tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41527882472462369302024-03-13T13:12:27.752-05:00Jobhunters in HeelsMaybe we should change footwear.Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623855795882980370noreply@blogger.comBlogger55125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4152788247246236930.post-64723120904228577612011-07-28T00:03:00.004-05:002011-07-28T00:20:12.974-05:00It IS soul-sucking<div style="text-align: left;">Recently, NPR did a <a href="http://www.npr.org/2011/07/14/137790846/wizards-and-vampires-collecting-unemployment">story</a> about what the actors playing vampires and wizards will do now that their successful movie franchises are over. The story was fine, I guess. I don't care to waste time pondering the fate of wildly rich 20-somethings who might never <i>have </i>to work another day in their lives, but if that's your thing then I won't stop you.</div><div><br /></div><div>What I really, REALLY liked was the photo caption that accompanied the photo that accompanied the story. Such a tiny thing, probably overlooked by many. Never fear little cutline, I'm here to drag you into the burning light of day.</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://media.npr.org/assets/img/2011/07/14/hp7-1-fp-0337_wide.jpg?t=1310669036&s=4" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 624px; height: 350px;" border="0" alt="" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >What's Next? Harry Potter (Daniel Radcliffe, left) and Hermione Granger (Emma Watson) will soon discover that finding Horcruxes isn't half as demanding or soul-sucking as finding a job.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I love it. Nerdy and truthy.</span></div>Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623855795882980370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4152788247246236930.post-2042424553764070772011-07-22T00:14:00.005-05:002011-07-22T00:31:34.746-05:00Self-appraisal. Verdict? Fuck you.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; ">Date: July 21, 2011</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; ">Position Title: Copy editor/page designer</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><span class="Apple-style-span">1. Position Description<br /></span></span><b style="font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span">a. What are your main job responsibilities?</span><br /></b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-size: small; white-space: pre; "> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; ">Designing pages, which includes writing headlines, deckheads and lead-ins to cutlines. </span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "> </span><br /><b style="font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span">b. Which job responsibilities do you view as most important? Why?</span><br /></b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-size: small; white-space: pre; "> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; ">Meeting deadline because missing one throws things off down the line. Writing strong, accurate headlines because they catch the reader’s attention.</span><br /><br /><b style="font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span">c. Have any new responsibilities been added or removed from your job this year? If so, what? </span><br /></b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-size: small; white-space: pre; "> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; ">I’ve filled in as weekend editor more.</span><br /><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span">2. Accomplishments and Strengths<br /></span><b style="font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span">a. List your most significant accomplishments or contributions during the past year. How do these achievements align with the goals/objectives outlined in your last review?</span><br /></b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-size: small; white-space: pre; "> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; ">None. Perfectly because I didn’t list any goals/objectives in the last review.</span><br /><br /><b style="font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span">b. Since your last review, have you performed any new tasks or additional duties outside the scope of your regular responsibilities? If so, please specify.</span><br /></b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-size: small; white-space: pre; "> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; ">How is this different from question 1.c? I’ve filled in as weekend editor more.</span><br /><br /><b style="font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span">c. To which of the following factors would you attribute your professional development since last year: off-site seminars/classes, on-site training, peer training, on-the-job experience, better exposure to challenging projects, other. Please describe.</span><br /></b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-size: small; white-space: pre; "> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; ">None. I don’t think I’ve developed any further professionally.</span><br /><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span">3. Areas for Attention and Future Improvement<br /></span><b style="font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span">a. What are your goals for next year and what action will you take to accomplish these goals?</span><br /></b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-size: small; white-space: pre; "> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; ">None. </span><br /><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span">4. Career Interests<br /></span><b style="font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span">a. What are your career interests/objectives?</span><br /></b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-size: small; white-space: pre; "> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; ">I’d like to be a presentation editor or chief copy editor at some point in the future. </span><br /><br /><b style="font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span">b. What type of assignment/position would you like next?</span><br /></b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-size: small; white-space: pre; "> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; ">Not sure.