was a spell pulled from a pouch and called into being, much as you would play a card from your hand.
Now, fast forward, oh, nearly ten years or so. I’m done playing MtG. I sold all my cards off or gave them away. I only desperately want a copy of Arena because I remember how awesome it was, and I’m on a terrible nostalgia trip about the books I’ve loved. And then E comes back from summer vacation, hooked on MtG bad. I mentioned that I used to play, if he ever wanted someone to play with. And so we did. Even before we were “official” with our dating, he had already amassed a large card collection that we “shared,” meaning he bought it, and it stayed at my place.
This pretty much meant I didn’t have to worry about amassing cards myself, because I nearly never use them. They just look pretty, as there are always more cards than can go into a deck. But, as we get back into it, I think more and more about Arena, and how much I liked it. And wonder in passing if there are still MtG books. And of course there are. But now, these books are based on the sets; a new book is released to go along with each card set.
MtG: Morningtide
MtG: Lorwyn
And being hooked on MtG again, I get a hankering to read these books, especially the book to go with the card set that I had become enamored with, Morningtide3. Every time I went to Barnes and Nobel, I checked the shelves but it was never there. For Christmas, I ended up getting E a Fat Pack, which has some cards, dividers, boxes to match the set, and yay! for me, the Morningtide book. But It was still awhile until I read the book. Morningtide was a secondary set release, and it’s book, much like it’s cards, required Lorwyn to make full use of it. I didn’t really even think about reading the book until E bought a Lorwyn Fat Pack4. And then, of course I had to. So over a rather long period of time, I read them both. And thought they were rather good, actually. I could recognize some characters as related to specific cards in the deck, but I was really brought into the world that MtG has created.
I am not sure how this book world relates to the other sets of cards other than the Lorwyn/Morningtide/Shadowmoor/Eventide block, as I don’t really play past sets (though I still am fond for the Urza’s block), and haven’t read any other than the three books. The only part that really bothered me was the untied plotstrings at the end of the second book. The first makes you read the second (and the second really needs the first to make sense), but the end of the second doesn’t really end things. The world has changed, and the book ends right on the cusp of that change. And I’m nuts over the unresolved plot involving the Morningstar elf, who isn’t a card in her own right and seems to play a major if not understood or explained roll in the second book.
I could hope that the Shadowmoor book would pick up the plot, since that card set is “after” of the events that occur in the book, but just reading descriptions online doesn’t really make it clear. Morningtide is obviously a book two (it even says it on Amazon), but Shadowmoor is listed as it’s own series, making it unclear if it goes with the previous two books. Being the huge dork that I am, I will probably pick up Shadowmoor just to figure out what’s going on.
- It’s hard to tell, details are very sketchy on the MtG site. In fact, had I not ever read it and distinctly remembered it’s name, I probably never would have ever found a copy at The Used Bookstore in Chico. [back]
- Which, oddly, becomes a card type in the Lorwyn block of MtG. Because of this book, I feel very meta playing a plainswalker in my deck, when I used to be the role of a plainswalker. [back]
- I fell in love with the artwork, and then the way the set was played. What can I say. Distracted by shiny pretty things. [back]
- I won’t lie, it was mostly for the book and the “life counter.” But all E’s purchase. [back]
I woke up Saturday morning ready to find a job.
Which is a big step for me, actually. I’ve spent the last three months in denial that this is my last semester—though I’m ready for it to be over—and that on May 24 I won’t be a student any more, just unemployed.
My resume’s been looked at by the career center, now I just need to take it to my certificate advisor, and tweak it for a publishing job. But outside of publishing, I have no idea what job titles I’m searching for. I know what I want to do, and know that I’ll be good at it, but don’t know how that will translate into a job search.
Oh well. I’ll probably start applying places next week; I promised E I would apply for five jobs before I would buy a new bathing suit, and since Victoria’s Secret is having a ridiculously good sale on bikini’s, I’ve got some motivation to get things done.
So, job searching is top of the list now. Even above homework. Above hanging out with E. Above pretty much anything. I need to find a really good job where I can afford a one bedroom apartment on my own by the end of September. I’m not looking forward to moving back in with my parents while I save up for down payment and such.
So, if you know of an awesome job in the Sacramento area, hit me up. I’m looking.
I’m pretty much going to fail a class this semester. Worse still, I don’t particularly care.
For some reason, I decided last fall, when looking for classes, that since I needed a class specifically for the units and nothing else, that I’d take whatever one of my other friends was enrolled in that seemed interesting. Turned out, it was Physiology with E.
Physiology is pretty interesting, in that it’s all about how the body works. And the lab portion is always interesting; sometimes I get to shock E, sometimes he gets to make me taste horrid things.
But I am most definitely failing this class. No matter how I study for the lecture portion, whether I take extensive notes on the chapters, whether E and I quiz each other on the info, whether or not I show up to class, I am just not performing well when it comes to regurgitating information.
