Job Cunting and the post 38 romantic comedy of my life.

Job Cunting: yes, I'm very mature.

Job searching is okay for about three weeks, then it can be a little disheartening. Fortunately for me, I’ve passed through the stage that involves high anxiety and am now enjoying ‘the moment’. I’m selling stuff I don’t need on Trademe, and that makes a massive difference each week. Well, massive to me anyway!

Checking out jobs, I sometimes think I should apply for all sorts of boring and weird things and see if I get any response at all. I could apply for these :

• We are looking for qualified and experienced QA/QC Officer, for immediate start. Minimum 1-year experience required in NZ food manufacturing industry.

• URGENT need for Railway Signalling Technicians for immediate work based in Auckland

• Your interest in banking will help you identify the right banking solution for our customers.

• Are you looking for a customer focused role within the insurance industry? We have an exciting opportunity available.

Yeah, well you get the idea. Sometimes I’ll read an advertisement for something and I’m amazed at the language used. It’s exciting. It’s challenging. You will have to be a team player. You won’t mind going the extra mile. When I read that sort of thing I think. “No”. You have written a stunningly unoriginal advertisement and so you must be unoriginal, your soul and skin brittle with air conditioning, your hair unyielding with product. No, I am not a team player. I like to talk to people, but I prefer to work on things alone, so that I can concentrate. I get too distracted otherwise. I possibly have ADD. The online test said I may be ‘severely ADD’. Gee, steady on. But it would explain why conventional jobs are so difficult for me, why it’s nearly impossible to be tidy no matter how hard I try. This is something for me to investigate. Journey with me (when I can afford to get it properly sorted) as I discover weather Ritalin might actually be the answer.

A friend who got properly tested and diagnosed said it changed her life, that she wouldn’t be where she is now if she hadn’t started taking Ritalin. I asked what effect it had. I’ve been on anti depressants years ago, and the side effects were truly horrible. My friend said she suffers no side effects, that things just feel ‘clear’, like she knows what to do. I wonder if it would help me find my keys more often.

I’ve also been looking for another place to live. I love T and her son, but I long for a quieter atmosphere, and I’d like to use my ‘nice things’ which isn’t advisable when there’s a teenager slamming your rare china into the cupboard with sullen chip inducing regularity. The cost of living alone might work out to save me money in the long run.

It’s actually a beautiful day. I feel excessively tired, as if I’d been trekking for days. I dreamt I had lots of money and two hot men after me. Nice. One of the men was handing me something in the dream, something small with great meaning, but as he did so I was waking up and realising it was a dream. I was disappointed as I thought it was real.

I got a text and a phone call from Simon yesterday. He’d like to take me out for dinner. What he really means is that he wants to slip me onto his big knob. Aint gonna happen.

I don’t know how I expect to meet a lovely man when I stay home reading all the time, but my Golden Dawn experience really rattled me . Ah well, forgive and live. I forgive you bully boy bouncer. You’re just a sad child, and I can understand that. A lot of sad children disguised in the ‘grown up costume’. Being angry and hoping you die in a car accident isn’t going to help.

Well dearies, it’s time to have a bit of lunch and then go and post one of my trademe sales.

Oh, and Andrew and I went and saw that movie ‘The Hunger Games’ the other day. I enjoyed it. I know it’s meant for teenagers, but I thought the acting was pretty good.

I’m currently reading a romantic comedy style book, one of those in which the heroine is always under thirty and about to meet the man of her dreams. She doesn’t go on endless internet dates with men who admit to having wanked in the kiddie pool. When the hot guy in the book does something wrong, it’s all a big misunderstanding.That’s what I thought might happen when I fell for The Painter. I had really hoped he was going to come to his senses like they do in the movies, but nope! Once I accepted that this wasn’t going to be a Drew Barrymore style blockbuster ending, and especially not a Meg Ryan one (don’t vomit), I think I could have accepted it if we were friends, but even that hasn’t happened. Nob. Yes. I'm talking to you Mr Painter Man. Wake up and be a friend ya dick head.

