Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Gonna Get Dressed for Success
This part of this post is encrypted: ***
When I got home I noticed my mom's car in my driveway. I wasn't expecting her but when I stepped inside I smelled food.
"Surprise, I'm cooking supper for you!" She poked her head around the corner to greet me.
There were flowers and a bottle of wine and a card on the table to congratulate me on my new job. It was a very unexpected, lovely and delicious special moment.
After I enjoyed dinner and conversation with my mom I headed downtown early so I could stop before my Creative Writing class at the dress shop where The Dress was. I had gone browsing on the weekend and last night to other places in search of another party frock that I could love as much for a cheaper price. I had found one. It was a greyish blue silk A-line with ties that came from the middle and went around the neck. It was classy, pretty, and $139. It was sensible and not so much fun. But it was also clean and the lining wasn't snagged and I could wear it to other functions like a wedding. This was The Dress's competition.
I went into the dress shop tonight not expecting to see The Dress there. I figured some young grad or Faculty of Commerce Social goer would have picked it up since I returned it to the rack on Saturday afternoon. But no, it was still there. It was also still $150. I tried it on. Instantly I fell in love with it again. It's just so fun. And sparkly. And fun...
I got dressed and put the fun back on the hanger. I went to the cash desk and hovered for a bit but no one came around. I walked to the front of the store and was noticed by a woman dressing a mannequin.
"How'd you make out with the dress?" She asked.
"Well, I really really love the dress, but it's $150 and with the taxes added on, I just can't...is there any further discount on it?"
"It's been marked down, hasn't it? What was the original price?"
"Two-fifty."
"She took a hundred off already," the woman replied.
I looked down toward the floor and didn't say anything.
"Well the best I can do is take twenty-five dollars off or my manager will scream at me."
I made like I was considering this over for a moment. Then I looked up and said, "Sure, I'll do that." I went in there hoping they could just knock the taxes off, maybe take a full fifteen per cent, but she had just given me seventeen! Score!
One of the other sales girls put it in a garment bag for me. "Oh, this dress has found a home," she said. "I love this dress."
"I promise it is going to a good home," I said.
I do not have a winter coat, I need sweaters for my new, chilly office space, but I have The Dress. I promise, there will be photos when the party time comes.
What a perfect day. As I walked into the university all I could think was, "Hello world, welcome to the palm of my hand. Please stay as long as you like."
Here's the world for ya
Here's the world for ya
Go tell them who you are
Here's the world for ya
Here's the world for ya
Go be a shining star
The Payola$--Here's the World
When I got home I noticed my mom's car in my driveway. I wasn't expecting her but when I stepped inside I smelled food.
"Surprise, I'm cooking supper for you!" She poked her head around the corner to greet me.
There were flowers and a bottle of wine and a card on the table to congratulate me on my new job. It was a very unexpected, lovely and delicious special moment.
After I enjoyed dinner and conversation with my mom I headed downtown early so I could stop before my Creative Writing class at the dress shop where The Dress was. I had gone browsing on the weekend and last night to other places in search of another party frock that I could love as much for a cheaper price. I had found one. It was a greyish blue silk A-line with ties that came from the middle and went around the neck. It was classy, pretty, and $139. It was sensible and not so much fun. But it was also clean and the lining wasn't snagged and I could wear it to other functions like a wedding. This was The Dress's competition.
I went into the dress shop tonight not expecting to see The Dress there. I figured some young grad or Faculty of Commerce Social goer would have picked it up since I returned it to the rack on Saturday afternoon. But no, it was still there. It was also still $150. I tried it on. Instantly I fell in love with it again. It's just so fun. And sparkly. And fun...
I got dressed and put the fun back on the hanger. I went to the cash desk and hovered for a bit but no one came around. I walked to the front of the store and was noticed by a woman dressing a mannequin.
"How'd you make out with the dress?" She asked.
"Well, I really really love the dress, but it's $150 and with the taxes added on, I just can't...is there any further discount on it?"
"It's been marked down, hasn't it? What was the original price?"
"Two-fifty."
"She took a hundred off already," the woman replied.
I looked down toward the floor and didn't say anything.
"Well the best I can do is take twenty-five dollars off or my manager will scream at me."
I made like I was considering this over for a moment. Then I looked up and said, "Sure, I'll do that." I went in there hoping they could just knock the taxes off, maybe take a full fifteen per cent, but she had just given me seventeen! Score!
One of the other sales girls put it in a garment bag for me. "Oh, this dress has found a home," she said. "I love this dress."
"I promise it is going to a good home," I said.
I do not have a winter coat, I need sweaters for my new, chilly office space, but I have The Dress. I promise, there will be photos when the party time comes.
What a perfect day. As I walked into the university all I could think was, "Hello world, welcome to the palm of my hand. Please stay as long as you like."
Here's the world for ya
Here's the world for ya
Go tell them who you are
Here's the world for ya
Here's the world for ya
Go be a shining star
The Payola$--Here's the World
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Dear diary, today I met a dress...
Well I'd say I was successful yesterday in playing the part of an unemployed bum. I left Truck at home and I took the bus downtown to visit dress shops and try on $600 gowns I had no intention of purchasing. Yes! I selected fancy dresses off of racks that I knew I could not afford but with no regard for the busy salesgirls I put them and myself into a change room and went to town--what a bum!
Actually, I was on the hunt for a dress to wear to the Good-Wooden Leg winter formal. All the Staff Club executives get two free tickets to the dinner and dance. I was really looking forward to going this year, but, when I abdicated my post on the committee, even though it was only a month away from the event, I also gave up my eligibility for the free tickets. Personally, I thought that was kind of cheap since I did do almost the full year of my duties on the committee. I tried to hint to the committee how disappointed I was that I was going to be missing out on the dance, but no dice. Tonia however was happy to invite me as her date so yay, Cinderella gets to go to the ball after all!
The dress shops I visited cater to brides and her girls first, other random party girls second. Some how I forgot this little fact until I walked into the first store and saw the flurry of white silk. The store was full of girls with sparkly diamonds on their left hands surrounded by giggling best friends and teary mothers. I helped myself to the bright colored party frocks and tried to stay out of the way while simultaneously hoping I would get noticed by someone so they could put me in the queue for a dressing room. The mood ring on my left hand was black, having just come in from the cold. It does not catch the light but instead confirmed my status as a second class citizen there in Romance town.
They do not put mirrors inside of the dressing rooms at these places. No, they put walls of them outside the dressing room so that you must come come out and be fluffed and preened by one of the sales girls. I did have a few legit dresses that I was actually seriously considering. I mean, if you find something that makes you look like a million bucks and you can get it on sale for $200, why not? When I put one on that I felt decent about I decided to brave the outside mirrored room and take a peek. Naturally, the mirror space was mostly occupied. I stood close by my change room door and waited for the fleeting moment when my sparkly pink reflection got its turn.
"That looks really cute," one of the sales girls said to me as she carried a mound of white over her head, back to the sales floor.
I quickly tried on a few other dresses but didn't come out to the mirror with any of them. I knew that there was a line up of girls who hadn't only been waiting ten minutes or so to get into a room, but essentially their whole life. I did not belong there. They were picking out the dress that they would begin the rest of their adult lives in (or at least half of them would, given the divorce rate), I was still just playing dress up.
I went to a few less-busy stores and tried on some things there. The best was at The Bay. Since the girl there seemed bored but excited to help me peruse the more colourful selections I let her talk me into trying a few things on.
I only wish I had my friends there to see these things. I think the dresses weighed as much as I did, with the crinolines, boning and the bead work and all. There was one dress that was figure skating costume on the top half, complete with sheer netting and sparkles in the torso area, but then went into a mermaid costume for the skirt portion. The dinner and dance has a dancing with the stars theme. I wasn't sure if I would be able to walk in that getup, never mind salsa.
The next dress I tried on I actually kind of liked. It was a copper color and again very fitted through the bodice and about three quarters down until it flared out into layers of ruffles. It approximated couture, or at least the closest I will ever get to it.
The dressing rooms at The Bay are just slightly larger than my bathroom and feature three mirrors. I took some time playing around in front of them, striking poses and practicing my dancing. That copper dress was $600. It would never ever be able to come home with me.
I almost didn't go to my last stop. It was on the other side of the street and I had already passed it when I changed my mind and figured, hey, why not? It was a bit like the first place in that it catered to a market I was not a part of, but in the very front of the store, not far from the mats where people were asked to remove their outdoor shoes, there was a rack of discounted party dresses. These racks are rather sad as they are where the torn, the stained and the ugly go. I persevered though and found three items to try. I let myself into a room.
The first two were definite nos. One was too small the other too big. The third dress though was a lovely surprise. I tried it on once and enjoyed it, and then after getting dressed in my street clothes again I decided to put it on once more and actually come out to see it in the three way mirror.
"Ohh, very cute!" The saleswoman said. It was the second time I had heard the remark today, but this time I wholeheartedly agreed.
It was a 60s style bubble dress all in sequins with random flashes of reds, blues and yellows. The straps were spaghetti style in a light pink. It was fun, flirty, dance-y and bright. It was me.
