The Fisher Poet's Wisdom

Instead of producing work for my consulting contract, I spent my day thus far: researching Sen. Evan Bayh's voting record on abortion (mostly pro-choice, but voted for that stupid "partial birth abortion ban," which bans a procedure that does not exist and instead endangers the lives of pregnant women who need a late term abortion to save their own lives); answering and generating email; pondering why the fuck I listened to that stupid doctor and agreed to get another MMR vaccine (rather than have my blood drawn and examined for anti-bodies) when I knew damn well that it is a two round deal and one would not suffice and now have to go back and get another one in September unless I can prove that I was vaccinated 32 years ago; exploring how to extract my medical records from previous institutions of learning (NYU said no way; Columbia has a form to fill out and will send my immunization documents to New School - yay!) so that I don't have to get another useless vaccine; attempting to pay my tuition at New School, which is harder than it sounds since they have yet to bill me; and writing a post for BlogHer on whether penises are heat seeking missiles which explains why people think men are unable to not cheat on their partners (answer: no). In addition to this important work, I read some blogs.

On The Cowboy Chronicles, Shonda mentions that fishing is an important part of her hubby's country life. She shared this brilliant bons mots:

To quote one of these angling poets, "I told my son noodling is just like dating. If you stick your hand in a dark hole, it might come out smelling a little fishy."

Once I stopped guffawing, I thought it was a good reminder that no matter how little I want to think about the longevity of charter school facilities, I could be doing far less appetizing tasks. No more dilly-dallying.

Getting the Work Done

At a (hopefully promising) job interview yesterday, I was unexpectedly presented with a case study. While I initially wanted to shit my pants* because I recently have not reviewed various underwriting procedures, I think I ultimately did fine.

As I told Steph about the interview today, she whistled. "That's brilliant!"

"What is?" I asked.

"Giving you a case to review so that they don't have to do the work themselves."

"Oh, it was an old application that was decided years ago already. I didn't do any of their current work, although that would be genius."

Hence I decided that if I am ever in a position to hire someone, Steph is right: this is a perfect way to unload work on someone else. I'll just bring different "case studies" to interviews, and if the work is done well, not only will I know that I found a good worker, but I'll be freed of whatever burdensome task I set before the applicant. Now, if only that would work at home, too...

*If the interview had been in the morning rather than afternoon, I suspect that I would have unloaded. I woke up after only 4 hours of sleep with horrific gas and crapped repeatedly over the course of the AM hours. Incidentally, I also burned my finger on a frying pan handle (why it was hot, I do not know), slammed my shin to a piece of furniture that resulted in a lovely purple bruise, and discovered that my only pair of pantyhose had a small hole in them. Given the early situation, I'm amazed that I was coherent at all.

Oh, Diarrhea on the Wall!

My friend's grandmother passed away on Sunday. In accordance with Jewish tradition, she was buried as soon as possible. The funeral was Monday, and then the family sat shiva, which is pronounced "shivva," not "sheeva" like the Hindu god, and is a lot like a Catholic wake, minus the body.

Yesterday afternoon I took the train to Connecticut to sit shiva with my friend. The nicest thing about sitting shiva is that people really do focus on helping the family through their grief, and so a shiva is usually very jolly. Lots of food and laughter are shared as people recall happier times. Thus it was only sort of completely inappropriate when my friend's brother told people a hilarious story about how he accidentally shit all over the wall of his parents' bathroom a few weeks ago during Passover. It seems that when his stomach rumbled, and he realized that an eruption of a geyser of crap was imminent. He ran for the toilet, but stopped to grab the newspaper on his way. This would have been fine had he just taken the whole paper, but instead paused for 15 seconds to find the business section. Unfortunately, those precious seconds cost him dearly. When he got to the bathroom, he barely pulled down his pants before a stream of liquid feces emanated from his angry ass, splattering all over the wall. "And that's how I got diarrhea all over the wall of my parents' bathroom," he concluded while beaming with pride.