I have to keep remembering that it’s okay. If life is a mirror and I’m meant to find the reason or the lesson, then I guess it would be about being much kinder to myself, and forgiving of others. As I keep being thankful and happy, more to be thankful for will turn up. If someone turns up and they treat me poorly, then instead of lamenting it, complaining excessively, I can find a way to use it as a map. Oh, and don't stick with an abusive situation for extended periods in the name of forgiveness, that doesn't work either. Real forgiveness will lead to healing and renewed joy.

If my life was a modern romantic novel it would be a very long story. I don’t know if I’ve read one where the heroine is over the age of 38, hasn’t had children and does random things career wise . As the days go by, the thought of children becomes less appealing. I know I’d be an amazing, loving mum, and I know if I just wanted to get pregnant Simon would be quite willing ... yet unlikely to be fully present as a father. When he and I first became lovers I asked what his fantasies were, and he looked embarrassed. I thought, oooh, this is gonna be kinky. In fact, it was sort of the opposite of kinky. He said what tipped him over the edge was imagining we weren’t using protection and that he was impregnating me. Goodness.

So Universe, Jesus, Angels, thanks so much for the good friends I have, for the little bits of work that have come my way, for the lovely sun filled room in which I currently sit. Life is damn good. I don’t care if I sound like a wanker, but I’m going to say it; I’ve had three good cups of coffee and that really does make me happy.

The cat, she slumbers. The sky is blue. Moo moo moo. May my own romantic comedy please unfold with a little bit more of the romance and less of the comedic tragedy.

Love well. x

Top Reads and Andrew Goes to Hot Yoga!

Monday 12th March

It's Raining, It's Pouring, it's time to ... read a book!

The lettuces are looking good, my basil is flourishing, I want not for salad during these strange rainy days.

The Toscat is curled up asleep near my feet. Ran out of cat biscuits and so opened up the 'homebrand' sardines for her, which, I've discovered, are best as cat food anyway.

Applied for another job, and got a really funny and uplifting rejection from another! I'd taken a risk and written a completely different style of application letter (I attempted to be funny by being too honest). The guy wrote back, saying that I was a nutcase, which was exactly what they were looking for, but unfortunately 'a few other fairies already applied' and so the position was taken. Still. A pretty good response. Thus encouraged, I am now going to apply for any job I deem a little out of my league in the same manner. Onwards fellow soldiers who languish in the trenches of unemployment or some kind of stinky job you don't like. Take some risks!

My top reads of the last four months

In no particular order:

Sherry Cracker Gets Normal , DJ Connell. Fiction

From the first line, the intriguing tale of Sherry Cracker had me 'falling in love'. You know that feeling, the book that has you wishing it would never end. Sherry Cracker is told by her boss, Mr Chin, to 'get normal' by Monday.

"The idea of normality was flashing in my mind's eye like the rotating beacon of a lighthouse as I made my way down the office stairs. The stair well was pitch dark but I knew the width and squeak of every stair by heart. I used to run up and down the stairs until Mr Chin forbade it: 'This run, run, run get on my nerve. Walk up stair at normal human speed or forget interesting and exciting job.'

(Chapter 4, page 29)

I’m Perfect, You’re Doomed by Kyria Abrahams. Memoir

Fantastic memoir about growing up in the Jehovah's Witness church. This is really funny and tragic at the same time. I imagine a young Janeane Garofalo the whole time I'm reading it, and I think my favourite part has to be about Smurfs being demons. There's this story about how a child took a soft toy smurf into a JW Kingdom Hall and that it came to life and started screaming obscenities as it ran from the hall. It then burst into flames. Praise be to Jehovah.

Brida, Paulo Coelho.Fiction.

