If You're Not Here, You'll Get Talked About

Perhaps you'd like to know how my week has been.

I'm listening to Korn right now. Does that shed some light on the cheery an uplifting events of these past five or seven days? Also, I'm eating orange sticks and Andes mint thins. For dinner.
Because I ate the rest of the coconut-pecan cookies for breakfast, and polished off a mixed can of cashews and toffee peanuts for lunch.

Sugar and caffeine are the only things keeping my eyes open and my autonomic nervous system, well--nervous. Which is fine, except that my teeth are growing their winter coat back.

Some of you may know that I'm looking for a day job at the moment. I've been on several interviews and always seem to be "in the running" as many prospective employers have told me, but I just can't land the job.

I interviewed for a job I really wanted a couple of weeks ago, at a naturopathic clinic. What a sweet gig that would be. I recieved an email earlier this week to schedule a second interview. Yes! I'm in the running again! The very next day, before a time to interview could be confirmed, she emailed again to say that they interviewed a candidate today that they'll likely offer the job to.

Can't you wait until I've had a second meeting? I thought. She referred to the candidate as 'our last interview." Um, no. I'm you're last interview. I felt so dejected I just slammed my head down on my desk. Not again. Not this job.

I got an email the next morning. The employer felt badly that things were unsettled with me, and wanted to go ahead with the second interview.

There was still hope. They were giving me a pity interview.

I was charming, well-spoken, clean and polished. But the dreaded question came up: "What were the circumstances surrounding your departure of your last job?"

So I had to go through the whole bit about how I was fired because my boss was a psycho-bully-asshole. Naturally, I used tactful, ass-kissing interview words. I've tried to come up with a way to answer this question that isn't evasive, but makes me look good. I've started answering with, "Have you ever seen The War of the Roses?" and take it from there.

I don't think I'm going to get this job either.

What else...oh yeah, I recieved yet another rejection letter. This one from Iron Horse Literary Review. They at least said that though they couldn't use the poems I sent, they liked my work and to keep submitting.

So I packaged up four more poems and put them out in the mail today. The postal carrier, who of course is party to the conspiracy to keep me from ever succeeding, didn't pick up our mail today.

And to cap things off, it's Friday, which means my brother's girlfriend has packed a bag and will be here until Monday. So I have to listen to her annoying braying and gigling, their icky kissing noises, her whistling and singing and talking herself through every single thing she does. And did I mention how loud she is? Well, she's loud. And she brings all her groceries and shit and uses up all the fridge space with her creamer, and her soy milk, and her vegetables, and her soda, and all her other crap.

I've figured out which of my friends read my blog and who doesn't. My brother and his girlfriend don't, so I can trash 'em all I want. I imagine it's all the words that keep them from reading my posts. Illiterate oafs. If only I could make a forcefield of words at the front door, I could have the house to myself.

Vented,

Cindy