I can't tell what causes these cycles--snark and bitching will crop up all the time but it cycles. It's hit a particularly high/low point this week. Everyone seems to just need to walk away from the keyboard for a while.
I think that's one of the challenges of being as connected as we are. We're less inclined to take a step back, walk away from the situation, regroup, rethink--we react in real time and hurt feelings seem to be proliferating.
I have a bit of a break coming. By sheer force of conference attendance, I'll be offline except via my cell most of the day. And since I don't have a Droid or Iphone or HTC or..... I'll be just barely checking email and following just enough people on twitter that my phone will be constantly vibrating with updates. It's good to get away--from the every day, from the constant connection--even as I'll be surrounded by people of my profession.
We need more offline days. Sounds like it's time for me to fly home and see you so we can haul about and be crazy and offline together.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Episode 48: The Long Slog
I'm one of "those" candidates. I work on my resume, I draft careful cover letters...and because I have the wonderful stain of children's work on my resume (which I can't remove without raising a lot of questions and eliminating most of my experience in this career field), I am continually passed over.
Three rejections recently. One was an internal hire, though they didn't bother to tell anyone that. No, they put out the job ad, pushed hard for applications, passed me through the layers, and then hired the person they already had inside.
The other two I didn't hear anything til it was a "you weren't selected." Which tells me nothing. No sense of why I wasn't considered even for an interview, other than the obvious that they are academic and I'm considered one of the lowly public types.
So it's back to hacking away at my resume, trying to figure out how to disguise what I do into an academically acceptable. And hearing from others that I should be spending all of my time volunteering to do what I'm trying to be paid to do. So wonderfully frustrating.
How are things in your job hunt?
Three rejections recently. One was an internal hire, though they didn't bother to tell anyone that. No, they put out the job ad, pushed hard for applications, passed me through the layers, and then hired the person they already had inside.
The other two I didn't hear anything til it was a "you weren't selected." Which tells me nothing. No sense of why I wasn't considered even for an interview, other than the obvious that they are academic and I'm considered one of the lowly public types.
So it's back to hacking away at my resume, trying to figure out how to disguise what I do into an academically acceptable. And hearing from others that I should be spending all of my time volunteering to do what I'm trying to be paid to do. So wonderfully frustrating.
How are things in your job hunt?
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Episode 47: Thursday Nights..
It was the first night of the weekend. No never mind that half of us had class, or work, or whatever required us to get up the next day...
At times the routine was much the same: the same people, the same place--if the music was good and you felt safe and had fun, you went back. Other times it was just D and I, bouncing from club to club to club, pulling out fake names and cell numbers when strange boys asked, making a mad run for the parking lot at the end of the night, giggling all the way.
We always began fresh from a shower though by the end of the night we'd need to start all over again. Tight jeans, high heels, and whatever cute shirt came to hand. A dash of glitter sometimes and a little too much make up. Shiny hair and a ponytail holder around one wrist for the inevitable time our hair just got too hot to manage down.
There's an aroma about the clubs: sweat and alcohol, hormones and energy. It's a little too sweet and there's a tinge of cigarette smoke. Like the tooth-twinging antiseptic of the dentist's office or the acetone overtones of the nail salon, it just sets the scene, neither good nor bad--just how it is.
The music starts pounding the minute you walk in and your ears take only a minute to find the words beneath the rhythm and the noise. If you want to talk to someone, your best bet is to get really close and talk low--right into their ear. This, of course, means that to get your order across to the barely dressed girl behind the bar, you have to lean all the way over. As long as you're not leering, she doesn't take offense.
It's a culture of hand gestures, gentle touches, eye and body language. A single raised eyebrow can ask a ton of questions; a hand at your waist have myriad meanings. The tightly packed atmosphere means you're dodging feet and bodies--fingertips lightly splayed on a stranger's back as you slip behind--headed for the bar or the bathroom. And the ever-present watchfulness for bottles on the floor, spilled drinks, and friends or strangers who might need a rescuing hand.
