Worst. Job-Seeker. Ever.

"Do you have a high school diploma?! Do you want to be trained not to kill people?!"

Why yes!! That is me! I definitely would like to not kill people and I for sure have a high school diploma. In fact, that is the only diploma I have because that was the last time people weren't all like "Eh, we don't care if you come to class or not..." (Turns out they care enough to do things like "not accept late work" or "fail you." They are all like "You are an adult now." and you are all like "No way! I still think 10 a.m. is early and my mom still buys my shampoo." But whatever.)

So that's kinda how it went when I decided to take my summer program to become a Pharmacy Technician. And after a summer of finding answers to questions like.....

"If a doctor orders a 12.6% solution of dextrose to be administered to a patient by baby spider fangs at a rate of 900 drops per second and all you have on hand in the pharmacy is 700 mL of a 32% solution, how much sterile water and  unicorn sweat will you have to add to fill the required prescription?"
(And, by the way, the answer is NOT "Punch the doctor in the throat and then bitch incessantly because your pharmacy does not carry unicorn sweat.")

....I figured I would have a job by now. But I don't. I have applied and applied and applied- for all kinds of positions, including ones called Pharmacy Technician Trainees. But I haven't even gotten those, which really does nothing for my self-esteem. In fact, I may take to wearing a big sign that says "Untrainable" on it. Maybe. But what is really happening is that I am becoming a Human Resource Department Stalker. I get the idea in my head that instead of checking my application status online (again) I will call and maybe get to talk to a live human being and then maybe they will take pity on me or really like my go-getter attitude.

And so I call.

And they tell me to check my application status online.

And so I say thank you and hang up.

And then I call back and pretend I don't have internet access.

And so they say that if I haven't been called then they aren't ready to talk to anyone regarding the job.

And so I say thank you and hang up.

And then I call back. Only this time I get a little panicked because I figure they can recognize my voice. So I use a fake accent.

And they say that they haven't gotten through all the applications yet.

And so I say thank you and hang up. Only it sounds more like "theeenk yuh." (Yeah- I don't know what that accent is either.)

And so I call back. Only this time I panic because what if they have caller ID and know its me calling back and are just going to answer the phone to see what kind of other crappy voice I am going to do this time and then totally laugh at me over their lunch break......

I think my next step is to actually go to these establishments and hang out with my face pressed against their windows and shout out drug names like some sort of Pharmaceutical Tourette's. I think it will totally work.

My Inner Dork is showing

Random thought today (As I was listening to a bunch of music I have been introduced to over the past year...so maybe not so random.):

It takes a lot of experimenting and transitioning before you really find your niche.

I know this well because I used to listen to this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zQcsNDqcyuw

P.S. Secretly, this still brings me delerious happiness to listen to.

P.S.S. This was my gateway music into R.E.M., The Cure, INXS, The Lemonheads......(???????)

P.S.S.S. My first concert was The Monkees (reunion) when I was in the sixth grade. Beat that.

I know its superficial....and there is nothing wrong with that

This morning I stood outside in my pajamas with my ever-present and absolutely necessary cup of coffee watching the bus stop until my eight-year-old was safely on his way to school. I was watching from a distance of course, having long ago been banished from actually going within a hundred feet of the bus stop. A bus stop restraining order, if you will. Not that I can blame the boy. I am pretty sure the only thing that will kill your third grade cool-quotient faster than bed-head-mom-in-holey-pajama-pants is eating your boogers. While I stood out in the early morning cold I saw something that made me smile and made me think a little.

There were two neighborhood girls having a chat. They were older than the bus stop kids- probably about seventh grade. One was dressed in jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt and tennis shoes and the other girl was dressed in a bright blue well-fitting t-shirt and shorty pink and blue plaid shorts (no shoes yet....). Keep in mind it was about 50 degrees outside this morning. My first thought was "Oh that girl is crazy! Its too cold for shorts!" (Yup. Mom-me totally got the best of me.) And then I saw the explanation for the craziness. Tennis shoe girl pulled out two pairs of earrings and the girls started holding them up with the pink and blue outfit and giggling and talking in that mile-a-minute way that only girls can do. Speech peppered with "Ohmygod's" and quick smiles and tripping breathlessness. My mom-shock at the inappropriateness of the outfit for the weather gave way to womanly familiarity with such girly preening.

I knew that woven into their laughter was the name of the boy that all of this preparation was for. I knew that they were devising scenarios to place shorts-girl in the boy's line of vision. I knew that there was nervousness and exhilarated excitement in abundance in that female twosome.

I remembered being the same age and doing the same thing. I remembered some of my very favorite outfits. There was the blue plaid shirt with snaps instead of buttons that I wore with a blue butterfly clip (for just one side of my hair) and about five strands of  beads that were some sort of fad at the time- you wore them all twisted up and with various clips to hold them together. I remembered my very favorite jeans in the seventh grade- blue with a pink flower pattern on them and zippers and bows at the ankles. I remembered what I wore to my first boy/girl party and my very favorite Homecoming dress (black velvet with silver straps). I saw the simple truth in the tableau in front of me. Most women won't say it. We say we dress for ourselves or for other women. And yes, there is an element of that, but to leave it at just that is like saying that a peacock has its feathers because they make him feel special.

Gentlemen, we dress for you.

We dress for you, not because we expect you to remember our specific purple shirt or that our earrings complimented the tones of our shoes, but rather because we want to be a vision in your minds that lasts beyond the latest Black Keys song or the taco you had for lunch. We wear our feathers (sometimes figuratively, sometimes literally) and our glitter and our perfume because we want to capture your attention and imagination. We want to become a part of your memory, whether you end up knowing us in a real way or just as a misty aura of a woman.

And that, to my mind,  is beautifully feminine.