Job hunt

I'm supposed to be looking for a job. I've been looking...for the last year and a half. It's not going so well. It doesn't help that the economy has tanked and everyone and their uncle are looking for jobs. I have gone from being a college educated working citizen to a stay at home mom. And all that previous work experience? Worthless to me now. I haven't worked for 8, almost 9 years. That is not to say I haven't volunteered, worked for no pay, learned things I never did in my working life.

But these things aren't quantifiable.

You can't say "I've learned to be a good mediator when my son cut all the hair off my daughter's favorite horse and she wanted to kill him on the spot." Do you know how much self restraint it takes to not strangle one child and keep the other one from doing the job herself? A lot.

"I've learned patience from constantly repeating myself, not being heard and then saying it again a few more times for good measure." Here's the litany...'wash your hands, put the toilet seat down, leave the cat alone, pick up your coat, put your book away, don't put THAT in the toilet, leave your sister alone, leave your brother alone, stop hitting. It takes an enormous amount of patience to repeat yourself over and over again without going insane. I know, I've done it.

"I've learned how to budget my time." When you have a house to clean, laundry, a grocery trip, a birthday gift to pick up, Doctor appointments, painting (and not the fun kind), volunteering, soccer practice, club meetings, phone calls, cages to clean, rooms to pick up and only 7 hours in which to do that before the monkeys come home and make it darn near impossible to finish without whining, arguing and mayhem, you learn to budget your time.

"I'm a better employee now than I was before." Better how? Well, if you tell me that you are going to give me a job to do, and I have four hours in which to do it, and no one will bother me with "she hit me, he's reading too loud, she's being mean, he's singing too much," and at the end of that four hours I will actually accomplish something...damn, I will kick some butt and feel so good about doing it that I will happily come back the next day and do it again. How many of your employees can say that now?

"I don't have to work, I want to work." Why is this a big difference? Because I'm not working to pay the bills, although it would certainly make it easier to buy new furniture whenever my son decides to stop ruining everything I own, I WANT to be there. I want to be working. I look forward to going off to work, getting things done, being helpful, being recognized for my work. That says a lot. I will be a happy employee. Happy employees work harder. It's a fact.

"I won't live for this job, but I'll do my best work and you won't have to pay me any extra." Whatever I find won't be my reason for living. But I can guarantee that I will put my heart into it when I am there. And just being paid for working is such a bonus that I won't be looking for raises or bonuses or any of that stuff.

I'll keep looking. And at this point, I'm about ready to start putting some of that stuff into my cover letter. Honesty is the best policy. Let's try that.

"Frustrated and annoyed SAHM looking for work. Will do a damn good job at whatever you give her to do, because she's a mom and she's used to juggling 40 things at one time without messing up. She's laid back, easy to work with and just happy to be out of the house. Pay is negotiable, but appreciated."

I'll let you know if that works.

Getting a life

I had an altercation at the gym today. I was told to get a life by a man who chose not to follow the rules and was interrupting my gym time. Sounds silly, but when you think about it, this story just shows how badly people relate to each other.

At our gym, you sign up for machines for 15 minute intervals. You can sign up for up to a half hour, but that's it. The idea is, during really busy times, everyone has a chance at a machine. No one hogs a machine. It's a fair system and it seems to work. Except when people think they don't have to follow the rules. And let me tell you, this isn't the first time this has happened.

I had spent 30 minutes working out on a stationary bike. I previously signed up for the first ski machine in a row of four. My time slot was 9:45 to 10. As the system goes, your time starts at 9:45 until the end of the 15th minute, so just as the clock is turning 10, you should get off. Very simple. It works nicely and, frankly, it's not that busy in the mornings most days.

So, I'm peddling away, feeling good, glad to be working out. As the 9:45 time approaches, I see that there is someone on the machine I have signed up for. I wonder, will this person be finished by the time I get there. When I'm finished on my bike, I clean it off with a gym wipe. That's the way it's done here. A little soggy, but at least I'm leaving the machine nice for the next person. I walk over to the ski machine and notice that Mr. Man, as I will call him, has not signed up for the time slot before mine. Which means he thinks he's exempt from the whole "sign up for your exercise time" rigmarole.

