Spring Break Hack Job

It's spring break over here, which means a whole lot of sleeping in, play dates, trips to Blockbuster, Build-A-Bear and Chuck E Cheese, and the realization that summer will be here soon. I've also just realized that a stuffed dog that plays the Star Wars theme song is maybe one of the best inventions of the last decade. And yes, The Boy could care less that his "pet" plays the Star Wars theme song, so that addition was strictly for me!

So far, the highlight of the week has been the hacking of my email account. Remember my previous post about spammers? Well guess what? I became a spammer and sent hundreds of Viagra messages to everyone on my contact list. Joy. After some investigation, it turns out that LinkedIn was compromised, resulting in thousands of email accounts being hacked. Apparently, even networking isn't a safe activity!

I finally have a few promising job leads, so let's hope that something (anything!) pans out soon. In the meantime, I'll be working on my book, jumping on the trampoline and discussing the meaning of life with the other spring break moms. Of course, these are three separate activities; I'm not nearly talented enough to pull off all three at once.

Oh, and a big Happy Birthday to Kate off the Clock. I've now been blogging for one full year. Quite an accomplishment for a serial non-finisher like myself. As always, thanks for reading. Bring on spring!

Captain Intelligent

When I worked every day, it seemed like there was always something crazy going on, always something to laugh at. But now, when I try to recall those things, I get a whole lot of nothing. Suddenly, what once seemed hilarious, now seems irrelevant. I guess overall, it's the people I remember first, and then the incidents involving those people.

I can clearly see my former boss standing in my doorway, asking "What are you guys talking about? What's so funny?" with a look of panic on her face, certain we were talking about her. And if we were talking about her, like we were going to respond with "Oh, we're talking about you!"

Or, the editor who always smelled like garlic and was a close talker, a lethal combination, getting right in my face to go over edits. Plus, she never wore a bra, so she was too close for comfort in more ways than one.

There was the crazy admin who one day suddenly claimed to be allergic to scents. If you walked by her office wearing perfume or smelling of clean laundry, look out! She verbally assaulted anyone who smelled like anything other than nothing because it was a violation of her right to breathe clean air. Did I mention that she always smelled like cats? Anyway, she ended up quitting. Hopefully she didn't end up working in a grocery store. Or a daycare center.

But, perhaps my favorite coworker story at The Prison involves one of the highest ranking "captains." We were at an off-site team building meeting at the local events center. This is the same events center where the minor league hockey team plays. During a break from our team building "exercises," I was standing in the upper seating area, looking down at the ice arena. The hockey team name "Warriors" was painted on the floor and the crew was getting the rink ready for a game later that night. Well, this genius comes up to me and says "Wow, what kind of paint sticks to ice? I didn't know you could paint the ice!" I just looked at her, kind of worried that someone this intelligent was running the company. I finally said "The paint is on the floor, under the ice." And she was like "Ah-ha, that's how they do that!" Her pure sense of amazement was frightening, like she had just discovered how to split an atom or break the sound barrier.

And that my friends is a prime example of the promotion of stupidity in corporate America.

Go West

Exactly 12 years ago today, I packed up my VW Jetta, drove out of Indy, and headed west. After months of contemplating a move, I finally did it. I mapped out my trip beforehand and decided to stop in Manhattan, Kansas for the night. My mom was nice enough to make me a reservation at the Holiday Inn Express. I was traveling alone and I didn't own a cell phone. Did everyone but me have a cell phone in 1999? Probably. Anyway, I walked into the hotel lobby and went up to the desk to check in. When I told the 2 employees my name, they both said:

"Oh! You're Kate!"

Wow, quite the welcome!

And then one of the employees continued: "Your mom has been calling here every 30 minutes for the last couple of hours. You should probably call her right away and let her know that you arrived safely."

Um, thanks. (Now that I'm a mom, I totally understand.)

I settled into my hotel room. I ordered a pizza from Pizza Hut (thin crust with pepperoni and bacon) and wondered how this life-changing journey was going to play out. Quite the exciting St. Patrick's Day, eh? But, it's a day I will remember forever. The next morning, I hit the road for my final destination. I arrived without incident and the rest is history. My history.

Well, 12 years later, I'm happy to say that everything has worked out fabulously. I was fortunate enough to crash on my brother's couch until I found a job and a place to live. I landed my job at The Prison about a week later and officially started on April 1, 1999. April Fool's Day! I guess I was destined for something ridiculous from day one.

Who would have thought that my best St. Patrick's Day story wouldn't involve green beer? Or any beer, for that matter!