You've got to be in the right mood to read Pauly. Fortunately this was the case when I picked up Brida. It's easy to read, very fairy tale like, leaving me with a good feeling about soul mates and what that term might mean. You feel like going around saying things in a knowing voice after reading it. Irritate family and friends with your increased wisdom.

When You Are Engulfed In Flames, David Sedaris (audio, memoir)

Well suck a monkey if you don't already know how much I LOVE David Sedaris. That's very white of me evidently. I can live with that. I got this from the library (man I love how you can order things from any library around Auckland, it's amazing!) and played it in the car all the time. He has an unusual voice (if you've read 'Me Talk Pretty One Day' then you'll know all about it), somewhat nasal and high pitched. It matters not when you listen to him describing various scenarios; again, I never wanted it to end. I could listen to , or read, this kind of thing ALL THE TIME.

Naked, David Sedaris. Memoir.

More good memoirs from Sedaris. Reliable read for all settings. Must have on long plane journeys.

Magical Thinking, Augusten Burroughs. Memoirs.

Augusten Burroughs is also an amazing memoirist in a similar vein to Sedaris. They differ in that Sedaris often goes into greater detail and is the 'educated one', whereas Burroughs loves to remind us of how uneducated and abused he's been. This is where Burroughs is master. He makes the harrowing shit actually pretty amazing, funny and interesting to read about. He is open about how shallow he can be, but instead of making you hate him, it makes you love him all the more. I love him.

Dry, Augusten Burroughs. Memoir.

This is (as the title suggests) about Burroughs journey into sobriety. A friend pointed out that people who belong to AA aren't supposed to publicise it, but I think it's a good thing. I reckon this book will help a lot of people. As usual, he's able to take a really difficult issue and treats it with a measure of humour and tenderness that has me longing for his next book.

So duckies, those are my top picks in recent months. I swear (with the exception of Brida) that you'll enjoy all of these!

Ho-kay. Cat is cleaning herself. Day is weird and damp.

Andrew Does Hot Yoga

I told him not to eat anything before we went in, that it makes it difficult, but he decided to have a panini and a smoothie. He was right royally fucked. He did put in a good effort for the first 15 to 20 minutes, but that heat really does take some adjusting to. Now that he knows what it's like, he'll be able to do more the next time. The main goal of the first class is to just make it through without leaving the room. That's 90 minutes of sweating like a bitch, but the reward is massive.

I still find some of the poses really hard to do, and I can't say I ever leave a class thinking 'well that was an easy one'. It really is one of those things that you can't explain. You just have to do it. Well, hunger is gnawing at my puku like a small rodent, so it must be time for a Freedom Farms sausage with a poached free range egg and salad from the garden. Yum.

Oh, and last night Suzanne and I went and had drinks. We went to Chapel Bar, and my god, what is going on with that place? The DJ played 'My Way' by Frank Sinatra and I got excited and asked if he was about to mix Sid Vicious into it. "Yeah, yeah," he slurred fatly, "that's exactly what I'm gonna do". Fuck him. He was being sarcastic. You can't be that ugly and also be mean. Oh wait. I guess you can.

Suzanne and I danced around anyway. There was this really hot girl who danced like a stripper, she wore black and white striped socks up to the knee with black high heels and a tight, short black dress. She kept smiling and looking at herself in the big mirror on the wall. I don't think she was a prostitute, but if she is, I bet she's making a lot of money.

A guy called Mike introduced himself. He was one of the many very drunk clientele, quite cute, blonde and well dressed, barely able to stand.

"Do you have a man" he smiled into my face, putting his arm around me.

"Not a permanent one" I replied, "what about you?"

"I proposed to my girlfriend two weeks ago!"

"Wow, congratulations! Where is she?"

"Uh, I dunno, around here somewhere."

"Was she the girl with long brown hair that spoke to you before?"

"Nah, she's got really blonde hair. The thing is, we're both just as fucked up as each other."

