Job Hunting

So here’s the thought of the day.  I’ve jumped into this job hunt thing and it’s unreal what the world has come to.  Remember back in the day, when you used to print out a resume on NICE paper, scour the newspaper for job opportunities, phone the listed companies and make appointments to meet?  Yeah…that was awesome.

Now it’s the impersonal world of the Zuckerberg generation.  Do you know that when his long time girlfriend graduated from medical school, he posted this on his Facebook page:  “I’m so proud of you, Dr. Chan : ) “  Seriously?  That’s what you get for becoming a doctor.   Colon space parenthesis in ITALICS???  I am SO screwed!

I have no idea how to job hunt in this world.  You have to trick up your resume for a COMPUTER!  People don’t look at it.  First it gets scanned by HAL, who could dump you in the “OUT” file if you have the wrong font.  And this whole key word thing is really crazy.  It’s cracking a code, to trick a computer into passing you on to a pile in HR that may or MAY NOT get human handling.  When I say ‘MAY NOT’, what I really mean is that you could end up in the hands of some 20-something associate who hates her mother, so you’re screwed just because you graduated in the Woodstock era. 

Is it like that everywhere?  I’m guessing that the computer that scans for the new hires in the local strip club must be looking for key words like this :

IMG_0411

  • Brazilian Wax
  • Flexible
  • Third Shift
  • Tattoo
  • Implants
  • Spray Tan
  • Daddy Issues
  • “Hands-On” Experience 
  •  

    Remember to good old days, when all you had to do was show up, shake your ta-tas and take a spin around a pole to be able to pick up your g-string and company ID?  Yeah…that was awesome!

    **************************************************************************************

    I’D LOVE IT IF YOU SIGNED UP FOR MY E-MAILING LIST!  IT’S JUST YOU AND ME, BABY!  I DON’T SHARE MY TOP SECRET SUBSCRIBER LIST WITH ANYONE, SO YOU WON’T GET JUNK OR SPAM OR FOUND IF YOU’RE IN WITNESS PROTECTION!  I JUST WANT TO LET YOU KNOW WHEN I POST A NEW ENTRY.  SUBSCRIBE HERE

    To My Favorite Daughter…OK, My Only Daughter

    Today is my daughter’s birthday.  I can’t believe she’s 29 years old.  That sounds so grown up but I guess that’s because she is!  Here’s the thing – I just don’t feel like I’m grown up enough to have an offspring who is this old!  Especially when I think about how smart and mature she is.  Truthfully, I want to be more like her. So usually I only reflect on that thought after a cocktail, because it’s one of those odd circle of life concepts that make my head spin.

    I feel guilty when I brag about Alexis, because I know a lot of the reasons she’s turned out to be such an outstanding young woman is because of ME!  So, I’m kind of patting myself on the back when I brag.  (Although what’s so wrong with that?  Every one likes a good pat on the back…even if it is Pat-sterbation.)  On the other hand, as a parent, I learned a lot and grew up with her. So how is it that she learned a little more than I did.  Seriously…how does that happen?  That’s when the cocktail comes into play.  My brain gets stuck in that circle of life!

    Happily, with all her smarts and maturity, I managed to brainwash her enough that she picked up the snarky, funny attitude and the humor that makes life fun.  Now, as an adult, I just love talking to her because it’s always amusing for both of us…and what could be better than that!

    So just as I was about to send her a little birthday greeting, I got this little instant message exchange, started by her (in Blue) to commemorate the day, our communication style and our love.  She’s allowing me to share, and you get a glimpse of my baby girl – all grown up!

    Ra in Text SizeHappy fruit of your loins day!  When I was younger, my birthday was exciting.  After watching my friend     Kelly give birth to her son, I feel like the least I can do is send you a fruit basket!

     

    Abaco headshot-ASH  My hoo-haa was just thinking aboout you!  8:53 AM is when you entered the stage and stole the spotlight from me forever!

     

    Ra in Text Size                                                                                 Ya, sorry about that!  What can I say?  I learned from the master!

    Abaco headshot-ASH  It was worth every stretch mark!

     

    Ra in Text Size                                                                                                                                                                                            Thanks, Mom!  

       

    Abaco headshot-ASH  Thank you for all the years of getting to watch you dance on the OUTSIDE!  Those Rockette kick lines you used to practice in my lady oven seemed like punishment until I realized it was just a 9 month rehearsal!

