Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Top Ten Interview Don'ts

1. Don’t show up to an interview dressed in the clothes you wore to muck out the barn. Big rubber boots covered in horse poop will not get you a job in an office.

2. Don’t show up in a mini skirt with thigh high stockings and five inch heels, unless of course you are looking to work in a Gentlemen’s Club.

3. Don’t show up in sandals, jeans with holes at the knees and split below your butt cheeks and with a t-shirt that advertises you are free and easy. I think I figured it out.

4. Don’t show up in the same clothes you wore last night. Try taking a shower and combing your hair. Oh, and make sure your shirt is right side out.

5. Don’t tell me your boyfriend continues to stalk you from state to state and threatens you with a gun. Don’t add that you continue to speak to him each night on the phone because he loves you so much.

6. Don’t list for me all of the medications you are taking. While I can be sympathetic on occasion, it’s best not to tell me how you thought about killing your baby, yourself or strangers on the street.

7. Don’t tell me you handle stressful situations by having a drink, having a cigarette, having God take care of it or having a fit.

8. Don’t tell me you got fired from your last job because they didn’t understand you have a weak bladder and need to go to the bathroom every half hour.

9. Don’t tell me you need a job for the health insurance because you are pregnant again and you hope they will let you keep this one.

10. Don’t tell me how you have met all of your spouses online and that you need next Tuesday off to finalize your current divorce.

Thursday, March 22, 2007

Make A Wish Come True

Swampwitch pointed out that Shane Bernier, a very sick seven year old boy, would like millions of birthday cards for his eighth birthday, which is May 30, 2007. Take the time to make his wish come true and then spread the word.

Video One – 3 minutes

Video Two – 1 ½ minutes

Video Three – 1 minute

Mail your cards to:

Shane Bernier
P.O. Box 484
Lancasater, Ontario

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Alban Eilir

It's the first day of Spring. There will be more sunlight. Alban Eilir Click on the pictures to enlarge.

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Public Service Announcement

I placed an ad for a Customer Service Representative position I need filled here at work. Reviewing resumes gives me chest pains because people are idiots. Here are some pointers for anyone who may be looking for a job and submitting resumes:

Use spell and grammar check. There is no excuse for any spelling mistakes or using two when you meant too or to. i is always capitalized, as in, I can’t believe the mistakes on some resumes.

When I ask for your salary requirement, please give me a dollar figure. Don’t say it’s negotiable or ignore the request all together. I have a budget. There is no point in our talking if my budget is $12.00 - $14.00 per hour and you want $19.00 per hour. You can’t negotiate that big of a difference.

If you are going to use an email address, please get a business-like one. If I see your email address on a resume is hot mama, satan’s dog, tiny tina or big bad bill, I’m going to assume you are looking for a different type of job. Email addresses are free. Do yourself a favor and get one that just has your initials and use that for job hunting.

Please stop telling me you are a team-player, a self-starter, a go-getter, a people-person, a multi-tasker. You have “strong customer service relations?” Do you sleep with your customers? I want to know specific job skills.

If you are computer proficient why can’t you format your resume properly when sending it via e-mail?

Strange background pictures, broken sentences, odd characters, all capital letters, weird bolding and italizing in sentences: these things are like pink paper and perfume. They are no-no’s.

If you are looking for a job as an insurance underwriter, legal office assistant, computer programmer, medical receptionist, graphics designer, bookkeeper, sales manager, or anything other than a customer service representative in my business, don’t send me your resume. I am looking for a customer service representative in my business, just like I said in my ad. Read the friggin’ ad.

I put my name in the ad. It is clearly a female name. Do not address your cover letter to me as, Dear Sir.

A resume objective is a place for you to tell me how you can help me. I don’t care if you want to grow. I don’t care if you want advancement. You want to secure a rewarding position? Well, duh, who would want a position that is not rewarding? But, what has any of this to do with what you can do for me?

Don’t make handwritten changes to your resume. Take the time to make the changes on a computer. Computer use is free at most libraries. Don’t tell me you wanted to get me your resume, as soon as possible, so you don’t miss out on an opportunity or because you are perfect for the job.

Don’t be cute. Don’t call yourself a “Domestic Goddess.” Don’t say you were “out finding yourself” when you were on unemployment. As a matter of fact, if you feel compelled to use quotation marks on your resume, leave the item off.

Keep your resume to one page. Make your name smaller or your margins smaller or your sentences shorter, but somehow stick to one page.

I don’t care about your hobbies, unless they directly reflect on job skills. As a matter of fact, some peoples’ hobbies scare the living shit out of me.

Monday, March 12, 2007

Mirror, Mirror of Your Eyes

Michele sat in front of the mirror after her shower. Her digital alarm clock glowed 1:00 PM. A wide, stained, cloth headband held the damp hair away from the face. She dotted blemish medicine on pimples using the tip of a pinky. She applied make-up exactly as the saleswoman instructed. She sponged concealer stick, liquid concealer and foundation over the face, eyelids and lips. The eyeliner required a thin, fine, sable brush to achieve the uplifted almond shape of the eyes. She applied each of five earthy colored eye shadows with its own round-ended brush, playing up the brown eyes and enhancing the sleepy bedroom look that she cultivated even in the daytime. Three layers of mascara in black covered the false eyelashes, each layer separated with an eyebrow comb and curled with a heated eye lash curler. She fluffed blush on all of the spots the sun would kiss the face if the sun could get to the skin. She set all of this with fine, pearlescent powder using a Kabuki brush. She pulled off the headband and tossed it on the floor on top of the dirty clothes. She dried the hair in the style suggested by the hairdresser. She sprayed, teased and brushed each highlighted strand into the place it belonged. She tossed the empty hairspray can on top of the pile of clothes on the floor and grabbed another can from the closet, applying an additional layer of lacquer. She took the blouse and designer jeans from the dry cleaner bags. She got into them without breaking off a false fingernail or chipping any of the nail polish. The creases on the jeans dissected the front of the legs right down the middle. She stepped into designer, alligator shoes. She checked the designer label, alligator purse for cigarettes. She lined the lips with red pencil and filled them in with red lipstick. She put the lipstick in the purse. She looked at herself in the mirror.

