Thoughts on Stuff

I would like to comment that the most useful “For Dummies” book I’ve ever read is “Excel VBA Programming for Dummies” by John Walkenbach.  It was seriously helpful to me.

I’d also like to comment on the subject of Sarah Palin, John McCain’s pick for VP.  My opinion of her is… *ba doom ching* that she’s pretty.  This makes sense, being as that she was once a runner-up in the Miss Alaska competition.  Politically, I don’t know much about her.  So far my research has turned up that she has a kid with Down’s syndrome and that she is pro-life.  I would agree with those who have made the “token” argument, but I also believe that diversity always starts with a token.

Her Confidence Is Tragic, But Her Intuition Magic

It’s after 3 am and I should definitely be asleep, but I’m not. And it isn’t because I’m not sleepy. My eyes are stinging like crazy. It’s just that I am experiencing some anxiety.

There are the obvious financial concerns. Like, I don’t have any money and don’t know where I’ll be living a week from now. I’m afraid my landlord is going to walk in the house tomorrow and demand to know why the hell we are still here. It’s a valid question.

So there’s that stuff. Then there’s the general “unwell” feeling I’ve been having. A solid month after I started wondering if I was pregnant, I still haven’t had my period. The tests said I wasn’t pregnant and I hope they were correct. It’s technically possible but not terribly likely. More likely is that all the stress has screwed up my cycle, which was never all that trackable in the first place. Probably my worse-than-usual diet, caused by being broke as fuck, is not helping anything. I seriously feel like I need a couple of Red Bulls just to get going in the morning, and my refusal/inability to pay for Red Bull apparently means that some days, I never get going.

And… I just don’t feel good about myself. At all. I got a brief boost after learning about the job interview, but now I am back to biting my nails and wondering who the hell would hire me for anything. That is obviously not a good attitude. It just seems like all my flaws are under a magnifying glass right now. I’m broke, I don’t have a job… And having always based my esteem on my career, I can honestly say that most of the time here lately, I feel like a piece of garbage.

The man doesn’t help. He’ll announce that my skin looks greasy, ask me if I’m wearing that, then spend all day ogling other women. Including butterfaces!!!  Thanks! I can honestly say that in 26 years of life, I have NEVER been more critical or embarassed of myself than I have since I met him. And yeah, I should have a high enough opinion of myself that no man can drag me down. But he’s the man I chose to be with — and, most irritating of all, he’s RIGHT.

My skin is oily and yes, I am wearing that. My hair is weirdly curly in some spots and straight in others, frizzy all over, and basically looks like shit unless I spend an hour with a curling iron or hot rollers. I am too clumsy for high heels and don’t like them anyway. I’m too fat to be a trophy wife (and wouldn’t one have to be married in order to be a wife of any sort??), my teeth are crooked, and thank you but no, I don’t want to get contacts. I am a dork. I have been known to wear socks with sandals and put my hair in buns… and not in a sexy librarian way. It’s a good day if I remember to use eyeliner. I am not and will never be any type of Asian.

It’s been made clear to me that nobody would ever want me exactly as I am, and the best I can hope for is to be tolerated, or to work towards some type of perfection. But it’s not just him… Part of it is Dallas, where even welfare mamas carry designer bags and get their hair did. In Missouri, I was considered eccentric, but because I didn’t wear ill-advised fluorescent tank tops and because my hair was all the same color, I fit within the realm of respectability. Did you know that there is a plastic surgeon in Dallas whose swimming pool is shaped like a female breast? His hot tub is the nipple. Seriously.

And the rest of my problem is just… me.

Concatena… What…?

I landed an interview for the job I wrote about last time.  It will happen next Tuesday.  That means I have four days to brush up on some data-geek stuff that I have completely forgotten about.  And yes, you totally CAN forget how to do a job you’ve spent your entire adult life doing.  Or at least I can.

