The topic of tonight's post, friends, is common courtesy. Wow, that sounded really passive aggressive. I'm not accusing you guys of being uncourteous*, I swear! No, the target of my ire is my next door neighbor.
I shall call him George.
No, George is too awesome of a name for him.
I shall call him...Wonston. That's right. Wonston. It was going to be Winston, but the "i" and the "o" are really close together on the keyboard and it's too late to turn back now, so Wonston it is.
Wonston has been living next door to me for a couple of years. I've never spoken to him (our neighborhood is not what you might call "friendly"), so I have no idea how many people actually live in his house...but they have seven cars. Seven freaking cars, people. Two are parked in their driveway. Three are in front of their house. And two are in front of my house. Most of the cars rotate in and out - sometimes the Jeep is in the driveway, sometimes it's the Corolla with the "Jesus Loves You" license plate frame - but the ones in front of my house never move. They're just there...in front of my house...forever.
You know what, Wonston? I would like to park in front of my house.
I live on a corner, Wonston. You know that, because you live next to me. Around said corner, there is room for at least six of your multitude of cars. Why do you insist on trying to fit both of your humongotron pickups in the space between my driveway and the handicap ramp for the crosswalk? This isn't the twilight zone. Neither of them magically shrink when the other is present. You either block off the ramp, leaving wheelchair-bound folks SOL, or you extend a good half-foot into my barely-big-enough-for-one-car driveway, forcing me to go off-roading every time I stop home for lunch.
Wonston is my mortal enemy. And he knows it, too. (Why yes, I am being melodramatic. Why do you ask?) Last week, the parking duel came to a head: I was walking up my driveway as he was leaving his house. I opened the gate, turned, and spotted him. We made eye contact. I glanced meaningfully at my car, then at his, and looked at him. He gave me a nod, seeming to understand. He walked to his car. I loitered at the mailbox. He turned the ignition. It roared to life. He looked at me. Smiled. He got something from the glove box, turned the car off, and walked back inside. CURSES, I thought. Curses indeed.
Also, before you say that I should be a little less film noir with my narrative and actually talk to the guy, there is some shady stuff going on at that house. Unless he just has a bunch of friends who enjoy stopping by at all hours for a quick chat through the windows of their cars. Yeah. I'm sure that's it.
Pretty exciting, right? See what all of you are missing?
First day of bike commuting to work tomorrow. I bought a bell. Here's hoping I don't die.
*It should be a word.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Born to Run
Yeah, that title has absolutely nothing to do with anything; it was just the answer to a pub quiz question from the other night. That's right! I've finally found people who enjoy pub quiz! They're not supergeniuses or anything (not that I lump myself into that category either), but they're cool. Meetup comes through again!
Anyway, I told myself I was going to try and post here more often now that the calendar's rolled over to 2011. I don't know if the content will be any better, but at least more frequent posts will mean shorter posts. That's good, right?
I've discovered in my...nine days as an editor that lists are good. Let's stick with lists.
One last thing before I head off, though: a poll. Do you guys enjoy living vicariously through me as I work my way up the corporate ladder, or would you prefer I stick with less day-to-day and more "hilarity ensues"?
Anyway, I told myself I was going to try and post here more often now that the calendar's rolled over to 2011. I don't know if the content will be any better, but at least more frequent posts will mean shorter posts. That's good, right?
I've discovered in my...nine days as an editor that lists are good. Let's stick with lists.
- I've been to the cubes! Well, I've been past the cubes in search of the printer. That counts, right? I am starting to learn people's names, though. Kind of. They all start with "D," so it's super confusing.
- I have a key! It's not technically mine - the picture on it is a thirty-something Asian lady - but I have one and I don't get locked out anymore! Couldn't have come at a better time because I've become the absent-minded professor over here. They say that multitasking actually makes you less efficient overall, and I'd definitely have to concur.
From the Daily Mail: The human brain doesn’t multi-task like an expert juggler; it switches frantically between tasks like a bad amateur plate-spinner. True that.
- I just bought a fancy schmancy new laptop bag so I don't kill my computer on the commute to work. Now I just need a headlight and I'll be good to go for epic bike riding. Well, it won't be that epic. Five miles round trip, I believe. And I have two steadfast rules: (1) no spandex, and (2) no reflective pant-leg-holder thingies.
One last thing before I head off, though: a poll. Do you guys enjoy living vicariously through me as I work my way up the corporate ladder, or would you prefer I stick with less day-to-day and more "hilarity ensues"?
