Archive for February, 2011

Do you have Prince Albert in a can? 

Knock, Knock…who’s there… boo… 

And thus we have entered the jokey years. 

I have to admit to getting a sort of kick out of these old chestnuts, though it requires effort for me not to ruin it for Spawn by saying the punch line.  I want the kid to think this is original material, newly sprung from this generation. 

Spawn has a (mostly) delightful sense of humor, which downloads directly from my husband.  My own sense of humor tends to run toward the dry side of things, bon mots and wordplay and a healthy dose of sarcasm, of which I am fluent in.  But Spawn and my husband are of the same ilk, which would account for the fake rat in the shower or the rubber snake in the laundry.   I try to take it in stride. 

What’s most interesting to me is to see the things that form in the kid’s brain, original ideas that spring from inside that head.  The kid’s starting to really gel. 

Now if I could just get the kid to comprehend the reading assignments for school, we’d be golden.

— Mox

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So.  The job thing. 

It’s no big secret that finding a job these days is not an easy prospect.  I can’t tell you how many jobs I have applied for, that were somewhere within my realm of experience and ability, that I have gotten a standard “thanks for your app but we hired someone else” letter from.  I don’t exactly live in a hotbed of advertising and marketing around here, so I’ve been trying to expand my scope to other types of positions, notably those that require good organizational and communication skills.  Basically, I’ll be content to be a secretary.  I just need some regular cash coming in so that we can pay the bills.  The job title is secondary at this point. 

Maybe that’s the wrong approach to finding a new job, but it is what it is. 

However, I got a bead on a job that’s open that’s actually in my field, and I applied for it.  The thing is, though, is that they are looking for someone with somewhere in the neighborhood of 5 years of experience and I’ve got…. lots more than that.  Try nearly 20 years of experience.  So it seems on the surface that this is an mid-level position and I am a candidate at the higher end of things.  In plainer terms, I’m overqualified. 

As these kids today say in their texts, FML. 

I don’t know if I’ll even get an interview.  They may look at my resume and do the math and ascertain that I am “overqualified” and pass me over because of it.  I tried to dial it back a bit, not saying explicitly that I’ve been in the ad biz for nearly 20 years, but all they have to do is check the dates.  Maybe I should have left the dates off the CV, I don’t know.   

All those years ago when I was fresh out of college and trying to get a job, it was one of those cases of chasing my tail.  I needed experience but I couldn’t get experience because no one would hire me because I had no experience. 

Now the shoe’s on the other foot and I’ve got boatloads of experience and they want someone with less experience. 

I’m certain they’re looking more towards mid-career level because of the cost factor.  They have no idea just how cheaply I can be had.  I’m a desperate woman here. 

The irony of this is not wasted on me.  All those years I tried to project myself as older and with professional expertise, dressing in the power suits and standing up straight and all those other things you have to do to be taken seriously amongst an older crowd… and suddenly it seems that the pendulum has swung way back in the other direction.  I should be at the top of my game, but the game has changed.  I feel like I am past my prime, and I didn’t even realize I was in my prime to start with.  Dammit. 

On the off chance I can actually get an interview with this company, I’m guessing I probably shouldn’t whip out my cheater glasses to read stuff. 

— Mox

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Not loving winter.  The end. 

— Mox

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Pajama Day.

So this has been Catholic Schools Week, and as such each day has had a “theme.”  Today’s theme was Pajama Day. 

I think Pajama Day is easily the favorite theme day for both the kids and the teachers, even though it always has to carry the caveat “please be appropriate.”  Because, you know, there are people who wouldn’t think of that.  Even in a Catholic school.  Pajama Day is always part of CSW and I think Spawn loves it because the kid loves to lay around in pajamas all day (think “snow day”).  As a matter of fact, I’m a big fan of not getting dressed some days, myself. 

That being said, I take considerable umbrage at the legions of people for whom every day is Pajama Day.  You know what I’m talking about:  those people who get out of their car at Walmart wearing Tweety Bird pajama pants, at two in the afternoon.  I mean, really.  That’s just flat-out lazy. 

I don’t think I have ever — ever! — stepped off my property whilst still in my jammies.  I’ve actually gone out to vote on Election Day while suffering from a stomach bug and never once did I consider to just roll up to the polls in my flannels.  Sweats, yes.  Flannels, no. 

I don’t have much of an issue with sweats as public attire, considering that more often than not I’m at Walmart Hell right after my stint at the gym.  But take note:  sweats as public attire need to be suitable for public consumption, which is to say, not ripped or stained.  And that goes for the tee-shirt you wear with them, too.  And I hate that that has to be said, but some people apparently have no pride. 

Just yesterday, as I was sitting in traffic waiting for the light to change, a young couple cut across the street in front of me.  Both of them were wearing pajama pants, and the girl actually was wearing bedroom slippers.  And it was 19° and blustery.  And they schlumped into the video store on the corner.  And if I ever come to that point in my life, where I am schubbing along in the freezing cold (because you know how I feel about that) wearing pajama pants and bedroom slippers in public (because now you know how I feel about that), please contact the authorities and have me removed.  Obviously that will be the point at which I have flipped my wig. 

— Mox

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