So I Had This Job Interview...

Periodically, I apply for jobs that I find posted on Craigslist (the ones that aren't insultingly underpaid and seem to be interesting). This one in particular was a part-time position with a local antique dealer as a research/administrative assistant. The pay was good and the work consisted of researching and drafting write-ups of various pieces in the collection and updating the company website from time to time. It also involved answering phones, doing invoicing, you know, the usual administrative stuff. I wasn't over the moon about the actual job, but more the prospect of earning a little income while doing something that wouldn't rot my brain from boredom.

I had a phone interview last week and the next day they asked if I would come in for an in-person interview. I agreed and thought I pretty much had it in the bag. In my experience, in-person meetings are really to make sure the person on the phone isn't a total nutjob, which I am not (at least most of the time). The interview time worked out perfectly, since it was about an hour and 15 minutes before my dentist appointment right around the corner. I woke up to a cold and rainy morning, but saw it only as an opportunity to sport that raincoat I purchased this spring. I decided to walk to the interview to get a little exercise in for the day, especially since it wasn't raining that hard. I arrived to the interview about 10 minutes early and rang the bell.

The person who interviewed me on the phone came down the stairs and opened the door. I stuck out my hand and introduced myself and he proceeded to tell me that the position had been filled. He looked really embarrassed and said that his boss had just told him minutes before I arrived -- he tried calling on my home phone number, but only about a minute before I showed up, so obviously, I wasn't home. I stared at him in shock as he apologized profusely and paused to see if I would tell him it was okay.

Well, I didn't. It wasn't okay. It was horrifying, humiliating, and insanely annoying. I leaned back on my heels, nodded, turned around and started walking. I know you're not supposed to burn bridges when job searching, so not replying to his apologies was not exactly professional; however, I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, I'd chastise him in some way, which would have been even worse.

Trying to put all of this in perspective, I remembered my trip to the Japanese Garden this past weekend with Jesse and our friend, Tex. At least I'm not this guy (who had about 15 tripods set up behind his, um, behind). I may have had my dignity crushed for an afternoon, but at least there isn't any photo documentation of the event.

A Celebration

Jesse declared today a local holiday in honor of me unveiling my legs for the first time this season. It's the first day that's been nice enough to put on a tank top for running, so I decided to embrace it wholeheartedly and go for shorts as well. This was not a process to take lightly. It meant shaving my legs above the knees and foregoing lotion for fear that the reflective glare from freshly moisturized skin might cause severe car collisions as I passed by.

I'm not just doing this for comfort as I run, but also for the comfort of the guests attending Ben & Daphne's wedding in two weeks. I distinctly remember the last May wedding that I attended in California. My legs were likened to the color of thick, white tights -- legs so white, in fact, that they have never been found on any native species of the west coast. Since I've publicly committed to wearing a dress, I decided that it is time for me to do something about my porcelain (pasty) skin.

My run went pretty well today. I ended up jogging just over 25 minutes (with a couple of walking breaks), and covered about 3.5 miles while walking and running. The weather certainly couldn't have been more perfect. Other than the emergency pit stop stop in the very crowded Wallace Park public restroom (that doesn't have stall doors), the run was pretty sweet. I'm pretty sure the 6-year-old child that walked in on me didn't have such a sweet afternoon. She was quite distraught. Note to future self, make lots of noise when using bathrooms with no doors.

Bike vs. Erin 1:0

Today I ate pavement on my bike, or rather, my bike threw me onto the pavement. Don't worry, I'm alive and relatively unharmed. I protected my face with nearly every other part of my body, so my knee, elbow and palms hurt, but not nearly as much as my pride. My Electra Townie is certainly an ungrateful wretch, given that just minutes before launching me onto 10th Avenue, I had installed blinky lights for riding at dusk and filled up its tires for maximum coasting potential.

The real culprit? It's one of the things that I fear most, which is riding next to the streetcar rails. I tried to cross over the track and my wheel got caught in the groove. Instead of my bike heading to the right, it stayed put. Unfortunately, my body didn't get the message and kept going in the intended direction. The whole thing happened in slow motion -- I know this because I had an entire monologue in my head:

Dear god, not my face! We're taking family photos in just a couple of days -- not that I haven't taken plenty of photos with visible bruises and scrapes, but as an adult it would be embarrassing -- will I never outgrow my insane clumsiness?! Oh shit, flying to Florida with a concussion is going to suck, especially if I have to wear bandages on my head. Son of a @!$%^ I have a meeting tomorrow afternoon! How do you accessorize a head injury? Oh well, at least I didn't wear my good jeans and we didn't stop by the grocery store to get eggs. Shut up! Protect the face!

Now my bike looks a little worse for the wear (like someone unleashed a large dog in the basement and it found comfort gnawing on my seat and right handlebar).

Oh, and also, I ripped a hole in the toe of my 14-day-old shoes and nearly tore through my jeans. Now that I think about it, my big toe hurts as well. Overall? Shitty outing. However, I'm oddly not terrified of going back out again. Just pissed at myself for being a dumbass. Next time, though, I will insist on taking a different route.