    Ra in Text Size                                                                                                                                                             ha ha! Now that’s funny! : – )

     

     

    Abaco headshot-ASH Not so funny the night I was at the Tomorrowland Stage watching Gloria Estefan and Miami Sound Machine perform.  That was the first time you started to listening to the beat of the music and start practicing the Solid Gold Dancer moves!  I had to leave the show because you were knocking me over!!! ; – )

    Ra in Text Size                                                                                                               I had to let my coworker read that, bc that’s funny!

    Abaco headshot-ASHHAPPY BIRTHDAY SWEETIE!  I LOVE YOU!!

     

    This is the birthday chat the began our 29th year as mother and daughter, and I count my blessings that I am lucky enough to have both written and verbal chats like this on almost a daily basis.  Because with all the ups and downs of child rearing and growing up, on both sides, not only do we love each other, we are blessed to really LIKE each other, too.

    Viral Cover Letter

    I’m sure by now most people have either heard about, or have actually read this cover letter sent to a Wall Street firm.  Obviously, once it went viral, it became the kiss of death letter for this poor schmo who is never going to live it down.  Just in case you’ve been locked in a safe room for the last week, with no connection to the outside world, this is a cut and paste of the first bit of that letter:

    1/23/2012

    J.P. Morgan

    Dear Sir or Madame:

    I am an ambitious undergraduate at NYU triple majoring in Mathematics, Economics, and Computer Science. I am a punctual, personable, and shrewd individual, yet I have a quality which I pride myself on more than any of these.

    I am unequivocally the most unflaggingly hard worker I know, and I love self-improvement. I have always felt that my time should be spent wisely, so I continuously challenge myself; I left Villanova because the work was too easy. Once I realized I could achieve a perfect GPA while holding a part-time job at NYU, I decided to redouble my effort by placing out of two classes, taking two honors classes, and holding two part-time jobs. That semester I achieved a 3.93, and in the same time I managed to bench double my bodyweight and do 35 pull-ups. 

    My question is this: When did this letter go wrong?  When he left Villanova because it was too easy?  When he snagged himself 2 part time jobs while simultaneously taking EVERY class offered in the new school?  Or was is simply the bench presses and pull ups?

    Seriously?  I need to know; I’m in that job search mode myself right now, and although I find his letter hysterical because it’s so idiotic for an intern to be presenting himself as the next Superhero of the Geek world, I’ve been tempted to write the same sort of letter.

    Hopefully, mine would be a little more entertaining, and would definitely have more meat coming from my life experience.  But isn’t this what a cover letter is all about…getting someone’s attention, pumping up all your good qualities and outlining your outstanding abilities?  I’m looking down the barrel of a “Do you want fries with that?” change in employment, and I really don’t WANT to make the same mistakes as Pull-Up Boy, but I don’t know if I can help it.  This is MY letter.  You tell me: 

     

    2/13/2012 

    Dear Sir or Madame:

    You need to hire me.  I can do anything.  Not only am I’m a college graduate, but I have taken numerous independent classes over the years in a multitude of subjects that I found interesting, so I know a lot of stuff.  Let the new college graduates take the jobs at the drive thru windows, and consider me for any position worth having.

    When I say I can do anything, I really mean it.  I’m a mother.  Once you pass a watermelon through your hoo-haa, there is no work project that is daunting.  

    I was a stand up comic.  Once you see a drunk chick sitting right in front of you while on stage, getting ready to projectile vomit on your new shoes, and you manage to dodge the spew, finish your bit and turn the clean-up into a new bit, there is no curve ball that you can’t catch.   

    I worked backstage in live theater.  Once you have a flamboyant chorus boy wearing nothing but a dance belt (google it) throw a hissy fit because his prop cane is missing, and you DON’T bitch slap him when he goes all diva and gets up in your face (or look at his butt as he sashays away), there is no HR problem you can’t navigate.

    I’m a cancer survivor’s care giver.  I can crack codes (insurance billing), decipher Latin (prescriptions), research new information (test studies), put in long hours (wake up in the middle of the night to check to see if he’s still breathing) and laugh in the face of adversity (BITE ME, Lymphoma!) 

