New Job, More Thinking About Stuff.

A friend and I were talking about five minutes ago. She just made cupcakes for her roommates birthday tomorrow - I think tomorrow? At some point in the future. I mentioned I'd always wanted a surprise party. It's been brought up once or twice among friends back in Florida and while I don't remember all of the reactions, I do recall Ashley looking at me doubtfully and saying, "Well, Erin, you're the party planner of the group."

I hoped anyway. Maybe that was a clever decoy! Or, you know, that was the way I was told it was never going to happen. I think I'm the only one dumb enough to plan a party over a month and a half in advance - Andi's was almost a year in planning. Party in a van, man. Party in a van. It wasn't disappointing, not really. I had been warned, after all. Still, I brought it up each year near to my birthday (and Christmas but, really, my birthday is cooler than Jesus).

Moral of that weirdly emo story: if anyone had been planning on throwing me on for my 24th, they wouldn't have a choice now. I won't be in Florida for my birthday. Andrea is in Wisconsin. Chances are I won't make (good) enough friends by January 2nd to throw me a birthday party. I see a quiet dinner with Dad and sitting up alone on my computer after he goes to bed at 9pm.

JesusAllahBuddhaLakshmi, that's depressing.

I miss Jordan, I really do. Out of all the friends I've made in my life, she was the one I've connected to the quickest. We met through my ex, Birdie, and at a party. Almost instantly we got along and I would have probably flirted if Birdie hadn't gotten rather intoxicated and done stupid things. We started texting the day after the party (after a delicious brunch with another girl from the party) and on finding out she lived so close, we hung out constantly. Most of our nights together ended with meaningful conversations on her countertop, either eating one dollar microwave pizza or five dollar fresh pizza from the Domino's down the street.

Before my move, Jordan was my saving grace. She gave me something of a life outside of my standard circle, encouraged me to keep writing and be more outgoing, be more me. She always had nice things to say, some so nice I don't feel like writing them down here because of how special they are to me.

I miss her. I need a Virginia-Jordan. I need someone who gets me almost instantly, who will listen to my inane theories and methods and counter them with their own. My stupid tiers were thrown asunder the moment I left Florida.

Work starts October 1st. It sounds as if I will be working with a variety of people (in five locations), which will be fun! I'm rather terrified of starting this new job just, out of the blue, with no one there I've ever met but it will be an adventure. Maybe someone will be around my age or know places I could go to actually meet flesh and blood people. There's always the possibility of making friends if only for the fact I will be getting out of the house and meeting people.

This entire post has been nothing but a huge emofest. My apologies, O Readers! I've been preoccupied with grumpy things and being excited over my mother visiting - I'll be able to see her this weekend! She's going to Washington D.C., and we're meeting up at Union Station. Hopefully we'll be able to stay up late to gab or. Something. I don't know. There will be crying?

Who knows. Until next time!

Hello, September!

I've worked myself into a steady and yet erratic daily schedule. I'm not exactly sure how that happened. It usually involves waking up around nine thirty or ten, stumbling out of bed in order to see if any caffeine has been brewed up. After a cup or two, I reach some semblance of normality and collapse in front of my computer.

E-mail is checked. The next few hours are spent slugging caffeine down my gullet, chatting online with various people, and applying for as many jobs as I can possibly muster. Unfortunately, most of the jobs I've encountered in the last twelve hours require cover letters. That takes up half of my day. It's kind of sucky but like Kelly said - it's can be the difference between death and job.

Daddio comes home around two thirty, three in the afternoon. We either chill around the house doing various things and watching such-and-such shows on the television and I continue to chat online and apply for jobs. It makes my brain hurt. Somedays we go out to explore or eat! It wakes us both up.

Bedtime is usually done around two in the morning and the entire thing starts right back over again. I've began to do Rosetta Stone again (feeling like such a newbie because I've forgotten a few things) and every so often attempt to write or draw but I'm just not feeling it. Maybe it's because I don't want to go outside in case I get accosted by the landlords brother again. Yes. Not son but brother, as in around the same age as my grandfather of a landlord. Gross.

I think I'm going to do Rosetta Stone for an hour every other day and put aside a half an hour (at least) towards editing and writing. Or writing. Who knows? I can get involved in a piece to the point where several hours pass and I run out of ink in order to do anything. My werewolf story isn't anywhere close to being finished and it needs to be. After all, the name of werewolves and sociopaths needs to be redeemed - can't have sparkles and guys in ripped short shorts ruining everything for the genre.

It starts tonight. I'll say it starts at three and I will be offline for at least half an hour while I edit. Rosetta Stone will be tomorrow. Editing/writing is more important than learning Japanese. Besides, people are home and I feel awkward practicing languages with others being able to listen. It's weird.

My expectations for employment have started to lower. I didn't want retail or anything because, well, I hate it. With a passion. A few places non-retail are hiring people with my (lack of) experience. When I expressed anger at being unqualified for the positions I wanted and the fact the only way to get it was unpaid internship (where I would be ineligible for unemployment because I was not available all hours of the day), someone pointed out that I was supposed to work full time to pay the bills while also doing an internship.

So, that's what I suppose I'll do. Get a job first and then a part-time internship. Kelly gave me a very useful site, where there are some internships that are only twenty hours or so a week. That's do-able. Even if I get a full time job, that's only sixty hours. I'd still have time to go out and volunteer at the local library as I wanted to when I first came here to Virginia.