I went back into my room to change and put the dress back on its hanger. It was $150, which was sort of in my budget. The pink trim and straps were a bit dirty (but probably washable) and the polyester lining was snagged in a few places (but not visible). It could also use a bit of taking in on the sides. Other than that, it wasn't torn or stained with lip gloss. Should I really be paying $150, plus taxes, for something less than perfect though, or was there a better option out there? Maybe something already in my closet that I could alter? Maybe I could sew my own version of it?
I left the store sans dress and with the hope that if it is meant to be, I will come back and find it again, perhaps with an additional 15% off. Suddenly paying the price to look like a million bucks wasn't feeling very responsible or sensible. Look like a million, or invest so that you can retire with a million? In the end, it's just a boy, just a dance, just a dress, and those sequins will never sparkle and shine as much as my own eyes do. Le sigh.
Actually, I was on the hunt for a dress to wear to the Good-Wooden Leg winter formal. All the Staff Club executives get two free tickets to the dinner and dance. I was really looking forward to going this year, but, when I abdicated my post on the committee, even though it was only a month away from the event, I also gave up my eligibility for the free tickets. Personally, I thought that was kind of cheap since I did do almost the full year of my duties on the committee. I tried to hint to the committee how disappointed I was that I was going to be missing out on the dance, but no dice. Tonia however was happy to invite me as her date so yay, Cinderella gets to go to the ball after all!
The dress shops I visited cater to brides and her girls first, other random party girls second. Some how I forgot this little fact until I walked into the first store and saw the flurry of white silk. The store was full of girls with sparkly diamonds on their left hands surrounded by giggling best friends and teary mothers. I helped myself to the bright colored party frocks and tried to stay out of the way while simultaneously hoping I would get noticed by someone so they could put me in the queue for a dressing room. The mood ring on my left hand was black, having just come in from the cold. It does not catch the light but instead confirmed my status as a second class citizen there in Romance town.
They do not put mirrors inside of the dressing rooms at these places. No, they put walls of them outside the dressing room so that you must come come out and be fluffed and preened by one of the sales girls. I did have a few legit dresses that I was actually seriously considering. I mean, if you find something that makes you look like a million bucks and you can get it on sale for $200, why not? When I put one on that I felt decent about I decided to brave the outside mirrored room and take a peek. Naturally, the mirror space was mostly occupied. I stood close by my change room door and waited for the fleeting moment when my sparkly pink reflection got its turn.
"That looks really cute," one of the sales girls said to me as she carried a mound of white over her head, back to the sales floor.
I quickly tried on a few other dresses but didn't come out to the mirror with any of them. I knew that there was a line up of girls who hadn't only been waiting ten minutes or so to get into a room, but essentially their whole life. I did not belong there. They were picking out the dress that they would begin the rest of their adult lives in (or at least half of them would, given the divorce rate), I was still just playing dress up.
I went to a few less-busy stores and tried on some things there. The best was at The Bay. Since the girl there seemed bored but excited to help me peruse the more colourful selections I let her talk me into trying a few things on.
I only wish I had my friends there to see these things. I think the dresses weighed as much as I did, with the crinolines, boning and the bead work and all. There was one dress that was figure skating costume on the top half, complete with sheer netting and sparkles in the torso area, but then went into a mermaid costume for the skirt portion. The dinner and dance has a dancing with the stars theme. I wasn't sure if I would be able to walk in that getup, never mind salsa.
The next dress I tried on I actually kind of liked. It was a copper color and again very fitted through the bodice and about three quarters down until it flared out into layers of ruffles. It approximated couture, or at least the closest I will ever get to it.
The dressing rooms at The Bay are just slightly larger than my bathroom and feature three mirrors. I took some time playing around in front of them, striking poses and practicing my dancing. That copper dress was $600. It would never ever be able to come home with me.
I almost didn't go to my last stop. It was on the other side of the street and I had already passed it when I changed my mind and figured, hey, why not? It was a bit like the first place in that it catered to a market I was not a part of, but in the very front of the store, not far from the mats where people were asked to remove their outdoor shoes, there was a rack of discounted party dresses. These racks are rather sad as they are where the torn, the stained and the ugly go. I persevered though and found three items to try. I let myself into a room.
The first two were definite nos. One was too small the other too big. The third dress though was a lovely surprise. I tried it on once and enjoyed it, and then after getting dressed in my street clothes again I decided to put it on once more and actually come out to see it in the three way mirror.
"Ohh, very cute!" The saleswoman said. It was the second time I had heard the remark today, but this time I wholeheartedly agreed.
It was a 60s style bubble dress all in sequins with random flashes of reds, blues and yellows. The straps were spaghetti style in a light pink. It was fun, flirty, dance-y and bright. It was me.
I went back into my room to change and put the dress back on its hanger. It was $150, which was sort of in my budget. The pink trim and straps were a bit dirty (but probably washable) and the polyester lining was snagged in a few places (but not visible). It could also use a bit of taking in on the sides. Other than that, it wasn't torn or stained with lip gloss. Should I really be paying $150, plus taxes, for something less than perfect though, or was there a better option out there? Maybe something already in my closet that I could alter? Maybe I could sew my own version of it?
I left the store sans dress and with the hope that if it is meant to be, I will come back and find it again, perhaps with an additional 15% off. Suddenly paying the price to look like a million bucks wasn't feeling very responsible or sensible. Look like a million, or invest so that you can retire with a million? In the end, it's just a boy, just a dance, just a dress, and those sequins will never sparkle and shine as much as my own eyes do. Le sigh.
Friday, October 16, 2009
And now she is gone
There were waffles, there were cookies, there was soup and there were tears. Yes, it was a busy final day at Good-Wooden Leg. It's good to be home.
When I got into work today there was a green bag on my desk. Inside was my very own Sea Monkeys kit. I am going to be the cool new girl who has Sea Monkeys at her desk. Michael has ensured that I will enter my new workplace with popularity points in the bank.
On Fridays in the cafeteria they serve Belgian waffles for breakfast. Michael and I are fans of them so every so often we would schedule breakfast meetings on Fridays. Today we had our last waffle meeting. I thought the wave of emotion would start crashing in around then, but it didn't. It still felt like any other Friday.
Last night I was busy baking a double batch of chocolate chip cookies to bring into the office. I though for sure it was going to take all night, especially since in between putting pans in the oven I was also sipping on some red wine. I managed to wrap up production in time to watch 90210 though.
This morning I put the cookies out around 10:30 and sent an email out to everyone to let them know the treats were there. One of my favourite memories of my office is when people would bring in snacks or baking either in celebration of something or just because.
Joanna wanted to be sure we did something today for lunch. A group of nine of us ended up going to the Spicy Noodle House for soup. I hadn't been there in a long time. There are some funny stories about my experiences at that place. Today the joke continued. I'd tell you about it but you had to be there. There was a lot of laughter today. I remember thinking that it felt like the series finale of a TV show. No big wrap up stories, just more of the same good times.
After lunch things really picked up. I had stuff on my desk to finish up, they wanted to do something to archive my emails and I had to meet again with Michael to formally pass on my project files. There was one person I was thinking about making a point of saying good bye to but I wasn't sure if I would be able to squeeze it in. Finally, at twenty to three I had some time to myself again so I called him up.
"Hey Eric, it's Jill."
"Hey Jill, so it's your last day right? Are you excited?"
"I'm getting there," I told him. "Are you going to be at your desk for the next bit?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, I'm coming over for a visit."
I first met Eric in a Time Management seminar I took last year. The seminar was awful. The instructor wasn't really offering any innovative tips or suggestions. Eric was one of the few guys in the class and the instructor picked him out as a suitable match for his daughter, whom he talked incessantly about.
I later met Eric again when I joined the Staff Club executive committee. He was a second V.P. and I was the new information coordinator. Eric is tall with dark hair and light eyes but he also has a very soft baby face that suggested to me he had to be younger, in his early to mid-twenties, I figured. I was shocked one day when I found out he was the same age as I am. We were talking about the music options for the annual company dinner and dance. Someone had suggested that the old fashioned big band sound just wasn't popular with the younger crowd.
"Well I'm 28 and I like the Ron Paley Band," Eric said. I was surprised, and impressed, but also happily seeing someone at the time so the information was of no importance to me. In fact, I was hoping Tonia might get to know him better as she had just joined the committee as well.
Eric liked to tease me about going to those meetings with the food and coffee. He was a numbers guy for the area that I provided communications support to. "What are you doing here? You're not part of this division," he'd say. I would fiercely defend myself but he would show no mercy.
He annoyed me sometimes too. My role on the committee was to send in announcements to the staff newsletter. Eric had to write a few things and send them to me for a final look over. I would make changes to the piece and send it back to him as a courtesy. He often did not like my edits and it bugged me that he couldn't just trust that I knew what I doing. I mean, while he was in bean counting school I was learning about sentence structures and effective ways to use communication to get people to take a desired action. Like really, who the hell did he think he was anyway, questioning me?
The more encounters I had with him the more puzzled I was by him. I couldn't tell sometimes if he was shy or if I was just completely irrelevant to him. There were other times though when he definitely seemed not shy and then I'd go, "what was that?" Once upon a time I would have found him an enticing challenge, but I just wasn't into playing boys as a sport anymore. I was done with the chasing thing. It never worked out for me anyway.
I wasn't sure about going to see him today. We had a Staff Club meeting yesterday that he missed though so it felt funny leaving without some kind of goodbye.
"It's sad to see you go," he said, at least twice, as I stood in his cube. "You're on Facebook eh?" He asked.