    I lived though two dress rehearsal marriages (one was mine and one was my daughter’s) where the male leads were both jack asses.  I can work with difficult people without chopping them up into small pieces, driving to the Everglades and getting rid of the evidence as alligator bait.  Note: this also shows that I can work in a cut-throat environment with a “Plan B” if necessary!

    And most importantly, I have learned all the high tech information that I need to know, but I can still add without a calculator, spell without spell-check and answer most questions without Google.  I can sit at a workstation and concentrate on the job at hand.  I don’t need a lounge with a treadmill, trampoline and ping pong table.  An office chair suits me just fine; bean bags, bouncy balls and chaise lounges aren’t a carrot on a stick to me.  I just show up, and by that I mean I don’t just log on from my sofa, in my jammies.  I’ll shower, dress and come to where you are.

    So to quote Pull-Ups Boy,

    I am unequivocally the most unflaggingly hard worker I know, and I love self-improvement. I have always felt that my time should be spent wisely, so I continuously challenge myself; 

    The only difference here is that I know what that sentence means and I have actually lived my life that way.  And that is why you should hire me. 

    Any takers?


    Dear Everyone We Know,

    UP THE CREEK WITHOUT A PADDLE

    UP THE CREEK WITHOUT A PADDLE

    Dear Everyone We Know:

    As we attack the new developments in Steven’s heath and my work situation, we have another issue on the back burner that needs to be addressed.  Remember the old commercial “THIS IS YOUR BRAIN ON DRUGS?”  In regard to that, to anyone who has received a text, e-mail, fax, Facebook post, carrier pigeon drop or etching in the sand from Steven…I apologize in his behalf.

    It’s not that he’s doing anything wrong, but he is in a lot of pain and everyone knows oncologists give THE BEST pain meds.  And pain meds mixed with time home to reflect, sometimes don’t mix together ‘all too pretty good,’ as Steven says.  If you received a funny correspondence, YAY.  If you got one that sounded like he was losing his mind, that was the mixture of free flowing thoughts, too much time alone and hydrocodone.  And, if you got anything that makes you think his days are numbered, please be advised that the only numbers attached to his shelf life are the ones I assign when he pisses me off!

    My husband is quite eloquent when he speaks, but his written words are akin to Jethro Bodine.  His e-mails can be two pages long, but are only one sentence, thus the confusion in intent.  So please just roll with and don’t be alarmed.  We have a fabulous holiday season planned.  We are investigating all options.  And no one is dying unless it it involves a crow bar and a conk on the head!

    I know the stress of the economy has really weighed down this holiday season and w’ve been trying to keep our spirits up. I’m shocked at the number of people who DON”T have their Christmas trees up, or lights twinkling from the rooftops or piles of gifts awaiting wrapping.  And like those people, Steven and I were starting to follow suit and get kinda Grinch-y.

    I preach positive attitude and ‘glass half full’ crap, so I really have to have the chutzpah to back it up. Earlier this week, I decided to yank myself up by the boot straps and do something very O. Henry-ish…make something out of nothing.  Unfortunately, without having long flowing locks to cut and sell on eBay, I had to resort to ingenuity.

    I rolled the dice and entered Steven in the biggest end of the year contest give-away available…The United Healthcare “You Hit Your Yearly Out-Of-Pocket-Maximum Expense” Sweepstakes.  And we won BIG.  I’m so excited and can’t wait for our upcoming holiday vacation.

    We’ve won a trip to the Cancer Care Treatment Resort and Spa in beautiful Tulsa, Oklahoma.  I’ve never been to Tulsa, but I hear it’s glorious at Christmas time.  And what could be more romantic and relaxing than the spa treatments!  Steven is already signed up for the Most Relaxing Interlude treatment (MRI) and the Chakra Testing scan (CT scan).  The brochure looks beautiful, and we’re planning to take advantage of all the perks.

    The shopping isn’t the quite on par with the Encore – Las Vegas esplanade, but they do have specialty shops.  And though the names aren’t as top shelf as Prada and Hermes, I’m pretty sure the quality of the Johnson & Johnson gifts and Eli Lilly souvenirs will be something to treasure.  There are all kinds of other activities already planned, and the itinerary is starting to feel like a day on the Love Boat.

    I’ve even talked Steven into doing a whole body cleanse.  He’s hoping it will help him lose a few pounds and make his skin glow.  I just hope he doesn’t figure out it’s a colonoscopy!.  Merry Christmas and HO-HO-OH!!!!!!!!!!