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Life Is Like a Hurricane Here In Duckberg
I'd say my life right now is about a category four, but I expect it to increase by a few kilometers per hour and hit category five in no time.
The last time we spoke, I mentioned that I was going to become a full-time employee at some point in the near future. I still had to put the finishing touches on my guide, but it was expected that I would start once that was wrapped up. Namely, I had planned on becoming a grown-up on February 1st.
Yeah...aboooout that...
I'm a full-time employee! And I have been for five whole days now. (It would have been three, but I had to work the weekend. Both days. So it totally counts.)
Long story short (partially because of my non-disclosure agreement and partially because I have been on this stupid computer all freaking day), I got an email on Tuesday night asking me if I could start "tomorrow." I could feel the desperation in The Editor's keystrokes (yes, I'm calling everyone by their titles). I was kind of burning out on my project anyway, so I agreed. Unfortunately, that meant a little less than 12 hours of freedom before officially becoming an adult. I had a minor freak-out along the lines of "oh my gosh, this is going to be my life now," but with that behind me, I was ridiculously excited to start work.
I won't bore you guys with the details of my first few days (actually, I had kind of an awesome time), but here are some observations for you:
1. There seems to be a clear divide between the "creative types" and the "engineering types." I know that's probably the case in every office, but it seems especially stark at my company because there's actually a physical barrier: a giant glass wall. The writers are all together in "the pit" (which is basically just a room with a giant table) so we can talk to each other, and the non-writers are all in the cubes. I've never even been to the cubes. I just look at them from afar and wonder who's back there. I'm thinking about bringing cupcakes once this project is finished, though. Maybe that will help bridge the gap.
2. Something needs to be done about the key situation. Right now, I think there are three keys milling about: an Engineer has one, The CEO has one, and The Editor has one. This would work out just fine if they were the first ones to arrive in the morning, the last ones to leave at night, and just stayed in the office all day. But they aren't, and they don't. So, on my first day, I was locked out. And on my third day, I was locked out twice! I'm going to need to figure out a way to get me one of those key cards.
3. My office is one exit away on the freeway. One exit! If I ever have time to get to the bike shop and get a new headlight (and maybe a bell, just so I don't die) for the ol' velocipede, I think I'm going to start cycling to work. I've gotten - how do I put this delicately? - squishy since coming back from school. I didn't know it at the time, but riding my bike to class was the only reason one delicious Chipotle burrito a week didn't leave me buying new pants every other month. Not that I've had to buy a whole lot of new pants or anything, but the ones I do have are fitting just a little tighter these days.
I'm sure there are other things, but I can't remember them right now. All I can say is that this job is even more perfect for me than I thought it would be. I get to spend all day nitpicking other people's work, and whenever I need to write something of my own, I get a subject and a length and then get to do whatever I want with it. I also get paid to research things like Horatio-isms (from CSI: Miami) and the Guinness World Record for skipping stones (51). And I get coworkers! Coworkers who don't smell and who don't sneeze on me or creepily read over my shoulder. It's amazing.
The last time we spoke, I mentioned that I was going to become a full-time employee at some point in the near future. I still had to put the finishing touches on my guide, but it was expected that I would start once that was wrapped up. Namely, I had planned on becoming a grown-up on February 1st.
Yeah...aboooout that...
I'm a full-time employee! And I have been for five whole days now. (It would have been three, but I had to work the weekend. Both days. So it totally counts.)
Long story short (partially because of my non-disclosure agreement and partially because I have been on this stupid computer all freaking day), I got an email on Tuesday night asking me if I could start "tomorrow." I could feel the desperation in The Editor's keystrokes (yes, I'm calling everyone by their titles). I was kind of burning out on my project anyway, so I agreed. Unfortunately, that meant a little less than 12 hours of freedom before officially becoming an adult. I had a minor freak-out along the lines of "oh my gosh, this is going to be my life now," but with that behind me, I was ridiculously excited to start work.
I won't bore you guys with the details of my first few days (actually, I had kind of an awesome time), but here are some observations for you:
1. There seems to be a clear divide between the "creative types" and the "engineering types." I know that's probably the case in every office, but it seems especially stark at my company because there's actually a physical barrier: a giant glass wall. The writers are all together in "the pit" (which is basically just a room with a giant table) so we can talk to each other, and the non-writers are all in the cubes. I've never even been to the cubes. I just look at them from afar and wonder who's back there. I'm thinking about bringing cupcakes once this project is finished, though. Maybe that will help bridge the gap.
