Where have you been?

Sorry it’s been so long. I’ve been in Belize, Albuquerque and front-row at Lollapalooza. Actually, those are lies. I’ve been here the whole time. I’ve just gotten really busy. Because I’m writing more now than when I was employed as a writer.

 

Plus, I figured out my schedule and it’s pretty awesome. So now, for four hours a day with usually two small breaks, I write. I also walk six miles, re-clean the kitchen three times and make Olive breakfast and dinner.

 

Weekly, I have an interview or a coffee meet-up. And the coffee shops I go to are always packed. It’s insane. But the cool thing is I always run into someone I know. And usually, they willingly watch my computer while I go to the bathroom. In fact, that may be one of the biggest benefits of Linkedin. It’s not about finding connections; it’s about finding people to watch your stuff.

 

In terms of writing, I’ve written a pilot for an animated series. It’s a really fun idea about a nine-year-old girl named Olive. She’s partially based on my daughter, me, my husband, and everyone else I’ve ever met. All the names in the story mean something. Like Olive’s neighbor, it’s called Harvey Hills, in honor of my father. The talking miniature elephant is named Wilson, which is a tribute to my early days at HMH.

 

I can’t really talk more about it because it’s in the process of being sold. And even though it’s registered with the WGA I still need to be careful. The funny thing is, all throughout this unemployment experience, I’ve wanted to move from writing to sales. But finding a product I can believe in hasn’t been easy. Uniforms, copy machines, temp services, financial advisers—these have been the products in front of me. And none of them really move me. For a while, I thought I could get into uniforms. It seems sustainable and it’s about apparel branding. So, I figured it could be right.

 

But it wasn’t. Neither were copy machine sales. I just can’t imagine myself being that girl who drops brochures and cards off at the front desk. And Brian couldn’t see it either. Unless it was wrapped in the ball of a joke that we both laughed over. But selling Olive, Inc (the name of the series) I can really get behind. And I’m selling it like crazy.

 

Along with writing, I find that I’m talking to people all the time. And everyone is ready to talk. The lady at the post office behind me, the guy mowing his lawn off Commonwealth, the gas station attendant at Costco and even the guy behind the counter—everyone wants to talk. It just reinforces that we’re all in this together.

 

I guess, I’m starting to learn how great life is when you don’t have a job. I always thought this path looked scary, dark, unforgiving and poor. But it’s more enriching than I thought. And I’m fucking loving it.

 

 

Disclaimer:

It should be noted that I am actively looking for a job. This blog cannot be used as a critical piece of evidence in the court of law. As I am properly earning my unemployment insurance. Every single penny. Every single day.

Guess I’m a Rubber Tree

Today, I had another ridiculous interview. This whole unemployed thing is down-right hysterical. And what I mean by that is I’m going for jobs I really don’t want. But I think it’s good practice, it helps me get my elevator pitch down and you never know who you’re gonna meet.

Last week I went to a career fair. It was called: Putting America Back to Work. Ok, isn’t the title freaking hysterical. Nice job, copywriter, wherever you are. You’ve inspired me so much, I put on deodorant this morning.

At this job fair, I interviewed with four companies that I thought might be a good match for me. And each interviewer had a stack of typical questions. After the third interview, I started getting a little creative. And this is how I answered the following questions:

 

Canned Question #49: What is your greatest weakness?

I’m blunt. I’m honest. I usually have a messy desk. Ok, not employable answers. No one wants to hear how my desk is full of my daughter’s artwork. So instead, I said:

Cake. I get weak in the knees when cake is around.

 

Canned Question #52: Where do you see yourself in five years?

I wanted to say: retired on a beach beside a casino that has live poker. But I knew that wasn’t a good answer. So I lied:

Writing a children’s book or owning a store with children’s clothing. (Hey, not a bad dream. In fact, I’d love to do either. But my initial thought was far more relaxing.)

 

Canned Question #19: What book would I find on your beside table?

In all honestly, there are three Elmo books on my nightstand. That’s because Olive has developed this ridiculous affinity for Elmo. But I can’t admit I have a child. Or at least not yet. So I lied:

I usually read three to four books at a time. Right now, I’m reading: The Autobiography of Jackie Kennedy, the latest issue of Fast Company, a book by Marie Montessori and something else. I can’t remember the fourth. I’m sure it will come up at my second interview.

 

Canned Question #23: If you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be?

This was a true stumper because I don’t know anything about trees. So, after looking at her for a minute with the following expression: Are you fucking serious? I lied:

Probably a rubber tree. They make paper, right? And I’ve been known to easily make something out of nothing. So I’d be a rubber tree.

I’m Much Cooler Now

 Or so my hubby says. I’m more fun to be around, less intense on work and more intense on me. Life is fucking good when you’re unemployed.

 

I play longer with Olive.

I write the stuff I like to write.

I stay up later.

I’m learning to cook.

I go to every book club, accept every hiking invitation and I’ve rediscovered the Y.

But I’m still applying. I’ve written over 87 cover letters from 17 different personal templates. I have eleven different resumes because I can do five things.* And everyone I know is looking for me.

 So, it’s not like I’m putzing around. I’m enjoying this time. And I guess, according to some people, it’s really working for me.

 

David Foster Wallace (DFW) Section:

* I can do five things: Saleswoman. Writer. Public Relations Superstar. Project Manager. Seller of Big Ideas.