"Mike, that's beautiful" I replied.

He laughed with delight.

"And just think, when it all gets too much, you can both attend Narcotics Anonymous, and then you could write a book. You could call it 'Sober Together'."

He really liked that, laughing his arse off. Obviously he won't remember any of it and he and The Blonde Fiancee probably went home to have unsuccessful drunken sex.

Suzanne and I danced to the point of sweating, then went to SPQR and got a hot chocolate, only it wasn't very hot, and the service was cold.

"He's a failed model" I said to Suzanne "and he resents having to be a waiter. He can't understand why he didn't get that last job because he's SO GOOD LOOKING."

When Suze went to the bathroom I listened to the very loud one sided conversation to the right of me.

"It's not those built up guys who have a big one. It's the tall skinny ones, and then it's like they've got this third leg."

I would love to have joined in on this observation, but instead contented myself with listening and looking at how the streetlight picked up the softly falling rain.

May your day be blessed. May your lettuces yield many leaves (get planting if you haven't already) and may your heart be full of peace. Moo moo. xxx

Endolphins, work, men, clothes, art, all that and a bag of chips.

Ok, so Mr Andrew Pants is going to come to a hot yoga class with me tonight! (Post note: he did not go, but read the next blog to find out how he coped when he did come!).

After knowing each other for six years he's finally decided to come to the class that will officially kick his little arse. I am looking forward to it. I have missed going to hot yoga and anticipate the massive rush of endorphin's that flow like small spiritual dolphins of love and energy through my newly oxygenated blood. Endolphins.

Last night I went over to Feather's and we drank wine and ate pizza, stuffed ourselves beyond capacity, did an angel card reading, and talked about work, men and clothes.

Work:

Applied for two jobbies today, one as an employment advisor for the intellectually disabled, the other is possibly for writing advertorials. I would love to do advertorials. I used to make up different versions of advertisements for fun as a child. Of course, mine were always the sick and twisted version, but isn't it great to realise you've always harboured such a talent? I wrote a wonderful cover letter for it, which is bound to be ignored, but if not, well, the world could be my green lipped mussel!

I currently have a small part time job organising appointments for a therapist; this makes the difference between putting petrol in the car and paying my cell phone bill.

Men

Well, as I've said just recently, I surrender. I could possibly make myself annoying, ordinary and vapid and I might get snapped up, but I just can't do it. I'm going to have to remain weird, emotional and full of love. It does mean there are less proverbial fish in my sea, but that's o.k. I'd rather be single than settle for Less. Simon continues to call me, but really he just wants me to get on it, so that's hardly flattering. He said I behave like a startled rabbit sometimes, but that's what happens when one is confronted with a wolf. Hot wolf. No. No, stop it. No walking in the woods for me. Caught up with Peter The Runner on Monday; Tieneke and I visited and had a spa. I kept my wine consumption to a minimum and we all talked about drugs, sex and employment. Fun times. I haven't heard from The Painter, a pity, I'd hoped we were going to actually be friends, but perhaps it's just not meant to be. Fortunately I am dripping in good friends.

If friends were gold chains, and I was an ostentatious rapper, then my neck would be weighed down with a few high quality pieces.

Oh my god, it's already after 4pm and I have to get my bum to hot yoga! Jeeze, where does the time go?

Clothes:

I am the op shop Queen, or at least a Princess. I find such good things, it's ridiculous. This is what comes of unemployment! Well dressed and relaxed. Attending art galleries, pondering the meaning of dreams, going to the library. People will ask what I do and perhaps I'll reply "I go to op shops". Surely that would be enough?

Oh, and I made a necklace too. A little skull on a long gold chain. Looks good, goes well with the one I got from St Kevin's arcade at First Thursday's last week.

Speaking of Thursday, that means there's something on at Black Asterix again. Something to do with those Bratz type dolls and how they encourage little girls to value excessive slimness, cuteness and sexiness from a young age. I'm going to value my big bum tonight and dress to exaggerate it. May as well!

