The epitome of Catch 22

Several months ago I heard about a helpful plan where the government would pay for 65 percent of your COBRA premium. And I have to be honest, I have no idea where or when I heard it but it was exciting news, so I checked into it. The result: I didn't qualify. To qualify, one needed to be laid off AFTER September 1, 2008; but I had been laid off BEFORE September 1, 2008. Excuse me? Doesn't that seem a little backwards? Wouldn't I need MORE help with my very expensive COBRA premium payments if I had been paying the expensive premiums for a longer time period rather than a not-so-long-period of-time? It sure doesn't make any sense to me, but it must make sense to someone. Anyway, rules are rules, and as per the rules, I didn't qualify.

I'd also heard about this "Obama Mortgage Modification Plan" so I checked into it too. I lost my job due to a layoff many months ago and am very strapped for cash, so having my mortgage modified to a lower monthly payment would be a great help. However, the rules of this very helpful plan indicate that I don't make enough money to qualify. What? You heard me, I don't make ENOUGH money to qualify. Think about this with me for a minute, if you will. "If I made MORE money, would I need my mortgage modified?"

I can't wrap my head around that one either. But rules are rules, and as per the rules, I don't qualify. NEXT!

A couple months after I had heard about the first helpful COBRA reimbursement deal, someone told me about a different very helpful COBRA deal. I immediately told them I won't qualify so I wasn't going to waste the time and frustration to apply or check into it. They said, "No, no this is a different deal."

Cool beans! So I explained my situation to someone on the phone and she said, "If you didn't qualify for the other one, you won't qualify for this one."

Why was I not surprised? Pissed off to beat the band, but not surprised. And not only did I not qualify for this second COBRA deal, my COBRA premium had gone up (for the second time in 14 months) from $279 per month for single coverage to $431 a month for single coverage, AND it doesn't cover a $128 monthly prescription. Just between you and me, I'd quit taking the prescription all together if it were for birth control or something like that (let's not get into THAT sorry discussion), but it's for anxiety and depression. And Paula, sans anxiety meds, is not something anyone wants to see. Just trust me on that one.

Even though my COBRA premium is sky high and seriously helping to break the bank in a huge way, at least it's health insurance coverage. Right? Well, my very important and very expensive health insurance coverage ends in less than a month. So I've been searching diligently for new individual coverage.

Here's a few scenarios:

Scenario #1: $556 for a six-month policy. This breaks down to a reasonable monthly payment...if I could pay monthly. But the terms of this policy mandate that the full premium is paid upfront. And honestly, I understand. But I don't HAVE the full amount, so I have to continue my search.

Scenario #2: Declined coverage through a company in Iowa due to pre-existing conditions. The agent told me I wasn't declined due to my pre-existing conditions necessarily, but rather due to Minnesota regulations, and that if I lived in Iowa or Wisconsin, he could have written the policy. You have GOT to be kidding me!

Scenario #3: Still pending. I've requested in writing that my previous medical records from my primary doctor and a specialist be sent to Medica for review. This could take two weeks.

Scenario #4: Minnesota Care. I was told if I have had access to health care in the past four months, I would NOT qualify for this plan. Well jeeze, I have had access to health care in the past four months, and in fact have been paying COBRA payments through my ass for the past 17 months because I learned that NOT having health insurance is a very bad thing. Let's talk this through for a moment. Does "HAVING access to health care in the past four months" make me more of a risk than NOT having access to health care in the past four months? I've been pondering that for days and I still can't understand it. If it makes sense to you, please shed light. I'm sick of being in the dark.

It's like you need to be 65-years-old to retire, 55 to qualify for a senior discount, 21 to drink alcohol, 18 to be an adult, 17 to see a rated R movie, 16 to drive, 5 and under to get in free...it's all so completely random.

But the good thing is, since my first inquiry with Minnesota Care, I've learned that rules may have changed and I may qualify (yay me). So I am in the process of gathering pay stubs and proof of income for the past 30 days or a written statement of earnings from my employer if I do not have pay stubs, copies of recent bank statements or written statement from my bank showing current balance or value of my accounts, one citizenship document, one identity document, copies of retirement accounts, copies of other documents showing value of assets, and my LEFT LEG severed above the knee! Then I'll send everything in to the powers that be and wait up to 45 days for a response. [Insert expletive here!].

Scenario #5: Medical Assistance. I don't qualify for medical assistance because I make too much money. What?! You heard me, I make too MUCH money.

Are you following the story at all? Is there a valid reason that I feel like a walking example of a Catch 22? Or the epitome of the American Dream gone bad? I make too much money (mind you this is my unemployment income of $1427.60 per month average). I don't make enough money (because unemployment isn't considered income). I've been unemployed too long (before September 1, 2008). I've been paying through the nose for health insurance coverage and now I don't have enough to pay upfront another premium that would end up being a good deal.