</span><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">c. </span><b style="font-size: small; ">Are you willing to relocate? </b> Yes</span><br /></span><div><div></div></div>Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623855795882980370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4152788247246236930.post-50785502398480503852011-06-26T23:18:00.005-05:002011-06-27T00:51:28.683-05:00Jump startI don't believe in signs. I believe I have control over my life. <div><br /></div><div>But they're there. They're small, but they're there, damn it.<br /><div><br /></div><div>Recent developments have made my days quieter and me more prone to introspection. Not a good thing. I've been feeling anxious and down for a while now, and to combat that, I've tried mixing up my routine to do things that might relax me and get my mind on better thoughts. </div></div><div><br /></div><div>So I've been watching a lot of documentaries. They take me back to my childhood when the only movies my parents could afford to rent from the video store were the free educational films. My sister and I ate those up, and I'm happy to find that my appetite for them was suppressed but never eliminated. Huzzah!</div><div><br /></div><div>One night I was watching a movie about a climber who got separated from his climbing partner in a storm, broke his leg and still managed to climb, crawl and hobble his way off the mountain and get back to his base camp. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but he said something in the interview that resonated with me later. He said that while he was stuck in this ice crevasse with a broken leg and no way, it seemed at the time, to get out, he remembered something he was told or had read or had heard before: The only way to survive is to keep making decisions. </div><div><br /></div><div>Once you stop making decisions, even small ones, you're fucked.</div><div><br /></div><div>Later it hit me. That's what I've been doing. I've been sitting and waiting for something to happen, for a perfect job to open up or for something crazy to happen to jar me from my complacency. I guess I'm surviving (I'm typing this afterall), but that's all I've been doing. I wake up. I make the decision to get ready for work. I make the decision to eat (sometimes). I make the decision to go to my shitty job. I make the decision to leave, go home and waste time before bed.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's surviving but it's hardly living. I've stopped making the vital decisions, the dreaded "big" decisions, the ones that might change my life and make me happier.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I woke up one morning and put on my bikini. I was going to work in the yard. The weeds were choking out the lilies I planted last year and overtaking the paving stones on my tiny patio — more green was visible than stone. About 20 minutes into the task, after my usual early-morning worried thoughts subsided, I began to focus on the task at hand. I thought about what I was actually doing. I was killing plants, plants that have been decided through generations of gardeners to be undesirable. I was ripping the undesirables, the ones keeping the sun and water and nutrients from the desired plants, out of the ground by the roots and tossing them aside. Not only was I tossing them aside, I was gathering them together and dumping their limp bodies in the hot gravel next to my house. </div><div><br /></div><div>I was clearing out the unwanted so the wanted, the intended could take root, gain strength and bloom. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Then there was the dream in which I was pregnant OH BOY. I have many dreams in which my sister is pregnant (something she never likes to hear, can't imagine why), but I've seldom had dreams in which I was the chosen vessel. A few days after the dream, while on the pot, I looked up its possible meaning in a dream journal I own. (I'm not a nut. I once wanted to be a psychologist. My best friend knew this so she got me several books on dreams, the journal and "Man and His Symbols" by Carl G. Jung and that's the reason for the journal so back the fuck off.) The book's limited, abbreviated glossary of dream symbols had three words to say about pregnancy: a new beginning. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>So there. My signs: make decisions, clear out the bad and look for a new beginning.</div><div><br /></div><div>I applied for a new job this week in a city far from this one. Fingers crossed.</div>Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623855795882980370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4152788247246236930.post-65668783316719654532011-06-21T22:11:00.007-05:002011-06-21T22:56:43.213-05:00Still a job hunter, but I've changed into flats<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">One year, five months and two jobs later — I'm back to square one.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I've been SO lucky in the past year and half. I've worked for two awesome newspapers, made some really, REALLY awesome friends and learned more than I can even begin to put into words. But I'm still just not where I want to be. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Many of you have noticed that I've been talking about movers and moving and leaving Hilton Head on Facebook and Twitter in the past few days, and have been asking where I'm going and what I'm doing. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Well, this is the best I can do right now:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">My last day of work at The Island Packet is July 20. (Yes, I gave five-weeks notice.) While I totally love it here and can't imagine a paper where there is a better team of designers to learn from/work with, being 12 hours from my family has taken a lot more of a toll on me than expected. Right now, I am frantically applying for graphic design and/or communications jobs in St. Louis. In my perfect world, I would get a graphic design job and move straight there from Bluffton. If this does not work out, I will take English classes for the next two semesters and next summer begin a program to earn my teaching degree. At the end of this program I would be able to teach high school English and (I hope) yearbook. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I seriously don't know any more than that. It's scary and stressful, but I know it's what I need to do. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">NOW, in related news ... My job is open! If you know someone who is a good designer AND copy editor AND who is willing to work hard (but be rewarded for it) send them to <a href="http://www.journalismjobs.com/Job_Listing.cfm?JobID=1262250">this link</a>! </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Well, y'all ... that's my update. It's been a long time, and no promises on regular posts, but this seemed like a pretty good way to let everyone know what was up :)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">xo!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div>christian holthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13047527878237518527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4152788247246236930.post-12224078022733266582010-02-11T00:53:00.003-06:002011-06-22T02:57:12.155-05:00I want to go back in time and unlearn how to do sports design and instead pretend I have a disabilitly where if I write a sports headline, I will blow up. I won't be as valuable to "the team" this way, but I also won't get the shaft when it comes to getting days off. I would like to get a weekend off once every three months. Yes I would.Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623855795882980370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4152788247246236930.post-81000190413347389502010-01-21T14:26:00.005-06:002011-06-22T02:55:28.806-05:00Thanks?One of the papers I applied to informed me today that they have decided not to fill the copy editor/page designer position for which I had applied. I think my last round of applications was sent out in September.<br /><br />Thanks for the timely response, assholes.Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623855795882980370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4152788247246236930.post-16494640756191634232010-01-15T18:49:00.001-06:002010-01-15T18:50:18.065-06:00JOB JOB JOB JOB JOBI have one :) I'll write about it later!!christian holthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13047527878237518527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4152788247246236930.post-28944507061902547832009-12-14T02:25:00.012-06:002011-06-22T02:55:36.493-05:00Saboteur!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.pocket-rocketuk.co.uk/SkyHi_Fist_.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 234px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SyX-iUDbo9I/AAAAAAAAAGY/QK3AbNqPiTc/s400/fist.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415013992435000274" border="0" /></a><br />I was almost sabotaged tonight when I put the suggested head <span style="font-size:130%;">"The Brady grunch" </span>on a sports story about a senior with the surname of Brady who had led his football team to victory this season.<br /><br />"Grunch" didn't seem like a real word or valid sports slang to me, but I looked it up to double-check. <span style="font-size:130%;">I learn obscure words all the time - who knows, this might have been one of them. It was not. </span>At least, it wasn't according to one of my favorite Web sites, <a href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/" target="_blank">Mirriam-Webster.com</a>. (Drool. I go there about 15 times a night searching for shorter synonyms for headline words.) "Grunch" was, however, on another favorite site, <a href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/" target="_blank">Urban Dictionary.com</a>.<br /><br />My editor was the one who discovered this.<br /><br />Quiet.<br /><br />Quiet.<br /><br />Burst of laughter from editor 1 and a genuine gag from editor 2.<br /><br />Possible meanings of "grunch," according to the infallible Urban Dictionary:<br />1. To reply to an original post on a web forum without first reading the other replies.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Grunch </span>... I haven't read any of the other replies to your post, but I think you should do XYZ.<br /><br /></span>Quiet.<br /><br />2. The hard crusty stuff that glues your eyelids shut in the morning. An indicator that your hangover is going to be so bad that you beg for a migrane instead.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Oh man, after those two (three?) bottles of tequila last night I woke up with some serious <span style="font-weight: bold;">grunch </span>in my eyes. Please, kill me now ...</span><br /><br />Quiet.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">3. The act of self fistation, fisting yourself in the anal cavity.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Get your <span style="font-weight: bold;">grunch </span>on" - the act of a hearty night of "tearing yourself a new one." *may result in bleeding</span></span><br /><br />Understandable burst of laughter from editor 1 and a genuine gag from editor 2.<br /><br />So basically my headline was saying that this kid, Brady, had his own brand of self fistation.<br /><br />Joke's on you, idiot sports editor who thought that was appropriate sports slang!Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623855795882980370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4152788247246236930.post-5300093467674050302009-12-02T13:21:00.002-06:002009-12-02T13:44:45.967-06:00being a little more forceful today.I have some pretty great parents. They have paid for a hotel room for two nights in St. Louis so I can try to sell myself to some magazines up here. How nice is that? VERY nice. I've been to two of the four (maybe five) magazines I want to visit and no luck yet. However, one of the places liked my new business card "hey, this is cute." All I could think was "yes, I think so too, see how well we work together? How about a job."<br /><br />hehe<br /><br />Well, hopefully shit goes better tomorrow. Or one of today's stops calls me and is like. COME BACK!!!! wishful thinking! :)christian holthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13047527878237518527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4152788247246236930.post-34326833737278242562009-11-30T00:44:00.023-06:002011-06-22T02:55:45.193-05:00Drying up, drying out<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y2PlhHVsdzo" target="”_blank"><span style="font-style: italic;">A tune for your reading enjoyment.