2. Something needs to be done about the key situation. Right now, I think there are three keys milling about: an Engineer has one, The CEO has one, and The Editor has one. This would work out just fine if they were the first ones to arrive in the morning, the last ones to leave at night, and just stayed in the office all day. But they aren't, and they don't. So, on my first day, I was locked out. And on my third day, I was locked out twice! I'm going to need to figure out a way to get me one of those key cards.
3. My office is one exit away on the freeway. One exit! If I ever have time to get to the bike shop and get a new headlight (and maybe a bell, just so I don't die) for the ol' velocipede, I think I'm going to start cycling to work. I've gotten - how do I put this delicately? - squishy since coming back from school. I didn't know it at the time, but riding my bike to class was the only reason one delicious Chipotle burrito a week didn't leave me buying new pants every other month. Not that I've had to buy a whole lot of new pants or anything, but the ones I do have are fitting just a little tighter these days.
I'm sure there are other things, but I can't remember them right now. All I can say is that this job is even more perfect for me than I thought it would be. I get to spend all day nitpicking other people's work, and whenever I need to write something of my own, I get a subject and a length and then get to do whatever I want with it. I also get paid to research things like Horatio-isms (from CSI: Miami) and the Guinness World Record for skipping stones (51). And I get coworkers! Coworkers who don't smell and who don't sneeze on me or creepily read over my shoulder. It's amazing.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Kit and Kaboodle
Newsflash, people: I am no longer unemployed. No. Longer. Unemployed. Meaning that I have a job, and it's a job that pays. Like, real money. What. Please bask in the glory of my new title: project-based content writer for [insert company name]. (I know somebody somewhere has a Google alert set up for that name, and I'd like to keep this blog just between us, thank you very much.) I'm currently working on a study guide for the high school exit exam, which means teaching tenth graders all about past participles and misplaced modifiers. It's awesome. Well, except for the fact that I need to learn all about that stuff first. Whoops.
The Story:
I stumbled upon the listing a few weeks ago and started writing my regular old three-paragraph, discuss-how-you-found-the-listing-then-discuss-why-you're-perfect-for-the-job-then-bid-them-a-courteous-adieu-type cover letter. Halfway through, I scrapped it and started over on something that actually expressed who I was as a person in the hopes that it would enable them to think of me as more than a piece of paper.
And it worked!
Who knows if it was my reckless abandon or if the company and I were just meant for each other, but they actually got back to me. They emailed me saying that they had already filled the position for which I had applied, but hey, a response is a response. About a week later, I received another email encouraging me to apply for a writer position. They seemed to be courting me. This was indeed a strange turn of events. I'd never really been wanted by a place of work before, so of course I was willing to play the game.
I submitted the writing samples they wanted me to submit (thanks again for the corrections, by the way), and then the waiting began. It was another week before I got a call from someone at the company. I missed it, of course, and when I called back, I managed to mispronounce the company's freaking name! Ugh...so like me. Naturally, this all happened on a Friday so I was able to thoroughly get my worry-wart on.
A few days later and I had a callback (no mention of the mispronunciation), a brief phone interview, and then the magic words: "I'd like to set up an appointment for you to speak with the CEO." Set for later that day. She called. We talked. I went to Cal. She went to Stanford. Irreconcilable differences? I think not. She asked about trivia. I impressed. She laughed. I dazzled. She hired.
On the spot, ladies and gentlemen. On the spot.
Never in a million years did I think that I would be making money as a writer, but I suppose my saving grace is that they actually like me as a person. They like my voice. I get to write for work the way I write for this blog. (And they actually think it's funny! Who knew?) Even though I'm writing study guides for high schoolers, I don't have to be stuffy and pretentious. I can just be me! It's kind of cool. Also, it doesn't hurt that I set my own hours and get to work from home. That part is pretty great as well.
I'm still not sure exactly what effect my new job will have on this here thingamajig. I thought initially that maybe I would be so sick of sitting in front of my computer that I would neglect to do anything non-work-related until my project's due date. But then I remembered that I love procrastinating almost as much as I love food. (Well, it's more of a love-hate relationship with the laziness, actually.) So I think I might be writing in here more often. After December, that is; I can't bring myself to mess up my perfect updating record until I am able to start afresh in 2011.
Happy holidays, friendlies!
The Story:
I stumbled upon the listing a few weeks ago and started writing my regular old three-paragraph, discuss-how-you-found-the-listing-then-discuss-why-you're-perfect-for-the-job-then-bid-them-a-courteous-adieu-type cover letter. Halfway through, I scrapped it and started over on something that actually expressed who I was as a person in the hopes that it would enable them to think of me as more than a piece of paper.
And it worked!
