Job Searching

It's become a new way of greeting me. The traditional hello, how are you? now has a comma where the question mark used to be, and an additional question. And no, it's not about my health. The new way of greeting is this:

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Hi, how are you, how's the job search?

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Now, if the job search was going well, don't you think I would have a job? Or told you as soon as I saw you? Or maybe even posted it on the fantastic sites designed for sharing information about my life?

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I can assure you, as soon as I find myself a job that does not entail me selling hot and cold beverages to over caffeinated people I will let you know.

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The people of my apartment community believe I am a teacher, because they see me at the pool all summer and then I disappear about this time every year.

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As much as I admire teachers, and all they do, I do not have the patience to teach children. There is a good possibility I would be the teacher throwing things at her students, not markers, but large things, like desks.

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Could you see the school supply list I would have to send out? Right there under markers and crayons, helmets and shoulder pads would be included. Yeah...

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Right, so now that you are all petrified I will go on an abusive rampage through schools, and are contacting everywhere you can think of to keep me from teaching children, I'm here to tell you that is not part of my "Get a Job Plan."

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Yes, I have a plan. A friend of mine, who is more spontaneous than I am, is constantly telling me I should have a plan. I should have a plan when I write, and as I'm job searching, and I feel like I should have one for going through life.

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I don't have a life plan. If you know my parents you are probably shocked since they plan for everything, including time for being spontaneous. It's not their fault, one is an engineer, and the other is a nurse, planning comes naturally to them.

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So what am I hoping to do with my very expensive college education?

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Well, my first plan was to rent out a plan that writes in the sky: "Mo needs a job!" Complete with exclamation point. But that's not all that practical. My next idea is to walk up and down the street with a sandwich board declaring I'm available for hire, but that just leads to really bad things.

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As I cause you to panic for the second time in four paragraphs, I assure you I'm joking. Maybe.

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I have contacted academic advisors at universities about going back to school, because if I can't find anything in my field, then I might as well grab a degree in something useful.

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Small problem. Everything useful, here in Seattle, is everything I struggle with. Computers? My knowledge of a computer ends after I hit the power button, the hammer hits the hamster that lives inside, the hamster jumps on a treadmill, and powers my computer up.

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My husband just died inside.

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I'm also not great with engineering, as long as whatever it is works when I need it to, I am a happy camper. I never had the urge when I was little to build a robot, or learn how to make packaging material. That doesn't seem like fun. And life needs to be fun, right down to the boring details.

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In all seriousness, I am sending out resumes, and CVs, and calling people at different agencies to see if they are hiring, or if they have received my resume. What have I learned? People are crabby. It's very sad.

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Luckily the snow is about to fall, and the ski industry will be hiring. I'm okay being a ski bum for another year. It's kind of nice being paid in lift tickets and beer.

Stop light conversation

If you ever have to question where I went to school take a look at my car. My licence plate frame and fan plates in my back windows all declare Ferris State Bulldogs.

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Ferris is a small school in Big Rapids, Mich. The school has about 15,000 students and the town is a podunk red neck town. No disrespect to those who live there, some of the residents are the nicest, caring people I have ever met.

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There are people in Michigan who have never heard of Big Rapids, and confuse it with the larger Grand Rapids forty minutes south. Although, it seems like everyone knows someone who went to Ferris.

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Now that I'm living in the Seattle area I am asked regularly where Ferris State is. I bust out my handy dandy hand and point out where Ferris is. Knuckle on the ring finger. Don't blame me for having an amazing way of showing Michigan geography.

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When a middle aged man asked me where Ferris State was yesterday I wasn't surprised about the question, I was surprised about the timing of the question.

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I'm sitting at a red light, windows down, dancing to music. When a voice from somewhere asks "Where is Ferris State?"

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I look around and see a man in a full fledged mid-life crisis. Sports car, Oakley sunglasses, clothes from Abercrombie, and a tad weird.