See you there, and if we never meet, that's ok, you know we're all one anyway.

xxx

Gallery Visit and general Surrender.

Sunday

So. What have I been doing? Caught up with Feather on Thursday, invited her to the Black Asterix gallery party whatsit. That was good for looking at people as well as the art, though I'd already seen most of the art when I'd caught up with The Painter last Sunday.

Feather and I went to The Thai House for a feed before trotting around the gallery. Laughed at t a large framed white piece of paper with a bit of crinkled discolouring at the bottom of it. 'The Emperor's New Clothes' is alive and well, often appearing in the art world. Saw Callum in his hat (he's always in his hat) and disussed the 'pretty but slightly disturbing' works in the small rear room. No, I don't mean someone's arse, I literally mean the rear room of the gallery.

I quite liked the charcoal pictures of faces. Someone materialising from shadows, or perhaps being sucked into them.

We looked at people a bit more. I think I saw Frankie, she played in a band with a friend of mine years ago, Fatal Jelly Space. I'd been thinking of that a few weeks back when I'd caught up with Snow White, my old friend of Christian times. Snow White still had a WORKING mixed tape of music I'd created for her when we must have been around 21! It was like finding part of myself as an aural sedimentary layer.

There were songs on that tape (all recorded off vinyl of course) that I'd forgotten about, like "I'm Loose" and "Peggy suicide" by The Warners ... "Oh Peggy Suicide, filled her head with cyanide ..." and of course I'd also taped "Miseriah" and "Aliens" by Fatal Jelly Space. I realised I hadn't listened to 'Nimrod's Son' by The Pixies for years and years. My tastes are quite flaccid these days, I no longer wear steel cap shoes and feel the need to mosh, throwing my elbows agressively up and out in order to protect my face. I think I'm a little less angry than I used to be, though paradoxically I'm more direct. Direct, yet lacking fury.

Feather and I then walked down K Rd to St Kevin's Arcade and looked around at all the quirky little things people were selling (it was "First Thursday's") and couldn't resist buying something. I got this great necklace, it was a chunk of fool's gold with a birdy chain by BOBAE handmade jewellery. Love birds. Feather got a hand bag from this excellent wee shop at the rear of the arcade, CARA C, Vintage and Design Store. I really wanted one of the rings from that shop, but really, how many rings does a woman need? I end up wearing the same ring nearly every day anyway, the big silver one I almost punched Ex Friend Kathy in the face with years ago. Pity I didn't take out her eye really. Ha. Kidding. Come on, you know I'm a peace lover.

So yep, that was a good catch up with young Feather, and then caught up with Mr Andrew on Friday. His Dad wasn't well, had to be admitted to hospital, so we hung out, went and got Burgerfuel and watched a movie. What did we watch? It was quite good, whatever it was. Something with Kevin Spacey doing his awkward disconnected middle aged man thing as usual. The girl playing his daughter was a bit of a shit actress, but she had really dark eyebrows, and that was compelling in it's way.

Ok, first fine day in god know's how long. Must. Get. Out. Off to see mum, then to Snow White's for a bbq. Taking organic chicken, acid free tomatoes, juice and stop for some wine somewhere along the line.

Oh, and I'm going to completely forget about romance for awhile. Darlings, you know I've put in a good effort, but now, well, I surrender. I do not understand men. I love them, but fuck my ducklings, I cannot be reading minds anymore. I shall stick to books. I shall indulge in self loving each day, murmuring sweet somethings to myself. I shall paint mediocre paintings because I really enjoy the process. I shall buy things for $5 and resell them for $35 on Trademe. I will change my sheets more often. I will stand on my head just because I can. Oh, and I' will get a job. Soon. I hope.

lots of love. I'm off to The North Shore. Swim! Swim like a sea monkey!

xxx