Who knows if it was my reckless abandon or if the company and I were just meant for each other, but they actually got back to me. They emailed me saying that they had already filled the position for which I had applied, but hey, a response is a response. About a week later, I received another email encouraging me to apply for a writer position. They seemed to be courting me. This was indeed a strange turn of events. I'd never really been wanted by a place of work before, so of course I was willing to play the game.
I submitted the writing samples they wanted me to submit (thanks again for the corrections, by the way), and then the waiting began. It was another week before I got a call from someone at the company. I missed it, of course, and when I called back, I managed to mispronounce the company's freaking name! Ugh...so like me. Naturally, this all happened on a Friday so I was able to thoroughly get my worry-wart on.
A few days later and I had a callback (no mention of the mispronunciation), a brief phone interview, and then the magic words: "I'd like to set up an appointment for you to speak with the CEO." Set for later that day. She called. We talked. I went to Cal. She went to Stanford. Irreconcilable differences? I think not. She asked about trivia. I impressed. She laughed. I dazzled. She hired.
On the spot, ladies and gentlemen. On the spot.
Never in a million years did I think that I would be making money as a writer, but I suppose my saving grace is that they actually like me as a person. They like my voice. I get to write for work the way I write for this blog. (And they actually think it's funny! Who knew?) Even though I'm writing study guides for high schoolers, I don't have to be stuffy and pretentious. I can just be me! It's kind of cool. Also, it doesn't hurt that I set my own hours and get to work from home. That part is pretty great as well.
I'm still not sure exactly what effect my new job will have on this here thingamajig. I thought initially that maybe I would be so sick of sitting in front of my computer that I would neglect to do anything non-work-related until my project's due date. But then I remembered that I love procrastinating almost as much as I love food. (Well, it's more of a love-hate relationship with the laziness, actually.) So I think I might be writing in here more often. After December, that is; I can't bring myself to mess up my perfect updating record until I am able to start afresh in 2011.
Happy holidays, friendlies!
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Don't Rain On My Parade
Before I begin, I just wanted to ask (both of) you for some feedback on my new-ish layout. I, personally, think it's pretty and relaxing and makes me want to take a vacation to Hawai'i, but I'm not the one who has to stare at it for minutes at a time. So, thoughts? Is the background too busy? The font too Times-New-Roman-y, perhaps? Or maybe just too small? Let me know, and I will gladly make changes.
Now, back to business. It's November! And you guys know what that means: my favorite food-based holiday is right around the corner! Ahhhhh Turkey Day, the crown jewel of holidays for gluttons everywhere. Okay, just gluttons in America, I suppose. Anyway, this time of year always makes me think about how much I love food. Seriously, guys, I love it a whole lot. I wanted to be a pastry chef for the vast majority of my childhood, and I would drop everything and go to culinary school in a second if I could actually afford it. But, sadly, I can't. So, I've been looking into the next best thing: working in a bakery/cafe/patisserie/chocolaterie. Surprisingly, there are a lot of them around here. A lot. (Sidenote: why haven't I ever been to any of these places? How could I have missed all the dessert-alicious wonder??)
So here's my dilemma: as a UC Berkeley graduate, can I bring myself to work a job where the only requirements are being able to stand for eight hours and lift ten to fifty pounds. Did I really go to college for four (and a half) years, and pay tens of thousands of dollars into the system, only to return to the types of jobs I was working back in high school?
Maybe I sound ridiculously haughty and pretentious, but I feel like the minute I hit "submit" on that online application, I'll be flushing the last five years of my life down the drain. No one will care that I majored in political economy if I'm working the counter at Starbucks. No one will care that I studied abroad in Germany if I'm restocking the display case at the local cafe. And that's the scariest part: no one will care. The glorious Berkeley degree for which I worked so hard, the thing I was told was a fail-safe even in the toughest of economic times, won't matter. In fact, not only will it not matter, it will be considered a hindrance; on my so-called "retail resume," my "education" section has now fallen all the way to the bottom.
I know that I'm not the only one facing this dilemma, and I know that my first job won't be the be-all and end-all of my career, but still...I don't want to go down that road. Not yet. Not after all this time. Have I really exhausted all of my other options?
And then an awesome (and, at times, super necessary) part of my brain breaks in with a little optimism. It says to Debbie Downer over here that it loves food, particularly dessert-type food, and it likes people, particularly dessert-type people. Would working in a chocolate shop really be that bad? Wouldn't walking into your office and smelling cupcakes wafting through the back of the house be kind of awesome? And Debbie Downer stops...and thinks...and says, "You know what? It would be."