Michele checked the clock. She had five minutes before she had to meet with her client downstairs at four. She sprayed on the perfume her ex-husband had made her signature scent. It entered a room before she did.

When she got down to the home office she shared with her boyfriend, she found the computer with the state of the art graphic design programs he had bought her already turned on. Her friend, who worked for her boyfriend, had the samples ready.

Michele sat at her desk. She lined up the watermarked, high rag content letterhead, business cards and envelopes evenly on her polished walnut desk. She looked around the office. Her friend had vacuumed, dusted and cleared the clutter, as instructed.

The grandmother clock in the livingroom chimed sixteen times. Someone knocked at the door. Her friend went to answer it. A man the same age, but not as grey as her boyfriend, walked past her friend without a glance. He walked up to her desk.

“Hello,” he said, holding out his hand. He was a longtime business associate of her boyfriend.

She kept her hands folded in her lap and smiled up at him.

“He’s one lucky stiff,” he said. “How did he manage to get himself such a young and attractive girlfriend?” He winked at her.

She smiled. She stood. She sat on the edge of her desk.

“Did you have him as a professor at the community college?” He grinned.

She smiled. She gestured towards the papers, leaving her hand on the desk, palm up.

“You’re nothing like his wife.” He stroked her wrist. “I guess you can’t compare a woman with nine kids to a thirty year old hottie, huh?”

She smiled. She touched the papers with one fingernail.

“Let’s see the stationery I can’t live without.” He picked up the letterhead.

Michele pointed out his personally designed logo, business name and address printed in dark blue and embossed in silver on the pale blue Tairei paper. Silver tissue lined the matching envelopes. His business cards were printed on light blue linen card stock. She saw her friend’s frown from the corner of her eye. She had not mentioned that her friend had designed the logo and chosen the font.

“I have never seen such expensive office supplies.” He rubbed the paper between his thumb and forefinger.

She smiled into his dazed eyes.

“I did say I wanted something elegant.” He took her estimate without flinching. “Thank you for the beautiful designs. I’ll call when I decide on an order quantity.” He left. The clock chimed the quarter after the hour; a fifteen minute meeting.

She sat in her chair. She looked at the newest New York Times best seller she had purchased. She didn’t understand what the author wrote. She never read the books, anyway. Her boyfriend called.

“He loved the stationary. He won’t be able to justify the expense of the special papers for the business, though.” He paused.

Michele took her cigarettes out of her purse.

“I know he said he wanted something special, but $15.00 for 50 sheets of paper was more than he expected.”

She lit a cigarette with the silver lighter on her desk.

“He thinks the logo captures his business concept exactly and the choice of font is a perfect match.”

She stared at the wall.

“Do the order on a more traditional paper and you’ve got your first sale.” His voice rose at the end of the sentence.

She dropped ashes on her blouse, burning a hole in the lapel.

“I know he disappointed your little artistic heart.” He giggled. “He said you looked very sophisticated.”

“He compared me to your wife.” She sucked on her cigarette. “He sounded like he admired her.”

“He admired your designs,” he said. “When I get home from class, we’ll go to that new restaurant you wanted to try.”

“I don’t feel well.” She hung up the phone.

She stubbed out her cigarette in the tin ash tray on her boyfriend’s desk. She toed her shoes off in front of her friend. She tossed her purse on the recliner in the livingroom. It bounced to the floor. She went to the bathroom upstairs, peed and left her jeans and panties on the floor. She threw an empty can of hair spray at the bedroom mirror on her way to the bed. The can landed on her boyfriend’s pillow. She crawled under the crumpled, unwashed sheets and laid her head on the makeup encrusted pillow case. She fell asleep.

The clock downstairs chimed seventeen times.

~ ~ ~

We went to the ocean yesterday.

Saturday, March 03, 2007

Saturday Night's Alright

Today is MM’s birthday. He is Snoog’s boyfriend and he is twenty. They’ve known each other since grade school and have been dating for about a year and a half. He likes penguins like Minka. This is his card. The inside says, “Sometimes if you squawk enough you get what you want.” Snoog’s is giving him the new Xbox he wanted. Don’t tell him and ruin the surprise.

Bob Geldof is having a charity event at Grunt Ahoy! and the great thing is that it will not cost you any money to support this wonderful cause. The goal is 1000 comments to save the blog and keep Grunty happy. Go help out and show Grunty some lovey-dovey. I know it can look a little scary there but it’s more like a Halloween costume party than an actual murder scene. I’m not helping am I?

The Codes and I went for a walk to the park at the end of my street. Here are some pictures of the marina that is across the street from my house from the back side.

And here are some dolls I made my daughter, Snoogs, about fifteen years ago. We just brought them out of storage. She loved playing with them. The two larger dolls fit into infant cloths, so she dressed them in her own baby clothes.