</span></a><br /><br />I didn't work two paydays ago so I wasn't there when the paycheck fairy made her way around the newsroom. About six days had passed by the time I worked a weekday again, and when I returned, before I could even get to my desk, three people had asked, "Jamie, did you ever get your paycheck?!"<br /><br />"Yes," I said. "I just picked it up."<br /><br />The looks on their faces could have melted glass. Why would they care? It's my paycheck. I'm not going to rush out the door and run to the bank like a greedy little piggy the moment the envelope hits my desk, nor am I going to come in on a day off to pick it up unless it's necessary. Don't treat me like I'm unappreciative - believe me, I'm grateful. I need the $650.<br /><br />Or the $1,300 a month.<br /><br />You see, it's one thing when you deposit a two-week pay period check the day after you get it, but when circumstances force you, or when you're too lazy to do otherwise, to deposit two at once, things click. <span style="font-size:130%;">You see the $1,300 and BAM - you think about the other things you pay on a monthly basis:</span><br /><ul><li>Credit card (about $500 - I buy everything using my credit card so this is gas, groceries, anything else my consumer-driven heart desires)</li><li>Rent ($350)</li><li>Car payment ($200)</li><li>Student loans ($100)</li><li>Electricity bill ($50)</li><li>Car insurance ($50 -haven't started paying this yet, but I'd like my dad to stop having to)</li><li>Internet ($40)</li></ul><span style="font-size:130%;">You add it all up, you check it again and subtract from the total.</span> Did you do your subtraction, girls and boys? $10. I'm left with $10 a month.<br /><br />I'd be lying if I said I'm not a little freaked. Sure, it's possible, not desirable, to go without Internet at home. I did it for two years and lived, but that was when I had unlimited access to computers and Internet at school and work ...<br /><br />I can put more things on power strips and turn the heat even lower (check and check). I can be more diligent on how much I'm spending on groceries by getting up early enough to go to Aldi's before work instead of my 3 a.m. trips to Wal-Mart after. I can make a bigger effort to go to the cheaper laundrymat (not the 24-hour one - notice a theme in my habits?). I'll limit how far I drive to get to the good trails. <span style="font-size:130%;">I just won't buy anything.</span><br /><br />I have some savings - though not the three months' pay everyone suggests - and I have a dad who is in a position to help me if I get in a pinch. I'm thankful for both, but this is not the point. The point is that I'm disappointed that this is where I am. I'm poorer than I've ever been. I had hoped I'd get some financial relief after college, but things are even tighter now and I can't sigh. I need that air! I paid for it!<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">So here's what happened during my silent panic attack.</span> I was at the laundrymat and after I emptied my quarter pouch, I hit my wallet where only pennies, nickels and dimes survive. OK, no biggie, just put a $20 bill in the change machine and you'll get to dry your clothes. Both dollar slots are taped over with duct tape, and underneath it says, "SORRY. OUT OF SERVICE"<br /><br />It might as well have said, <span style="font-size:130%;">"FUCK YOU, LOSER. YOU CAN'T AFFORD TO DRY YOUR CLOTHES ANYWAY."</span><br /><br />I gave it the finger. When my laundry was done, I stuffed all 50 pounds of it back into the bags and took it home, where I did the following.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SxNr4x_euNI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/aCOjvqChvBM/s1600/1109_dryinbw1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SxNr4x_euNI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/aCOjvqChvBM/s400/1109_dryinbw1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409786200638535890" border="0" /></a>I hung some shirts in the closet and left the door open. It's near the bedroom heater, they'd dry.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SxNq7wXVNWI/AAAAAAAAAGI/BKs7wJbiwx8/s1600/1109_dryinbw2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SxNq7wXVNWI/AAAAAAAAAGI/BKs7wJbiwx8/s400/1109_dryinbw2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409785152229684578" border="0" /></a>I often hang nearly-dry items in the bathroom so I did it this time too.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SxNq7g6fO_I/AAAAAAAAAGA/hfrPy1tJVXw/s1600/1109_dryinbw3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SxNq7g6fO_I/AAAAAAAAAGA/hfrPy1tJVXw/s400/1109_dryinbw3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409785148082174962" border="0" /></a>The hoodies never dry completely so they go on the doors.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SxNq7I7ciJI/AAAAAAAAAF4/6aykX6rJNaI/s1600/1109_dryinbw4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SxNq7I7ciJI/AAAAAAAAAF4/6aykX6rJNaI/s400/1109_dryinbw4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409785141643741330" border="0" /></a>The dog bed is an odd shape and has nowhere else to go but on the vent. (His bed was the only thing dry by bedtime. Dry AND warm, lucky bastard.)<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SxNq64GkYgI/AAAAAAAAAFw/6ptPNehOm2U/s1600/1109_dryinbw5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SxNq64GkYgI/AAAAAAAAAFw/6ptPNehOm2U/s400/1109_dryinbw5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409785137126990338" border="0" /></a>Then the kitchen clothesline - a classic. I've done this before, but never a DOUBLE clothesline. (I'm saving about $5 and the planet, people. It's fucking worth it.)<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SxNq6gN8M8I/AAAAAAAAAFo/d_NrHSHRIIQ/s1600/1109_dryinbw6.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SxNq6gN8M8I/AAAAAAAAAFo/d_NrHSHRIIQ/s400/1109_dryinbw6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409785130715460546" border="0" /></a>Then the crazy kicked in. Ah ha! These tubes that used to form plastic shelves, which I need to deconstruct anyway! If I taped them together with the leftover packing tape ...<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SxNqJlR0WfI/AAAAAAAAAFg/6-ozMOZd8bE/s1600/1109_dryinbw7.