Now, back to business. It's November! And you guys know what that means: my favorite food-based holiday is right around the corner! Ahhhhh Turkey Day, the crown jewel of holidays for gluttons everywhere. Okay, just gluttons in America, I suppose. Anyway, this time of year always makes me think about how much I love food. Seriously, guys, I love it a whole lot. I wanted to be a pastry chef for the vast majority of my childhood, and I would drop everything and go to culinary school in a second if I could actually afford it. But, sadly, I can't. So, I've been looking into the next best thing: working in a bakery/cafe/patisserie/chocolaterie. Surprisingly, there are a lot of them around here. A lot. (Sidenote: why haven't I ever been to any of these places? How could I have missed all the dessert-alicious wonder??)
So here's my dilemma: as a UC Berkeley graduate, can I bring myself to work a job where the only requirements are being able to stand for eight hours and lift ten to fifty pounds. Did I really go to college for four (and a half) years, and pay tens of thousands of dollars into the system, only to return to the types of jobs I was working back in high school?
Maybe I sound ridiculously haughty and pretentious, but I feel like the minute I hit "submit" on that online application, I'll be flushing the last five years of my life down the drain. No one will care that I majored in political economy if I'm working the counter at Starbucks. No one will care that I studied abroad in Germany if I'm restocking the display case at the local cafe. And that's the scariest part: no one will care. The glorious Berkeley degree for which I worked so hard, the thing I was told was a fail-safe even in the toughest of economic times, won't matter. In fact, not only will it not matter, it will be considered a hindrance; on my so-called "retail resume," my "education" section has now fallen all the way to the bottom.
I know that I'm not the only one facing this dilemma, and I know that my first job won't be the be-all and end-all of my career, but still...I don't want to go down that road. Not yet. Not after all this time. Have I really exhausted all of my other options?
And then an awesome (and, at times, super necessary) part of my brain breaks in with a little optimism. It says to Debbie Downer over here that it loves food, particularly dessert-type food, and it likes people, particularly dessert-type people. Would working in a chocolate shop really be that bad? Wouldn't walking into your office and smelling cupcakes wafting through the back of the house be kind of awesome? And Debbie Downer stops...and thinks...and says, "You know what? It would be."
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Pub Parables
Well, guys, today has been quite a day. But more on that later. I thought that, for this month's post, I might do another pub tale, since the last one seemed to go over so well. Join me, won't you?
You guys know me--I'm not a big trier-of-new-things--but when I heard about $5 pitchers and beer pong at a recently-opened bar in Redwood City, I couldn't resist. I made the decision to take the train; since I wouldn't know a single person there, I figured that commuting with others would be a way to avoid an awkward entrance. Basically, I had this vision of me, relegated to a corner, slowly sipping my warm Rolling Rock, while everyone else was laughing like old friends and reveling in how much more awesome they were than I. And all just because I had driven my car. Definitely didn't want that vision to become a reality.
So I caught the train. Actually, I was running super late, raced to the station, parked my car in a questionable area, hoped that I wouldn't have a ticket waiting for me when I got back, ran to the automated ticket dispenser, tried to pay with my credit card, had my credit card rejected (the reader was broken), tried to pay with cash, had my bills rejected, dug around my bag for exact change, finally got my ticket, and ran across the tracks with the safety gate horns blaring and seconds to spare. And then I caught the train.
It had been decided that we would all meet in the rear car. And by "it had been decided," I mean that other people had posted on the discussion board that this was where we were meeting, and I just assumed that I would run into them there. (This assumption will come back to bite me in the ass later, don't you worry.) But then I got on the train, and, surprise surprise, there was no one in the rear car. I had the organizer's phone number, but I was already so far out of my comfort zone by just making the decision to go to this event that I couldn't bring myself to call him. I ran through so many scenarios in my head. The best one being me wandering around the train aimlessly, looking like an idiot, asking anyone who seemed to be around my age if they were part of "the group," and then being secretly kidnapped by the CIA. (Okay, I wasn't really worried about being kidnapped by the CIA, but honestly, I spent the first ten minutes of the train ride weighing the pros and cons of a text; I'm constantly surprised by the fact that I occasionally manage to get over my near-crippling social anxiety enough to do anything but sit at home in my jammers.)
Needless to say, I spent the rest of the ride by myself. My only entertainment was listening to the lady in front of meeat slurp a nectarine and suck her teeth in an apparently vain attempt to remove stone fruit remnants from her pearly whites. The joys of public transit.