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"In northern Michigan!" I tell him.

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"Do you know Jim Someone?"

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"Uhh, no!"

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"He lives in (he did name the city, but I don't know every podunk town in the U.P.)"

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"I don't know where that is."

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"Oh. Okay."

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I went back to watching the still red light willing it to turn green.

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"Michigan! Isn't that the Edmund Fitzgerald?"

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What? When most people ask about Michigan they do not refer to a freighter that went down in Lake Superior. I must have looked confused, because he clarified.

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"The Edmund Fitzgerald! It's a freighter, it carries iron ore!"

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Yes, I know what the Edmund Fitzgerald is, you crazy man. From first grade on, school children around the state sing Gordon Lightfoot's song about the boat. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9vST6hVRj2A

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"Right," I tell him, really wishing this light would turn green already. Don't worry, he wasn't trying to coerce me. He told me that about five times. But still, middle aged man having conversation in a sports car at a red light is something out of a movie. A really bad movie.

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"Does Ferris have anything to do with that?"

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I blame Ferris for several things, but the sinking of the boat is not one of them. I again, must have looked confused, because he quickly clarified.

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"Does Ferris do anything with ship building or the iron and ore?"

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Ferris is in the middle of nowhere! A solid forty-five minute drive in all directions to civilization.

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The light thankfully turned green and I drove off, taking a right turn, he, thankfully, went straight.

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I guess I can no longer be mad or frustrated when people have never heard of Ferris, in fact, after that conversation I encourage people to just Bing it.

One Year Anniversary

On Sunday, August 21 Chris and I celebrated our one year anniversary of marriage.

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We both commented on how it did not feel like a year, it felt shorter.

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So how do you measure a year?

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You can measure it in minutes, all five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred of them. You can measure it in sunsets and sunrises, except we live in Seattle and hardly see the sun, and counting rainy days is just depressing.

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You can measure it in cups of coffee, and that seems appropriate for where we live, since no one can go a day without at least a gallon of the stuff, but Chris and I do not drink the nasty stuff.

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You could measure it in laughter, lessons learned, and of course love.

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I was asked if it was love at first sight, and it happened to be during the wedding ceremony. Neither of us fell in love with each other on sight. We were both 14, and freshmen at Farmington Hills Harrison High School.

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We were biology lab partners, English group members, friends, and not until we were nearly done with our senior year in high school did we both realize we liked one another. We dated through college (different colleges about 3 hours apart, for three years), and were engaged for most of my senior year.

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We were engaged for nearly two years, and now married for one. You can maybe understand how we both thought a year flew by, when we've been together for as long as we have.

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Anniversaries are a big deal, not because you survived the year with that person, but because of what you've shared in the last year.

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Chris and I began the year in Mexico on our honeymoon, and finished the year on a camping trip to the Olympic National Park.

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We're building a life together, and I'm beyond happy to have Chris in my life. The only thing I wish were different is we have a dinner making robot. But I can wait.

The Older Younger Sister

When I was little my father's aunt and uncle came up from Florida for a visit. As a gift to me and my sister they brought us T-shirts.

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Mine had a Babs Bunny like rabbit on it, surrounded by shopping bags. Because it was around 1990 she was also wearing short skirt, leg warmers and a 80s style tank top. It declared I AM THE BIG SISTER.

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My younger sister, Meghan, also received a rabbit shirt. Her rabbit was surrounded by toys and there may have been a pacifier in its mouth. I don't remember hers as well. Anyway, her shirt declared I AM THE LITTLE SISTER.

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The older sibling is supposed to be taller, and I still am (thankfully) and I did most things first. I had a boyfriend first, I got married first, I drove first, I went to Europe first (although she's been twice) and I moved to Seattle first.

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She did drink coffee first, but that's yucky.

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When people meet us for the first time out here, in Seattle, they assume Meghan's older. She does have the real job with a real paycheck (but my Monopoly "playcheck" is in the mail). She is the responsible one with a dog.