You should hear me describe what I do to a regular person who isn’t familiar with data.  “It’s like… I manipulate the data… Like if you were JC Penney and you wanted to make a catalog… But information about all the products you wanted to feature in the catalog came from 200 disparate sources… I mean, manufacturers, who all laid their product information out differently… And you wanted to, like, add it all together into one cohesive data source… you know, the catalog… you’d hire us.  And then we would gather the product information from the manufacturers… and key it in using constraints… you know, automatic limits that attempt to prevent stupid mistakes.  I mean, I wouldn’t do that… my team would… My role deals more with scheduling, planning and client management at that phase of a project… and then I would proofread their work… and find the stupid mistakes that made it through… And make them fix the mistakes… and then deliver the final output to the client… Like in email. Or possibly over FTP.”

This is not a joke.

What’s even worse is when I talk to people who DO understand the subject.  It’s like all knowledge flies out of my head and I’m left trying to string together a sentence out of jargon and verbs.  Inevitably, I fail.

I don’t even necessarily test particularly well on software applications that I know inside and out. This is because I could not close my eyes and tell you the textbook instructions for performing a task.  I just kind of “feel it out” — which points to the fact that I am self-taught.  And that’s not a bad thing, unless I’m trying to do well on a test.

So basically, I sound like a retard when I speak and I don’t test well.  Yet I am good at what I do.  Bizarre.

I am still hopeful, because I have a pretty unique skill set that usually commands a quite a bit more money than they are looking to pay.  It’s still damn good money, especially for a 26-year-old without a degree… But I can’t imagine there is a long line of qualified applicants for this position.

Self-Esteem

Today I got a call from a recruiter about a job. A real job. I suppose it seems unfair to classify some jobs as real and some as *not* real, but it makes sense in my head.  The gas station, though exhausting, was not real work because it didn’t make use of any of my skills.  Likewise, when I was a secretary at the hospital, that wasn’t a real job… Because a monkey could have done it.  My job with the Demons, despite taking place from my house, was a real job because it required real skills.  Likewise, the corporate job I had earlier this year was a real job.

So yes… I got a call about a real job.  A real job in my field that pays $2k more per year than my last real job, which paid quite nicely itself.

I had given up on finding a real job.  I search the job boards regularly and I rarely find anything.  I mean, I find a buttload of receptionist jobs.  But REAL jobs?  Like, in my field type of jobs?  Almost never.  So I had stopped hoping.  I pulled out my “poor purse,” went to the food bank, and got on with life, figuring that eventually I’d be lucky enough to land one of those $10/hour receptionist jobs.  It was depressing to think about starting a whole new career as an underpaid clerical worker, where I’d have to live in a tiny shithole apartment or rent a room in someone else’s house… Where I’d have to clip coupons for the rest of my life, not for fun but because I had to in order to survive.  The outlook was pretty grim in my mind.

This call today did two things for me.  First, it gave me hope.  And second, it reminded me of exactly who I am.  Right now I’m destitute, but I wasn’t always. Right now I’m unemployed, but I wasn’t always. I used to be on a career path, and I can get back on it. Even if this job doesn’t pan out, I will be incredibly happy to have gotten the call, because it’s made me feel better about myself.  I’ve been down and out lately.  Self esteem?  Hah.  It’s hard to have self-esteem when you can’t pay your rent, a charity has to help with your electric bill, you’re eating stale bread from the food pantry, and your significant other is (or was, I guess) fascinated with someone who is vibrant, alive, employed, and independent.

It had really seemed like “real life” was something that was reserved for other people.  Careers, savings, shopping, restaurants, cars, concerts… Seemed like things that were completely out of my reach.  In other words, I had started to become my mother, who thinks of Olive Garden as a fancy & incredibly expensive restaurant.  And I don’t want to be my mother.  She’s not happy.

Recommended Reading

I’ve been reading George Bernard Shaw’s Treatise on Parents and Children tonight.  I highly recommend it.  He’s never written anything I didn’t love.

Rekindling Hope

I never did get around to making the “something with canned pumpkin” from yesterday’s post.  I’d planned on pumpkin bread — and I found what I’m pretty sure is going to be a kickass recipe — but the man has requested pie.  I suppose I could do pie.  It won’t be the fancy-pants Wolfgang Puck recipe that involves cranberry filling with fresh berries and Grand Marnier, but as they say, beggars can’t be choosers.