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SxNqJlR0WfI/AAAAAAAAAFg/6-ozMOZd8bE/s400/1109_dryinbw7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409784290260310514" border="0" /></a>... they could form a bar! It fell twice. You could tell when it was about to go because the crinkling would increase.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SxNqJXKp00I/AAAAAAAAAFY/gxk2DVm92qE/s1600/1109_dryinbw8.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SxNqJXKp00I/AAAAAAAAAFY/gxk2DVm92qE/s400/1109_dryinbw8.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409784286472164162" border="0" /></a>Wings like rags or rags like wings. This one would catch the heat and swivel gently back and forth. Peaceful. Mocking.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SxNqJZ1KDbI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/BXnquCbCOrU/s1600/1109_dryinbw9.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SxNqJZ1KDbI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/BXnquCbCOrU/s400/1109_dryinbw9.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409784287187307954" border="0" /></a>After the packing tape/plastic tube fiasco crashed the second time, I remembered I had a Swiffer that might be able to support some weight. It did beautifully. (And dusted that spot.)<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SxNqI5OPP1I/AAAAAAAAAFI/jxMqH1ckVuE/s1600/1109_dryinbw10.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SxNqI5OPP1I/AAAAAAAAAFI/jxMqH1ckVuE/s400/1109_dryinbw10.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409784278434135890" border="0" /></a>I got lazy toward the end. I also ran out of string, clothespins, bars and hangers.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SxNqIkd-59I/AAAAAAAAAFA/CkjOtoEZl4w/s1600/1109_dryinbw11.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SxNqIkd-59I/AAAAAAAAAFA/CkjOtoEZl4w/s400/1109_dryinbw11.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409784272863029202" border="0" /></a>I was stretched above my dresser trying to weigh down the improv pole with reams of computer paper when I looked down and saw a quarter - one of two in my possession.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">That quarter could have dried my underwear.</span><br /></div>Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623855795882980370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4152788247246236930.post-63329860431887581672009-11-29T02:59:00.007-06:002011-06-22T02:55:52.941-05:00Behind the (dull) scenes<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SxI5gYxkiOI/AAAAAAAAAE4/lxN8clNNUfE/s1600/1109_scoutshoe4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SxI5gYxkiOI/AAAAAAAAAE4/lxN8clNNUfE/s400/1109_scoutshoe4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409449330994350306" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;">Taking photos of The Shoe.<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SxI5f0Y77rI/AAAAAAAAAEw/SVZNrb6YjUE/s1600/1109_scoutshoe3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SxI5f0Y77rI/AAAAAAAAAEw/SVZNrb6YjUE/s400/1109_scoutshoe3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409449321227349682" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;">Scout came to investigate after the <span>first</span> photo was taken. I couldn't even get in two shots, I kid you not.<br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SxI5fvDqoRI/AAAAAAAAAEo/lJwL1k7hiwU/s1600/1109_scoutshoe2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SxI5fvDqoRI/AAAAAAAAAEo/lJwL1k7hiwU/s400/1109_scoutshoe2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409449319795958034" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;">And he got comfortable.<br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SxI5fBt7Y3I/AAAAAAAAAEg/5_ECQk7mToE/s1600/1109_scoutshoe.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SxI5fBt7Y3I/AAAAAAAAAEg/5_ECQk7mToE/s400/1109_scoutshoe.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409449307625186162" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;">If you can't beat them, shoot them.</span><br /></div>Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623855795882980370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4152788247246236930.post-61766426737048358222009-11-19T19:56:00.003-06:002009-11-30T00:05:47.250-06:00sadSorry, lovely readers — I had to delete "a dirty story with a clean moral" because I apparently could have gotten in trouble for it. Please don't hate me!christian holthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13047527878237518527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4152788247246236930.post-66509005144583645892009-11-09T03:44:00.006-06:002011-06-22T02:56:03.749-05:00I'll tell you what<span style="font-size:130%;">I had plans tonight, plans to do "grown-up" homework</span>. My homework included:<ul><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">find </span>a doctor and set up my health insurance online account;</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">enroll </span>in the autopay programs for my student loans and electric bills;</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">change </span>my address with Edward Jones and the credit card people;</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">find </span>a driver's facility nearby so I know where to go after studying for my Indiana driving test; and</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">e-mail</span> friends and family about my work schedule so we can schedule a visit.</li></ul>Also on my list were some "not-so-grown-up" to-dos. They included:<ul><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">find </span>music (cough) and<br /></li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">restart </span>my Netflix delivery.</li></ul><span style="font-size:130%;">What did I end up doing?</span> Completely "not-so-grown-up" shit that wasn't even on my pink Post-It. Fuck! That shit included:<br /><ul><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">catching </span>up on my daily Web comics,</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">updating </span>this blog,</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">listening </span>to heads (Talking Heads and Radiohead),<br /></li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">washing </span>the dog,</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">ripping </span>my comforter apart so I can requilt it and</li><li>this:</li></ul><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/Svfm3KNj0pI/AAAAAAAAAEA/3fEozPfhwPs/s1600-h/1109_Socks.