And another thing

What kind of benevolent god would allow dreck like to be forced upon the public? Honestly.

So, I'm doing the job application thing. And I had my first interview in years yesterday. Although it's for a job I don't really want, it was nice to be called for an interview, if only to prove that, in fact, there is no subliminal message encrypted in my resume saying "This woman will spend all her time photocopying her ass if you let her in to your workplace."

So. I found a job opening at the University, which is great. It involves editing, social services, and a salary that is twice anything I've ever received. I have the qualifications they want. I want this job very badly. I think I deserve it. I know I'd be good at it. I'm really hoping that the employment gods will finally, finally smile on me and give me a cool job that will allow us to pay off our credit cards and afford kids, or at least a dog. Anyone reading this, please cross your fingers for me.

There are three people living in the apartment below us. Two are a couple who fight a great deal, seemingly on a schedule. They strike me as yuppies in training. They will likely get married and have many affairs. Their roommate is a douchebag with a stoner laugh, a propensity for leaving his laundry in the washing machine for days at a time, and a fondness for playing guitar and singing on their porch. He's in a band that does covers of songs by Bon Jovi and The Steve Miller Band, but they "have three or four original songs at this point." The couple is moving out in August when the lease is up, but he's hoping to be able to find some roommates so he can stay. My heart is filled with hate for him, and if there's any justice, all of his pseudo-hippie pals will be locked into leases at co-ops or something and we'll get neighbors who don't make me want to shove pins in my eyes.

I'm a little cranky. Here's the kind of day I had: while I was waiting for the bus this evening, a skinny middle-aged guy with a beard, carrying a couple of manila folders, walked past me, giving me an odd, slightly hostile look, and I seriously thought he would just reach out and give me a shove when he walked past. It was an absurd thought, and of course he didn't, but I was ready for it. The day's earlier events had led me to expect nothing less.

Googling people can be bad for your mental health. I kind of already knew that, but the point was hammered home to me yesterday when the simple act of looking up an old friend from grad school sent me into a downward spiral of self-loathing and despair.

Before that, though, several months ago, some insane curiosity mixed with boredom got the better of me and I went to Google and typed in the name of a particularly soul-sucking, self-absorbed former friend. She has a blog (you would never find this blog by typing my real name in, but privacy on the internets is not the topic for the day). It's a very bad blog, filled with hysterical spelling and grammar errors (though she's since switched to livejournal and seems to be taking advantage of the spell-check feature) and pointless self-indulgent crap (unlike my blog, which makes the world better through its very existence). But the part of it that bothers me is the picture she's using in her profile. It's a photo I took of her, way back in 1999. It's a very good picture, black and white, composed nicely, all that shit. She's easy to photograph; she has very dramatic features (just ask her, although she'll probably change "dramatic" to "stunning"). It's beyond a simple snapshot, though--I developed it and printed it myself. So whereas if I had just taken it on a little Minolta, I wouldn't care if it was up there without credit, I'm a little piqued that she's plastering it all over the web (it's currently on three separate pages that I know of) without even a mention of the photographer. I'll get over it, but copyright is important, people!

And so we move to yesterday's fiasco. I'd been thinking of this friend a bit lately, wondering what she was doing with herself. Laura might remember her--a nice girl named Jen, another redhead. She was at all of the fabulous parties we threw at the apartment on Spring Park Ave. Anyway, I looked her up, only to find that after obtaining the exact same degree as me, she went on to be hired as a political science professor at a small university in New York. Seeing this news fifteen minutes after I had finished wiping milk off the face of a child, a significant part of my job description, didn't do wonders for my self-esteem. You might say it made me feel like a very small turd. A turd who nobody wants to hire for anything more challenging than diaper-changing or alphabetizing personnel files. She was a lovely girl and I'm sure she's a great professor, I'm happy for her, but I'd be happier if I had a job teaching college classes (without having to get a PhD) and giving speeches on preserving Chinese antiquities at UNESCO conventions.

Em and I are going to Chicago next weekend and we're buying ourselves some Important Lady work clothes. She'll definitely need them this summer. I'm hoping I will.

Today's American Idol-Inspired Quote

"I don't understand why these people think that just because fart noises don't come out when they open their mouths, they're talented singers."

--Kevin

What kind of person does it take to fuck over a complete stranger who just did you a favor? Kevin got rear-ended by a guy about a month ago--he was waiting to pull out from a metered parking spot, it was snowing, the guy pulled into the spot behind him and slid into him, cracking our bumper. A cop came and said that if he filled out an accident report, someone would be getting a ticket, and Kevin felt bad for the guy, because obviously it would have been him getting the ticket. He worked for a delivery company, it was late in the day, and Kevin said, "no that's okay." Not what I would have done, but Kevin's nicer than me. Anyway, we called the guy's insurance company to file a claim, thinking we'd just go through them, as it was THE OTHER GUY'S FAULT. Little problem--the guy turns around and lies, claiming Kevin backed into him. Motherfucker. So we're stuck with a $250 deductible in return for trying not to get this worthless piece of shit in too much trouble. In situations like this, I really try, for the sake of my blood pressure, to put my faith in karma, but a large part of me wants to say "fuck that" and go slash his tires.

Apparently, the uglyweddingdress.net girl lost her domain. I should probably delete the link so as not to confuse my readers, but I'm sure you'll both figure it out. I also tried uglyweddingdress.com, just to see if she had switched over to that, but she hadn't. From that site, though, there are all sorts of links to wedding planning info. Which is just bizarre. "The picture of that hideous dress you wanted is no longer here? Try OUR site--we've got hundreds of satin monstrosities, and we accept PayPal!"