"Yeah, of course," I said.
"I'll look you up. We'll keep in touch."
I left him with two cookies and wished him well. We'll see what happens. I feel very Zen about the whole thing.
I hurried back to my desk because it was almost three and I was hoping to see Michael again before he went home for the day. I promised I would email him once I got settled and would keep him posted on the Sea Monkeys. We shook hands and I did not cry.
At that point I was pretty much free to go but I couldn't quite bring myself to walk out yet. I sat down and tried to wipe some of the dust off of the desk for Amara. Hardly any point as a new layer will be waiting for her when she assumes the desk again next spring.
Belinda, one of our French proofreaders came in to say goodbye. I did not cry.
Joanna came in to say good bye. I stood up and made like I was busy looking for something because at that point I could feel the tears coming on. I could hardly bring myself to look at her.
"Oh, we'll keep in touch," she said when she noticed me wiping my eyes.
"I know, I know," I said. And that was the thing, I knew this wasn't goodbye. I mean, I was friends with her outside of the building and I knew I would be keeping in touch with most of the people I was saying goodbye to. It wasn't the goodbye to the people that was getting to me. I guess it was saying good bye to a place where I had spent four years of my life that was suddenly hitting me. When I started there I was in the process of getting Truck, I then bought my house, I dated, I grew up. It's weird, I don't think I even cried when I moved out of my parents' house. Then again, I still go back to my parents' place all the time. I still have a place there. When you leave a job they fill your void. You don't belong there anymore. It's kind of like a break up. All you have left are the memories and the experiences.
I made a small tour to finish saying my goodbyes. I didn't even bother trying to hide my watery eyes. There's another Jill in the office, she just joined earlier in the year. It bugged me that I had to start defining myself as "Jill B". I'm just odd that way. "Well, you're the only Jill left in the office now," I said to her. "Do the name proud."
Not only did I not leave early today, I left late. When I was no longer able to say anymore goodbyes I packed up my bags and headed out. It was 3:45 when I exited the building for the last time and made my way to the bus stop. Goodbye Good-Wooden Leg. Thanks for everything.
I am not going to reflect anymore for today, nor am I going to think about what awaits me on Monday. It is the weekend. I have books to read, homework to do, wine to drink and people to see. Tune in next week for a new chapter in the Jill Story!
When I got into work today there was a green bag on my desk. Inside was my very own Sea Monkeys kit. I am going to be the cool new girl who has Sea Monkeys at her desk. Michael has ensured that I will enter my new workplace with popularity points in the bank.
On Fridays in the cafeteria they serve Belgian waffles for breakfast. Michael and I are fans of them so every so often we would schedule breakfast meetings on Fridays. Today we had our last waffle meeting. I thought the wave of emotion would start crashing in around then, but it didn't. It still felt like any other Friday.
Last night I was busy baking a double batch of chocolate chip cookies to bring into the office. I though for sure it was going to take all night, especially since in between putting pans in the oven I was also sipping on some red wine. I managed to wrap up production in time to watch 90210 though.
This morning I put the cookies out around 10:30 and sent an email out to everyone to let them know the treats were there. One of my favourite memories of my office is when people would bring in snacks or baking either in celebration of something or just because.
Joanna wanted to be sure we did something today for lunch. A group of nine of us ended up going to the Spicy Noodle House for soup. I hadn't been there in a long time. There are some funny stories about my experiences at that place. Today the joke continued. I'd tell you about it but you had to be there. There was a lot of laughter today. I remember thinking that it felt like the series finale of a TV show. No big wrap up stories, just more of the same good times.
After lunch things really picked up. I had stuff on my desk to finish up, they wanted to do something to archive my emails and I had to meet again with Michael to formally pass on my project files. There was one person I was thinking about making a point of saying good bye to but I wasn't sure if I would be able to squeeze it in. Finally, at twenty to three I had some time to myself again so I called him up.
"Hey Eric, it's Jill."
"Hey Jill, so it's your last day right? Are you excited?"
"I'm getting there," I told him. "Are you going to be at your desk for the next bit?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, I'm coming over for a visit."
I first met Eric in a Time Management seminar I took last year. The seminar was awful. The instructor wasn't really offering any innovative tips or suggestions. Eric was one of the few guys in the class and the instructor picked him out as a suitable match for his daughter, whom he talked incessantly about.
I later met Eric again when I joined the Staff Club executive committee. He was a second V.P. and I was the new information coordinator. Eric is tall with dark hair and light eyes but he also has a very soft baby face that suggested to me he had to be younger, in his early to mid-twenties, I figured. I was shocked one day when I found out he was the same age as I am. We were talking about the music options for the annual company dinner and dance. Someone had suggested that the old fashioned big band sound just wasn't popular with the younger crowd.
"Well I'm 28 and I like the Ron Paley Band," Eric said. I was surprised, and impressed, but also happily seeing someone at the time so the information was of no importance to me. In fact, I was hoping Tonia might get to know him better as she had just joined the committee as well.
Eric liked to tease me about going to those meetings with the food and coffee. He was a numbers guy for the area that I provided communications support to. "What are you doing here? You're not part of this division," he'd say. I would fiercely defend myself but he would show no mercy.
He annoyed me sometimes too. My role on the committee was to send in announcements to the staff newsletter. Eric had to write a few things and send them to me for a final look over. I would make changes to the piece and send it back to him as a courtesy. He often did not like my edits and it bugged me that he couldn't just trust that I knew what I doing. I mean, while he was in bean counting school I was learning about sentence structures and effective ways to use communication to get people to take a desired action. Like really, who the hell did he think he was anyway, questioning me?
The more encounters I had with him the more puzzled I was by him. I couldn't tell sometimes if he was shy or if I was just completely irrelevant to him. There were other times though when he definitely seemed not shy and then I'd go, "what was that?" Once upon a time I would have found him an enticing challenge, but I just wasn't into playing boys as a sport anymore. I was done with the chasing thing. It never worked out for me anyway.
I wasn't sure about going to see him today. We had a Staff Club meeting yesterday that he missed though so it felt funny leaving without some kind of goodbye.
"It's sad to see you go," he said, at least twice, as I stood in his cube. "You're on Facebook eh?" He asked.
"Yeah, of course," I said.
"I'll look you up. We'll keep in touch."
I left him with two cookies and wished him well. We'll see what happens. I feel very Zen about the whole thing.
I hurried back to my desk because it was almost three and I was hoping to see Michael again before he went home for the day. I promised I would email him once I got settled and would keep him posted on the Sea Monkeys. We shook hands and I did not cry.
At that point I was pretty much free to go but I couldn't quite bring myself to walk out yet. I sat down and tried to wipe some of the dust off of the desk for Amara. Hardly any point as a new layer will be waiting for her when she assumes the desk again next spring.
Belinda, one of our French proofreaders came in to say goodbye. I did not cry.
Joanna came in to say good bye. I stood up and made like I was busy looking for something because at that point I could feel the tears coming on. I could hardly bring myself to look at her.
"Oh, we'll keep in touch," she said when she noticed me wiping my eyes.
"I know, I know," I said. And that was the thing, I knew this wasn't goodbye. I mean, I was friends with her outside of the building and I knew I would be keeping in touch with most of the people I was saying goodbye to. It wasn't the goodbye to the people that was getting to me. I guess it was saying good bye to a place where I had spent four years of my life that was suddenly hitting me. When I started there I was in the process of getting Truck, I then bought my house, I dated, I grew up. It's weird, I don't think I even cried when I moved out of my parents' house. Then again, I still go back to my parents' place all the time. I still have a place there. When you leave a job they fill your void. You don't belong there anymore. It's kind of like a break up. All you have left are the memories and the experiences.
I made a small tour to finish saying my goodbyes. I didn't even bother trying to hide my watery eyes. There's another Jill in the office, she just joined earlier in the year. It bugged me that I had to start defining myself as "Jill B". I'm just odd that way. "Well, you're the only Jill left in the office now," I said to her. "Do the name proud."
Not only did I not leave early today, I left late. When I was no longer able to say anymore goodbyes I packed up my bags and headed out. It was 3:45 when I exited the building for the last time and made my way to the bus stop. Goodbye Good-Wooden Leg. Thanks for everything.
I am not going to reflect anymore for today, nor am I going to think about what awaits me on Monday. It is the weekend. I have books to read, homework to do, wine to drink and people to see. Tune in next week for a new chapter in the Jill Story!
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Last day Eve
I packed my personal effects into boxes today. Michael was surprised at the amount of stuff I had to take home.
"I literally could walk out of here with all my stuff in a single shopping bag," he said. Well, guys do not keep several varieties of hand lotion in their desks. I also have a lot of calendars, some George Stroumboulopoulos pictures (thank you Sherry) and a few stuffed creatures. So yes, my cube was pretty much decorated like a 12-year-old girl's bedroom. Maybe that's why I was so successful in capturing the voice of a seventh grade girl in my first writing assignment. We reviewed each other's work last night in class. I'm feeling a little better about my work now.
I went to my last Zumba class today. The instructor is the same girl who led the Yoga Booty Ballet class that I loved so much. I was tempted to skip it today because my afternoon was so packed with meetings. I missed last week's class anyway because I was out for lunch. As if she knew it was my last class though, she decided to start things off with some ballet stretching. Oh how I've missed the pliés! I found a gym close to my house where she teaches YBB. I am tempted to join it just for that class.