The task I’m currently obsessing on is finding a place to live, which seems to me to be a worthwhile use of time and energy.  Tomorrow morning I am supposed to go look at an apartment that we could potentially sublet, and in the afternoon I’m going to look at an apartment complex that’s running a really good “look and lease” special.  I’m skeptical because I read some bad reviews online, but then again, very nearly all the reviews for all complexes are bad.  People come online to give bad reviews, not good ones, and that’s especially true of apartments.  Over a year ago when I was looking at a very nice, upscale one-bedroom (for myself), I looked at reviews of the complex and… guess what? All negative.  Whether your price point is $500 or $1000, no one on the internet has anything nice to say about apartments.

I’m not picky anymore.  I don’t care about complimentary coffee, built-in wine racks, or garden tubs.  If I can afford it, if it has somewhere (I’m thinking a dining nook, at this point) to put the child’s bed, and if they will actually rent to our bad-credit-having, unemployed asses… Sign me up.

The time has come to purge my house of extraneous shit.  It’s an odd feeling.  I never though I’d see the day when I’d be happy about leaving here, but the sheer RELIEF I feel at not having to struggle to save a sinking ship has made a world of difference to my mental health.  Yes, I’ll miss my house. I’ll miss my bath tub and my garage and most especially my kitchen.  I’ll miss a lot of the stuff I am going to have to sell.  That stings a little, because even though we don’t have the world’s greatest stuff, it’s our stuff.  It isn’t some random collection of belongings given to us by This Relative and That Friend.  Nonetheless, a lot of it won’t fit in an apartment and we need to extra money.

If everything works out according to plan, I may have found a job.  It’s only part-time and the pay isn’t great, and of course it’s clerical in nature, but I think it actually won’t suck my soul dry because it’s in support of a certain charity’s Christmas drive — ie, something I actually give a shit about.  It could still fall through, but I am hopeful.

Adventures in Pantry Cooking: Tortilla Soup

The man I live with has a propensity for buying strange things. Or maybe they aren’t really strange and it’s just me. That’s possible.

He seems to be interested in soup. I am generally not interested in soup unless it is cream of jalapeno from Cafe Brazil, broccoli cheese from Jason’s Deli, or chili that I make at home. And of course, the lobster bisque at Texas de Brazil. In my mind, none of those are actually “soup” because they aren’t liquidy.

Last year, I tried a package of Bear Creek chili that he had bought on an impromtu shopping trip. You know Bear Creek, right… the dried packages of “soup mix”? To make a short story even shorter… I didn’t like it. By the time I was done adding things to it, the price of the meal had tripled (at least) and the flavor had changed entirely.

This experience in mind, I wasn’t terribly surprised by today’s experience with Bear Creek tortilla soup. This package has been in my pantry… well, for at least eight months that I know of. But I’m broke, my stockpile is largely depleted, and the only required additive was water.

So I made it according to the instructions on the packet. And what I ended up with was a large pot of thick soup that tasted like it had previously been a package of dried herbs, beans, and rice (which it had). To Bear Creek’s credit, I will say this was better than the canned tortilla soups I have tried, including Campbell’s Select. Without exception, those were watery and flavorless.

Using items I had on hand, I jazzed my bowl of soup up with a dollop of light sour cream, a handful of fresh diced tomatoes, a teaspoon of crushed red pepper flakes, two packages of fire sauce from Taco Bell, and four broken-up saltine crackers. That was actually somewhat satisfying, until I started thinking about what I would add to it if I had more “real food” on hand — shredded baked chicken, corn, bell peppers, dark red kidney beans, and tortilla chips. In essence, I would be recreating all the soup’s flavors with, like, real food… at which point it would be more sensible to skip the packet and make my own from scratch. Except I can never figure out how to get my soup so thick, which is largely why I don’t make it.

Verdict: It’s not as good as home-made tortilla soup or that which comes from restaurants. It’s better than the canned varieties, though. And with or without the sour cream, fire sauce, and other stuff I added, it’s exponentially better than ramen noodles.

Next up: Something with canned pumpkin.