Plan of attack is officially in place. I am excited. Even if the job is something I despise, at least I'll have other 'jobs' that I enjoy. It'll be alright.

Now, I go to edit. Until next time!

Editing

I never realized how many times I use the word 'had' and 'was' in my writing until I began to edit my own pieces. I generally avoid doing so and prefer others to do it for me (such as in workshops). The current short story I'm working on needs some major revisions. I'd written it over a year ago and figured I could take on the challenge of discovering just how much I suck.

Sentences have been cut and surprisingly few words added. I tend to assume that more words equal better works and, well. No. Is it odd that I do exactly what I berate others for when I take pen to their writing? I'm finding the same comma errors and superfluous words in my short stories I tend to threaten other writers with death with! Is it being blind to ones own flaws or thinking certain things are perfect in pieces an author takes pride in?

I'm not sure. Maybe I'll never be sure. All I know is that this particular bit of dyke literature will be better once I'm done ripping it to shreds with my red mighty pen and send it off to be looked at by a friend. It'll be this works - fourth? Fifth? run through the proverbial shredder. Hopefully this time I might be able to consider it 'done' or at least as close as it's going to get.

A lofty (and arrogant) goal, yes, but what am I going to do without them? I do love the piece I'm working on and hopefully others don't think it's some pompous lesbian stereotypical angst. Cliche is cliche for a reason and I'm doing my damnedest to steer away from it.

Back to work. Until next time!

Surviving Work

I need to understand the mindset of people in charge of offices and I need to do it fast. My two previous half-finished rants were written in the heat of anger and discarded as soon as I realized I was being a huge grouch. This particular upset is something that has been a long-time irritation of mine and something I beleive everyone working in the retail business with less than straightlined bosses can identify with.

The key to running a smooth office is akin to keeping up a good relationship: communication. In this case, I am scheduled to be laid off from my office job and have been told my usual summer job at the hardware store won't be needing me. I spoke to Bossman at the office job; in lieu of my root canal, he said to take of Monday (yesterday) and I asked him to call me over this previous weekend to tell me whether or not he wanted me in this upcoming week.

I worked seventeen hours this weekend for the last time at the hardware store. As far as I know, I never received a call or text message from the Bossman or Bosslady, my supervisor who works directly under him. According to her, she called me once yesterday morning and sent a text -asking where I was-. I don't doubt her as I am still getting used to my Droid and have yet to figure out all this notification mumbo-jumbo that's associated with it. So, I set up an interview with an ice cream place and a day of typical jobless relaxation before the panic set in.

Oh. I also signed up for unemployment. While not something I wanted to do, I saw it as a sign of Doing What I Need To In Order To Survive and thus a sign of maturity. My first summer after being laid off I was too proud to go back to the hardware store or sign up for unemployment. If I had done either of those things, my bank account probably wouldn't be in the shambles it is today. It guaranteed me enough to pay for food, gas, car, and cars insurence, which is all I really give two craps about. My other bills are secondary, frankly, mainly because my mother is affected by any lack of payment on aforementioned car.

This morning, another text message. As I was about to head into the dentist to get my temporary filling inspected (part of it sloughed off yesterday, much to my panic), I got another call from my lovely Bosslady. I sent her a text asking what was up and explaining why I didn't call her back just that second. The resulting conversation frustrated me to no end.

In an effort to not explode on her via text message, I sent another to a coworker of mine. We share the same opinion on Bosslady, he's just a wee bit more vocal about it than myself. He suggested I text Bossman, asking if they needed me in that day because he hadn't talked to me about it previously and being me, I was very confused.

According to Bossman, no, they did not need me today. They had two other people coming in. He -did- make a point of asking me if I could come in tomorrow. Fabulous. Twenty-four hour notice is all I ask, really. Luckily for them, I am unemployed (technically) so why yes, I -can- go in tomorrow. How thoughtful to ask instead of calling me at ten in the morning tomorrow and demanding to know where I was and when I was getting my candy ass in to work.

What seems to be lacking in this whole situation? You've got it, folks! What's missing from this is actually -talking- to one another. It's quite the novel concept and in this day in age it's so very hard to get in contact with one another. FaceBook, text messages, instant messages, phone calls, and plain ol' chit-chatting in the office just doesn't cut it, not really. It's all about the slap-and-dash things, demands, and angry phone messages.

This isn't a post about surviving retail although I wish it were. This post and rant is all about surviving bosses and the frustration they bring, especially when on the larger scale of things they aren't the meanest of people. Bossman has his moments of being a dillweed, this I'll be the first to aknowledge. For the rest of it, he's just a bit absent minded (or chooses not to remember) and an overall nice guy with a few repressed issues. Bosslady tends to be the stereotypical Italian Jersey woman and is not very fun to work with.

It's a balance. I've gotten to the point in my working career where I've gotten used to the constant push and pull of emotions. When bossman is angry, you avoid him like the plague. Bosslady gets yelled at, you avoid her or compliment her shoes. It's what goes on in a small office without cubicles or secrets. It sucks.

Once more for the sake of being redundent: communication. Bosses out there - learn it. Employees - don't ever expect it. They're easier to deal with than customers but ultimately last a lot longer.

Until next time.