After what felt like hours--but was really more like 20 minutes--we finally arrived. Redwood City: the city of...redwoods?* I stepped out of the train into a balmy, early-October evening...and directly proceeded to walk in the wrong direction. You see, thinking that I would meet people on the train, I hadn't bothered to look up where this place actually was. Once I realized that things were not quite right, I stopped to get my bearings and noticed a young-ish gentleman who looked almost as lost as I did. "This guy," I thought to myself. "This guy is definitely going where I am going, and I'm going to follow him." And follow him I did! I actually managed to end up on the correct street somehow, at which point the guy and I went our separate ways. Guess he wasn't going where I was going after all.** I walked and walked, convinced that I was going to be murdered but trying to look super nonchalant about it; and then finally, like a message from above, I saw the London Underground sign peering out at me.
The pub is called The Underground, but I didn't really make the connection until I saw that sign. It was at that very moment that I knew: this was the pub for me. I walked up to find a couple of old-timey regulars sitting out front in their jaunty, plaid wool newsboy caps and cable-knit cardigans. Thinking about it now, that sounds a little too perfect and might all have been a figment of my imagination. Regardless, I felt right at home. The downstairs portion of the pub was deserted, but to my right was a staircase. I started to ascend, thinking that this was much much too easy, but when I got to the top of the stair, there they all were. In all their recent graduate glory. It actually felt a bit too much like a high-school dance for my liking. The girls were on one side, doing their makeup; the guys were on the other, punching each other in the arm for some unknown reason. And then there was me. Smack-dab in the middle. Instead of pulling my usual wallflower stunt, I got two jello shots and wedged my way into the guys' group. (I mean, makeup? Please.)
Thankfully, someone dragged me to a beer pong table, where I was introduced to my teammate. We'd own the table for the rest of the night, thanks, in part, to the fact that I was on fire at least once per game. Then it was time for flip cup, and despite one ignominious defeat, it was a lot of fun. I met people, made new friends, and the bartendress didn't even give me dirty looks when I switched to water! Who could ask for more?
I promised more on my eventful day, but honestly, this kind of took on a life of its own. Long story short, I may have shot myself in the foot re: the job hunt due to the sending-out of unopenable resumes, and I spent about an hour today thinking that someone had stolen my cell phone. They hadn't, but you know, it's the thought that counts.
So I caught the train. Actually, I was running super late, raced to the station, parked my car in a questionable area, hoped that I wouldn't have a ticket waiting for me when I got back, ran to the automated ticket dispenser, tried to pay with my credit card, had my credit card rejected (the reader was broken), tried to pay with cash, had my bills rejected, dug around my bag for exact change, finally got my ticket, and ran across the tracks with the safety gate horns blaring and seconds to spare. And then I caught the train.
It had been decided that we would all meet in the rear car. And by "it had been decided," I mean that other people had posted on the discussion board that this was where we were meeting, and I just assumed that I would run into them there. (This assumption will come back to bite me in the ass later, don't you worry.) But then I got on the train, and, surprise surprise, there was no one in the rear car. I had the organizer's phone number, but I was already so far out of my comfort zone by just making the decision to go to this event that I couldn't bring myself to call him. I ran through so many scenarios in my head. The best one being me wandering around the train aimlessly, looking like an idiot, asking anyone who seemed to be around my age if they were part of "the group," and then being secretly kidnapped by the CIA. (Okay, I wasn't really worried about being kidnapped by the CIA, but honestly, I spent the first ten minutes of the train ride weighing the pros and cons of a text; I'm constantly surprised by the fact that I occasionally manage to get over my near-crippling social anxiety enough to do anything but sit at home in my jammers.)
Needless to say, I spent the rest of the ride by myself. My only entertainment was listening to the lady in front of me
After what felt like hours--but was really more like 20 minutes--we finally arrived. Redwood City: the city of...redwoods?* I stepped out of the train into a balmy, early-October evening...and directly proceeded to walk in the wrong direction. You see, thinking that I would meet people on the train, I hadn't bothered to look up where this place actually was. Once I realized that things were not quite right, I stopped to get my bearings and noticed a young-ish gentleman who looked almost as lost as I did. "This guy," I thought to myself. "This guy is definitely going where I am going, and I'm going to follow him." And follow him I did! I actually managed to end up on the correct street somehow, at which point the guy and I went our separate ways. Guess he wasn't going where I was going after all.** I walked and walked, convinced that I was going to be murdered but trying to look super nonchalant about it; and then finally, like a message from above, I saw the London Underground sign peering out at me.