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 288px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/Svfm3KNj0pI/AAAAAAAAAEA/3fEozPfhwPs/s400/1109_Socks.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402040113362621074" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;">I keep finding baby socks in my laundry. Tonight I found a man sock AND a baby sock. I put the baby sock with the other two I've found. I gave the man sock to my dog to chew on.<br /></span></div><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">TAKING PICTURES OF GODDAMN SOCKS!</span><br /><br />I suck at being mature.Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623855795882980370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4152788247246236930.post-36849884292993483692009-11-09T03:01:00.007-06:002011-06-22T02:56:11.191-05:00Recycling<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SvfbvI8r5BI/AAAAAAAAAD4/ghNz5pTO36U/s1600-h/1109_Recycling.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SvfbvI8r5BI/AAAAAAAAAD4/ghNz5pTO36U/s400/1109_Recycling.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402027880956552210" border="0" /></a>My ID has been pasted to the top of an old ID … that seems to have been pasted on top of another ID. In my picture I look like I have huge shoulders, my white chest preoccupies the eye, and my cheeks are chubby, but look at me! Doesn’t that smile say, <span style="font-size:130%;">“Happy to Have a Fucking Job that Requires an ID”</span>?Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623855795882980370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4152788247246236930.post-3572210737406484752009-11-09T02:21:00.009-06:002011-06-22T02:56:31.003-05:00The players<div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Oct. 7, 2009</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SvfTquw6ifI/AAAAAAAAADo/s4HHpDAuKIs/s1600-h/Players.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SvfTquw6ifI/AAAAAAAAADo/s4HHpDAuKIs/s400/Players.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402019009115359730" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:78%;">My handy dry-erase board.</span><br /></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />The extensive notes I took on my co-workers after my first day at work. I will call my co-workers Ariel, Lily, Ron, Agatha, Aaron, Carl and John on subsequent references. Add in Martin (the new guy), C.T. (a female peer) and Maria.<br /><br />Agatha does not love Aaron.<br /><br />John is not a love interest. (He's married with a baby on the way.)<br /><br />And yes, there will always be problems with the ad department, Christian.<br /></span></div>Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623855795882980370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4152788247246236930.post-9406305278089490092009-11-09T02:04:00.007-06:002009-11-09T03:14:15.662-06:00Another Q&A please<div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SvfP4z1DwMI/AAAAAAAAADY/Aj3zPewiiRk/s1600-h/Q%26A.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 194px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SvfP4z1DwMI/AAAAAAAAADY/Aj3zPewiiRk/s320/Q%26A.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402014852946575554" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Oct. 6, 2009</span><br /></div>This Q&A sheet I read while trying to decide which health plan to choose was completely unhelpful. I think there was a missing Q&A, one that went between knowing nothing to the one I was given. <span style="font-size:130%;">It’s bad when you’re 22 and the term “<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deductible">deductible</a>” is tripping you up.</span> I don’t have my computer yet and I’m not sure a dictionary would have been any help even if I had one here. (I’ve tried to look up shit like this before without luck.)<br /><br />So I called my dad.<br /><br />I love my dad, but I don’t want to have to call him about this stuff. I need to learn it for myself. A friend suggested reading <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0743264363/ref=pd_lpo_k2_dp_sr_1?pf_rd_p=486539851&pf_rd_s=lpo-top-stripe-1&pf_rd_t=201&pf_rd_i=0684872617&pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&pf_rd_r=1MBTB08CD4RWCDCDGZ9X">"Get a Financial Life: Personal Finance in Your Twenties and Thirties"</a> by Beth Kobliner, and I think I’ll get it … as soon as I get my library card.<br /><br />Yet another item on The List.Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623855795882980370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4152788247246236930.post-29500647783845486352009-11-09T02:02:00.003-06:002009-11-09T02:04:01.657-06:00Whore<div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Oct. 5, 2009<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Martin* has a girlfriend.</span><br /></div></div>Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623855795882980370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4152788247246236930.post-54286704581270318292009-11-09T01:46:00.009-06:002009-11-09T03:21:55.452-06:00Two paces off the starting block<div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Oct. 4, 2009<br /></span></div><br />I’m telling myself the following: My current job is <span style="font-size:130%;">fine</span>. It’s an excellent <span style="font-size:130%;">starter</span> job in that there is little pressure, low to no standards, it’s not too far from home, etc. The actual look of the publications themselves is <span style="font-size:130%;">unimportant </span>because right now it’s about getting my foot in that door and gaining experience at working with different styles.<br /><br />When I go to look for my <span style="font-size:130%;">next </span>job, I will choose newspapers that have designs I love because, as it turns out, <span style="font-size:130%;">that shit is important.</span><br /><br />I got the feeling by the end of my first week that this job will give me the experience of how to create<span style="font-size:130%;"> a carefully crafted turd</span>. For instance, I finished my pages early one night — well, most every night that first week — so I was told to sit with my co-worker Lily* for a little bit. She printed a page and told me to look it over for errors. I’m still getting used to the design styles so I wasn’t much help there. Instead, I looked at AP style, spelling and grammar errors. I found one.