** I’m sorry that DFW died but I really wasn’t a fan. Believe me, I know he was brilliant. I get that. But he was so damn arrogant. And he was brutal to read. I started a book club in Boston just so I would read Infinite Jest. (Unfortunately, a guy named Rodrigo was the only person who read the book. And he wasn’t much fun to talk to.)

 

 

 

 

 

Bono Likes Pudding

Fictitious Interview with Bono

Previously published in Charlotte Magazine, December 2005.  (Page 28)

 

He’s the lead singer of the band U2, a political activist, screenwriter, orator, thespian, clothing designer and the most superstitious person I’ve ever met. That’s why we’re sitting at Jason’s Deli pounding pudding.

 

Bono eats pudding before every performance. When he forgets: “a dark cloud hangs over the stage.” And so here we are, in the back booth off Woodlawn. And even though I’m lactose intolerant—I’m eating the hell out of some pudding.

 

Bono practices countless rituals to keep his home healthy, his crops plentiful and his life balanced. As he puts it: “Sanity isn’t free. You need to earn it.” And sometimes that means doing strange things.

 

When his daughter, Memphis Eve, got meningitis, he repainted the entire house DayGlo orange. “It killed the poison.” (She recovered three days later.) When he’s feeling writer’s block, he prank calls Gilbert Gottfried. “Sometimes it’s hard to meet the muse. Writing Achtung took a lot out of me. I buzzed Gottfried then banged out ‘Acrobat.’”

 

And every night before he goes to bed, he takes a tall glass of asparagus juice. “It chases away the foxes.” (Urban foxes are common throughout Dublin.)

 

ME: You’re full of it.

 

BONO: No, this is the way it is. This is the price of life.

 

ME: Either you’re one good storyteller or you’re a damn good liar.

 

BONO: They’re the same thing.

 

And with that, Bono pushes his rose-colored glasses up the brim and heads back to the pudding.

 

 

DISCLAIMERS:

I love Jason’s Deli but I’m not a fan of their pudding.

Sometimes I’m lactose tolerant and sometimes I’m not. It fluctuates.

I never ate pudding with Bono.

Bono may or may not be superstitious. I’m not really sure.

Fictitious Interview with Pam Grier

It’s 8. Pam Grier sits across from me at a Tex Mex bar off Pico. When she laughs, her mouth fully extends and her blouse buttons look ready to quit. She downs margaritas and chalks life up to accident.

She never expected Hollywood. But Hollywood expected her. She instead, was set to become a Dental Hygienist. “When I was discovered, I was workin’ my way through school. But the guy I was with, served me up heartache by marrying some one else. So I left home and went looking.”

And then she became a goddess. A gorgeous and yet semi-awkward goddess. Watching her move while she speaks—is odd. Her shoulders turn, her head tilts and lips smack around her face. She’s the woman bitching on the subway and Foxy Brown. When she talks to the waiter, she points to the menu. When she holds a glass to her lips, her head tilts forward, and her curls play suicide along the rim. Chewing ice, she answers my questions.

 

ME:             

How do you respond when someone interrupts you? Are you irritated?

PG:             

Yeah. Especially that call waiting beep. Always beeps in right before I get the juice. The scoop. Makes me so angry.

ME:           

I pulled that question from a career compatibility test.

PG:             

A test? You think that’s how you gonna find the answer? Can’t plan that shit. It’s decided. Already decided.

 

And then Pam tells a joke. She moves closer, her elbows make elongated V’s on the table. “How do you make God laugh?” she asks. Loose em’s and ha’s spill out before the punch line: “Make a plan.” And with that, Pam’s back returns to the chair. Her breath stops hitting my face and for a moment, she relaxes.

 

 

Full Disclosure

I’ve been trying to catch up with Pam Grier for a while. But she never returned my calls and to be honest: I never called her. But I still wanted to interview her. And I thought, we’ll, maybe I’ll just pretend to interview her. And so what you just read, is what I think we would have talked about.

 

 

New unit of metrics: the lobby.

When I moved to Boston, I didn’t have a job. But three weeks and 19 interviews later, I landed a position at an amazing company called Total Learning Concepts. The moment I walked in, I knew the job was mine.

 

When I arrived, Cory, the woman at the front desk, greeted me. Then she sat down beside me and told me about the company, the people and work. She was so personable, so open. I liked her instantly. And I knew this place was for me.

 

And then I met Carol. The President. She had an MFA in Renaissance Lit, married her tennis partner and had a kitchen with a sky painted on the ceiling. She was everything I wanted to be. And she trusted me. Here I was, a blushing red head, fresh out of school, and she hired me to start an inside sales department for her company.

 

The thing is: I belonged there. And I knew it by talking to Cory. She was a barometer to the culture and the company. Sitting in the lobby beside her, I knew this job was the perfect fit. And  my instincts were right on. My gut pegged it in the lobby. I loved that job. And more importantly, I listened to my gut.  And even though there are times when I’ve ignored what it had to say, one thing holds true: it’s never been wrong. 

Hello World

They say everyone is searching for something. And I’m no different. The thing is, I’m searching for a lot of things right now. A job, the perfect toddler bed and as always, time. More time. Or whatever it is. Fact is, we’re all in hot pursuit of _____.

What X is will change. Day to day, meal to meal and maybe paycheck to paycheck. But what will never change is my curious nature and persistence to keep searching for the next big thing.

And this is the story of my search.