I employed Nigel and Joanna to help me carry my stuff to the parking lot where my mom was waiting for me. Duane said once that you know who your real friends are by looking around at the people who came out to help you move. Nigel and Joanna are definitely those kind of people, though I'm sure if I needed extra help I could have found it.
Lisa emailed me last night from Victoria. She's there for three weeks for her residency requirement at Royal Roads. The poor girl had an out of the blue fainting spell during the welcoming remarks in front of her entire class, professors and senior university administration. Lisa and I have to be soulmates or something. We do everything months apart from each other--jobs, homes, and, apparently, fainting in public. She is doing fine now. We haven't been able to see much of each other for the last while because she's been busy with school. I miss her.
Tomorrow is my last official day at Good Wooden Leg. Technically, I will be an unemployed bum as of 3:30 pm until 8:30 am Monday. I hope to make the most of it. Already in the plans are two foul suppers! Wait, that's not a bum, that's an 85 year-old church lady. What do bums do anyway? Bum a smoke? Bum a ride? Bum around town? If I could only be a beach bum for the weekend that would be awesome. Maybe that's what I'll do with my paid out vacation funds!
Anyway, I have work to do.
Well I been thinking bout the future
But I'm too young to pretend
It's such a waste to always look behind you
Should be lookin' straight ahead
Yeah, I'm gonna have to move on
Before we meet again
Yeah, it's hard
If you had've only seen
'Cause every once in a while
You think about if your gonna get yourself together
You should be happy just to be alive
And just because you just don't feel like comin' home
Don't mean that you'll never arrive
--Jet, Move On
"I literally could walk out of here with all my stuff in a single shopping bag," he said. Well, guys do not keep several varieties of hand lotion in their desks. I also have a lot of calendars, some George Stroumboulopoulos pictures (thank you Sherry) and a few stuffed creatures. So yes, my cube was pretty much decorated like a 12-year-old girl's bedroom. Maybe that's why I was so successful in capturing the voice of a seventh grade girl in my first writing assignment. We reviewed each other's work last night in class. I'm feeling a little better about my work now.
I went to my last Zumba class today. The instructor is the same girl who led the Yoga Booty Ballet class that I loved so much. I was tempted to skip it today because my afternoon was so packed with meetings. I missed last week's class anyway because I was out for lunch. As if she knew it was my last class though, she decided to start things off with some ballet stretching. Oh how I've missed the pliés! I found a gym close to my house where she teaches YBB. I am tempted to join it just for that class.
I employed Nigel and Joanna to help me carry my stuff to the parking lot where my mom was waiting for me. Duane said once that you know who your real friends are by looking around at the people who came out to help you move. Nigel and Joanna are definitely those kind of people, though I'm sure if I needed extra help I could have found it.
Lisa emailed me last night from Victoria. She's there for three weeks for her residency requirement at Royal Roads. The poor girl had an out of the blue fainting spell during the welcoming remarks in front of her entire class, professors and senior university administration. Lisa and I have to be soulmates or something. We do everything months apart from each other--jobs, homes, and, apparently, fainting in public. She is doing fine now. We haven't been able to see much of each other for the last while because she's been busy with school. I miss her.
Tomorrow is my last official day at Good Wooden Leg. Technically, I will be an unemployed bum as of 3:30 pm until 8:30 am Monday. I hope to make the most of it. Already in the plans are two foul suppers! Wait, that's not a bum, that's an 85 year-old church lady. What do bums do anyway? Bum a smoke? Bum a ride? Bum around town? If I could only be a beach bum for the weekend that would be awesome. Maybe that's what I'll do with my paid out vacation funds!
Anyway, I have work to do.
Well I been thinking bout the future
But I'm too young to pretend
It's such a waste to always look behind you
Should be lookin' straight ahead
Yeah, I'm gonna have to move on
Before we meet again
Yeah, it's hard
If you had've only seen
'Cause every once in a while
You think about if your gonna get yourself together
You should be happy just to be alive
And just because you just don't feel like comin' home
Don't mean that you'll never arrive
--Jet, Move On
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Head Cheese
I tried out a new recipe yesterday for a focaccia bread with Concord grapes, walnuts and gorgonzola cheese. The link I've included goes to the recipe and a lovely photo of the end result. I was going to post my own photo but my camera just died.
This bread was an all day kind of project but I was excited to try a recipe with Concord grapes. Michael introduced them to me this year and now I completely understand Welch's Concord grape juice and jelly. I had no previous experience with gorgonzola and only limited tasting experience with blue cheese. Cheese, bread, fruit, nuts, how bad could it be?
You sprinkle the grapes and cheese over the bread near the end, just before it goes in the oven. No wait, the recipe says scatter the grapes, crumble the cheese. Has anyone ever tried to crumble gorgonzola? Feta crumbles, goronzola certainly does not. Gorgonzola is like brie but with veins of mold running through it. I know, why ruin a perfectly good wheel of brie? I had to laugh when I noticed that my cheese had a best before date on it. Like really, what else was going to happen to it? More mold? Perhaps the creamy part would go sour? I imagine this would only make it more of a delicacy. They would probably call it Gorgonzola Acida (that's Italian for sour, I think) and sell it for even more!
Oh, special note: I just Googled Gorgonzola and apparently it is supposed to be crumbly like Feta. Damn you Sobeys and your fancy pants cooler of cheeses! You know nothing but charged me over seven dollars for 140 grams of moldy brie!
Anywho, so I baked this flippin thing. I waited the suggested 10 minutes before cutting a piece to sample. I didn't really like it. The grapes were awesome but the gorgonzola was not.
I consulted OAF on the cheese:
me: What are your thoughts on blue cheese, specifically Gorgonzola, if you have experience with it.
Figures that the French-Canadian guy would be turned on by cheese. Or would that be cheesed on?
I took a container of the stuff to work today to share. It seemed to taste better today some how. The reviews were fairly positive. Nobody vomited or even made a displeased face.
EEEK! I just heard a helicopter fly over and it gave me scary flashbacks to my dream. Which reminds me, I must go do my regular hour of writing. Ugh. I don't like my writing. I mean, I like it here, but somehow my voice doesn't follow me into my work in creative fiction. It's clunky sounding and cheesy. Actually, if my fiction writing were cheese I think it would be Gorgonzola--crumbly, cheesy and stinky blue veins of characters running through it.
This bread was an all day kind of project but I was excited to try a recipe with Concord grapes. Michael introduced them to me this year and now I completely understand Welch's Concord grape juice and jelly. I had no previous experience with gorgonzola and only limited tasting experience with blue cheese. Cheese, bread, fruit, nuts, how bad could it be?
You sprinkle the grapes and cheese over the bread near the end, just before it goes in the oven. No wait, the recipe says scatter the grapes, crumble the cheese. Has anyone ever tried to crumble gorgonzola? Feta crumbles, goronzola certainly does not. Gorgonzola is like brie but with veins of mold running through it. I know, why ruin a perfectly good wheel of brie? I had to laugh when I noticed that my cheese had a best before date on it. Like really, what else was going to happen to it? More mold? Perhaps the creamy part would go sour? I imagine this would only make it more of a delicacy. They would probably call it Gorgonzola Acida (that's Italian for sour, I think) and sell it for even more!
Oh, special note: I just Googled Gorgonzola and apparently it is supposed to be crumbly like Feta. Damn you Sobeys and your fancy pants cooler of cheeses! You know nothing but charged me over seven dollars for 140 grams of moldy brie!
Anywho, so I baked this flippin thing. I waited the suggested 10 minutes before cutting a piece to sample. I didn't really like it. The grapes were awesome but the gorgonzola was not.
I consulted OAF on the cheese:
me: What are your thoughts on blue cheese, specifically Gorgonzola, if you have experience with it.
5:48 PM OAF: Pure adoration.
A little bit goes a long way, and it can mix with other cheeses.
Delectable.
mmmmmmmm
What are your thoughts?
5:49 PM me: really? Hm. Too bad I can't fedex you my latest cooking experiment. I tried a recipe today for a focaccia bread topped with concord grapes and gorgonzola. I love the grapes but don't really like the gorgonzola.
OAF: You are wrong.
That is the best idea in the world.
5:50 PM me: well really, it is simply heartbreaking that I am here with an entire pan of bread that I only half enjoy and you are there without it.
OAF: (and very hungry)
Figures that the French-Canadian guy would be turned on by cheese. Or would that be cheesed on?
I took a container of the stuff to work today to share. It seemed to taste better today some how. The reviews were fairly positive. Nobody vomited or even made a displeased face.
EEEK! I just heard a helicopter fly over and it gave me scary flashbacks to my dream. Which reminds me, I must go do my regular hour of writing. Ugh. I don't like my writing. I mean, I like it here, but somehow my voice doesn't follow me into my work in creative fiction. It's clunky sounding and cheesy. Actually, if my fiction writing were cheese I think it would be Gorgonzola--crumbly, cheesy and stinky blue veins of characters running through it.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Thank you Winnipeg
Yesterday I locked myself in my parents' computer room and did not let myself out until I had finished my homework assignment. When I finished I came out into the living room and fell asleep on the couch for about an hour. I don't know what it is about assigned writing and reading that always knocks me out. Later, when I was home for the evening I settled in to read 100 pages of that Elephant book I borrowed from the library two weeks ago. It's a debut novel about a guy trying to write a debut novel while also trying to get work in San Francisco as a newspaper journalist. Unfortunately, aside from the inside cover descriptions, nothing in that book captured has my imagination. I had committed myself to plowing through it though because it had become an interesting challenge and because I truly believe there is as much to learn from a lousy read as there is from a good one.