The pub is called The Underground, but I didn't really make the connection until I saw that sign. It was at that very moment that I knew: this was the pub for me. I walked up to find a couple of old-timey regulars sitting out front in their jaunty, plaid wool newsboy caps and cable-knit cardigans. Thinking about it now, that sounds a little too perfect and might all have been a figment of my imagination. Regardless, I felt right at home. The downstairs portion of the pub was deserted, but to my right was a staircase. I started to ascend, thinking that this was much much too easy, but when I got to the top of the stair, there they all were. In all their recent graduate glory. It actually felt a bit too much like a high-school dance for my liking. The girls were on one side, doing their makeup; the guys were on the other, punching each other in the arm for some unknown reason. And then there was me. Smack-dab in the middle. Instead of pulling my usual wallflower stunt, I got two jello shots and wedged my way into the guys' group. (I mean, makeup? Please.)
Thankfully, someone dragged me to a beer pong table, where I was introduced to my teammate. We'd own the table for the rest of the night, thanks, in part, to the fact that I was on fire at least once per game. Then it was time for flip cup, and despite one ignominious defeat, it was a lot of fun. I met people, made new friends, and the bartendress didn't even give me dirty looks when I switched to water! Who could ask for more?
I promised more on my eventful day, but honestly, this kind of took on a life of its own. Long story short, I may have shot myself in the foot re: the job hunt due to the sending-out of unopenable resumes, and I spent about an hour today thinking that someone had stolen my cell phone. They hadn't, but you know, it's the thought that counts.
*The city motto is actually "Climate Best By Government Test." Apparently, in the 1920s, the US and German governments started accumulating and analyzing meteorological data, determining that Redwood City was at the center of one of the world's best climates. You're welcome.
**Actually, he was. I saw him later that night at the pub and, after admitting to seeing him on the train, he confessed that it was a good idea I hadn't followed him, because he was lost for a solid half-hour. Yes...wouldn't that have been awkward. *shifty eyes*
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Life Less Ordinary
I never realized how much time I wasted on the computer until I got my new one. During the six months I had to go without, I attributed my overabundance of free time to things like not having to go to class or being unemployed (which, granted, are both viable excuses); in actuality, however, my lack-of-internet was the culprit all along.
Not being wired for a pretty substantial length of time gave me a chance to do other things -- like read. I hadn't read for fun (at least not more than a book or two) in years, and yet, I found myself checking out things from the library in double-digits and demolishing three or four good-sized novels every week. On top of that, I also watched tons of movies I'd never seen -- some good, some not-so-good -- and caught up on all the TV I'd missed while I waspretending to be a busy busy college student (well, at least the stuff I could get for free).
Now, the five minutes or so that I used to spend on the computer daily (just to check my email and such) often manages to stretch into hours. When I think back on where that time went, I can't even remember what I was doing half the time. You know how microwave minutes are always longer than regular minutes? Well, I'm pretty sure you can fit about ten internet minutes into one normal one. Don't ask how or why...that's just the way it is. I do know that I spent four hours the other day playing stupid games on Yahoo. FOUR HOURS. How does that even happen?! (I'm ashamed to say that I'm kind of addicted to the time-management/own-a-restaurant-and-serve-your-customers-the-correct-things ones, which is weird considering that I would never in a million years want to work in food service.) The fact that I somehow fall into a time-sucking vortex every time I turn the computer on means that I am so much less productive than I used to be. I'm down to one book every two weeks, if I'm lucky, and my ability to watch an entire season of something in one day? Gone. (I know that it doesn't sound like I was being super productive in the first place, but at least it felt like I was getting things done, even if those things were only polishing off season three of Rescue Me or reading a memoir in two days.)
I've decided that something needs to be done about this nonsense, so I'm going to limit my computer access for a while...I'm not sure how yet, but it's going to happen. (By the way, that four hours I spent playing games took place while I was "taking a quick break" from the job search. My brain clearly doesn't want to continue with this charade.)
Speaking of jobs, I have job-related news! I've been volunteering with a campaign since I hit the 6-months-post-graduation mark (which also coincided nicely with interviewing for the position with CC...imagine that). Anyway, the organizer (/speechwriter/volunteer coordinator/policy analyst/research fellow) was conspicuously absent from the wiki for a couple of weeks, and I was a little concerned because he usually updates daily. Having checked Google News and not finding his name in any incident reports (what? I said I was concerned), I shot him a quick email asking what was up. He responded a few days later saying that he had actually decided to transition out of the campaign and that they were looking for a new organizer (duhn-duhn-DUH). He didn't offer me the job or anything, but he said that if I was interested, he would recommend me and get me on the short list, which is better than nothing. Also, they're looking specifically for someone with event organizing experience, which I have. We'll see. This all happened towards the end of the workday on Friday, so I'm thinking no one's even going to be looking at candidates until Tuesday or Wednesday at least, but it's exciting nonetheless! I'm not getting my hopes up though...I learned my lesson after last time. The jobs itself looks pretty intense -- the only paid employee, 50+ hour work-weeks, commuting to SF pretty often, and minimal pay -- but it's actually something I could see myself doing as a career, and you can't get much better than that.