After hearing this story, I decided that I must use the phrase, "Oh, diarrhea on the wall!" when something goes horribly awry. (This would also work in place of, "The shit hit the fan," I think.) Prior to attending the shiva, I experienced my own metaphorical diarrhea on the wall incident. After weeks of waiting, I learned that the grant that funds my 50% of my job was revoked by the issuing foundation. I am not surprised by this turn of events (and in fact had a first round job interview that morning which went very well, anyway), but I think I am entitled to say, "Oh, diarrhea on the wall!" in response to the news.

Re-Thinking My Incompetence, Or Other People Suck Much Worse Than Me

Every time I go to perform my glorified clerical duties at my newish job, I wonder what the hell happened to me.

In January 2002, I began a new job in which I planned a program to bring capital and technical assistance to community groups and early childhood programs around the City. When I was hired for that job, I wondered what the fuck the agency was thinking in bringing on a 25 year old to do this work. Then I remembered that I had three years of experience in that niche field, which was more or less three years more than any other likely candidate, so it made sense. Long story short, I fucked some shit up along the way, but mostly did a very good job developing and implementing the program before I burned out due to challenges to my sanity that were both internal (like money being stolen from my program and used for another, but I'm not still bitter or anything...) and external (like early childhood education is public priority #1,209,988, if that...) to the office.

In the olden days of my rough and tumble child care work, I often felt like an incompetent fool. Not the most incompetent fool around (I encountered enough people who made me wonder how they managed to tie their shoes, let alone do any work), but still a person who had a lot of things to learn. I tried to absorb as much as I could from mentors and colleagues. I also tried to acknowledge to myself that I was good at some stuff, although I semi-failed at that task.

Which brings me to the present day. As I sort through the clusterfuck of a mess of a data collection project, I realize that I may still make mistakes, but damn, compared to my predecessor, I am a model of competence, efficiency, and common sense. I even tell funny jokes (usually to myself, as I tend to work alone) while I fix shit. Go me and my non-profit management skill set! Now, if only that would help me get into an MFA program. (Still no word and hence, no Mars bar eating.)

April Fool's: One Day Late or Just a Shitty Morning?

I am supposed to be having a meeting this very second. However, the guy who is supposed to meet with me is not here. Where can he be?

The phone on my desk says, "Message for you." Perhaps he left me a message about the meeting? If that is the case, though, I'll not know, as no one in this office knows the voicemail password to my extension or how to reset it.

Maybe he emailed me. That would be rational, except that as of last week, I was still using my predecessor's email and that is what he would email me at. This week, the account was disabled, but I have no access to my email account because my computer, which appears to be circa 1999 (sorry Prince - no partying like it is), resets its setting every day, so until the guy who can put me back on the networks shows up, I can't check my email. Not that my meetee would email me there, anyway.

Also, it might be good that he isn't here. Since I lose my network settings every time I log off, I have no access to the shared drive, which is where the material we are to meet about is stored.

Happiness is a grassroots organization.

It's For the Best

As I re-read my blog post from yesterday, it occurred to me that whenever I was rejected by my top choice educational program, it always winds up being to my benefit in the long run. Had I attended NYU's law school, I likely would be a lawyer today. If I hadn't talked Columbia into taking me off the waitlist for the MPA program, I would've gone to NYU, had no debt from grad school (or very minimal debt), and been tapped into a much stronger and connected alumni network. So while my rejection from Hunter stings, I am looking at the positive side of it. It clearly was not meant to be.

Now we'll see if my tarot card reading was right. She strongly felt that I would be attending New School in the fall, and while I woulod be very overwhelmed at first, it would ultimately be a good fit for me. (Of course, she also thought I would get into Hunter, but the vibes from New School were stronger. We all know how Hunter worked out...) Hopefully, I'll get some notice yea or nay from them this week.

In the meantime, back to my exciting data entry and database management work. Thank goodness for mind-numbing repetitive tasks, right?

Not Baaad

While I'm at work learning if I still have a job after only 4 days (funding was cut while I was gone last week), enjoy my sheep's milk yogurt review over at Live Active Cultures. The review and the yogurt are way better than the pun.

