First day

I've got a ginger tomcat on my lap, shedding hairs on my black sweater, eyeing my breakfast (and he just stuck a paw out at it! The nerve!), and I'm about 20 minutes earlier than I would have been had this not been my first day at the new job. I'm nervous, can you tell?
The Girlfriend promised to stand by me, drag me to work if need be, but all I got from her was a quick kiss and a "love you, work-pigi" before she fell asleep again. Oh, and she fondled my arse, but I'm not sure that had anything to do with my new job. Well, I guess it's support, but it's hardly the proactive "kicking out of bed, peptalking and driving to work" thing I expected.
Right. Keep busy. Calm down. Don't have a coronary or an accident. Everything will be fine.

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Inconsequential rambling

I'm currently reading Dan Savage's "The Commitment". It's very entertaining and it's currently winning the "reading a book" vs "reading slash" battle. I ordered "The Kid" as well, but proxis told me that'll take a while.

Reading about the history of marriage, about gay marriage, about sociological studies and politics (and about Mr Savage's life, yes) really gave me a yearning for learning stuff again. So much of what I do seems to be improvisation. I really want to immerse myself in theories (oh, long live big theories) about psychology and sociology instead of just making up stuff as I go along. I was watching one of those parenting shows ("Kids from Hell: Stuff em back in the womb", or something with a similar name) and I was stunned at the fact that the psychologist-doctor person actually had a contextual theory about the origins of the kid's problems. Somehow I'd forgotten there was more than the much hated behaviourism that gets thrown in my face.
Oh to be a rich girl, be able to study and then find a job far away from people, behind a desk, thinking.
I guess my autism is acting up again, eh.

Right. Well, I start my new job (very much not away from people, nor behind a desk) the day after tomorrow. Tomorrow I meet with the Big Boss person to hand over my paperwork so they can "start my file". Must remember to take out my tiny nose stud. Or I could tell her it's a spot, if I forget to take it out.

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my ears!

It's 11.30 on a Monday night. What kind of idiot decided that was the best moment to have a "drum & bass" show on the radio? An unsuspecting granny (or me) might turn on her radio, expecting some laid-back about-to-go-to-bed sweet sounds, but instead get drummed and bassed into a cardiac arythmia! Or even left ventricle fibrillation! Those things are dangerous, don't they watch ER?!
I switched the station to bloody Donna... and get treated to... Geri Halliwell. Right, where's my CD's?

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Rollercoaster or Roundabout?

This has been an emotional rollercoaster week for me. Refusing work, getting work, hearing I was pretty wanted for yet another job... It's not easy to handle for a stressbunny like me. I'm still to photocopy my "previous work experience" and visit my GP -again- for a piece of paper that shows I'm healthy as can be (apart from when I'm not) and I'll probably be starting the new job next Tuesday.

Meanwhile the Girlfriend and I will have to go car-buying, since we both need a car for our "careers". The Girlfriend's persistent she wants a funny looking tiny half-wreck to get around in. I'm not sure that'll fit with the standards my long legs have grown accustomed to, but hey, it's her car and -more importantly- it's all we can afford.
I guess I should really give into my inner Bree and give the house a thorough springcleaning before starting a new job, but I can't be arsed. There's slash to read, not to mention Eurovision theories!

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I've got a job

It's in a project which is the bastard child of a rather "elitist" place. Hopefully I'll have nothing much to do with the people who reminded me of my secondary school principal.
So my plan now is... subversiveness... yes..... Infiltrate the elite christian institutions and then pollute them with my lesbian leftism.
Wahey!

Of course I'll have to do it sans nose-stud, for that does not "fit with the image of the organisation".
Oh dear. I suppose my "Satan rules" t-shirt will be out of the question as well, then? Too bad.

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This will either be the smartest or the stupidest thing I ever did, but I turned down yesterday's job offer.

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Fuck it.