    I Left My Hurt in San Francisco

    Golden Gate BridgeI hate to get political.  I really do.  I think it’s a conversation that rarely ends well when you debate someone with the polar opposite opinion that you hold dear.  It ends not as a meeting of the minds, but rather two strong willed people parting company, muttering “idiot”, “moron” or “dickweed”  (or maybe that’s just me muttering “dickweed”)  Anyway, it is a part of life, and I’m nothing if not an advocate of current event awareness.  Hence, one would think that a political thought might occasionally have to pass through here. And away we go!

    This is a copy and paste from The New York Times.  It is an Associated Press article published on May 18, 2011:

    “A group seeking to ban the circumcision of male children in San Francisco has succeeded in getting the measure on the November ballot.”

     

    Fisherman's WharfAre you freakin’ kidding me?  Steven and I were in San Francisco for a 2 week vacation in 2009.  We had a blast, but it was different!  A friend there has back problems.  She has a medical marijuana card.  They sell it like Advil.  That’s legal.  We saw people smoking pot waiting at the bus stop.  That is legal.

    There are tattoo shops where you can walk in, get inked, have your nipples pierced and have holes the size of hub caps stretched into your ears.  That is legal.  At Fisherman’s Wharf, I saw 2 not-so-pretty girls sucking face with each other, 2 way-too-pretty guys pawing and playing grabby-ass with each other and an old man making out with his Schnauzer.  That was gross, but apparently legal.

    So again, are you freakin’ kidding me?  Steven is all up in arms about this.  According to his take on a specific Bible passage, he will expound on the belief that males be circumcised as homage to God.  (We’ve covered the differences in our interpretation of God, Christianity and Bible passages in past posts, so do your history homework – reading is FUNdamental).  As a Catholic schooled gal, I’m not being irreverent when I say homage – schmomage.  An uncircumcised schlong is just ewwww-ie.

    View from FairmontI can’t say that I’ve seen THAT many wieners in my life time, but aren’t most American men circumcised?  Why would this even come up?  Like San Francisco isn’t nutty enough!  Now they are going to try to pass a law making it illegal to do a little snip-nip when a baby boy is napping and his junk is the size of a pig in a blanket.  Much better to wait until he’s 18, when he’s old enough to realize how much that chop-chop is going to hurt.  And by the way, if all went well during puberty, this should no longer be a nip-snip.  I hope Obama-care covers fillet man-dong!

    Steven has been through the nastiest of chemotherapy.  We always say a day without chemo is a great day.  Unless you just turned 18 in San Francisco.  Suddenly chemo doesn’t sound so bad.

    Nut jobs.  (I mean the Californians!)

    Cotton Balls, Aloe and Hemorrhoids

    There are two sides to everything, including me.  I know how to behave in polite company, but sometimes I just have to cross over to the inappropriate side of the street.  Sometimes, I need it to keep me laughing. Rereading my last few posts has me realizing that I need a break from the heartwarming, rah-rah, you-can-do-it, sappy stuff.  So let’s talk hemorrhoids.

    I don’t remember where I learned this, but for years the phrase, “You buy the premise, you buy the gag,” has echoed in my brain.  In joke telling, it’s the set-up, in writing, it’s the back story.  So before I really begin, here are the two back stories:

    1. Chemotherapy causes constipation which causes hemorrhoids.  During chemo, it is one of the most UN-funny side effects to weather.  I think once that particular problem comes into your life, it’s always there, lurking in the background waiting to rear it’s ugly head.  Or to head your ugly rear…whatever.  Steven has had chemo ergo…you fill in the blanks.
    2. Alexis has been trying to get a handle on a little health problem, nothing life-threatening, but in need of attention.  She goes to our family doctor here on the beachside, but she lives in Orlando.  Her job is hectic, and so is the doctor’s office, so she has trouble communicating her weekly updates as they monitor her changing medication.

    That is enough premise.  Now please join with me for the rest of the ride.  I was iChatting with Alexis and she was complaining (she gets that from me) about not getting to speak directly with the doctor, wondering if her messages were being monitored correctly and yada yada yada.  I told her that I never have a problem getting through to the doctor, but you the main man.  Like with the hemorrhoids…to which she replied, “What hemorrhoids?”  I couldn’t believe that I never told her the Tale of Two Hemorrhoids (I’m amusing myself there.  You, too?)  