I didn't get through my 100 pages before my eyelids started getting heavy. I'm not even going to tell you what time it was when I turned out my light because it was embarrassingly geriatric.
This morning I woke from a vivid dream. I was grocery shopping at Safeway and when I came outside to the parking lot I witnessed a helicopter falling out of the sky and exploding about two blocks away. I stood there frozen for a moment until the smoke and debris started coming toward me. I then turned to a lady standing beside me and said, "Inside, get inside." We stood in the entrance to the Safeway, watched people run for cover and I texted my sister.
I think it was at that point that I woke up. In class on Wednesday we talked about the best time to write. It was suggested that first thing in the morning or late at night, when you're a little on the sleepy side, is the best time because your inner critic isn't at full attention and firing. So I grabbed Mac and decided to test this out. I also threw a towel over the screen, another tip I picked up in class, so that I couldn't see what I was typing and therefore would be less apt to edit and critique myself as I got the ideas down. I looked at the clock on the stove. It was 9:04. When I stopped typing it was 9:43. Pretty good.
I grabbed the leftover piece of chocolate cheesecake from the fridge. By my rules, this is an acceptable breakfast dish, as is chocolate cake and cookies if they have nuts and flax in them. While eating breakfast I sketched out an outline for my story. What would happen if Winnipeg was attacked by terrorists? This story, if I could succeed at making it plausible, would examine the Winnipeg spirit (we like to think we are neighbourly and friendly folk) in the face of disaster. We've banded together in the face of floods, blizzards, the loss of a beloved hockey team, but how would we react to a terrorist attack? For instance, I am having visions of people flocking to Costco and nearly coming to blows over the last case of bottled water. We're friendly, but we can get pretty grumpy too. I was just at Costco with my mom on Friday and observed the behaviours of Winnipeggers in the face of free samples. Do not get in the way of a Winnipeg man and his sample of cheesecake.
After finishing my sketch I cleaned up a few things around the house and then headed to the mall where I found myself wandering in McNally Robinson bookstore.
Someone told me that McNally is a good place to go to check out guys. I've tested this idea a few times but have never seen results. I don't know if it was the time or the fact that it is the Sunday of a long weekend, but today the theory was proving true. I wandered into the Marketing section and was pleased to see that it was located right next to the shelf that was Engineering on one side and Sports on the other. Sure enough, one very attractive male walked up to the Engineering section and started browsing. Honestly though, they were everywhere in that store today.
I found my way over to half of a short shelf labeled "Prairie Writers". I don't recall having seen this shelf before. It felt like home. There was even a soft chair nearby that I sat in to read the first few pages of Sinclair Ross's As for Me and My House. The novel grabbed me right from the first page. I liked the narrator's voice. As I read I was also blogging and also thinking about how this is what I want to be: A Prairie Writer. Prairie Writer Jill B@rr0tt. Jillian B@rr0tt. J.S. B@rr0tt. Cherry Blossom (it was my very first pen name). Inspiration hit me and I decided to take the book home with me. The book cost $18.95. I knew that if I exercised some patience I could go to a used bookstore and find a good old (and old smelling, ahhh) copy of the book for maybe $5.00, but I had a sizable gift certificate given to me by my co-workers as a parting gift and if I was going to spend it on anything, it felt right to spend it on supporting prairie literature. So I purchased it and another novel I spotted on my way to the cash desk. I saved 10% because I have a Readers Rewards Card from volunteering at the Writers Festival. Wee! Free books plus a savings of $3.59. I am a true Winnipegger.
I am excited to read and I am excited to write again. Life is good. I am thankful.
I didn't get through my 100 pages before my eyelids started getting heavy. I'm not even going to tell you what time it was when I turned out my light because it was embarrassingly geriatric.
This morning I woke from a vivid dream. I was grocery shopping at Safeway and when I came outside to the parking lot I witnessed a helicopter falling out of the sky and exploding about two blocks away. I stood there frozen for a moment until the smoke and debris started coming toward me. I then turned to a lady standing beside me and said, "Inside, get inside." We stood in the entrance to the Safeway, watched people run for cover and I texted my sister.
I think it was at that point that I woke up. In class on Wednesday we talked about the best time to write. It was suggested that first thing in the morning or late at night, when you're a little on the sleepy side, is the best time because your inner critic isn't at full attention and firing. So I grabbed Mac and decided to test this out. I also threw a towel over the screen, another tip I picked up in class, so that I couldn't see what I was typing and therefore would be less apt to edit and critique myself as I got the ideas down. I looked at the clock on the stove. It was 9:04. When I stopped typing it was 9:43. Pretty good.
I grabbed the leftover piece of chocolate cheesecake from the fridge. By my rules, this is an acceptable breakfast dish, as is chocolate cake and cookies if they have nuts and flax in them. While eating breakfast I sketched out an outline for my story. What would happen if Winnipeg was attacked by terrorists? This story, if I could succeed at making it plausible, would examine the Winnipeg spirit (we like to think we are neighbourly and friendly folk) in the face of disaster. We've banded together in the face of floods, blizzards, the loss of a beloved hockey team, but how would we react to a terrorist attack? For instance, I am having visions of people flocking to Costco and nearly coming to blows over the last case of bottled water. We're friendly, but we can get pretty grumpy too. I was just at Costco with my mom on Friday and observed the behaviours of Winnipeggers in the face of free samples. Do not get in the way of a Winnipeg man and his sample of cheesecake.
After finishing my sketch I cleaned up a few things around the house and then headed to the mall where I found myself wandering in McNally Robinson bookstore.
Someone told me that McNally is a good place to go to check out guys. I've tested this idea a few times but have never seen results. I don't know if it was the time or the fact that it is the Sunday of a long weekend, but today the theory was proving true. I wandered into the Marketing section and was pleased to see that it was located right next to the shelf that was Engineering on one side and Sports on the other. Sure enough, one very attractive male walked up to the Engineering section and started browsing. Honestly though, they were everywhere in that store today.
I found my way over to half of a short shelf labeled "Prairie Writers". I don't recall having seen this shelf before. It felt like home. There was even a soft chair nearby that I sat in to read the first few pages of Sinclair Ross's As for Me and My House. The novel grabbed me right from the first page. I liked the narrator's voice. As I read I was also blogging and also thinking about how this is what I want to be: A Prairie Writer. Prairie Writer Jill B@rr0tt. Jillian B@rr0tt. J.S. B@rr0tt. Cherry Blossom (it was my very first pen name). Inspiration hit me and I decided to take the book home with me. The book cost $18.95. I knew that if I exercised some patience I could go to a used bookstore and find a good old (and old smelling, ahhh) copy of the book for maybe $5.00, but I had a sizable gift certificate given to me by my co-workers as a parting gift and if I was going to spend it on anything, it felt right to spend it on supporting prairie literature. So I purchased it and another novel I spotted on my way to the cash desk. I saved 10% because I have a Readers Rewards Card from volunteering at the Writers Festival. Wee! Free books plus a savings of $3.59. I am a true Winnipegger.
I am excited to read and I am excited to write again. Life is good. I am thankful.
Friday, October 09, 2009
I used to write for fun
People keep asking me if I'm getting excited about starting my new job. I think I will be excited about it next Sunday, the night before my first day. Right now I'm just having too much fun with the present to spend much time thinking about the future.
Yesterday I went out for lunch with my old team and Michael. I picked Dessert Sinsations Cafe for the location. Why? Because they have cake. I could not leave Good-Wooden Leg without cake.
"This is a little more Jill-centric than the after work drinks," Michael said to me as we sized up the selection of cakes, tortes and cheesecakes in the dessert case.
"Most definitely," I said. It was perfect.
I have a homework assignment to do for my creative writing class. It was cold and snowy out today and I had the day off--perfect conditions for getting an assignment done, right? What is it about homework that makes everything else seem 10 times more interesting? Instead of doing homework I did laundry. I cleaned out my closet and hung up clothes. I went through the recycling and sorted my mail. I washed dishes and I went to Costco with my mom. When I finally sat down to do the writing exercise I got through the first two sections and then fell asleep on the couch. How inspiring, my own words lulled me into unconsciousness.
All assignments are due at 6 pm on Sundays. I told myself I was not allowed to blog until I finished my homework. I used to procrastinate on blogging. Now I am procrastinating with blogging. What am I going to do next? Head to the library to pick up War and Peace? Good Lord, what have I signed myself up for? I used to like this writing thing.
Yesterday I went out for lunch with my old team and Michael. I picked Dessert Sinsations Cafe for the location. Why? Because they have cake. I could not leave Good-Wooden Leg without cake.
"This is a little more Jill-centric than the after work drinks," Michael said to me as we sized up the selection of cakes, tortes and cheesecakes in the dessert case.
"Most definitely," I said. It was perfect.