Other things: I'm trying to get out and be more social. I'll hopefully be joining a Stammtisch at some point (it's like a language club...you just go to a bar and drink and practice German with other people who are learning); I also found a group of recent grads that meet up all around the area, and they seem really cool. I'm not sure whether I can bring myself to go alone though, since they seem to all know each other already. But if I bring some friends along, there's no way I'm going to meet anyone new. Quite the conundrum.
Well, happy September! It's starting to look like Autumn here, but it certainly doesn't feel like it with massive heatwaves and such. We're having a Labor Day BBQ tomorrow to enjoy the weather while it lasts.
Not being wired for a pretty substantial length of time gave me a chance to do other things -- like read. I hadn't read for fun (at least not more than a book or two) in years, and yet, I found myself checking out things from the library in double-digits and demolishing three or four good-sized novels every week. On top of that, I also watched tons of movies I'd never seen -- some good, some not-so-good -- and caught up on all the TV I'd missed while I was
Now, the five minutes or so that I used to spend on the computer daily (just to check my email and such) often manages to stretch into hours. When I think back on where that time went, I can't even remember what I was doing half the time. You know how microwave minutes are always longer than regular minutes? Well, I'm pretty sure you can fit about ten internet minutes into one normal one. Don't ask how or why...that's just the way it is. I do know that I spent four hours the other day playing stupid games on Yahoo. FOUR HOURS. How does that even happen?! (I'm ashamed to say that I'm kind of addicted to the time-management/own-a-restaurant-and-serve-your-customers-the-correct-things ones, which is weird considering that I would never in a million years want to work in food service.) The fact that I somehow fall into a time-sucking vortex every time I turn the computer on means that I am so much less productive than I used to be. I'm down to one book every two weeks, if I'm lucky, and my ability to watch an entire season of something in one day? Gone. (I know that it doesn't sound like I was being super productive in the first place, but at least it felt like I was getting things done, even if those things were only polishing off season three of Rescue Me or reading a memoir in two days.)
I've decided that something needs to be done about this nonsense, so I'm going to limit my computer access for a while...I'm not sure how yet, but it's going to happen. (By the way, that four hours I spent playing games took place while I was "taking a quick break" from the job search. My brain clearly doesn't want to continue with this charade.)
Speaking of jobs, I have job-related news! I've been volunteering with a campaign since I hit the 6-months-post-graduation mark (which also coincided nicely with interviewing for the position with CC...imagine that). Anyway, the organizer (/speechwriter/volunteer coordinator/policy analyst/research fellow) was conspicuously absent from the wiki for a couple of weeks, and I was a little concerned because he usually updates daily. Having checked Google News and not finding his name in any incident reports (what? I said I was concerned), I shot him a quick email asking what was up. He responded a few days later saying that he had actually decided to transition out of the campaign and that they were looking for a new organizer (duhn-duhn-DUH). He didn't offer me the job or anything, but he said that if I was interested, he would recommend me and get me on the short list, which is better than nothing. Also, they're looking specifically for someone with event organizing experience, which I have. We'll see. This all happened towards the end of the workday on Friday, so I'm thinking no one's even going to be looking at candidates until Tuesday or Wednesday at least, but it's exciting nonetheless! I'm not getting my hopes up though...I learned my lesson after last time. The jobs itself looks pretty intense -- the only paid employee, 50+ hour work-weeks, commuting to SF pretty often, and minimal pay -- but it's actually something I could see myself doing as a career, and you can't get much better than that.
Other things: I'm trying to get out and be more social. I'll hopefully be joining a Stammtisch at some point (it's like a language club...you just go to a bar and drink and practice German with other people who are learning); I also found a group of recent grads that meet up all around the area, and they seem really cool. I'm not sure whether I can bring myself to go alone though, since they seem to all know each other already. But if I bring some friends along, there's no way I'm going to meet anyone new. Quite the conundrum.
Well, happy September! It's starting to look like Autumn here, but it certainly doesn't feel like it with massive heatwaves and such. We're having a Labor Day BBQ tomorrow to enjoy the weather while it lasts.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)