    Once upon a time Steven and I made a round trip drive to Miami in one day.  It was about 7 hours in the car, and he was having ‘bottom’ trouble before we even left.  All that sitting put him over the edge.  We arrived back home to all kinds of creams, salves, balms and potions for hemorrhoids, but his tolerance is bad because of the chemo flash backs.  Naturally, this kind of thing always flairs up over a weekend, and after all our regular treatments were tried with no success, I started getting creative.  I knew witch hazel was supposed to be a help, and someone suggested putting it on cotton balls and cooling them in the frig first.  Not to be a wuss, I soaked them and stowed them right in the freezer.  If cool is good, frozen has got to be better, right?

    I knew Steven had to be in MAJOR discomfort when I suggested that he stick a couple of frozen cotton balls up his wazoo…and he agreed.  Unfortunately, I think there is such a thing as TOO cold, and the freezer burn on his bum sent a shock to his sphinter that just made it even worse.  I went back to WebMD. ‘Herbs R Us’ and hemorrhoid.com, and that’s where the aloe came into play.  Not the Walgreens, buy it in a tube aloe.  No thank-you.  We have fresh, potent, all-natural aloe growing in our yard.  So I went outside, sliced off a few leaves, cut them up into butt sized portions and peeled them.  (OMG-butt-sized…I’m SO loving this). By this time, Alexis was crying from laughing so hard, because she knew that if I could convince Steven to put frozen cotton balls in his tush, I absolutely would be able to talk him into holding a slice of aloe between his cheeks. (WARNING: CUT OFF THE THORNY EDGES FIRST)

    So by the time Monday rolls around, his patience is gone and he’s not having nearly the fun I’m having!  I reminded Steven to call the doctor as I was heading out to work.  I was about 3 blocks away when he called me on my cell phone.  He told the doctor’s office he had a problem with hemorrhoids.  They had told him they could see him on Wednesday.  Really?  I was not waiting for another 2 days of life with burning butt boy. 

    The lesson for Alexis is that this is where the fun part comes into play.  You have to make it fun for THEM.  The office staff in a medical practice deals with tons of serious stuff and even more mundane symptoms.  They need a good story just like the rest of us.  Nobody wants to hear a conversation about chicken pox and the flu.  But how great is tonight’s cocktail hour going to be with a funny hemorrhoid story! Especailly when it’s true.  So I called and spoke the truth:

    “Hi, this is Alexandra.  My husband Steven just called and asked to see the doctor.  Did he tell you he had a little problem with a hemorrhoid?  Did he tell you this part?  He was in so much pain over the weekend that I soaked cotton balls in witch hazel, stuck them in the freezer until they were frozen and then made him shove them up his ass.  It didn’t work.  So since Sunday, he’s been standing around at home, squeezing a slice of fresh aloe between his butt cheeks, hoping it doesn’t slip down the leg of his pants.  Does he really have to wedge it in there until Wednesday?…Yes he can be there by 10…and I’ll let him know that I told you about the cotton balls and aloe.  Try not to laugh at him when he comes in, but if you do, he’ll be OK.  He’s kind of used to it.”

    And he was…because that’s how you get a fast appointment to the doctor!

     

    Cancel the Vacation to Pakistan!

    I just told Steven that if he was planning a surprise vacation for us to Pakistan, I’m not going.  Now chances are, that would never happen, but I’m not taking any chances.  I’ve been watching the news and all I can come up with is WTF???  And yes, I know those are VERY inappropriate initials for a very inappropriate phrase.  But sometimes, it just fits.

    So, I’ve seen million dollar mansions from inside and out.  And I saw bin Laden’s million dollar mansion.  WTF?  Really? Cracks in the exterior walls?  Is there no Plaster of Paris in Pakistan?  Obviously, no cleaning ladies.  WTF?  You have 37 wives and no one cleans up?  No wonder people don’t mind living in caves.  What difference does it make if the vermin running across the floor live there or are just visiting?  

    You live right outside of a military training base and NO ONE knows you’re there?  WTF?  I’m never eating hummus again.  Who knows what’s in that?  Seriously, any country that can miss the #1 terrorist in the world is not going to be real choosy about hockers in the hummus!

    By the way, I just heard someone on Fox news say voters interested in family values don’t like the “F” word.  WTF?  Without the “F” word, there would be no families.