Hippos Lurk, But So Does Happiness

After my trip to the Bung Hole wine bar yesterday, I figured that I was due for some good news today. Initially, I was disappointed. Returning to work, I discovered that my the grant that my new employer uses to fund my position was revoked while I was gone last week. There's a chance that the funder will be convinced to give it back to them, but I won't know until tomorrow or Thursday. Cool.

When I got home from work this evening, there was still no word from either graduate program that I applied to. However, my answering machine did contain the best news possible: Monkey Girl said that Count Mockula had her baby in the wee hours of the morning! Both mom and baby are doing well. (And MG: I can't find your number, so can you email it to me or call me back?) Yay!

My advice to Zadie is to stay away from hippos. Although they look very peaceful lying around in pools of mud, they can suddenly creep up and tip your canoe. Or at the very last, scare the crap out of you with their bad teeth, which makes me think of that hilarious shark from the Strange Wilderness commercial.

Again?

Wow, it just struck me that I have to go to the same job again today and tomorrow. The best thing about consulting was the variety of settings in which I worked and the different types of work. I'll miss that. The best thing about my former employer (possibly the only good thing) were my co-workers. Until they all quit, and then pretty much everything sucked for 8 months until I finally also left. Then the best thing was the location. The South Bronx is not such a fabulous location, although I do find it interesting. I don't know my co-workers enough yet to look forward to seeing anyone.

OK, so I just gotta get through the next nine hours, then tomorrow, then Friday I get to work for myself on the book. Not to mention sleep for another 40 minutes.

Hope everyone has a joyous day full of happiness, good news, and fun.

What Hit Me?

The first day of the new job was fine. It was about the same as any first day - full of awkwardness trying to figure things out, meeting people, etc. Given that the organization is so grassroots at this moment that they have no fax machine, I was not terribly surprised to learn that they also do not know how to change people's voice mail messages, and as a result people who haven't worked there in years are still on the voice mail. Needless to say, I have no computer log in or email yet. But hey! At least there is email! Once I started some real work, it was good.

Fortunately, I like the people with whom I will work, and the others seem very nice. I was cornered at the end of the day by a nutjob who told me all about how Gov. Spitzer was framed so that the real criminals will get away with their crimes while all the attention is on the sex scandal. Sadly, I found myself silently agreeing with his rant even as I looked around nervously for an escape and backed away.

As if a first day at a new job is not tiring enough, I also signed up to be part of a focus group about Fidelity Investments, which is where I rolled my 401k into an IRA when I left my last job. It paid $150 for two hours (8 pm - 10 pm), so it was hard to say no. I figured I could use the cash for my upcoming trip with my sister and brother-in-law. Let's just say that it was difficult to keep my eyes open at the end there. Still, I am $150 richer for sharing my uninformed opinions on Fidelity's services, so no complaints.

Hi Ho, Hi Ho

Today is the first day of my new job. Nervous.

30 Budgets in 30 Hours

When I agreed to teach a budgeting class at the local university grad center, I was informed that the maximum number of students they would allow to enroll was 15. As an adjunct lecturer, I would be paid for 15 hours of work. Although my scheduled time in the classroom was 14 hours, I felt OK about the one hour of pay for grading because there were only 15 students whose work I'd have to look at. Plus, I was paid separately to develop the curriculum, so although I put much more work into it as thing went along, it seemed fair enough.

Then the program allowed 30 students to enroll. Because it is a set contract amount for adjuncts, no additional pay was accorded for the 100% increase in students. However, this means that I also have a fuckload more budgets to look at and grade. It also means that my eyeballs may fall out from staring at so many numbers. If this is the case, I think I will try to get workers comp. (I don't know why that thought is causing me to laugh maniacally, but it is.)

Husband is leaving for a business trip to Europe (Paris, Rome, Milan, and London) on Sunday. On the 15th, I am going away with my sister and her husband to celebrate my sister's first spring break as a teacher. Husband could not join us due to work, so that sucks, but I am still looking forward to a fun 5 days with my sister. When I visited my parents in Chicago in December, Dana was not able to make it over there from Iowa due to weather conditions, so I have not seen my chicita since October. My hope is that I can finish all these stupid budgets before then, and retain my eyesight at the same time. I guess while Husband is gone, I can do a budget grading marathon. Oh fun times.