This is probably the hardest class I’ve taken in my college career. It’s the first one that made me feel like I was at a university and not a community college. Odd that it’s a 100-level course, and my last semester of school.
I’m pretty resigned to failure. This subject is not my forte. I have a problem remembering scientific terms, and I most definitely need a word-bank when asked to define terms. And unlike in English, I can’t talk my way into a reason. Either it’s right or wrong, there is no gray area in this level of science.
But why don’t I care? I think it’s a bigger problem then realizing that I am no good at this subject. There is a ton of stuff that I don’t particularly care about this semester. Most of it being school.
It’s my last semester, and I don’t care about any of my classes. I have three and an internship, not a single one is holding my attention to any length.
Most of the time, I’m stressing about the future. The economy is shit but I need to find a job. A job that is preferably somewhere close to E’s job, but we’re not talking about that because it’s still to far away. I’m worried about moving, about starting a new job, about what to do with the dog if I’m in another apartment (which I most assuredly will be), how am I going to pay back my student loan, and will I get to live happily ever after.
Since I don’t have answers to anything yet, it’s much easier to bury my head in the sand and pretend that nothing is happening at all. That my entire world is going to shift in less than four months.
So I’m failing and I don’t really care. My GPA can’t really go anywhere because I’ve got so many units as it is; failing isn’t going to keep me from my degree, and I needed these units only to get my money at the beginning of the semester, they serve no functional purpose now.
I pretty much need to shake myself out of this funk. And to do so, I’m going to try to start with blogging. Oh, how I’ve missed you, blog. I’ve grown bored with the internet, sunk deep into a malaise that I don’t know how to get out of. But I need to start doing what I love, and I love writing.
So, hold me accountable. Has it been more than three days since I last posted? Call me out. Twitter me. (@unsympathetic). Poke me. Email me. Whatever it is, however you do it, make me write.
Oh, and if you’ve got a topic idea, give it to me. Usually this place is all about me, but I never know what people are interested in. A jumping off point is always appreciated.
It’s weird, being home again in a place that doesn’t feel like home.
I’ve lived in this house since I was nine, but a year and a half after moving up to Chico, I feel like a guest any time I come home to visit. I’m sure it doesn’t help that usually I’m home for a week with no real purpose other than to be available to which ever of my family members deigns to spend any time with me.
I spend my time in the bedroom I grew up with, sitting in my old twin size bed, surrounded by the hodgepodge of furniture that I left behind, and feel like a stranger in a strange place.
I am home for Christmas break, and all I can think is, how many days until New Years Eve? How long until I can go back to Chico without my family being mad that I left town so soon, to spend time with the guy that until break, I’d spent every day and night with.
I feel vastly out of place in the house, in this town that until I moved away, was the only home I had ever had. I have lived in in three different suburbs of Sacramento, all so close together that they mesh as one large neighborhood where I knew where everything was. Now I come home and look around, comparing it to what I left behind in Chico.
How do you compare the suburbs that have emptied of all your friends, with a downtown where everyone is less than five minutes away? Compare having to drive to get anywhere to being able to walk anywhere safely? Compare the quiet to the bustle and beat of people out having a good time?
I am not a party girl, but I love that when I’m in Chico, I can walk to the bars, walk to the parties, walk anywhere and see anyone. I love that I will see more parked bikes than parked cars on any given day. That when I take my dog for a walk, I’m not the only one out.
Every time I come home to Sacramento, a city that I have loved my whole life and can’t help but to smile to myself as I wander around downtown, I have to remember that I am not a Sacramento girl. I’m a product of the suburbs. That even though the bus drops me downtown at 8th and K, it’s still another 20 minutes until I get home.
I had always wanted to live downtown when I was little, and now in Chico, I’m as close as you can get to downtown and not actually live in it. I love city life. I love that my apartment is the gathering point for all my friends, that any given day, at least two of them will stop by on their way to or from school. I love that our discussions have a sort of shorthand “I’m outside Holt…I’ll meet you by Glenn…We’re in the BMU.”
I love that my days have a pattern. Monday is football at Applebee’s. Tuesdays are movies with Am. Wednesdays I cook dinner. Friday is Rockband, Saturday a party somewhere, Sundays cookies with Ally.
When I come home, I have no plans. Nothing to do. A sister who wants to hang out, but then won’t pick up her phone for three days. I have no friends left in this town, no one I want to hang out with. You is working up in Crescent City, and he was the only one worthwhile left in this town.
So I’m home for Christmas. But I can’t wait to get back to Chico, to take the train to Redding and drive home with E, where we’ll spend New Years Eve with our friends, playing games and having fun.
I didn’t realize how much I had neglected the blog this semester, until I opened up Ecto and saw how many half-written, half–thought out blog posts that were waiting for me to come back to them. There are seven, in varying stages of done-ness, that I still want to tackle—still think are important to talk about.
However, as many of my online friends have noticed, I’ve been busy. I’ve been taking 20 units this semester, which is two more than I wanted, and probably five more than I should have done. But I’ve been keeping up with my coursework, even if I can’t keep up with the rest of my life.
