From the monthly archives:

June 2006

Boys. Brits. Beers. Balls.

Sorry for the delay. I’ve been neglecting my blog for a few days because, well, I’ve been drinking with boys. Since Friday. More on that later. First, I promised you news. Unfortunately, it’s neither a job nor sex. It’s just an epiphany that hit me sometime last Friday … I can stay in New York as long as I’d like, I just have to leave Manhattan. Trust me; I don’t want to leave the island. But, if the choice is between moving back to the Midwest in September or staying in (non-Manhattan) New York, I choose New York. Yeah, I know. Not really earth-shattering news but, hey, the epiphany put a smile on my face. Enough of that. Now, the boys.

Rewind. Thursday, Le Canadien and I spend quality time bonding (no sex). One day later, on Friday, we settle into old patterns and un-bond (no sex). That’s all I have to say about that publicly. At any rate, later Friday night — and after a near-miss with a threesome (long story) — I finally stumble into bed at 4:00am. Saturday, I stumble back out of bed at 8:30am because I have a bad case of World Cup Fever. I meet up with a group of about seven friends to watch England beat Paraguay live at 9:00am New York City time. We hadn’t planned on bar-hopping throughout the day to watch all three games, but we can’t help ourselves: 3 hot British boys with 3 lions on their shirts call out to us from across the bar. We eventually challenge them to a drinking match, and the drinks start to flow. They, of course, beat us. “We’re English hooligans,” says the shortest of the three blokes, “we’re professional drinkers!” Hours later. My drunken friends and I meet up with Sid and her friends, but the two groups somehow get separated. (I don’t remember how because, at this point, it’s almost 6:00pm and we’ve all been drinking and shouting soccer chants for more than nine hours straight.) The night eventually ends. Sunday morning at 8:00am, I’m awoken by a telephone call beckoning me to join up with the group to watch more soccer. “I can’t do it,” I reason, “my liver would kill me.” So, I go back to sleep.

Two hours later. The phone rings again. “Heeeeeey,” my friend M.L. yells into the phone. “Where are you?” Uh. Huh? I’m confused. Am I supposed to be somewhere right now?!?! M.L. helps me out on this one, “don’t tell me that you forgot about the Yankees game!!!” Oh. My. Gaaaaawd. How could I forget? Is that happening this weekend, too?!?!? My first live Yankees game; M.L. scored us all tickets. So, three hours later, there I am chanting, “Jeter, marry meeeeeee!!!” from the bleachers of the stadium located on 161st street in the Bronx. Sheesh. I swear this was one of the most jam-packed weekends that I’ve had in a long time. Catching up with Le Canadien. Watching Beckham bend it. Drinking with British boys. Hanging out with friends. Cheering Jeter on. Boys, beers, bars and Beckham. Yummy. Just what I needed.

{ 15 folks got down with the Funky Brown }

I Gotta Go Pee Pee Dance

What’s the best way to end to an interview? Hop from one foot to the other, do the “I-gotta-go-Pee-Pee-Dance”, and then break into a sprint like a crazed lunatic. That’s how. Actually, wait a minute … let’s rewind so that I can explain. Yesterday. I wake up with laryngitis (i.e. “I couldn’t fucking talk”). I contemplate canceling the interview, but I decide against it. I can do this. To hydrate my throat, I down 2 cups of tea and 5-6 glasses of water before leaving the house. It helps.

I arrive at the company. Yada, yada, yada … I think the interview goes well. When it ends, we say our goodbyes and I head for the elevator. But, then, the tea and water begin to wage war against my bladder. I have to pee. I turn away from the elevator and head back to the company. “Um, excuse me,” I start. “Is there a bathroom in the building?” The Interviewers are like, “yeah … um … lemme find the key”.* They start looking for the key and it takes them like, no joke, 5 minutes. Or, at least, it seems like it does. So, I panic. I kind of start doing the 3-year-old-gotta-go-pee-pee dance. I’m shifting from foot to foot, pacing, and generally freaking out. (Slight exaggeration here.) They give me the key.

I’m off. I walk down the deserted hall and bump into a random guy who looks like Lurch. I’m pretty sure that he doesn’t know where the women’s bathroom is, so I walk quickly past him. I’ll find it. It has to be here somewhere. I keep walking. I turn down the next hallway. No bathroom. I walk faster. No bathroom. Another turn. Still no bathroom. Now, I *REALLY* have to pee, so I eventually hunch over and start sprinting through the halls like a lunatic.