The tension of the week slips away as the focus becomes the here, the now, the music and the rhythm. The auto-tuned pop beats and the girls in ridiculous outfits resonate while the stress, the responsibilities, and the frustrations ooze out.
Too late we left the clubs, faced with the prospect of getting home, getting another shower, ripping off the entry bracelet or scrubbing off the stamp, grabbing a couple hours of sleep before waking with sore feet and the remnants of glitter still strewn across our skin. We downed coffee and hoped to stay awake long enough to make it through the day, yawning through the slight hangover and smiling at the intensity and total lack of importance of what came before.
I miss Thursdays nights.
At times the routine was much the same: the same people, the same place--if the music was good and you felt safe and had fun, you went back. Other times it was just D and I, bouncing from club to club to club, pulling out fake names and cell numbers when strange boys asked, making a mad run for the parking lot at the end of the night, giggling all the way.
We always began fresh from a shower though by the end of the night we'd need to start all over again. Tight jeans, high heels, and whatever cute shirt came to hand. A dash of glitter sometimes and a little too much make up. Shiny hair and a ponytail holder around one wrist for the inevitable time our hair just got too hot to manage down.
There's an aroma about the clubs: sweat and alcohol, hormones and energy. It's a little too sweet and there's a tinge of cigarette smoke. Like the tooth-twinging antiseptic of the dentist's office or the acetone overtones of the nail salon, it just sets the scene, neither good nor bad--just how it is.
The music starts pounding the minute you walk in and your ears take only a minute to find the words beneath the rhythm and the noise. If you want to talk to someone, your best bet is to get really close and talk low--right into their ear. This, of course, means that to get your order across to the barely dressed girl behind the bar, you have to lean all the way over. As long as you're not leering, she doesn't take offense.
It's a culture of hand gestures, gentle touches, eye and body language. A single raised eyebrow can ask a ton of questions; a hand at your waist have myriad meanings. The tightly packed atmosphere means you're dodging feet and bodies--fingertips lightly splayed on a stranger's back as you slip behind--headed for the bar or the bathroom. And the ever-present watchfulness for bottles on the floor, spilled drinks, and friends or strangers who might need a rescuing hand.
The tension of the week slips away as the focus becomes the here, the now, the music and the rhythm. The auto-tuned pop beats and the girls in ridiculous outfits resonate while the stress, the responsibilities, and the frustrations ooze out.
Too late we left the clubs, faced with the prospect of getting home, getting another shower, ripping off the entry bracelet or scrubbing off the stamp, grabbing a couple hours of sleep before waking with sore feet and the remnants of glitter still strewn across our skin. We downed coffee and hoped to stay awake long enough to make it through the day, yawning through the slight hangover and smiling at the intensity and total lack of importance of what came before.
I miss Thursdays nights.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Episode 46: Doing the Beautifying Thing
I'm headed to a national conference in a couple of weeks and the planning has begun, as well as the self-beautifying. Eyebrows got ripped out this morning; hair appointment (not with MY hairdresser *shudder*) next week. I have this thing about appearing in a national arena and not looking sloppy, unprofessional, etc. I don't like oversized t-shirts, Crocs, or anything that screams my current role. The goal is to be well dressed and just slightly ambiguous.
So that meant that I went clothes shopping. I popped into TJ Maxx in hopes of finding cute but reasonable blouses or tops--something appealing but still work appropriate or even just conference appropriate. I went in with an open mind, prepared to find things in unusual (for me) colors, interesting or funky prints, something out of norm...
And found mostly completely unwearable garments in the juniors area or things in the misses area that started only at a size 8 and went up. I know it's one of those search for treasure things, where you really have to be willing to dig through every rack. I dug, I considered, I took chances and I drug 9 items into the dressing room.