Miracles and Non-Miracles

Yesterday, I was offered a part-time program developer job at a small grassroots nonprofit organization in the Bronx! It occurred to me that although I have thus far spent nearly my entire career working with community-based organizations by providing technical assistance and training, I never worked at one. I think this is going to be very interesting. Just as important, the organization does not work in the child care field. Step one away from work that makes me miserable! Hurray!

After my interview, I headed further north in the Bronx to take some pictures of the Lourdes of America shrine for Off the Beaten (Subway) Track. (Yes, a church built a replica of the miraculous healing grotto in Lourdes, France so that parishioners here can enjoy its superpowers. I love it.) Rain fell from the sky in buckets. (Yes, anonymous grammar hawk, I get that this is a metaphor.) I worried that I would not get a good shot, but lo and behold, the second I stepped into the church yard, the rain stopped. I snapped away, filled my empty Snapple bottle with miracle water (the same water source that serves all city residents), and went on my way. As I left the churchyard, it began raining like cats and dogs. (Yes, anonymous grammar hawk, this is a simile.)

Then last night Clinton took Texas and Ohio, giving her the ammo she needs to justify her continued ego trip - I mean, run for the presidential nomination - although it could destroy the Democrats' chance at winning the White House in November by inciting anger, resentment, and bad will all around. I'm not sure how many times I can say this, but damn, I miss Pat Schroeder. What a class act. The thought of a McCain presidency is overwhelmingly depressing, so I will try to not dwell on it.

Perhaps it is time to register for cheese making lessons. This way, I'll at least have some concept of how to fulfill my ridiculous plan B, which is to move to a sheep and goat farm in the UK if the US is subject to four more years of Republican rule. My anxiety is like a bull in a china shop mixing kashi with borscht.

Passing on the Stuffing

At a party yesterday, a friend explained how she passed the time at work by researching on the internet how paraplegic men have sex. (Seriously, how on earth did people kill time at work before the internet?) She learned that men with some blood flow to their penises can engage in a practice called stuffing. Stuffing is exactly what it sounds like: cram it in, and hope that there will be some reaction to the action. Sometimes this works; others, there's just some raw genitals at the end.

Before I even discovered stuffing had a name, I realized that I was metaphorically familiar with the practice. For the last few years, I've been trying to forge a career based on it. Each time a job came along that didn't really excite me, I tried to make the pieces fit and hoped that I'd get some satisfaction from it. There were times when he work made me satisfied, but generally I felt tired and sore from the effort.

Last week, the always insightful Maria Niles wrote a post on BlogHer about the benefits of closing doors. The post hit me. How long have I said that I didn't want to work on child care policy any more, only to take every job that came my way because I feared that I would never work again? Too long. If I was serious, I'd need to really close the door on my child care policy career. It would be scary, but it didn't have to be permanent; I could always walk through it again in the future. My skills won't go anywhere, but I'll never fully explore my other options until I move on.

Two days after I had my epiphany, I went to have my fortune read. The tarot card reader told me that I am surrounded by opportunity, but my biggest obstacle to success is myself.

"You like things to happen in a linear fashion," Katie noted, "and the way things are happening now makes you feel insecure. You have to let go to get ahead."

On Friday, when I got a call and email about a consulting job with the city, my first impulse was to take it. What else am I doing now except trying to get pictures for my book about unusual New York, writing an article for Just Cause, blogging at BlogHer, and finishing up an article about termination for an encyclopedia of sex? If I didn't take the job, I could be homeless, starving, and unloved because Husband would get mad that I didn't work. My heart raced. I was standing in front of the door. All I had to do was call the lady at the city back and make the arrangements.

That's when I decided that I didn't want to be stuffed any more. I took Katie's words to heart, and took a deep breath. Husband would not drop me because I said no to a job to which I had reservations. In my mind, I quietly shut the child care door. It felt good.