WTF! Someone throw me a bone! I'm happy to pay for my health insurance. But PLEASE...just GIVE IT TO ME for the love of everything sacred and holy!

P.S. I should say that since this writing, I have been approved for a Medica insurance policy that I'm happy with so far. Confirmation of final price is to come.

Creative Job Search or Insanity Settling in?

Everyone is advising the unemployed to get "creative" with their job searches, saying we can't rely on traditional means any longer. They're even recommending going beyond twitter and Linkedin. They recommend narrowing your search to specific industries and primarily targeting those industries.

OK. I'll take those recommendations. I've decided to target non-profits, the health care industry, and organizations that market consumer products. But hell, I'm a writer at heart so why not also target PR firms, look for copywriting/copy editing positions, or blogger jobs? Guess what? I have.

Here's what I did when targeting a PR firm. And don't even try to tell me this isn't creative (or that insanity isn't settling in because I know it is):

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:

CONTACT: Paula J. Anderson

8825 Ironwood Avenue South

Cottage Grove, MN 55016

Phone: 651-207-8371

Cell: 651-442-7776

Email: pjtoday@comcast.net

BROKE, SUBURBAN BASEBALL MOM SEARCHES FOR A JOB

AND A LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL

Her Story

MINNEAPOLIS -- June 25, 2009 -- Paula Anderson, an unemployed cum laude college graduate who has held account executive and project management positions in the past 10 years with ad and design agencies, seeks a new and challenging role with Haberman.

In the past tw0-and-a-half years since leaving Go East - a brand building firm in St. Paul, Paula has been laid off (not once, but twice) from agencies. "I love agency work. It's exciting and fast paced. Being around that creative energy is inspiring and fun," she said, "but finding work in my field has been tough in this economy."

Having picked up only two short-term contracts in the past year, she said, "The past year has been a long and humbling road. Had I known then what I know today about the economy and the job market, I would never have left."

In November 2006, she left Go east after nearly seven years on good terms. In fact, one of her contract gigs was back at Go East this spring filling in for six weeks during a major product launch. "Going back to Go East was a welcome experience. No less than five coworkers told me they wished I could stay. And the fact that I was asked back during this important time tells me they valued and appreciated my service. It's a testament to my work ethic and abilities."

The time away from the daily grind has helped her appreciate her craft. She said that she is more than ready to dive in head first to a new position, and is actually looking forward to rush hour traffic! She has kept her head held high through the layoffs and continues to look for work despite a number of disappointments and prospective employers deciding not to fill positions. "I understand that they need to watch out for the company's best interest and I need to watch out for mine."

"But it's so unfortunate that they don't know what they're missing!"

Paula grew up in White Bear Lake and graduated cum laude with a Speech Communications degree from the University of Minnesota and a minor in Journalism. She is a seasoned project manager/account manager. Although she has done little PR work professionally, she has three master's level courses with a PR focus under her belt from the University of St. Thomas. She writes for fun and has an innate ability to make people laugh. She enjoys watching her son play baseball, especially in the heat of July; she enjoys walking for exercise and sitting by the pool with a cold one (not necessarily in that order).

###

An Innocent Lunch with Friends

Last Thursday as I was having lunch with my friends Kris and Sandy, I noticed a cute guy sitting at a table next to us with his friend. He looked about my age, give or take a year or two, nice hair, cute face, nice hands, acceptable clothes, and a nice voice (I kept listening to their conversation...so what?). And no wedding ring! I sort of felt like this might be my lucky day.

As we were settling our bill at the table, I grabbed a napkin and wrote a quick note to Sandy for her or Kris to get "that guy's" business card for me. Sandy just sort of ignored me. Some friend. Sheesh! We figured out who owed how much for lunch (funny that we all had the same thing) and walked out the door.

The minute we got outside, I said, "You GUYS! One of you go back in there and get "that guy's" business card for me."

They both looked at me like, "wtf?"

Obviously these two friends have been married too long, "...so I can call him..." I clarified.

Kris was shocked, "I don't do that shit."

Sandy, shocked as well said, "Me either."

Are these guys really friends? "You GUYS! I'd do that for you. If you asked me to get a guy's business card so you could call him, I'd do it for you!"

My guilt trip worked. (Knowing full well that I was safe because these two innocent ding dongs are married. I'd never have to return the favor.) Kris, without hesitation, turned and walked confidently back into the restaurant to get his card. Score!

Sandy and I went to the car and waited. A few seconds later, Kris came out of the restaurant with a guy walking behind her. They were going to his car to get his business card.

And here is where my shock took over. "Oh my God, Sandy!"

Sandy looked at me and said, "What!?"