I wait a minute. It is now 9:45. Things are not looking good. Mr. Man is still working out hard. I stand slightly to one side behind him hoping to jog his memory that maybe someone else might have this machine next. He looks over and says "are you signed up on this machine?"

"Yes, at 9:45" I say. No malice, no anger, just waiting for him to get off.

He says, "I have three more minutes on here."

"Uh, I'm signed up at 9:45 that is when I should get the machine." He huffs and ignores me. I stand there for another minute and the woman working out next to him speaks.

"I'm almost done with this one, you can have it." To which I reply,

"I've signed up for that one and that's the one I'd like." Silly, I know, but I don't like to be boxed in by people and the one I chose was on the end and closer to a TV. This is one of my few chances to catch the news in the morning and without my glasses it's hard to see, so I like the machine that has a TV right in front of it. There are reasons for my madness, not that Mr. Man gives a crap.

I wait another minute and the guy is still not getting off. So, then I walk over to the "Guy in Charge." Eric, the "Guy in Charge" listens to my little rant, and at this point, I am annoyed but not angry. He walks over and as he gets into position to tell the guy to get off, Mr. Man steps off, glares at me and walks away to the drinking fountain. I am standing there when he gets back, because he has not cleaned off the machine. And let me tell you, he was sweating like a hippo in the Sahara and I did NOT want any part of that slimy machine.

He breezes by me and I tell him this is the way the system works, I sign up for a machine and I get it when I sign up for it. (As an aside here, let me note that all the other ski machines were busy and one was out of order, so there weren't any others I could take) He tells me "You need to get a life" and gets on the machine next to the slimy machine I'm supposed to use.

"So, you're not going to clean it?" I say, huffy and annoyed at this point. He glares at me again. Apparently I am annoying him with my silly rule following. He steps off, lifts his sweaty, holey white t-shirt and wipes down the hand levers with his shirt. Oh, my GOD. Disgusting. I look at his and say, "You are an ass." And I walk over to the Guy In Charge to let him know that I am really pissed now and this is just inconsiderate and rude and what is going to be done about it?

He hems and haws, feels for me, but doesn't really do anything. I decide to leave. There aren't any other machines available. I am seriously pissed off and shaking. This has disrupted my morning and I am NOT happy about it. All I wanted was 45 minutes of workout time. De-stress, relax, get healthy and some asshole has to go and be a shit. Excuse my language. I'm angry.

I go downstairs and talk to Ralph, the really funny, nice old guy who works the desk. He feels for me too, gets me calmed down, commiserates with me and most likely keeps me from going all spider monkey on Mr. Man. I talk to my friend, Tracy, for a bit, get jacked up again trying to decide if I should confront Mr. Man, let him know that he is a jerk and he has ruined my workout. I decide to take the high road.

As I'm leaving, I see the Guy in Charge again, and we chat. He apologizes. That's what I really wanted, but not from him necessarily. He says they've had problems and some people are worse than others. We commiserate and I go home. But as I'm walking, I think - really, what a jerk. Tell me to get a life? Please, I have a life. A busy life. I'm a mom, a wife, I take care of the house, clean, renovate, volunteer, run a 4-H group, listen to my mother rant about my grandmother...I'm a busy person. And I had 45 minutes to spend at the gym to de-stress. That is part of my life. It is what keeps me from going crazy. Along with a bunch of medicine...but seriously, this is not the way I like to spend my workout time.

I came home and wrote a letter to the local paper. If I can't fight Mr. Man with my fist, even though I REALLY wanted to hit him, I would write about it. We'll see if they publish it.

It seems stupid, really, when you think about it. Arguing over time on a gym machine. When there is all this crap going on in the world, people losing jobs, our economy tanking, terrorists, car crashes, people killing other people. Yes, it's really minor. But it's a part of my life. And in that little sliver of time, Mr. Man had a chance to be a decent person and he chose to be an ass. What does that say about him?