Happy March!

Just sayin'. I'm going into March like a very nervous lion with a lot of decisions to make (should I hunt now or later? go where the gazelles usually hang out, even though I hate that pasture, or try to find a new place to harvest gazelle meat? maybe I should forget about the gazelles altogether and focus on zebras?), so I hope that I end the month like a very content lamb, albeit not one that has no idea she is about to turn into lamb chops.

God, I love metaphors.

In Which I Get Crafty

Recently Husband asked me to be a bit more active in maintaining our apartment when I am not working. Initially, I resented this request because I hate feeling like an unemployed loser and I detest housework, but it is really only fair. If he's out earning 97% of our income*, I should contribute in other ways.

A few days ago, I vacuumed. Today, instead of spending my entire morning reading MFA blogs and unnecessarily stressing myself out about whether or not I will get into an MFA program, I decided to be productive. We bought some fabric for a new curtain for our kitchen window at Ikea a few weeks ago, and I thought I should work on getting it up.

This was a bad idea for several reasons. First, when I woke up, I discovered that I slept on my neck funny, and it has been hurting all day. Standing on a step ladder and holding up a ginormous ream of fabric to try and measure out what I need for the window only made it worse. Second, I had to meet someone for lunch to discuss a potential consulting project, so starting a big production an hour before I had to leave was asking for disaster. Fortunately, my lunch date moved our appointment back by 30 minutes, I didn't rush out with pins all over the kitchen.

Anyway, here's how it stands:

Normally there's more light in our kitchen in the afternoon, but it's a snowy-rainy day, so it's pretty dark outside in general. (In case you worried that I live in some sort of dungeon...) I'm pretty pleased with my initial work given that I can't cut or sew straight. OK, so it's not exactly sewn yet, just pinned up. (I don't have a machine, so I'll hand sew it up eventually.) Still, I'm proud of my new red and white hippopotamus curtains. I can't wait until Husband sees them.

*Although he will always out earn me, and he never, ever lords that over me. When I do work consistently, he does not ask me to do extra housework, and on top of that, he does the vast majority of our laundry, anyway. Of course, 97% of the laundry is his, but that's another story.

In Which I Spazz Out

There is both a lot going on here and nothing at all going on here. That combination drives me up the wall, stresses me out, and makes me extra bitchy to my parents, who I yelled at on the phone last night for no reason. (Honestly, I do not know why they put up with my crabby insolence.) Of course I felt horrible about it the second I hung up (as I do every time this happens), but I had a sinus headache and didn't feel like calling them back to apologize. Instead, I sat around feeling like an asshole and wondering why I can't be nicer to my parents, which made my headache worse.

The problem is that my work life is very uneven. I've got nothing to do for stretches of time, and then I suddenly have tons of jobs that need to be done in a short time. For example, on Tuesday I had lunch with a friend/colleague, then got better fitting bras. Wednesday was spent freaking out while perusing various blogs about MFA acceptances, then attending a bris. I played a lot of fake Scrabble on Facebook on both days, and also applied for some part-time jobs.

Last night I got a frantic call around 9 pm from the woman organizing the program that I touch in about things I should bring to my class this morning. Why people can't get their shit together in a timely fashion is beyond me. My class today, as it was last week and the Thursday prior to that, is from 9 am - 12:30 pm, which is a loooooong time to talk about budgeting. I'll drop off my headshots and "resume" to the agency, finally. (Since it was not ready before, I've made no progress with my quest to be a dead body on Law & Order. Hopefully submitting my materials will change that.) Then I have a meeting at 4:30 pm to talk about another round of training. Tomorrow, I'm meeting a friend/colleague for lunch to discuss a new consulting project that I hope will not pan out because it sucks, and then running over to my consulting gig to finally wrap that shit up since people finally decided to comply with my requests for information.

Next week? Nada. I am very much looking forward to meeting Mar on Tuesday and showing her and her mum around the city a bit. So, long story short, I am stressed and spazzing out.