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She is able to cook without causing small fires in her kitchen, and she bosses me around.

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Gone are the days when I could convince her to hand me every toy in the house so I could play with them. I had a giant pile of toys, including duplicates, while she was stuck with something I didn't want to play with...yet.

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We would play games together, play dollhouse, Barbie, dollhouse and watch movies together. We shared a room for a while, and told each other stuff we would never tell our parents. We were close, but we also fought. Telling each other we would never speak to her again. Ten minutes later you could find us playing where we left off.

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My sister moved out here in January and we hang out quite a bit. She has her friends and I have mine, and we all get along. It's fun to have someone who knows you so well.

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It's also funny when we're together with our friends and she snaps "Mo, stop it!" Not unlike how you would tell your pet to stop it. Her friends from school laugh, knowing I'm supposed to be older, and make fun of her bossing me around. I don't really care, if this is how she's going to retaliate and over compensate all those years of me tormenting her, that's cool.

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People laugh and assume she's older. She tells me how to cook, which is not a bad thing, and what to do, and if she does not approve what I'm wearing.

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We were playing softball last night, I was filling in on her team, and everyone was shocked that I was actually the older sister.

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"You're so immature!" Someone told me. Immature? Immature? I'll have you know I'm very mature. I clean the bathroom regularly, I pay off my credit card (in full) every month, I always get my oil changed on time, and am hardly late.

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Just because I've decided stressing about everything is not how I want to kill brain cells, does not make me immature!

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My grandmother always tells me age is just a number, and now that my sister and I are out of college and living as independent adults age is really a number. Her number somehow became bigger than mine.

Solving Problems the Adult Way

Rock - paper - scissors, eenie-meenie-miney-moe, pick a number, flip a coin, calling dibs, or first one there, are all great decision making techniques.

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Can't decide who gets to go first? Rock-paper-scissor for it! More than two people? eenie-meanie-miney-moe can solve all problems of the world, well except for the budget, but I'm pretty sure nothing can help Washington D.C. decision makers.

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It's amazing how children are able to solve all problems with the previous named techniques. There is rarely any fighting, name calling, or grudge holding. Mad about the outcome? Should have played paper instead of scissor if you want to beat rock.

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Somehow along the way, as adults, we've forgotten how to solve problems in this diplomatic way and are now using less effective methods.

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Adults scream, argue, and shoot bullets at each other.

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I was running errands this morning, and as I was about to check out I hear the walls crashing around me, followed by yelling.

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Luckily, it wasn't the walls, it was just a large display of swim goggles, fins, and swimsuits. The display did not fall on anyone, contrary to what the yelling implied.

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Instead, it was a woman who knocked the display over in protest of another customer grabbing the last pair of tie-dyed TYR goggles.

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Really lady? Knocking over a giant display, in hopes of getting the goggles you want, was your best plan?

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Employees came running, the manager hopped over benches to get to the temper tantrum zone. It was chaos! People came from all over the store, register attendees left the cash register to check out the hullabaloo.

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"She took my goggles!" The woman screamed. The manager asked the person holding the hot ticket goggles if she stole them from the first. The holder of the goggles said she did not, that she took them off the rack, and then the other woman insisted they be given to her.

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Remember those days? When you saw someone with something you really wanted? Only it was over fruit snacks, Jell-o, or a toy. You would cry and complain and your parents told you to work it out. So you did.

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The manager let the person with the goggles check out, and escorted her to the register while other employees stood guard over the crazy lady who decided rock-paper-scissors, or flipping a coin was beneath her.

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I don't know what happened to the crazy lady, I left as soon as I could, but I have a feeling she is going to end up on the six o'clock news in the crazy people section.

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If this is the adult world I'm going to have to be associated with, I'm going back to kindergarten where things make sense, and animal cracker debates will be settled with no blood shed.