I ended up with a single blouse. It's not as dressy as I'd like, but it's decent and long and I can add jewelry that will make it a little dressier. Most of what I tried on was far too large, despite being "small" or a misses "extra-small"---because, of course, females built like me must be 13 and dressing only like their fav pop-teen-singers.We can't possibly be healthy adults with a desire to look professional. And don't get me started on the Facebook book group slamming skinny girls. I watched various acquaintances join and seriously thought about messaging them all and telling them that yes, I was taking their "liking" of that group personally and that I considered it a blatant insult--or commenting on the now married/in-a-serious-relationship guys walls about how they "used to not feel that way." But while it would have been amusing, I opted on the side of just rolling my eyes and moving on.
Leaving there, I thought perhaps I'd find something at Macys. Why I even bother looking is beyond me--Macy's in the Midwest rarely stocks clothing in my size. Add to that the general blah feeling I had about everything I was seeing this season--electric sorbet colors and continued 80s trends, and I was almost ready for a triple scoop of chocolate ice cream.
So, frustrated and irritated with the fashion world, I headed to the one store I know I can usually find something: Express. It's often more than I planned to spend but it fit and usually I can find a top or two that I like. Less luck with pants, but I'll forgive them. I tried on six items: a dress and five blouses. Two of the blouses were too small--which was actually nice. I ended up purchasing three blouses and then came home and ordered the dress online. I'd forgotten my coupon and wanted to use it. I have nowhere to wear the dress, it's totally inappropriate for work, and I'm not sure I have an appropriate bra for it; but it made me feel pretty and feminine and young. Not my usual squash-my-sexuality-into-a-box-and-hide-it-away because I work with children/the public and need to be as asexual as possible.
Now we just need to find somewhere for me to wear it with my soon to be freshly shorter hair. Don't worry, just getting it trimmed and the layers cleaned up.
So that meant that I went clothes shopping. I popped into TJ Maxx in hopes of finding cute but reasonable blouses or tops--something appealing but still work appropriate or even just conference appropriate. I went in with an open mind, prepared to find things in unusual (for me) colors, interesting or funky prints, something out of norm...
And found mostly completely unwearable garments in the juniors area or things in the misses area that started only at a size 8 and went up. I know it's one of those search for treasure things, where you really have to be willing to dig through every rack. I dug, I considered, I took chances and I drug 9 items into the dressing room.
I ended up with a single blouse. It's not as dressy as I'd like, but it's decent and long and I can add jewelry that will make it a little dressier. Most of what I tried on was far too large, despite being "small" or a misses "extra-small"---because, of course, females built like me must be 13 and dressing only like their fav pop-teen-singers.We can't possibly be healthy adults with a desire to look professional. And don't get me started on the Facebook book group slamming skinny girls. I watched various acquaintances join and seriously thought about messaging them all and telling them that yes, I was taking their "liking" of that group personally and that I considered it a blatant insult--or commenting on the now married/in-a-serious-relationship guys walls about how they "used to not feel that way." But while it would have been amusing, I opted on the side of just rolling my eyes and moving on.
Leaving there, I thought perhaps I'd find something at Macys. Why I even bother looking is beyond me--Macy's in the Midwest rarely stocks clothing in my size. Add to that the general blah feeling I had about everything I was seeing this season--electric sorbet colors and continued 80s trends, and I was almost ready for a triple scoop of chocolate ice cream.
So, frustrated and irritated with the fashion world, I headed to the one store I know I can usually find something: Express. It's often more than I planned to spend but it fit and usually I can find a top or two that I like. Less luck with pants, but I'll forgive them. I tried on six items: a dress and five blouses. Two of the blouses were too small--which was actually nice. I ended up purchasing three blouses and then came home and ordered the dress online. I'd forgotten my coupon and wanted to use it. I have nowhere to wear the dress, it's totally inappropriate for work, and I'm not sure I have an appropriate bra for it; but it made me feel pretty and feminine and young. Not my usual squash-my-sexuality-into-a-box-and-hide-it-away because I work with children/the public and need to be as asexual as possible.
Now we just need to find somewhere for me to wear it with my soon to be freshly shorter hair. Don't worry, just getting it trimmed and the layers cleaned up.
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