When I find the bathroom, I jiggle the key in the door. It unlocks. I burst into the first stall. But, there is a woman already in there so she starts screaming. I’m like, “sorry sorry sorry”. But, with my voice, it only sounds like, “shour huychk schmaaaa”. I get my shit back together, go to the next stall, close the door, hike up my skirt, drop my yellow panties, plop down and sigh, “ohhhh myyyyy gaaaawwwd!!! This feels so good.” Immediately, I hear the woman in the other stall quickly exit the bathroom.

Sheesh … Glad that whole thing is over. But, I have to say—barring the whole Pee Debacle, I think the interview went well. I’ll let you know if anything comes of it. Until then, assume no news on the job front is bad news. Blogging about jobsearching gets kind of depressing. Hmmm … what else should we talk about these days? Feel free to make suggestions for tomorrow’s post topic.

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* For my non-citydwelling readers … Why the key? Hallway bathrooms in urban office buildings are often kept locked for security reasons.

{ 25 folks got down with the Funky Brown }

New York City is My City.

Big sloppy kisses to those who left suggestions, advice, and words of encouragement on my late-day post yesterday. I was frustrated, annoyed, and pissed off that I didn’t get hired by the company that I wanted to hire me. Eventually, a moment of clarity hit me. I asked myself, “What’s really important? What do you want to do?” The answer was easy. I want to stay in New York. I’m supposed to be here. New York City is my city. So, I start to think … “Okay, woman, if that’s what you want, you need a plan because what you’re doing now — part-time tempting, part-time MA program, and full-time jobsearching — isn’t going to work in the long run.” By my calculations, at this rate, I’ll be forced to leave New York by mid-September. So, I start thinking …

Then, I receive two emails.

The first email is from an anonymous reader in Vancouver. You know who you are. I’ll call you The Genius because you gave me a genius plan for earning money in the short term. The second email was from … drum roll please … a prospective employer. They want me to come in for an interview next week. Now, now, let’s not get too excited. It’s just a first interview. I’ve certainly had plenty of those over the past four months. And, so far, they’ve resulted in nothing. Nada. Zilch. Helemaal nix. Nevertheless, I’m trying to stay positive. Hmmm … I’ll keep you posted about the interview. In the meantime, I’ve come up with a couple of really juicy plans for ensuring that I can stay in New York past September. I’ll hammer away at them over the next day or so and, of course, I’ll keep you posted …

{ 16 folks got down with the Funky Brown }

Stolie 0, New York City 1

Hey guys. Sorry for the post-free day(s) and, to some of you, the unanswered emails. I received a bit of bad news, and I’m still kind of working through it all. Believe it or not, over the past few days, I’ve received three … yes, count them … three rejection notices for jobs that I really wanted. That’s the bad news. The good news is that I now know why I’m having a hard time finding a job in my field.

According the “Those Who Know”, apparently I’m at a weird place career-wise. I’m definitely not entry-level, and I’m not really mid-career either. So, when I apply for entry jobs, I get the “overqualified” schpiel. They’re afraid that I would only stay there a year and then leave when/if a job that better suited my skillset surfaced. And, they’re probably right. BUT, because I’m in the fairly early stages of managerial/executive, I get the “not enough experience” bullshit from that end. They don’t want to go out on a limb and hand over their division or department to someone they don’t know. Where does that leave me? Exactly where am I now. What do I need? In a word: connections. People are waaaay more likely to give you a try if they actually know you. This is exactly the reason why people from Chicago keep calling me to offer me jobs back home. “Just come home,” they beckon. Thus far, I’ve turned them all down. And, now, after receiving yet ANOTHER tip about a really good job in the 3rd City just a moment ago, I’m really starting wonder.

I’ve been hanging on, but at what point do you decide that enough is enough? I love New York. This is my city. No doubt about it. Still, if I’m really honest with myself, the past year kind of kicked my ass. And, the past four months have almost knocked me out. I’ve tried to stay strong through it all, but everyone has their limits. In life, there are things that are difficult and then there are things that are simply unbearable …

I’ll be back tomorrow once I’ve had a little more time to clear my head. In the meantime, brilliant ideas and/or comments from people who have been in that more-than-mid-but-barely-managerial-limbo are especially welcome.

{ 24 folks got down with the Funky Brown }

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