Side note: I remember so clearly driving west along I-70, looking out the window at the Hoosier Dome (RCA Dome, whatever) and the Indy skyline and hearing a certain song playing on the radio. And while this is a dorky song, and I feel like I'm expressing my inner 14-year-old, I will admit that I still love it and I will always associate it with that moment.

"Good Riddance (Time Of Your Life)"

Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road
Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go
So make the best of this test, and don't ask why
It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time

It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

So take the photographs, and still frames in your mind
Hang it on a shelf in good health and good time
Tattoos of memories and dead skin on trial
For what it's worth it was worth all the while

It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

Don't Call Me That.

On Friday, I went to the bank to make some changes to one of our accounts. As the teller was updating our information, she asked me the dreaded "Do you still work for Prison Media?" question. And the conversation unfolded like this:

Me: "No."

Her: "Where do you work now?"

Me: "I don't."

Her: "You don't work?"

Me: "Not unless you count being a stay at home mom as a job."

Her: "I would love to be a stay at home mom."

Me: "I would love to be working..."

When she handed me some paperwork to take home for the husband to sign, she had filled in my occupation with my least favorite word: Unemployed. UGH. I despise that word and I try to never use it.

Which got me to thinking. What am I, exactly? Am I unemployed? Am I self-employed? Am I a stay at home mom? I'm not such a fan of labels, but I feel like I need one. And a flattering, positive one. I like Rock Star. And Blogger Who Doesn't Earn Any Money is OK too. Heck, even Chef to the Children or Cleaning Expert would be better than Unemployed.

Why is it so important to me to not be labeled as unemployed? I think it's a couple of things. First of all, I didn't choose to be unemployed. Second of all, this is the longest I've gone without a steady job since I officially entered the workforce at 16. That's a heck of a streak and I hated to see it end.

On the plus side, spring break is coming up soon and working people don't get spring break. Except for teachers. Which brings me to a question I keep asking myself: Would I make a good teacher? Well? Would I?

Let Go. Go On.

I have issues holding grudges, which I believe I've already covered in a previous post. Part of the whole job loss experience is learning how to let go, which I've been working hard to do. In my old office, I had a saying hanging on my bulletin board:

Let Go. Go On.

If I recall correctly, my mom sent me that saying after an epic break-up in 1998. Turns out, it applies to many things. And I keep saying it to myself as I navigate through the mess that was once my career. And as much as I want to proclaim "I'm over it!" I'm not quite there yet. Almost, but not quite. And the biggest thing keeping me from letting go and going on is the fact that so many people knew I was losing my job before I did. Now, the average person might think "oh, big deal," but to me it is a gigantic deal. It's been a friendship ender and a trust destroyer. And it's ruined my definition of loyalty.

However, the big picture is that in order to truly have peace and closure, I have to move on and let it go. On a side note, remember how Rachel on Friends made the word closure popular? I distinctly remember watching the episode in the Autumn Woods cracker box apartment in Indy in late 1995. It's the episode where Rachel gets drunk on a date and decides to call Ross to tell him she's over him and it goes like this: "I am over you. And that my friend, is what they call closure." Then the whole world started using the word closure... Oh, and ever notice how Friends doesn't quite stand the test of time like, say, Seinfeld?

So, as I was writing about how annoying and obnoxious it is that other people knew about my layoff before I did, I suddenly remembered a worse situation involving job loss:

When I was in 5th grade, my dad lost his job. We lived in Alabama at the time and my brother and I attended a Catholic school, which I wrote a post about a few months ago. So, it turns out that the nuns at the school knew my dad was losing his job before he knew. What?! How is that possible? Well, the HR manager at my dad's company, a super jerk with a bitchy wife to match, had a big mouth. He told his wife what was coming for my dad and the super bitch opened her big, fat trap and told anyone who would listen at the school. Mind you, this was a woman who once let her daughter eat a stick of butter for Thanksgiving dinner. Plus, she had a hideous Buffalo accent and a God-awful personality to match. Fran Miserable was her name, but not her real name, obviously. I can still picture her feathered, frosted hair and her absurd fur coat. What kind of moron wears a fur coat in Alabama? Hello, they don't even have winter in that state!

If I let go and go on, where the heck am I going? Wish I knew. I know where I'm not going: Crazy. Somehow, I've managed to stay sane through all of this insanity. If I let go and go on, can I still make India and Prison Media jokes? Can I go on without letting go? We shall see. Most importantly, will letting go make me sing "Free your mind and the rest will follow!" And for those of you who can't quite place that, here you go and you're welcome: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9tIYpvlQP_s