They only went and offered me the job this morning.
Downside: starting Monday, and only till November. Worse downside: I don't want it.
When will I learn not to apply for jobs I don't really want?
You see, I love working with families because it's pretty straightforward: parents + children at home, you at your office. You go there, or they come to you. Finished. I don't like it when children are in a children's home, something inside me revolts against it, it goes against my instincts. I know sometimes there's no choice, but I find it terribly sad. Perhaps my opinion will change over time, but for now it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

Tomorrow's the interview for the job I really want (with the Prick on the Phone). I'll just have to be straightforward, tell him how popular (and above all, good) I am and ask him to decide to hire me quickly before I have to go work somewhere I don't really want to.
That should do the trick? Right?

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So much for arrogance

Last week I applied for a job exactly like one I've done before. The first interview went well and I'm through to the second round, sometime this week. It's a very urgent pregnancy replacement. There's only two candidates left, I thought, and immediately my arrogance went in overdrive, "ha, I'm the best, no doubt about that. Fuck them, I'll blow the other candidate away. Sorry sweetie, but you don't stand a chance."

This morning of course I fell ill and very, very pissed off. This bloody illness is not going to ruin my chances at employment! I phoned the doctor, got some mean germ-killing drugs and hope things get better.
Until I got a phonecall from an Absolute Wanker about an hour ago. Vice-boss of the place. Promises of an "Informal Chat that will take 45 mins to an hour" (very informal that), three candidates left (there were only five to begin with!), "I'm a bit sceptical about the fact that your degree is too high for the job" (right....).
My arrogance is deflated and suddenly my job prospects seem a lot less sure.

Thursday I've got an interview at a place that didn't even want to interview me in October, but now needs someone urgently, so the chances of me getting that aren't too high either. Friday's Wanker time. And Monday's another second-round interview. Long live penicilin!

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Why?

Am I *ill* the one week I've got two bloody important job interviews?
I've got a temp of 38.8 and just phoned the doctor. I hope he can give me some Flu-B-Gone or something. It is so fucking unfair. My karma must be really really bad.

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Am Bitchy.
Did not get enough sleep.
Babysitting at 6 pm yesterday.
Home at 12.
Bed at 12.30.
Sleep at... 3-ish.
Woke up every fucking half hour because I was freezing my arse off and my throat hurt.
Up at 6.30.
Dropped the Girlfriend off at her job at 8.
Job interview with way too difficult and personal questions for a Monday morning at 8.30.
Home now.
Tired.
And bitchy.
Throat still hurts.
Again.
Must do laundry.
Expecting phonecall for other job interview.
Best not be tomorrow morning or I'll glare daggers at them.

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Amambandawhatever

The Dutch chose the girl group (with drums! Oh my god!) Treble to represent them in Athens this year. You'll probably remember Treble from their impossibly annoying catchy shrieking of "ramaganana" some years ago. This is more of the same. "We're so original, we just use sounds, not actual words". At least Urban Trad had the decency to come up with made up words instead of just silly sounds! Tsk!
Out of the three candidates the Dutch chose the best group though. The other options were a very off-key singing "rock" group and an "Idols" hopeful with an Abba-esque song. Umm.... yes... As successfully predicted (by meeee!) the Girlfriend -though detesting the song at first- now happily chants along with the three blonde lasses. Typical. Whether good or bad, Treble will stand out at Eurovision, so they might do better than Glennys "my impossible de-ream!" Grace.

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Oh dear

And I didn't even cheat...


How evil are you?

And to everyone whose scores are beneath mine I'll quote the Famous Dr Evil (now my role model): "You're semi-evil. You're quasi-evil. You're the margarine of evil. You're the Diet Coke of evil. Just one calorie, not evil enough. "
There.