Oh, the Glamor

My plan to get work as a dead body on Law & Order was temporarily set aside last week when I got a consulting job and also began teaching a course at the city university. I finally picked up my headshots on Thursday afternoon. I've never liked looking at pictures of myself, so I actually dreaded getting them. At the photographer's studio, I was given an envelope with a CD-ROM of all 36 pictures, an 8x10 sheet with all 36 pictures printed on them, and an 8x10 headshot which was selected for me as the best. This is it. It's not bad, although it does crack me up that my right eyebrow is a bushy mess. I'm probably the only woman who walked into that studio without getting her eyebrows waxed or threaded first. Shapely eyebrows are an obsession here.

The next step in the process is to bring ten copies of my headshot to the agency with a copy of my "acting resume" stapled onto the back of each one. I worked on my "acting resume" on Monday during my Amtrak ride from Sacramento to Richmond. It consists of the agency contact information; my name; my contact information; my height, weight, eye color, hair color, and clothing sizes; a list of skills that I have (like ice skating); and my education. Not it does not include any experience section, as I have none. I like the fact that my skills might enable me to play an ice skater in the background of a movie before I work my way up to dead body.

I'll probably drop the CD off at a photo shop this afternoon and hopefully take the materials in to the agency on Friday. Then I'm back to sitting around and waiting for calls to work. Sort of like with my quest for regular jobs, but this time also based on my looks. Fantastic.

Call Me the Morton Salt Girl

You know, when it rains, it pours? (Plus my language is certainly salty.) I went from worrying that I'd never have paid employment again to having more project offers that I can possibly calendar, but will anyway. Of course, some of the will likely fall by the wayside, so I likely won't be overbooked when the dust settles. And some of the things I hope will disappear, as they are for projects that drive me insane. (Those are the ones that I have to charge a lot for, as I need to build a legal defense fund in the event that I go batshit and throttle someone. Good lawyers cost a lot of money, although I suspect that any jury will grant me an insanity plea when they hear the details of some of this work.)

Yesterday, I went back to a due diligence gig from a few weeks ago. Mostly the work is boring financial analysis, so the hard parts are staying awake and getting all the data that I need. Gathering information from people is like removing a thorn from the paw of a lion. It only helps them in the end to let me extract what I need, but everyone acts like I'm asking them to sacrifice their first born. To make things easier, I even put together a chart for each organization in which they can just fill in the blanks. What is returned to me in nearly every case is a chart they designed that has different information in it. Yeah. If they don't have the info, they could save themselves hours by just telling me that instead of putting together of info that I won't use, which is why I didn't ask for it in the first place.

Today I had taught my first class at a university. It is a one credit, four week class at the City University about basic budgeting for child care businesses. I was very pleased. My goal is to help people learn this extremely boring shit in an entertaining way. I don't know if anyone learned anything this morning, but they were entertained, so I feel successful. Teaching is good. I should rustle up some other work like this in the future. The class ends at the end of the month.

Anyway, that's where my time has been going. Tomorrow I am over-the-top excited to go to Sacramento for Count Mockula's baby shower. I can't wait to see her and meet her family and friends. Since this exciting journey was brought to me by a voucher Husband had for a free flight, I will be flying in to San Francisco, taking BART to Richmond, then taking Amtrak to Sacramento. Weirdly, I find this more appealing than what I initially tried to book (but was denied by the airline), which was a flight to Dallas with a connection to Sacramento. Both methods require a full day of travel each way, which is sort of funny. The point is, I'm working a lot now, and I can't wait to play.

Working for a Living*

Since I quit my job in October 2006, I've been pretty busy with all the projects that I cobbled together. I consulted for several different agencies, including a big half year project for a city agency; I freelance wrote and my work appeared in several magazines; I sent out proposals for my book on unusual things to see and do in New York; and most importantly, I got a publishing contract for the book and finished writing it. These days, however, the work is drying up. I decided that I needed a consistent part-time job around which to anchor any new projects. (Plus, a part-time job would be good in the event that I am admitted to an MFA writing program in the fall...)