"That's. The. WRONG. GUY!"

Kris, bless your heart for trying. Thank you for a fun lunch, a great story to tell and a lesson learned. The next time I ask you to get a guy's card, I'll be more clear about which guy.

Random Babble

Do you think there is such a thing as a man who would say, "You are worth my time. I like you and I want to be with you"?

I don't.

Instead he'll say things that make you want to imagine he means that, but really he means nothing. He's just yapping. And I've learned that when a man randomly tells you something like, "I don't want to have more children," he doesn't mean he doesn't want to have more children with YOU necessarily. He's not future-thinking with you in mind at all. He just means he doesn't want to have more children. So it would make just as much sense for him to walk up to a random stranger on the street and profess this same thing.

Or like when he sends you an email that says something about a nooner, for example. He doesn't mean he thought of a nooner with YOU necessarily. He just means he thought about it (and remember, this is all guys think about anyway so it's no big news flash). Do NOT read anything into this unsolicited, arbitrary comment. It would make just as much sense for him to walk into the office of the nearest coworker and confess the same thing. Random babble.

When he sends a cryptic email message, don't even bother trying to decipher it because it will not mean what you hope it does. And don't ask him for clarification either because he won't respond or he'll respond by telling you that you're looking for logic where there is none. When really all you're trying to look for is which planet he's on! No, don't waste a minute of your time deciphering cryptic email messages - delete, delete, delete!

And speaking of email...under no circumstances should you ever engage in email or text games because you will be embarrassed and ashamed when you realize he's never gonna actually call to ask you out again. If he is unable or unwilling for whatever reason to simply pick up the phone and call you, he's not worth YOUR time. Never ever call him. Never email him. Never text him. Ever. Even if you felt love at first sight (which you never truly thought was possible because you are extremely rational). Just forget about it. It doesn't mean a damn thing. Virtual fantasy!

Even if he provides multiple ways to contact him (again, you probably didn't request this information, but he randomly provided it), don't do it! Don't write down his multiple phone numbers. Don't save his multiple email addresses. Just don't. It's a waste of space -- save it for someone else.

However, if feelings are mutual, the story can be different. By "mutual" I mean verbally expressed mutual feelings for each other. It can't be mutual in your mind only. So even when a man refuses to tell you that he is NOT interested in you, it doesn't mean that he IS interested in you. It may mean that he's not interested, or it may mean that he's keeping you at arm's length for emergencies. Either way, it's not what you deserve. Move on. Cuz unless a man can say to you frankly and honestly, "You are worth my time. I like you and I want to be with you," he's not worth it.

Not one iota.

The Dating Game - Story Two

At first glance, I thought the guy looked weird. We were matched via one of the match.com automatic match generation dealios. After a couple of email notes back and forth and a conversation on the phone, he asked me if I wanted to meet. His name was gadget65 and, although I wanted to say no, I said yes.

Why did I want to say no? Because he sounded lazy on the phone. And I'm sorry people, but the voice matters! Please understand that I'm not super spunky myself, but I can muster energy and/or interest when it matters. And don't you agree that dating is a time where energy and/or interest matters? Speak to impress! Stand up, look in the mirror, smile while you're talking! Have you never heard of that?

I pretended it was a good idea and we agreed to meet in the breezeway at Champp's in Woodbury at 5:00. Who do you think arrived five minutes early? Uh that would be me. When I got there I checked the bar area for someone who looked like a 'gadget65' (God help me). It IS possible for people who are INTERESTED to show up someplace early. Well, he wasn't early and had I been smart, I would have left then and there. Expedition over. But instead, I reminded myself that I was early, after all, and took a seat in the breezeway.

From the moment I sat down I gawked at every single person who came up to or through the door. And for nearly every single male I saw, I prayed to God (I think out loud a couple times even) that it wouldn't be Inspector Gadget. God I promise to go to church on Sunday if you let that NOT be him. In fact, I'll go on Saturday too.

One time an odd-looking character parked a small pick-up at the curb and came inside. He had thin, stringy, grayish-blond hair that fell between his shoulders and his ears. He had a scruffy beard and icky eyes that he looked at me with. I was sure this was Inspector Gadget. Even though the photos I'd seen looked nothing like this guy, I managed to convince myself that it was him.

He ogled around and then grabbed a free community paper and walked out. Thank you God, I will for SURE see you this Sunday.

By this time it was 5:10 or so. And as far as I was concerned, 10 minutes was plenty long enough to wait. So I left. If he was going to be late, he should have called -- my CELL phone. I'd given him the number for crying out loud. Are there any astute (and if I HAVE to say it, single) men out there? I'm beginning to wonder.