With three weeks left in the semester, and three major projects still to work on (oh, wait, I should be working on one right now…oops), odds are pretty good that there will still be no well-thought out, “this is my life” blog posts that this site is known for. If its still known for anything, that is.
Feeling guilty about my lack of posting, I thought I should run down a list of things that have happened since the last time I did this, which seems to be the only way I talk about the important things in my life:
- E, the cause of so much drama in my life (not that it was a bad thing) finally decided what he wanted, and surprise, it was me. Damn good thing I’m persistent and always right. He makes me ridiculously happy, and was totally worth the effort.
- My internship was moved up a semester, so I designed the fall Watershed—mostly because the spring one was cut due to budget cuts. Turned in my files last week, and am very relieved to be done, though I can’t wait to see it when it gets back from the printer.
- Open Mic Night for Sigma Tau was very wishy-washy this semester. We weren’t sure if we were even going to be able to get a date this semester, but December 5th is all ours at Has Beans… I should probably design that flier soon.
- Alturas came home with me for Thanksgiving, and it’s a good thing she did. If she wasn’t here, I’d probably be sleeping in late everyday, and not getting anything done. At least now I’m waking up early and not getting anything done.
- Ran into the ex this morning at Wal-Mart. Not surprised, since he works overnights, and we were there at 5am to get a gift for my sister. Didn’t talk to him, but still awkward, just the same.
- Can’t wait to bake cookies with Ally on Sunday night. If I’m not to exhausted by then.
That’s pretty much it. We’ve been playing Magic the Gathering (like I needed that addiction again), partying in our own non-partyish ways, and pretty much trying to cram as much fun into this semester as is possible when there’s practically no time to do anything.
I’ll try to blog when I can. Predidicting that it’s not happening until January. Sorry. It’ll take at least two weeks to decompress after the semester is done. But I miss you, even while I ignore you.
It’s the boy I make out with in the dark corner of the party when no one is looking.
My friends and I often have really lame conversations about what we think we could live without. A left hand. A kidney. Eyesight. Hearing.
I don’t know what I would do if I went deaf. I can’t imagine not hearing the opening chords to Welcome to the Jungle, Kashmir, Nine in the Afternoon, Hum Hallelujah1. I can’t imagine not being able to hear the music I love, be introduced to a new heart that I can’t imagine living without, not having that connection to my secret soul that only music can give a voice to.
Music is the way I say I love you. It’s the way I break my heart day by day. It’s what gets me from moment to moment, and is a time machine into my memories, each song dredging up an image or ten that compete for attention while I lose myself in the way the base thumps in time to my heart.
I bought a new album this month—not just a bunch of random songs as usual—and as I listened to it for the first time, I remembered what I was missing. As I lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, letting Fast Times at Barrington High by The Academy Is… wash over me, through me
(But you weren’t there to hear it
These lines, so well rehearsed
Tongue tied and over-loaded
You’ll never noticeI’m not in love
This is not my heart
I’m not gonna waste these words
About a girlI’m not in love
This is not your song
I’m not gonna waste these words
About a girl) —About a Girl
I remembered what I had forgotten. I don’t give a shit about anyone else’s opinion in music.
I am an emo girl. But I’m also all about the power ballads, the pop songs, the one-hit-wonders, the catchy tune that makes no sense but you can’t help but tap your toes to. I will listen to anything. And I couldn’t care less what anyone else thinks about it.
I am pretty sure that my soul is made of music. That the most important moments of my life will always have a sound track. That music is more intimate to me than my fiction, than my poetry, than my own words written out.
Last week, E and I were watching a movie in my room, and when it ended, it was too quiet. We were just laying there, and I picked up the remote to start playing music on my laptop. As I flicked through the playlists, my first thought was “he’s not going to like any of these, and I don’t really want to dig down to find albums that I know he likes.” And then he told me to just put on whatever.
Every month, I make a playlist of how I feel for the month. Thus it’s taken me an entire month to mush together a playlist for September. I’m continually adding and removing songs, trying to find the ones that fit together, that paint a snapshot of me in this month. And not even thinking about it, I play for E September’s unfinished playlist. The one that is all about not opening your heart any wider than it already is for fear of it getting stomped on, but still you have to open it up.
These songs are about love and heartbreak, about refusing to see what’s right in front of your face. These songs are what make up my soul this month, and it’s not something I usually share with anyone.
As the Hush Sound began to play, I wondered if he’d pay enough attention, if he’d realize what all these songs are saying, what they mean to me. And then I realized, I’m not ready for him to know that yet.
But there will always be another playlist, another month to fill my soul with music that means more to me than anyone else, a secret that I’ll play to myself over and over. And one day, I’ll let someone else in on the secret.
But don’t make fun of my music. I’ll cut you for that.
- Guns ‘n’ Roses, Led Zepplin, Panic at the Disco, Fall Out Boy, in case you were wondering. [back]