I have a homework assignment to do for my creative writing class. It was cold and snowy out today and I had the day off--perfect conditions for getting an assignment done, right? What is it about homework that makes everything else seem 10 times more interesting? Instead of doing homework I did laundry. I cleaned out my closet and hung up clothes. I went through the recycling and sorted my mail. I washed dishes and I went to Costco with my mom. When I finally sat down to do the writing exercise I got through the first two sections and then fell asleep on the couch. How inspiring, my own words lulled me into unconsciousness.
All assignments are due at 6 pm on Sundays. I told myself I was not allowed to blog until I finished my homework. I used to procrastinate on blogging. Now I am procrastinating with blogging. What am I going to do next? Head to the library to pick up War and Peace? Good Lord, what have I signed myself up for? I used to like this writing thing.
Wednesday, October 07, 2009
Sometime this week I have to use the word Precis in my writing
I just got home about 15 minutes ago from my first writing class and the last thing I want to do right now is write. I've decided that's like the equivalent of a person signing up for Weight Watchers and then going home and celebrating by eating half of a death by chocolate cake.
Ever since I signed up for the class Michael and I have been making up stories about what this class would be like. We decided that the instructor would be a man with recent memories of a good head of hair. He would be wearing jeans, a white t-shirt and a black blazer and his last novel came out about seven years ago and can only be found in the discount bin. My classmates would be mostly desperate housewives who have romantic narratives about their gardeners and massage therapists running through their heads all day long and think that they would like to get out of the house one night a week and hey, put these thoughts down on paper. Oh, and they would all be super eager to please the literary and encouraging instructor. Truthfully I think I was going to this class more hoping that it would provide some kind of fantastic inspiration for a piece of writing than actually teach me something. Yeah, cuz that would totally be worth $247.
It felt weird walking onto campus again as a student. It's just one class a week but as soon as I got to the entrance of the main building I felt like a student again. Hardly anything has changed. The escalators are the same, the posters are all hanging in the same places calling students to come join the various social groups. I thought I'd walk in there and feel out of place but it was like I had walked right back into 2003.
I found the classroom and took a seat close to the front but along the window. There were four of us in the room--three women and one man. I was the youngest for certain.
I checked my phone and saw that my mom had called. I listened to her message. Something isn't right with Elmo. He's limping and can't seem to put weight on one of his front paws. I had a dream this morning about Elmo. It wasn't good. The ailment was not the same but it is weird to me just the same.
Just after six, our instructor, who is neither balding nor a man, poked her head into the room and announced that we are to gather in the classroom next door instead. I later realized that in the move I forgot to grab my jacket that I had hung on the back of the chair. I worry about it for the entire second half of the class. Distractions like that will not let me write.
The class turned out to be about nine people. I am not the youngest. Apparently some others were missing and it is hoped they will show up next week. There are four guys in the class. Two of them are young. One of them wore a full suit and is a lawyer. I think he looks like a Ken doll. I mean that in the kindest way. Do you remember when they brought out the Ken dolls with the real hair? That's what this guy made me think of. He came with all the fun accessories too like shiny black shoes, a plain, white to-go cup of coffee and a soft-sided briefcase.
During my introduction I actually said that I keep a blog. The instructor asked me if I will be sharing the address of that blog. I said maybe. At first I thought yes but then it occurred to me that I would not be able to write about the class if I shared the blog with the class.
The most interesting part of the class was being in a group of people who share the writing experience. We generally run into the same problems with writing, we generally write for the same reasons and all but one of us have full-time day jobs that mean we cannot spend eight hours a day, every day, writing.
One of the questions that came up in the class was, "what are you reading? What is on your nightstand right now?" I couldn't remember the title of the book I'm reading. I knew the word Elephant was in there somewhere. Now, sitting here on my bed I am looking at my nightstand and I see three books--Going to See the Elephant (the book I am reading now), Spring Collection (the book I intended to read over the summer) and The Shack (the last book I read which was kind of lame). Oh, and there's also a book of crossword puzzles. I usually work on a few before I go to sleep. There's also two boxes of Kleenex (one regular one plus Vick's), two lights, two buttons that need to be sewn onto a jacket, two CDs of mine, two borrowed CDs and two tags from pairs of jeans that I want to remember for next time I need to buy jeans. I just noticed all the pairs and suddenly found this space interesting.
So Wednesday nights for the next six weeks I will be out learning about writing, maybe talking to a Ken Doll and trying to figure out where my instructor's accent comes from. Here's hoping something that is career-launching or at least blogworthy comes out of it. Oh yes, and there will be word of the week challenges. Note the title of this post for this week's fun word. Challenge indeed.
I like lyrics. On the way home tonight I heard Van Halen singing these ones and they struck me as something an unfinished piece of writing would say to me.
Come on baby, finish what you started
I'm incomplete
That ain't no way to treat the broken hearted
Come on and finish me
Van Halen--Finish What Ya Started
Ever since I signed up for the class Michael and I have been making up stories about what this class would be like. We decided that the instructor would be a man with recent memories of a good head of hair. He would be wearing jeans, a white t-shirt and a black blazer and his last novel came out about seven years ago and can only be found in the discount bin. My classmates would be mostly desperate housewives who have romantic narratives about their gardeners and massage therapists running through their heads all day long and think that they would like to get out of the house one night a week and hey, put these thoughts down on paper. Oh, and they would all be super eager to please the literary and encouraging instructor. Truthfully I think I was going to this class more hoping that it would provide some kind of fantastic inspiration for a piece of writing than actually teach me something. Yeah, cuz that would totally be worth $247.
It felt weird walking onto campus again as a student. It's just one class a week but as soon as I got to the entrance of the main building I felt like a student again. Hardly anything has changed. The escalators are the same, the posters are all hanging in the same places calling students to come join the various social groups. I thought I'd walk in there and feel out of place but it was like I had walked right back into 2003.
I found the classroom and took a seat close to the front but along the window. There were four of us in the room--three women and one man. I was the youngest for certain.
I checked my phone and saw that my mom had called. I listened to her message. Something isn't right with Elmo. He's limping and can't seem to put weight on one of his front paws. I had a dream this morning about Elmo. It wasn't good. The ailment was not the same but it is weird to me just the same.
Just after six, our instructor, who is neither balding nor a man, poked her head into the room and announced that we are to gather in the classroom next door instead. I later realized that in the move I forgot to grab my jacket that I had hung on the back of the chair. I worry about it for the entire second half of the class. Distractions like that will not let me write.
The class turned out to be about nine people. I am not the youngest. Apparently some others were missing and it is hoped they will show up next week. There are four guys in the class. Two of them are young. One of them wore a full suit and is a lawyer. I think he looks like a Ken doll. I mean that in the kindest way. Do you remember when they brought out the Ken dolls with the real hair? That's what this guy made me think of. He came with all the fun accessories too like shiny black shoes, a plain, white to-go cup of coffee and a soft-sided briefcase.
During my introduction I actually said that I keep a blog. The instructor asked me if I will be sharing the address of that blog. I said maybe. At first I thought yes but then it occurred to me that I would not be able to write about the class if I shared the blog with the class.
The most interesting part of the class was being in a group of people who share the writing experience. We generally run into the same problems with writing, we generally write for the same reasons and all but one of us have full-time day jobs that mean we cannot spend eight hours a day, every day, writing.
One of the questions that came up in the class was, "what are you reading? What is on your nightstand right now?" I couldn't remember the title of the book I'm reading. I knew the word Elephant was in there somewhere. Now, sitting here on my bed I am looking at my nightstand and I see three books--Going to See the Elephant (the book I am reading now), Spring Collection (the book I intended to read over the summer) and The Shack (the last book I read which was kind of lame). Oh, and there's also a book of crossword puzzles. I usually work on a few before I go to sleep. There's also two boxes of Kleenex (one regular one plus Vick's), two lights, two buttons that need to be sewn onto a jacket, two CDs of mine, two borrowed CDs and two tags from pairs of jeans that I want to remember for next time I need to buy jeans. I just noticed all the pairs and suddenly found this space interesting.
So Wednesday nights for the next six weeks I will be out learning about writing, maybe talking to a Ken Doll and trying to figure out where my instructor's accent comes from. Here's hoping something that is career-launching or at least blogworthy comes out of it. Oh yes, and there will be word of the week challenges. Note the title of this post for this week's fun word. Challenge indeed.
I like lyrics. On the way home tonight I heard Van Halen singing these ones and they struck me as something an unfinished piece of writing would say to me.
Come on baby, finish what you started
I'm incomplete
That ain't no way to treat the broken hearted
Come on and finish me
Van Halen--Finish What Ya Started
Monday, October 05, 2009
The kickoff to the big goodbye
I was out for drinks tonight with my soon to be former co-workers. The outing was supposed to be in honour of me and Elizabeth, another girl who is leaving but I think I completely lost track of the purpose. It just felt like a get together with some of my favourite people.
Judy drove me home. In my driveway I remarked that I didn't think I'd ever had a goodbye party and so this felt very special. Then I remembered that there was a bit of a celebration for me when I left The Agency. We were only an office of three though so it was considerably smaller.
Ah yes, The Agency. I was 23, young and green as grass, still living at home, no Truck. I have some very distinct memories about that place. I remember working long hours. I remember trying my best to keep up with the party-hard client. I remember looking up to one of my co-workers as a mentor and then finding her half a bottle of wine past being able to save me from the unwanted advances of one of the Saskatchewan franchisees in a hotel room. I always talk about that job with great fondness, but it was probably for the best that I didn't get to stay any longer than I did.