<br /><blockquote>“Isn’t ‘Street’ supposed to be ‘St.’ because it’s with a specific address?”<br />"Ha ha! Look, guys! She’s actually copy editing!”</blockquote>I’m not sure how long I’ll last. I know one year is my personal minimum. (May I mention for the hundredth time that moving is a <span style="font-size:130%;">bitch</span>?) It would be ideal to stretch that to two years so I don’t look like a flighty fuck on my resume but …<br /><br />The tradeoff for slowly killing pieces of my soul is that I get compliments from my chick supervisor, Agatha*:<span style="font-size:130%;"> “You’re kicking ass! Here!! Two more pages!!!”</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">* * *<br /></div><br />I spent my day going through the health insurance plans and 401(k) details. In one of the packets there was a list of all the newspapers this media group owns. <span style="font-size:130%;">I don’t think they meant for it to be a shopping list of potential employers but that’s how I interpreted it.</span> I think I even applied to one of them, the one in Michigan.<br /><br />I know three things about the boy who starts tomorrow: He graduated from a school in Michigan, his name is Martin* and he’s “nerdy-looking.”<br /><br />I’ve now put together a fantasy future in which he is my married mate Martin from Michigan.<br /><br />Martin and I hit it off because we’re new, and we don’t know anyone in this area because we were desperate for jobs. (My co-workers gave me blank WTF faces when I said I have no connections to the area, which means they probably don’t know how narrow the market is and how blood-thirsty college grads are getting.) Martin and I designed better pages for our respective college publications, we’re nerdy and horny (I could be projecting here) so we get closer while talking about these things. Fifty-odd weeks later, I pack up my stuff and the kids (Scurry* and Einstein,* cat and dog, respectively) and move north where he’ll follow when he has finished his 52-week stint. We’ll move into our first home together.<span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">It’s tiny but we’re in love.</span> We’re happier now because he’s closer to home (he’s a family man, bless him) and I’ve finally landed back in Michigan, a land with a lake, pebbly shores and virgin forests.</span> We’re transferred to the other company-owned newspaper here and we’re a wonder duo. Unstoppable. And so we remain until I grow sick of him, pack up my stuff and the kids (Scurry* and Einstein*) and head farther north because I’m a glutton for the cold — I’m more comfortable when the outside temperature matches that of my heart.<br /><br />Now it’ll be even more interesting to meet him tomorrow.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >*=Not their real names. I’ll get to that.</span>Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623855795882980370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4152788247246236930.post-86854284302008734182009-11-03T23:28:00.003-06:002009-11-03T23:52:45.247-06:00Being "Ms. C"Would you like to know why you haven’t heard from me in a while? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Good</span>, I’d like to tell you.<br /><br />To pass the time, and make up for my lack of job, I’ve been subbing.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">That’s right</span>. Some of you know me pretty well. You might be thinking, “That’s weird, I’m sure I’ve heard Christian declare her disdain for kids and that she will never have them.” Well, you, friends, are not wrong. But, let this be an insight to what a great employee I am and how hard I work regardless of how I feel about a job: Those kids love me. And really, I’ve started to actually like some of them. I’ve stayed in the lower grades (which is fine, because I’m still taller than them). I even pat them to sleep when they’re being whiny and sad. And (this is my favorite part) sometimes we make glitter princess crowns. Then, I call them “Princess <span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">insert name here</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);"></span>” all day.<br /><span style="font-size:130%;">HA. </span>See? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Take that</span>, <blockquote>“<span style="font-style: italic;">employers</span>”.</blockquote>MORE reasons to hire me.<br /><ul><li>I can adapt.</li><li>You will never know if I don’t actually want to be doing a job.</li><li>And!!!! I can make princess crowns. : )</li></ul><br /> all great qualities in a potential employee, I think.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.someecards.com/card/3133"><img src="http://d3gkbha1s7sr56.cloudfront.net/someecards/filestorage/wp_204.jpg" alt="I'd appreciate you not complaining to me about your job until I have a job to complain about" /></a>christian holthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13047527878237518527noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4152788247246236930.post-89956667346447848282009-10-26T21:13:00.003-05:002009-10-26T21:25:31.894-05:00Surveying my humble garage<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SuZXxKitz5I/AAAAAAAAADA/NUZVkxdXlk0/s1600-h/Surveying2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SuZXxKitz5I/AAAAAAAAADA/NUZVkxdXlk0/s400/Surveying2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397097705605287826" border="0" /></a><p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal">All but one box is unpacked and everything has its place. </p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">My view isn’t the best I’ve seen in the last few months, in terms of people or landscape, but it’s great in its own way. This is my space, all my own again.<span style=""> </span>There’s my damaged desk where I used to do homework. Now I’ll use it for keeping in touch, for paying bills, for the occasional sewing project and for collecting dust.<span style=""><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">My bathroom, or showerroom as it might be more accurately called as it lacks a bathtub, where the only germs I have to concern myself with are my own.