Wii Commence

Jesse and I are not the only ones in the family who are making a new beginning. My little sister, Katie, graduated from Salve Regina University this weekend. As the Catholics would say, "Thanks be to God. Amen." Technically, she isn't so little anymore, landing her first job and apartment, and leaving me in her shadow at almost 5 feet 7 inches. It's a very exciting time for her and my parents. After nearly 9 years of tuition payments (first me, then Katie) Mom and Dad have written their final check. As the Catholics would also say,"With hearts full of praise, Hosanna in the Highest!"

In case you haven't caught on, Salve Regina is a Catholic University replete with nuns, tradition, and the whole holy shebang. We kicked off the commencement weekend with the Saturday Baccalaureate mass and hooding ceremony. The hooding took about 30 minutes (not bad). Then the Monseigneur tacked on an hour and fifteen minute mass for good measure. We're not Catholic, so I suppose this was our penance for straying from the righteous (or for my cracks about the Popemobile in April). The abridged version of my experience at our 17-page mass: sit, stand, watch others genuflect, sing praises in same monotone tune (5 verses each time), giggling at the thought of singing said praises in my best church-lady voice, stand, sit, check thy blessed watch, and engage in divine eyeball rolling. Amen.

Thank the almighty Lord that I brought snacks, because my head nearly exploded when the Monseigneur invited all 800 people in attendance to take communion. Luckily for me, the holy virgin Queen (Salve Regina) is also the Mother of mercy and love. They set up six communion stations to expedite the process and assured us that Saturday mass counted for Sunday - we didn't have to endure another at the commencement. O Maria!

For graduation, my parents gave Katie a monetary gift to help furnish her new apartment and get settled Newport. She carefully budgeted, made her purchases, and managed to have a little left over for something she'd be wanting for a while - a Nintendo Wii. Katie brought it to our hotel where we embarked on a full-on Wii bowling tournament Saturday night. I was a little rusty at first, but by the end of our playing time I had perfected a wicked spin and upped my score. Wii (hah) played so hard that I woke up on Sunday morning and could barely move my right arm. It was embarrassing. But not as humiliating as when I nearly ate gravel in front of the Breakers following commencement.

More hilarity ensued when I turned around to see the 542 graduates and their families looking on at the tragic scene. At that moment, I secretly hoped Katie would pee in her pants, partially as revenge for laughing hysterically, but also to divert attention from the crowd so I could readjust the blasted pyramidal bumper that I so gracefully knocked askew. In an effort to recover my bruised pride, I challenged her at Wii again that evening - this time bowling leftie. Yeah what? I kicked butt with my non-dominant arm.

And today? I'm still having trouble moving my arms, and my ribs kind of hurt too (I actually feel their presence when I breathe). I also had some trouble getting dressed this morning. The act of putting on a shirt and pulling up my pants was quite painful. I'm not sure which hurt more; the pain in my head from the Baccalaureate mass, my pride from the dramatic walking accident, or the muscle injuries sustained at the Wii graduation tourney. Was it worth it? Heck yeah. At least I don't have any visible scars. And look how fetching Katie is in her cap and gown.

Congratulations, Kay Kay! You rock at life (and Wii).

The Indignities of Job Hunting

In March, we set out to purchase Jesse a new suit for upcoming interviews and to spruce up his business wardrobe. We decided to take a trip to Men's Wearhouse since it was the store most likely to have a large selection of styles and sizes. The sales clerk who greeted us was quite enthusiastic and immediately was able to tell Jesse's coat and shirt size just by looking at him. I was impressed. He pulled out a few suits based on what we described, and within minutes we were sold - a dark grey pinstripe and a brown suit. The jackets fit perfectly. The pants, well, needed some work.

When Jesse first walked out of the dressing room I averted my eyes in horror. They left very little to the imagination. He bravely hopped up on the fitting platform to take a look at the damage. The waist was just about the only thing on the pants that didn't need fixing. The seat seams were firmly lodged in his unmentionable areas, which was undoubtedly caused by the fact that the crotch was light years too short. Due to the shortness of the inseam, when he pulled the pants up to where they should have rested on his waist, we got quite a show. I seem to remember a similar situation at the Men's Warehouse in Santa Cruz when Graham was trying on his first suit. To aleviate some of the tension, Jesse firmly slapped his butt (as any older brother would do), sending the poor sales girl running. Where was Graham when we needed him?

The sales clerk called on the tailor, a nearly deaf man who spoke very little, to take measurements for hem length and to solve the bathing suit region crisis. I tried reinforce through hand motions the utter vulgarity of the pants situation - flailing and gesticulating toward the zipper region. The tailor chalked up the pants, making marks on the seat, which I could only imagine meant "give this poor boy some relief!"

Our third trip was a success, and Jesse is now the owner of two really good-looking suits. The solution was a simple (tiny) gusset to ease the tension that was causing all the problems. He mused on our walk to the car about how there used to be this company in Santa Cruz called Chi Pants that was known for their comfort-fit garments. Had they not gone out of business after the 1989 earthquake, we joked that he could be their new spokesperson/model at Men's Wearhouse for the comfort gusset. We were all set to begin marketing the "Hey Look at My Crotch" campaign, but then found out that we were are about seven years too late. It's already been tried, and looks to have failed. Either way, his body did feel like smiling.

To do this week: Capture Jesse frolicking in his new Chi Suits.