I had dinner at my mom's and dad's last night. They toasted me and my new job.
"Yup, three jobs in one year," I said.
"Yeah, geeze Jill, can't you hold down a job?" Dad teased me.
"I'm proud of you," he said.
"You've worked hard to get to where you are now," my mom said.
When you're full of happiness, surrounded by friends and people who love you and there are things to look forward to, it is very easy to forget about the crap you went through to get to that point.
Last time I talked to you,
You were lonely and out of place.
You were looking down on me,
Lost out in space.
Laid underneath the stars,
Strung out and feeling brave.
Watch the riddles glow,
Watch them float away.
Our Lady Peace--Somewhere Out There
Judy drove me home. In my driveway I remarked that I didn't think I'd ever had a goodbye party and so this felt very special. Then I remembered that there was a bit of a celebration for me when I left The Agency. We were only an office of three though so it was considerably smaller.
Ah yes, The Agency. I was 23, young and green as grass, still living at home, no Truck. I have some very distinct memories about that place. I remember working long hours. I remember trying my best to keep up with the party-hard client. I remember looking up to one of my co-workers as a mentor and then finding her half a bottle of wine past being able to save me from the unwanted advances of one of the Saskatchewan franchisees in a hotel room. I always talk about that job with great fondness, but it was probably for the best that I didn't get to stay any longer than I did.
I had dinner at my mom's and dad's last night. They toasted me and my new job.
"Yup, three jobs in one year," I said.
"Yeah, geeze Jill, can't you hold down a job?" Dad teased me.
"I'm proud of you," he said.
"You've worked hard to get to where you are now," my mom said.
When you're full of happiness, surrounded by friends and people who love you and there are things to look forward to, it is very easy to forget about the crap you went through to get to that point.
Last time I talked to you,
You were lonely and out of place.
You were looking down on me,
Lost out in space.
Laid underneath the stars,
Strung out and feeling brave.
Watch the riddles glow,
Watch them float away.
Our Lady Peace--Somewhere Out There
Sunday, October 04, 2009
A change in tune
Jillian is a student of Life. I'm not really sure if she is working on her BA or Masters but she's a funny little character who I can't help but love because she makes me laugh.
On Wednesday morning Jillian knocked on the office door. She didn't wait for any kind of acknowledgement as she pushed it open and proceeded to take a seat in front of the big mahogany desk.
"May I help you?" the Dean of Life asked, without looking up from the papers he was reading.
"Help? Oh that's funny," Jillian replied, her arms crossed tightly across her chest.
"Didn't you just get a new job? I thought you were on top of the world with happiness these days."
"You know what I'm here about," she said and blew a puff of air up into the bangs that were hanging over her cool blue eyes.
The Dean looked up at her and shrugged. "Refresh me."
"I need a haircut," she said tersely. "I called to make an appointment for one with my girl and was told 'Sherry is no longer with us.'"
"Sherri the hairdresser? I don't recall sending someone out to collect her for me, but it was a busy week, it is possible. I'm sorry for your loss."
Jillian rolled her eyes. "Not no longer with us in that sense. She's gone to another salon. I don't know where and I don't have time to call up every salon in the city to find out, which means I have to go somewhere new."
"I'm not following," the Dean said. "What exactly is the problem here? Do you need a recommendation?"
"NO!" Jillian slammed a fist to the desk. "I want Sherri! I like her. She knows exactly what to do, she doesn't talk too much, she doesn't let awkward silences go on and she's not crazy expensive. So why? Why did she have to be change number two hundred and forty-nine for the year 2009? Couldn't you at least let me keep my hair? It's my thing. People love my hair. They ask me who does it and I tell them Sherri at 42nd St. Now I've lost her and I have to find someone new. I have to try to work out with them what exactly it means when I say shorter bangs, cut close around the ears, razored in the back. That takes at least two appointments. Sometimes three."
The Dean started to whistle softly.
Jillian sighed. "I know, I know. Change is inevitable. Change makes us grow stronger. Change introduces new opportunities. But I've had enough for a while. I'm starting a new job in two weeks, I just want my hair. I don't really expect you to understand but come on." She banged her head on the top of the desk. The Dean continued whistling.
Jillian picked her head up and rose from her seat. "Fine. I will go find myself a new hair dresser. I will get a new hair cut. While I'm at it, why don't I put my house up for sale too before you go and burn it down and force me into a new space. One of these days we are going to talk seriously about 2009 and the cards you handed me this year."
"Come back tomorrow and we will talk hair," the Dean replied but Jillian was already out the door and down the hall.
Jillian went to work the next day and told her tale of woe to her girlfriends there. One of them sent her the number for the place she went to. Jillian called them up to make an appointment.
"Do you have something for Friday?"
"We have a space at 4:30," the receptionist replied.
"Hmm, no, that won't work," Jillian replied, knowing she would not be able to make it all the way from the west end of the city over to the south central end during rush hour in time.
"Well, we have a spot open for tonight at 6:15."
"Great! I will take it," Jillian said. She was determined to plow full steam ahead into embracing this new change. No fear.
The appointment went as expected. Jillian did her best to explain how she usually wore her hair. She had brought with her the latest issue of Vogue that had Michelle Williams on the cover sporting a blonde pixie cut that she thought looked like her usual style. The cut ended up shorter that how she normally got it done but she would deal with that.
The next day nobody noticed her hair, which amused her more than anything. Only a few weeks ago people had been stopping her and asking if she had just gotten her hair cut and commenting that it looked really good. She had only been styling it differently, more sleek and tucked behind her ears as it was getting long and hard to work with.
More than anything, Jillian was proud that she had embraced a change to something that was so close to her sense of pride and identity. She knew it was superficial and a silly thing to get so worked up about.
When Jillian got home that evening she checked her mailbox and found an enveloped that looked like it held a personal letter. She tore it open and laughed a deep, satisfying, belly laugh. Inside was a coupon for 20% off her next appointment with Sherri at her new location, Rouge Hair on Hargrave. If Jillian had only waited one more day...
Jillian had thought that she was supposed to be learning this year about accepting change in her life. She completely forgot the other theme that came up so often--patience. That was the song that the Dean had been whistling to her if only she had taken a moment to stop and listen.
Said woman take it slow
It'll work itself out fine
All we need is just a little patience
Guns N'Roses, Patience
On Wednesday morning Jillian knocked on the office door. She didn't wait for any kind of acknowledgement as she pushed it open and proceeded to take a seat in front of the big mahogany desk.
"May I help you?" the Dean of Life asked, without looking up from the papers he was reading.
"Help? Oh that's funny," Jillian replied, her arms crossed tightly across her chest.
"Didn't you just get a new job? I thought you were on top of the world with happiness these days."
"You know what I'm here about," she said and blew a puff of air up into the bangs that were hanging over her cool blue eyes.
The Dean looked up at her and shrugged. "Refresh me."
"I need a haircut," she said tersely. "I called to make an appointment for one with my girl and was told 'Sherry is no longer with us.'"
"Sherri the hairdresser? I don't recall sending someone out to collect her for me, but it was a busy week, it is possible. I'm sorry for your loss."
Jillian rolled her eyes. "Not no longer with us in that sense. She's gone to another salon. I don't know where and I don't have time to call up every salon in the city to find out, which means I have to go somewhere new."
"I'm not following," the Dean said. "What exactly is the problem here? Do you need a recommendation?"
"NO!" Jillian slammed a fist to the desk. "I want Sherri! I like her. She knows exactly what to do, she doesn't talk too much, she doesn't let awkward silences go on and she's not crazy expensive. So why? Why did she have to be change number two hundred and forty-nine for the year 2009? Couldn't you at least let me keep my hair? It's my thing. People love my hair. They ask me who does it and I tell them Sherri at 42nd St. Now I've lost her and I have to find someone new. I have to try to work out with them what exactly it means when I say shorter bangs, cut close around the ears, razored in the back. That takes at least two appointments. Sometimes three."
The Dean started to whistle softly.
Jillian sighed. "I know, I know. Change is inevitable. Change makes us grow stronger. Change introduces new opportunities. But I've had enough for a while. I'm starting a new job in two weeks, I just want my hair. I don't really expect you to understand but come on." She banged her head on the top of the desk. The Dean continued whistling.
Jillian picked her head up and rose from her seat. "Fine. I will go find myself a new hair dresser. I will get a new hair cut. While I'm at it, why don't I put my house up for sale too before you go and burn it down and force me into a new space. One of these days we are going to talk seriously about 2009 and the cards you handed me this year."
"Come back tomorrow and we will talk hair," the Dean replied but Jillian was already out the door and down the hall.
Jillian went to work the next day and told her tale of woe to her girlfriends there. One of them sent her the number for the place she went to. Jillian called them up to make an appointment.
"Do you have something for Friday?"
"We have a space at 4:30," the receptionist replied.
"Hmm, no, that won't work," Jillian replied, knowing she would not be able to make it all the way from the west end of the city over to the south central end during rush hour in time.
"Well, we have a spot open for tonight at 6:15."
"Great! I will take it," Jillian said. She was determined to plow full steam ahead into embracing this new change. No fear.