Edward

It is a sad state of affairs when I have an obsession with a 17 year old vampire from a book. What is it about these Twilight books? I don't even have a teenager, just a tween, and she's certainly not reading these books anytime soon. My "Twilightcrack" dealer got me hooked on them. Thanks, T. I've read them all. Seen the movie. Visited the website. Checked out YouTube. Listened to the soundtrack. Looked at the cast photos. What is up with that?

I'm a happily married, for 15 years, mom of two. I have a life. I'm busy. I go out, with people. I have hobbies. Why? What am I missing that makes Edward and his life so fascinating?

I have a theory.

We are the last generation that grew up on the idea that a man might be the key to our happiness. I'm not saying that it is true, or that is how all women were raised. But, are the women my age not one of the last generations to read the "maiden saved by prince charming" type books? Cinderella, Snow White? Slowly and by some degrees I remember that ideal changing as I was growing up. We were learning to be self sufficient. Learning that we could be anything we wanted to be. Or, at least told that, even if it wasn't always true.

Think about the movies now, the animated movies - like Mulan, or Shrek - where the main female character can hold her own. She doesn't need a man. They are individuals who happen to fall in love, but don't need it to survive.

We're the generation that was allowed to be a girl but could do boy things if we wanted. Our mothers paved the way for many of us to work outside the home, but many of us have chosen to stay home mothering instead. We've had it both ways. And Edward reminds of us of that "swept off your feet" feeling. That passionate young love that will burn you up inside if you let it. We are still enchanted by that. And that is why, at least for me, Twilight is my obsession.

I'll keep it around for a little while. It's a giddy feeling. And it's just enough to help me forget all the rest for just a bit. Who doesn't need that?

What the hell?

I have a birthday this Saturday. It is the last birthday I will ever have. Isn't that what I'm supposed to say? I'm knocking on 40's door. Forty has unlocked the door, cracked it open and is pulling the chain off to let me in. I'm going to be *gasp* 39. Thirty nine forever. Not that I really feel that way. Seriously, I'm not concerned about the age thing. My mind is young as ever. Mostly it's just my body going to pieces.

I'm doing everything I can to push that off. The decay. The decrepitude. Is that even a word? This hurts. That hurts. That doesn't run right. I have glasses now. I'm tired. I don't enjoy things that I used to enjoy. I can't even eat candy without thinking about how it will affect me. I won't go into details. You can thank me later. I do workout. I lift weights. I do cardio. I try to stay fit. I don't smoke. I do drink, but not a lot, unless I'm drinking with my friend, Tracy, and then I just get sucked in. I don't engage in dangerous activities, unless you call willingly walking across a Lego strewn floor in the dark dangerous. Painful, yes. Dangerous, not so much.

Forty will not get the best of me. But I have a feeling it will be the best part of my life. My kids are the best age for actually getting things done. They help out. They aren't as demanding. One will actually start driving in the next four years. I feel like I could actually become a real person in these next few years. Not just "mommy."

Mommy has been my persona for the last 11 years. And when I stopped working and stayed home, I was so "mommy" that I became literally invisible to people at my husband's work functions. So, it is exciting to think that maybe, maybe I could have a purpose other then washing clothes, doing dishes, driving kids, shopping (and not the fun kind). I might actually find a job that - wait for it - pays me money! Where I can work on something and actually finish it! Where I might even get a "way to go" or "thanks for your hard work." I know, I'm getting all crazy in the head. What do I need that for? I'm just a "mommy." Mommy's are all about selflessness, sacrifice, giving.

I'm not that mommy. I have been for 11 years. But now, I'm taking back my body, my mind, my life and working on something a bit more exciting than a class homework assignment to build a diorama or finding something that my son will eat that is even remotely healthy. I go out several times a month. I'm still feeling guilty, but that is passing. I have finally realized that without some "me time" - I know, how cliche - I don't have much left for everyone. The well is dry, people.

So, I'm almost 40. Almost. I still have one year left to act like a 30 year old. Not sure what that is, but I'll let you know if I can figure it out before I'm 40. I'll be here, living the dream.