(I'm so evil I won't even mention I found this quiz through Duvelman)

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After hearing half the Eurovision entries

- It's a good thing we left Barbara Dex at home (yes, I know, I wanted to send her), because country looks to be for 2006 what drums were for 2005.
- We already have two "silly" entries: Lithuania's "we are the winners" and Iceland's Sylvia Nott. I like Sylvia, even though because she stole every possible Eurovision cliché. In her song she basically congratulates Iceland for sending her to the contest. Fantastic!
- There's quite a few bad ballads, which is good for us.
- No Only one other Abba song, yet.
- Long live the Croatian entry whose subject matter is... "my stilettos". Way to go Girl!

Update: The Finnish entry looks like the monster cast from Buffy, playing hardcore-ish hardrock. I, for one, am terrified.
And Portugal sings "Waterloo". Damn. Thank god they can't hold a tune.

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brainwave

Teachers all over: take care of your pupils. They are influential. I remember my Dutch teacher the first year of secondary school: forty-ish, bad poodle haircut, huge glasses, only two outfits consisting of light blue trousers and a pink/blue shirt with tank top underneath. Urgh. He saw fit to enlighten us all on the importance of His Job and how Immature and Ungrateful we were (you can tell twenty years in the education services had been more than enough for us), showing us how our future application letters for future jobs would be ripped apart if we so much as wrote the address a little too much to the left on the envelope. How they'd chuck our CVs in the bin if we'd chosen the wrong font. How they wouldn't even grace us with an interview if we'd creased the paper the slightest bit.
Never Would We Get A Job If We Made A Mistake.

I've been thinking of that lesson a lot lately. I know it's bullshit and I know he was a frustrated middle-aged man ill equipped in dealing with hormonal thirteen-year-olds, but could it be this is where my huge distaste of job applications comes from? The whole unfairness of it all? "You choose to ignore me because my cat might have stood on the envelope of my letter? Fuck you and your job!"
Perhaps I'm over-analysing and should head for bed though...

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I've heard it all before

It's been terribly quiet on the job front here lately. Hardly anything to apply for, let alone something interesting. So Piglet was slowly getting used to the life of the Perfect Housewife (minus the drinking and running over old people in the street). All that has changed now however: I've been able to apply for four jobs in the past three days, had an interview today and another on Monday.
Piglet is on a Mission!
A Mission To Not Suck As Badly At Job Interviews!

Oh yes. I researched, re-read my CV (it's always handy to remember what kind of stuff you did at your old jobs), even took a "Competence Indicator" test telling me everything I already knew, but still giving me something to work with.

But perhaps I should continue to suck at job interviews. Because if I have a job that I need a car for, and so does the Girlfriend... we'll need to find a second car somewhere. Help!

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Welcome back

After some years months I finally have my old untrustworthy PC back. With a screen! Since yesterday it even includes realplayer (I'd forgotten my speakers don't work... ah well, I'll just send everything to the girlfriend) and a filesharing programme (for downloading obscure eurovision songs. Telex! Nina Morano! Michalis Rakintzis!) AND Office. Office! Handy for writing down things and printing them out, yes? Or for sticking your CV on an e-mail to a job-offering person.

The Girlfriend now sees no reason at all to let me use her laptop anymore so I fear I've been officially banned from it. Zena is most unhappy with me since I stole "her" chair back to sit at my pc.
It's always something, isn't it.

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They're kidding, right?

You've got to tell me they're kidding, out there in South Dakota. Only, it turns out, they're not:

South Dakota Governor Mike Rounds has signed into law a bill all but outlawing abortions in the sparsely populated state and its legislators have loftier aims - an end to the Supreme Court ruling which made terminations legal across America more than 30 years ago.

Why is it always middle-aged, rich, white, heterosexual men who try and decide what goes on in a woman's life, even in a woman's body? If this law is overturned (and yes, there are a lot of "ifs" here, but still) "a state may be able to place an unborn child into protective custody, forbidding their mothers to take them across state lines."

Seems like fundamentalist christian's compassion for human life starts at conception and ends at birth. (to quote mamaboid).