Bloggity

My cat is keeping me company today.  We just finished an invigorating game of “catch the mouse pointer,” and now she is chilling out on top of my monitor.

I think garlic is seeping out of my pores.  I can smell it.  Last night the man made a lasagna-esque spaghetti casserole that used an entire head of garlic.  It was delicious.  And I’m pretty sure I won’t be getting attacked by vampires anytime soon.

I sold my coffee table yesterday.  I’m trying to make enough money to pay my gigantic electric bill, which is extended out until Wednesday.  It may not be possible.  Sitting around in the summer heat in Texas with no air conditioning and not even a FAN is not something I am interested in doing.  Furthermore, if the bill doesn’t get paid on Wednesday, we won’t be able to get any other bills extended out… Which would suck, because the *current* bill is due in a week.  I have it extended out until this time in September, at which point we should be completely moved out of here anyway.  Isn’t it fun being a deadbeat?

I’m just milling over possibilities in my head.  I don’t know what my next move should be.  And damn hell if the universe is helping out… it seems to be keeping mum on the subject.

Stumbling

I am feeling a little talkative tonight, but I cannot think of a single thing to say that I haven’t said before.  I am stressed out and overwhelmed.

It is absolutely mind-boggling to me that after seven years of professional work experience with one employer, with a strong resume and excellent professional references, I cannot get a real fucking job.  The next person who says there is no recession is going to get a pop in the fucking mouth from me.  I’m a project manager by trade, I live in a major metropolitan area, and I would happily take a gigantic pay cut from my last position (not counting the gas station) just to be gainfully employed.  Fuck, if nothing else, I can type 95 words a minute.  Does that not qualify me for something??

I try to accept signs from the Universe.  For instance, of the five people who were interested in renting a room in my house, not a single one showed up for the scheduled meetings.  That served as a clear indication that I am not supposed to live here anymore.  That, and being unable to pay the rent.  When my boyfriend decided to pursue a possible relationship with another woman, I took that as a sign that I was supposed to get out of here.  When my mom wanted money that I didn’t have and the aforementioned relationship sank faster than you can say “dashed hopes,” I thought maybe that was a sign I was supposed to stick around.  It’s possible that instead of being “open to the Universe,” I am just weak-willed.

I try to view this as a learning opportunity.  For instance, if I had “lived right” during my times of gainful employment, I would not be struggling so much now.  If I had lived in a cheaper place, eaten in fewer restaurants, and… well… that’s about it… If I had done things differently, maybe I would have accumulated some savings.  If I had been more dedicated to couponing and stockpiling, I might not be seeking the help of charities to keep food in the house.  If I had made more strategic career choices, I would have ended up with a 401k to cash out instead of a large tax debt (and yes, I know that cashing out a 401k is a terrible idea.  So is living in a truck, though, and that’s a distinct possibility for my near future).

I’m just wondering… how far do I have to sink before things improve?  How much humble pie do I have to eat?  I GET IT.  I am not God’s gift to the universe.  I am not the most super kick-ass project manager in existence… I can’t possibly be, or I WOULD HAVE A JOB.  I haven’t done enough good in life, because if I had, some of it would surely be coming back to me by now in some karmic fashion.

I have no idea how to fix this.  And by “this,” I mean my life.  And you know, this isn’t even pity-party thing.  I’m just thinking.  And I really do not know any of the answers.

I’m a little freaked out that I’m only two years away from my 10-year high school reunion.  I probably won’t go because I wasn’t particularly close to anyone I graduated with, but it’s something to think on.  The day of my graduation, our class made a tape of ourselves in which we stated our plans/dreams for the future and specifically, where we wanted to be in 10 years.  I wanted to be a practicing attorney.

Hahahahahahhahahahahahahah.

And then I think about where my classmates have ended up.  I am not in touch with any of them directly but have found many on MySpace and FaceBook.  They are doing normal things, like settling into careers and getting married and having children.  Comparatively speaking, I FAIL.  And the funny thing is, I was the “smart” one.  What the fuck??

Don’t Have Much To Say

I’m bored, I’m lonely, and I’d give my left arm for an iced venti caramel latte.  It would take a little more than that to get the right arm, though.