a melange

I continue to be bugged that nobody's hiring me.  It's getting to where it's not funny, you know?  How many temp agencies am I listed with, and it's not like I've just sent in my resume and now I'm waiting for the phone to ring -- I keep checking the listings, I keep clicking "apply now" and doing the whole follow-through thing, and nothing.  Also nothing in the permanent long-term search.  It's making me fucking cranky.  Most of the time I'm hearing back nothing, but once in a while I get something back that says thanks, but your qualifications don't match our requirements.  This really frosts me, because they think I'm not qualified to conduct research and write it up -- which, hi, what do graduate students do?!  But I'm overqualified for entry-level positions, because I have two master's degrees.  All anybody seems to think I'm qualified to do is the sort of paralegal work I went back to school so I wouldn't have to do any longer.  (And not even that, because see above re: temp agencies not calling.)  I finally buckled and sent an e-mail to the employer I (ahem) ditched when my old firm called me back two summers ago, to ask about the status of the application I sent in before Labor Day.  They are still gathering resumes and haven't begun screening yet -- keeping a leisurely pace that I'm sure is very relaxing for them, but a little stress-inducing for those of us who need jobs.  I'm going NUTS here.

I'm starting to get bugged by my hair.  It's past my waistband now, down to the yoke on the back of my jeans, and it's been a long while since it stayed behind my shoulders when I put it there.  I don't mind that so much, except that it gets in my way; down around my elbows, where it's getting in the way, it's not very heavy, of course, but even that's annoying, because taken all together it weighs a ton.  I'd like it to be smoother and less with the flyaways, given how heavy it is.  I don't want to cut it yet, but I'd like it to behave.

I got a note last week from the new admin person at my college that I owe £6.95 on my battels that must be paid before I can take my degree on the 30th.  I responded saying I don't know what that charge could be, as I was sure I'd squared my accounts before I left, so could they please send me a copy of the battels -- but in any event, the accounts assistant has my bank details, so if the payment must be made she's in more of a position to do it than I am because she's there and I'm all the way over here.  Just now I get a note from the new admin person saying she just wants to make sure I've paid the outstanding money owing.  Did I get a response to my reply last week?  I did not.  Don't fucking ignore me and then repeat yourself -- not the way to inspire me to be nice.


In happier news, though, I got in touch with the young person who borrowed my score for the Rachmaninov Vespers after the concert in June.  We'd had a bunch of rental scores for the concert, which had to be returned immediately, but a number of people were singing some selections from the Vespers at someone's wedding in the first week of July.  I'd bought my score, so I lent mine to my young friend, and she was going to return it to me at college -- but it wasn't in the packet any of the two or three times they've forwarded me mail since I left.  And I didn't know the girl's full name; I think I had a note of it in the inside of my score, so I could e-mail her about something, but that's obviously not of so much use to me in this situation.  Also in that chorus was a friend of mine from college who was also a friend of the young person in question, and I'd asked her earlier in the summer if she had contact info where I could get hold of the kid and try to track down my music, but hadn't heard anything.  I was getting used to the idea that I might have to get a new copy of the score, but that made me a little sad because a new one wouldn't have my markings and notes from that concert, and you all know me and the sentimental value of such things.  But last night I tried again with sending that message to my friend; this morning I got a message from her with what she identified as the only e-mail address she has for the other girl; I dashed off a message to that address; and within ten minutes I'd got a note back that said she'd tried to send it to my college but it hadn't been accepted, so she still has it with her, and will send it to me here.  Hurrah.

phone calls: one.

Yell into the chasm long enough, and I guess eventually someone may yell back.  Before you get too excited, though, this is just an agency calling me in to test etc. and see if they're willing to list me.  I expect I'll do medium-to-okay on Word, Excel, and PowerPoint; I can operate fine in each of those applications, but I like keystrokes, not pull-down menus, which has historically caused me some trouble on these automated tests.  On the other hand, when the guy asked me how fast I think I type, and I said Oh, about 100 wpm, maybe a little less, he reacted visibly.  (Over the phone, visibly.  Is how visible it was.)  Maybe they'll give me grammar and spelling and proofreading tests as well.

There was no need to remind me to dress appropriately for a professional interview, dude.

So I'm going to head out and get an alarm clock and a hair clip or two.

a winnar iz me

So I went out to get some hair clips and an alarm clock, and I succeeded.  And before I left I also tried on my suits, and found them both okay but a little snug (how I lose weight and some of my clothes fit looser while others fit tighter is beyond me), so I thought I'd get some new duds for tomorrow's (and hopefully subsequent) interview.

Turns out that while the Target is useful enough for my purposes -- but not as useful as I'd like, because I couldn't make head or tail of the section with the lamps in it, so I will continue to read at night by the light of my lava lamp, as it's the only thing I can switch off without getting up out of bed -- the Old Navy at the Yard is essentially a whole big warehouse-sized room full of crap.  They used to have clothes you could more or less wear to work down there, and I could have made something approximating a suit for not too much money, but now?  Man.  No way.  So off I went to the mall.  Where I learned some things, and also won what I'm going to call today's silver medal.  More on this toward the end.

What I learned wandering around the mall is that everyone now has a boot with a harness strap.  And apparently open-toed shoes are where it's at now, which is very disappointing, but I trust that this means we're on our way back around the circle away from those narrow pointy things and toward the square- or rounded- or otherwise-blunt-toed things that a) are more comfortable and b) make feet look smaller and c) were in fashion around the turn of the century, and which I will be wearing tomorrow.  :-)  Sadly I didn't learn a ton about clothes, but I feel I was very observant about shoes.

The real triumph, though, was when I went in to Macy's.  I was glad to see that the Macy's over at the City has pulled itself together; and when I went over to the suits, damn if a bunch of stuff wasn't on sale.  I found two similar but not identical suits I liked -- one charcoal grey with a faint pink (I know, but trust me, it works) pinstripe, and one black with a deliberately uneven pink pinstripe.  I liked them both!  But I sort of liked the black one better; only I have grey shoes.  I mused and waffled and finally tracked down a salesindividual and asked her professional opinion:  can I wear grey shoes with a black suit?  She said she thought I could probably get away with it, but she liked the grey better, because who doesn't have a black suit, etc., etc.  I listened and considered and decided to try them both on.  And as it turned out, the grey one fit better and looked better, so the decision was easier than I expected.  Whereupon I went to the counter to pay for the thing, which I already knew to be on a really startling markdown; and they offered me a further 20% off if I opened a charge that day.  I hemmed and hawed and decided to do it, because dude, twenty percent.  And while this was all going through, a couple of girls came along with a dress one of them wanted to buy and some coupons, one of which it turned out they couldn't use -- but the salespeople who were working with me went Hey, there's no reason you shouldn't have that discount as well, and the one I'd asked about my shoes went [hand-wave] somewhere else in the store to get me a coupon for an additional 15% off.  Bottom line:  I got a three-piece Tahari suit, originally priced at $300, for the grand total of

(wait for it)

$79.96.

(Original price $300.  Marked down to $139.99.  Additional 20% off at the register, for a register subtotal of $111.99.  A further 15% off because the saletron liked me, for $95.19.  Add 5% sales tax in Virginia for $99.95.  Then the statement, when it arrives, will reflect 20% off everything I buy at Macy's today and tomorrow.  For a final total of $79.96 on today's suit.  I win.)

Oh!  But, I meant to say why this victory counts as today's silver medal rather than today's gold medal.  This, of course, is because getting what you need at Macy's for going on 75% off is cool, but it must be admitted it's not as cool as having your series optioned by Peter Jackson.  I mean.  :-)