Last week, I had what seemed to be a fantastic interview. The salary sucked, but I liked the program enough to overlook it. I was feeling optimistic until yesterday at 5:00, when I received an abrupt email informing me that they are unable to offer me "a position at this time." As I left the interview, they told me they would call me back for a follow up with the agency poohbah, so I wonder what happened. I'm not gonna lie - I'm disappointed.

However, when one door closes, there's always a window to jump through in the event of a fire. Yesterday morning, I threw caution to the wind and gave in to the daily ad I saw on Craig's List for "PAID EXTRAS, TV & MOVIES, NO FEE, NO EXP, LICENSED AGENCY." I figured it was a crock of shit, but why not go to their open interview for kicks? I even gussied myself up with some make-up for it.

The whole "interview" took 42 seconds. A nice young woman called me into an office, asked me what I did ("I'm a public policy consultant," I told her. "Wow, that must be gratifying!" she replied. "Not really," I said cheerfully. "It's generally horribly frustrating."), then requested that I read a paragraph.

"Do you have acting experience?" she pleasantly asked me when I finished.

"Obviously not," I wanted to reply, but instead said, "Uhhhh... no."

"Well, that was very good," she said, and handed me a card. "Call this guy back tomorrow."

Long story medium, I called back before I began teaching a class on budgeting this morning, and was shocked that they asked me to come back with some headshots. My big hope here is that I can be cast as a dead body on one of the Law & Order series that are always taping around Manhattan. I'm practicing my "dead" look, just in case.

This is totally hilarious. I'm very curious to see what happens next, although I figure once my headshot is done (which I plan to use for my writing "career," too), there will be limited opportunities for a short, average weight, tired-looking Jewish hag. Still, the story I've gotten out of it so far is pretty good, so what's there to lose but my dignity and last remaining shreds of self-esteem?


*Sorry. I hope that you don't have the Huey Lewis and the New song stuck in your head now as I do.

Not the Job for Me

I saw this on Craig's List buried amongst the sales jobs and requests for "Women who look good in latex:"

Beautiful Manhattan townhouse needs housekeeper to live-in (5 days) from Wednesday to Monday.Must speak fluent English,be very well groomed,have a pleasing personality and charm .Share room with female part-time assistant. We have no children but have guests very often from US and other countries so you must be professional in every way.Your housekeeping skills must be outstanding,including organizing.Your duties will vary so you must be flexible with a gracious attiude.If you have recent,checkable references and you are non-smoker call(from 9AM-4PM only)

I'm not rejecting this opportunity because it is for a housekeeper; there is absolutely nothing wrong with making a living as a housekeeper. Nor is my problem stemming from the fact that the housekeeper is required to live there and share a room with a stranger, although I do find that almost as offensive as insisting that the hired help be "well groomed, have a pleasing personality and charm." That's a lot to ask from someone who you are compensating a measley 500 bucks a week. The big issue is that I highly doubt that I would be able to use my fluent English skills to be civil with the assholes who live in the beautiful townhouse. No, this would never work for me.

So Much for a Day Off...

OK, I admit that I spent a good portion of the morning/early afternoon fucking around and hanging out with Steph, who stayed with me this weekend. Seeing Steph always makes me happy. Here's hoping that she moves back to the City so I can see her more often, although I am not going to be greedy - as long as she doesn't go back to North Carolina, I'm pleased as punch because I get to see her at least once a month instead of once every six months.

However, once Steph jumped onto her bus back to the boonies, I settled down to finish some handouts for a workshop that I am conducting on Wednesday. My initial plan was to complete them last week, but I 86'd that when I got another gig. Of course, it was more complicated than I thought it would be and I was still sweating out how to make the numbers work (that's the beauty of budgeting - since it is as much an art as a science, you can play with shit a little bit and still not be cheating) when 7 pm rolled and Husband returned from work.

Yeah, Husband had to be at work all day. When his boss started up their firm last year, he decided that they should be open on all bank holidays. Husband almost convinced him to close on Martin Luther King, Jr. Day since, "after all, Reagan is the president who signed the holiday into federal law," but it wasn't good enough. I admired Husband's attempt, though.