<br /></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">My kitchen where I have more cabinet and floorspace than I know what to do with. (Side note: In TV shows and movies, young women will sometimes keep shoes and clothes in their ovens and kitchen drawers, the joke being they’re <i style="">modern</i> women who don’t have the time or skill to cook and therefore have the space. I have an extra cabinet in my kitchen. I’m considering using my extra cabinet for linens (yes, “linens”). Maybe then the sheets will smell like cinnamon for my guests. My guests! I get to have those again!)<br /></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">There’s my fridge where I keep the pickles, the whiskey and skim milk.</span><br /></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">My bedroom with the dark purple walls, which I again took as a sign I should take this place.<br /></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">The animals seem content — the puppy in his pen and the cat at my feet. The bookshelves are still empty and that makes them sad-looking, but they’ll get there. Where I sit now is where I’ll crash after a walk, after work or after a night of going out. It’s where I’ll sit when I need a reminder that the terror, frustration, sadness and confusion that comes with transplanting to a strange place is worth it <span style="font-size:130%;">because it means one thing: I get to walk in the nude from the (shower)room to the bedroom.</span></p>Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623855795882980370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4152788247246236930.post-70543307651892306062009-10-26T20:54:00.005-05:002009-11-07T03:27:13.037-06:00Killer feet<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SuZT0SvUZUI/AAAAAAAAAC4/Z5mZhW4ogVY/s1600-h/3_Foot2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SuZT0SvUZUI/AAAAAAAAAC4/Z5mZhW4ogVY/s400/3_Foot2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397093361298728258" border="0" /></a>Let's count the ways in which this photo could have killed me.<br /><ol><li>I'm alone in the car.</li><li>That's the interstate.</li><li> That's my right foot (the one a person typically uses to drive).</li><li> I'm taking the photo.</li><li> The camera was on its manual setting.</li></ol>I didn't die. I also didn't get the job. The reason for my foot like that in the first place? It was hour 5 or so and I still had 4 or so to go and my leg was bored ... and my mind curious. Could I rest my foot on the dash? I also had my leg stretched across the passenger seat at one point. Ah, the boredom of the open road.Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623855795882980370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4152788247246236930.post-77925688294120473632009-10-26T20:50:00.005-05:002009-10-26T21:05:56.739-05:00Nest egg<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SuZSfiA5nkI/AAAAAAAAACo/CWAjjerWwJg/s1600-h/2_Egg2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SuZSfiA5nkI/AAAAAAAAACo/CWAjjerWwJg/s400/2_Egg2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397091905110122050" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:78%;">This is what my dad left me on the kitchen counter one morning. A $20 bill for groceries I couldn't drag myself out of the house to purchase, and the remaining hard boiled egg I had made the day before. It made me want to cry. I remember that much.<br /></span></div>Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623855795882980370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4152788247246236930.post-8292538245969839992009-10-22T18:43:00.003-05:002009-10-26T21:01:29.948-05:00Grilled<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SuDuSEF_7WI/AAAAAAAAACg/TqErF2nU2L8/s1600-h/1_Grilled.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XCdh5WgPEX0/SuDuSEF_7WI/AAAAAAAAACg/TqErF2nU2L8/s320/1_Grilled.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395574347693813090" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:78%;">One of my first meals back at Dad's place. Not sure why I took the picture now ... but it adds some color to this blog, no? I have a backlog of blogs so I'll be updating them in chronological order. I apologize for the delay.</span><br /></div>Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623855795882980370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4152788247246236930.post-79633591437578234882009-10-22T12:00:00.002-05:002009-10-22T12:54:56.505-05:00No more huntingOn Monday at 8 a.m. I will report to my first real job. Luckily, I found out I got the job just as I was about to spiral into a nervous breakdown I may or may not have come out of sane.<br /><br />I am excited and nervous. But mostly excited. Of the three jobs I have interviewed for, this is the one I definitely wanted the most. It feels strange, almost too good to be true. It also feels good. I will have benefits and, undoubtedly, making way more money then I ever have before. I will have things I have only ever dreamed of. Isn't it sad that I dream about 401ks and health insurance? Getting older is bizarre.<br /><br />I love the town I live in, and do not have to relocate at all. A quick 5 to 10 minute drive which is nearly a straight shot anyway takes me to a newsroom that used to be a JCPenney. It takes me to a desk that is all mine in what used to be a shoe department. I think I am going to enjoy working with my editor a lot and enjoy the topics I will be covering. I will be writing for four magazines — Central Illinois Business, Central Illinois Families, At Home in Central Illinois and Vow (which will soon be known as "I Do"). It will only be my editor and myself, so I expect it will be a rather hands on job and that I will get to do a little of everything for the magazines, which I am excited about.<br /><br />However, I do not expect it to be exactly what I expect it to be. But I'll let you know how it goes. Unless, of course, Jamie kicks me out. I don't expect she will.<br /><br />Now I need to go do all the things I have been putting off because I'd have time to do them later. Yipe.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04638190703272848232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4152788247246236930.post-35797588241745076452009-10-22T10:42:00.001-05:002009-10-22T10:42:48.132-05:00Congrats to Sarah! She got a job (and will be leaving us?)!Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623855795882980370noreply@blogger.com0