The appointment went as expected. Jillian did her best to explain how she usually wore her hair. She had brought with her the latest issue of Vogue that had Michelle Williams on the cover sporting a blonde pixie cut that she thought looked like her usual style. The cut ended up shorter that how she normally got it done but she would deal with that.
The next day nobody noticed her hair, which amused her more than anything. Only a few weeks ago people had been stopping her and asking if she had just gotten her hair cut and commenting that it looked really good. She had only been styling it differently, more sleek and tucked behind her ears as it was getting long and hard to work with.
More than anything, Jillian was proud that she had embraced a change to something that was so close to her sense of pride and identity. She knew it was superficial and a silly thing to get so worked up about.
When Jillian got home that evening she checked her mailbox and found an enveloped that looked like it held a personal letter. She tore it open and laughed a deep, satisfying, belly laugh. Inside was a coupon for 20% off her next appointment with Sherri at her new location, Rouge Hair on Hargrave. If Jillian had only waited one more day...
Jillian had thought that she was supposed to be learning this year about accepting change in her life. She completely forgot the other theme that came up so often--patience. That was the song that the Dean had been whistling to her if only she had taken a moment to stop and listen.
Said woman take it slow
It'll work itself out fine
All we need is just a little patience
Guns N'Roses, Patience
Friday, October 02, 2009
Thursday, October 01, 2009
Taking and not taking my chances
The ending of this story isn't as important as the journey to it. The path was not an easy one. It wasn't an entirely unfamiliar one either though. So before I draw this epic story to a close I will give you a post of perspective.
Last August I had an interview for a job with the Manitoba government. I was really excited about the opportunity. I was burning out at my job and wanted a change desperately. I was pleasantly surprised when I got to the interview to see someone in the room who had recently left Good-Wooden. I had forgotten completely where he had ended up. While we had never worked together on anything, I knew he thought good things of me. I felt certain this connection would be a huge asset for me.
The interview seemed to go fine. The former Good-Wooden manager along with the department manager took turns asking me questions. I felt I demonstrated my experience and knowledge well. The biggest challenge for me in interviews is remembering what I've done or explaining how I did it. When it was my turn to ask questions I asked the department manager what made me stand out for her as a good candidate.
"You can write, I mean, that is obvious, you are a talented writer," she said. At that point, I still found it surprising to hear this. I'd written a lot of cover letters and resumes that went unanswered and I always just assumed it was because I didn't do a good enough job of putting the right words together to sell me as a worthy candidate.
At the end of the interview I was given a take home assignment. It was challenging but I felt good about what I had come up with. I submitted the assignment and waited for "the call". It was supposed to come by the end of the week. When it didn't, I followed up.
"We are still deciding," the department manager told me.
I waited another week and placed another call. I had to leave a message on a Friday afternoon. The next day I was going with my parents on a week-long trip to Minneapolis. I took my phone with me and watched it every day for missed calls and new voicemails.
While away I got an email from Amara. She told me that she was soon announcing to the department that she was going to be having a baby. She had just told Michael that day and completely surprised him.
When I got back from my trip I finally got confirmation that I didn't get the job. I was incredibly disappointed. I was invited to come pick up my portfolio though and have a chat with the department manager. She gave me some advice and again said that I was a strong writer. She had scored me quite high on the assignment but it was the interview scores that brought me down. She said I seemed surprised by the questions.
It wasn't long after Amara's announcement that I was approached about taking on Amara's job while she was on mat leave. My boss at the time told me to take a day to think it over. I didn't need to think it over. I couldn't believe my dream was coming true. I had wanted to work on Amara and Michael's team for a long time. They just made it look like so much fun. They're both fun people and the work they did seemed so much more interesting than mine. A lot of the other teams in the department were adding new positions because they just couldn't keep up with the work. That didn't seem to be the case for Michael and Amara's team so my chances of being able to jump over to help fill a new role there didn't look good. I had never considered that something would open up because someone would leave. I could not have been happier that day when I accepted the offer to baby-sit Amara's job.
About a month later I got a call from the department manager with the government job. She had a new opening. They hadn't posted it yet to the public but she was giving me first crack at it. If I said yes she'd do a quick reference check and the job would be mine.
"Would you like to take a few minutes to think about it and then call me back?" she asked.
My parents were traveling in B.C. and Lisa was in Victoria doing her residency requirement for her masters program. All I had to help me make the decision was my gut instinct.
I was torn and yet I knew what I really wanted. The job being offered paid more and involved a lot more writing. It was only a one year-term but nobody ever really leaves a government job. They always find another place for you if you don't get extended.
I called the department manager back and declined her offer, explaining that I had just accepted a position in my department and I wanted to stay with it.
"They've offered you something more challenging? More of what you are looking for?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
I hung up the phone and wondered if I had made the best decision. I never felt regret, but I thought about it a lot over the last 11 months, especially recently. What if I had said yes? At least then, Michael would've hired someone who might've stuck around for the full term instead of leaving him in a lurch eight months in.
You ever find yourself somewhere having a good time and then someone tells you it's time to go and you look at them and say "five more minutes. Just five more and then we can go home". That's what this was all starting to feel like. On that Monday morning as I got ready for the lunch it was beginning to feel around the four and a half minute mark. I knew my time at Good-Wooden Leg was almost up.
If you change your mind, I'm the first in line
Honey I'm still free
Take a chance on me
If you need me, let me know, gonna be around
--ABBA, Take a Chance on Me
Have I ever mentioned on here how much I hate ABBA?
Last August I had an interview for a job with the Manitoba government. I was really excited about the opportunity. I was burning out at my job and wanted a change desperately. I was pleasantly surprised when I got to the interview to see someone in the room who had recently left Good-Wooden. I had forgotten completely where he had ended up. While we had never worked together on anything, I knew he thought good things of me. I felt certain this connection would be a huge asset for me.
The interview seemed to go fine. The former Good-Wooden manager along with the department manager took turns asking me questions. I felt I demonstrated my experience and knowledge well. The biggest challenge for me in interviews is remembering what I've done or explaining how I did it. When it was my turn to ask questions I asked the department manager what made me stand out for her as a good candidate.
"You can write, I mean, that is obvious, you are a talented writer," she said. At that point, I still found it surprising to hear this. I'd written a lot of cover letters and resumes that went unanswered and I always just assumed it was because I didn't do a good enough job of putting the right words together to sell me as a worthy candidate.
At the end of the interview I was given a take home assignment. It was challenging but I felt good about what I had come up with. I submitted the assignment and waited for "the call". It was supposed to come by the end of the week. When it didn't, I followed up.
"We are still deciding," the department manager told me.
I waited another week and placed another call. I had to leave a message on a Friday afternoon. The next day I was going with my parents on a week-long trip to Minneapolis. I took my phone with me and watched it every day for missed calls and new voicemails.
While away I got an email from Amara. She told me that she was soon announcing to the department that she was going to be having a baby. She had just told Michael that day and completely surprised him.
When I got back from my trip I finally got confirmation that I didn't get the job. I was incredibly disappointed. I was invited to come pick up my portfolio though and have a chat with the department manager. She gave me some advice and again said that I was a strong writer. She had scored me quite high on the assignment but it was the interview scores that brought me down. She said I seemed surprised by the questions.
It wasn't long after Amara's announcement that I was approached about taking on Amara's job while she was on mat leave. My boss at the time told me to take a day to think it over. I didn't need to think it over. I couldn't believe my dream was coming true. I had wanted to work on Amara and Michael's team for a long time. They just made it look like so much fun. They're both fun people and the work they did seemed so much more interesting than mine. A lot of the other teams in the department were adding new positions because they just couldn't keep up with the work. That didn't seem to be the case for Michael and Amara's team so my chances of being able to jump over to help fill a new role there didn't look good. I had never considered that something would open up because someone would leave. I could not have been happier that day when I accepted the offer to baby-sit Amara's job.
About a month later I got a call from the department manager with the government job. She had a new opening. They hadn't posted it yet to the public but she was giving me first crack at it. If I said yes she'd do a quick reference check and the job would be mine.
"Would you like to take a few minutes to think about it and then call me back?" she asked.
My parents were traveling in B.C. and Lisa was in Victoria doing her residency requirement for her masters program. All I had to help me make the decision was my gut instinct.
I was torn and yet I knew what I really wanted. The job being offered paid more and involved a lot more writing. It was only a one year-term but nobody ever really leaves a government job. They always find another place for you if you don't get extended.
I called the department manager back and declined her offer, explaining that I had just accepted a position in my department and I wanted to stay with it.
"They've offered you something more challenging? More of what you are looking for?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
I hung up the phone and wondered if I had made the best decision. I never felt regret, but I thought about it a lot over the last 11 months, especially recently. What if I had said yes? At least then, Michael would've hired someone who might've stuck around for the full term instead of leaving him in a lurch eight months in.
You ever find yourself somewhere having a good time and then someone tells you it's time to go and you look at them and say "five more minutes. Just five more and then we can go home". That's what this was all starting to feel like. On that Monday morning as I got ready for the lunch it was beginning to feel around the four and a half minute mark. I knew my time at Good-Wooden Leg was almost up.
If you change your mind, I'm the first in line
Honey I'm still free
Take a chance on me
If you need me, let me know, gonna be around
--ABBA, Take a Chance on Me
Have I ever mentioned on here how much I hate ABBA?
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