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This post... I shall be mostly plugging...

Tonight on BBC 1: Comedy Connections about The Fast Show. For Belgians it's on at the handy hour of 11.30pm. Long live unemployment!

I'll also be watching "De Moeder van mijn dochter" tonight. So my Sweetie will unfortunately (muhaha) have to miss out on the Big Brother live-crap. Life is good!

On another note I pray TV1 will show the Christmas and Children in Need specials of Dr Who now that the season ended Saturday.
Damn.
I loved the Manic Christopher Eccleston Doctor. "Lots of planets have a North", indeed. Looking at David Tennant, lots of planets have an Oxford too. He seems nice enough, but I'll have to see him in action.
Looking forward to Torchwood as well...
(For all those who feel I'm a geek... well, ok, you have a point. But this series of Dr Who was written by Russel T Davies, the man behind the British Queer as Folk. That's the QAF that didn't suck, in case you were wondering...)

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Who's the fairest of them all

The Girlfriend and I spent the past three days babysitting our Beloved Little Babysitmonsters (Ellen took care of our Feline Monsters). We found out the littlest one wakes at 4.30 every night when mummy and daddy aren't there (cue the girlfriend clutching her to her breast, bringing her to bed with us until she sleeps again, all the while cooing to her.... when was the last time she did that for me eh?). The other one wakes up (at 7-ish) singing Studio 100-crap, all cheerful and then informs us she wet the bed. Twice. Hmz.

Ever the perfect favourite babysitters we took the kids to my personal hell... an indoor playground. Imagine, if you will, some hundred kids running about, shouting, parents smoking and drinking beer at a "nice" table, annoying kiddy music (Belle Perez... ) at top volume and tropical heat to make sure the kids sweat a lot while they're running around like headless maniacs.
I pride myself on the fact that I would have hated it as a kid.
I hated it even more as an adult.
The visit was worth it to see Spike, ever the kids hater, coo at "our" baby and picking up her toys time and time again. Your reputation is destroyed, my dear.

Looking at Disney cartoons through the eyes of a nearly-three-year-old you discover how cruel and evil they are. There's that painful moment in "Finding Nemo", the opening sequence... you know... after which the kid always goes "where's Nemo's mummy gone to?"...
Snow White has some five chapters you have to skip unless you want the kid to have nightmares. "Bring me her heart" for one thing... I also had to face up to how Snow White, one of my heroins when I was a kid, is an annoying stupid bint. Holding vocalising contests with a birdie, waiting for her "prince" to come (he's gay, sweetie, give up), cleaning the house of total strangers. What an idiot! And how very un-PC those films are, Dopey is there for all to be mocked.... oh no no no.

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Expensive February

After our Nuon gas bill last week, yesterday heralded the arrival of "Tow Truck André" in the lives of the Girlfriend and I. André, dressed in what his stereotype prescribed, something blue with oilsmears and a smudgy cap, with nicotine stained fingers and ditto body odour, came to our rescue after the car decided (not us, we'd put the car in second gear) to pull up the handbrake for some inexplicable reason, and not allow us to pull it back down again. The car wouldn't move an inch. Cheers, thanks a lot, old Xsara of mine.
Never fear. André managed to pull some tricks with a bunch of wheels underneath the tires, hoisted the car onto his truck and drove it to the garage. We're getting it back sometime tonight. Apparently "it's not as simple as they'd hoped" and some part of the brakes has come off and will have to be replaced.

Ka-ching for tow-truck André and the garage!
Pitiful weeping for the Girlfriend and I.

I know my dear Xsara has over 180.000 kms behind its wheels, but it's a diesel, it's what it's meant to live for. It's "only" 7 years old and it's about time it quit dying on me every four months.
Or I'll start putting stickers on its rear window and make it the laughing stock of the other cars! How about a nice "Laura Lynn" banner...?

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