As it turns out, he'd left a message on my home v-mail that his son was sick so he wasn't able to make it. I mean, kids DO get sick and we can't HELP it when our kids get sick, right? So I gave him the benefit of the doubt and agreed to another meeting, but mostly because my friend urged me to (I'm beginning to wonder about the definition of friend too, btw). We agreed that he would call me on Sunday after he'd taken his son to a movie around 2:00 and then we'd meet around 3:00 or so. It sounded simple to me. Not too many instructions to follow all at once. Simple enough that even a man could do it.

Guess what? You're right, he didn't call. What a complete moron! Where do these people come from? Wherever it is, they need to go back.

I told this story to a Don Juan friend of mine and he said I should never give a guy a second chance.

Really?

I thought I was being kind, loving and understanding by giving the complete moron dufus the benefit of the doubt. And I'd want someone to do the same for me. (Did you hear that God? I live by the Golden Rule.) But this advice came pretty much straight from the horse's mouth. Men are a different species that do not deserve second chances.

Duly noted!

Happy Birthday

I can't believe you turn 21 today. Seems like only yesterday I was projectile vomiting all over the hospital bed just hours before you were born into this world.

I remember the day. June 7, 1992...

Although you were planned, you were also a bit of a surprise. It was a Sunday morning, two weeks before your due date, and my water broke unexpectedly while I was on the toilet. I went to Dad's side of the bed to wake him up. I simply said, "My water broke."

He was surprised as you can imagine, and he said to me, "Shu'dup."

But I didn’t shut up. This was the real deal. My water had broken two weeks early. So we called the doctor to see what we needed to do -- this was new to us. I ate something per the doctor’s instructions and laid back down on my side, but still didn't feel you moving. We worried a bit and called the doc again and then went to the hospital (frankly I don't remember which hospital, please forgive me.)

We were admitted to Whatever Hospital and I was dressed in a hospital gown and lying in bed. The nurse (or someone) handed me a pair of tiny mesh underwear. Dad held them up in the air and said (in prime Dad fashion), "Cut me some serious slack."

But I put them on. I guess mesh underwear must be easy to tear off in an emergency or something? No idea why they were mesh or why I was not allowed to simply wear NO undies. At that point, vanity wasn't really an issue. Wearing mesh undies and still not feeling you moving inside me, I was given some orange juice to stir things up in my belly. Someone also gave me some sort of shot (again the details escape me. I have no idea what kind of shot it was) and told us to go for a walk. Dad and I walked the hospital halls, as instructed.

Sure enough, after only a short walk, labor pains started. Suddenly I was uber tired and I just wanted to lie down. Truly I wished I could lie down and go to sleep and have someone wake me up when it was all over (kind of similar to how I felt last week when I was at the dentist). But that didn't happen. I was awake the whole damn time.

I don't remember a ton about the day. I do remember, however, being naked in the shower, sitting on a plastic bench with warm, relaxing water pouring down over me. At first it was calming. But the second time the nurses instructed me to get in the shower to sooth my labor pains, it was very UN-calming. I must have gotten dressed at that point and was put back into bed because (here's the vomit part) I sat up in the hospital bed and projectile vomited. Dad freaked, and later he described it to me as a scene straight out of the Exorcist. He went out of the room telling anyone who would listen, "She's throwing up!"

A nurse came in pronto to change the sheets -- she wanted to change the sheets with me still in the bed, which I thought was weird. I was thinking to myself, I can stand up, for goodness sakes. So I got out of the bed and she expertly put on the new sheets. They insisted that my throwing up had nothing to do with the shot they had given me. Right. It's not like I was pregnant AND had the flu.

Before I knew it, there were all sorts of hospital-type folks in the room looking at my hoo haa. My doctor wasn't there and I sincerely apologize Sweetheart, but I have no idea the name of the doctor who delivered you. As far as I'm concerned, it was me! Everyone and everything in the room was a complete blur and I didn't care who was staring at my crotch at that point. I do, however, distinctly remember a nurse standing next to me with a clip board and two pens taped together, one red and one blue. I assumed she was color-coding her notes. Color coding is always a good idea. But I prefer to use highlighter markers instead of pens to color-code my work. I also prefer to change sheets WITHOUT people in the bed.

One thing I remember is that one of the screams that came out of my mouth was terribly guttural (probably sounded like something "straight out of the Exorcist" again), and Dad tried to calm me by saying. "It's OK. I know how you feel."

Bless his dumb little heart. I said, "NO YOU DON'T."

I'm pretty sure that Dad didn't say much after that. And then, get this, the doctor had the audacity to say, "Baby's head is crowning. Do you want to feel it?"

"Feel it?" I thought. Give me one good reason why a person would think I can't feel "Baby's head crowning." I calmly said to her, "I. CAN. FEEL. IT."

Before I knew it though, you were born. And someone handed you to me. I loved you immediately, despite the pain and despite the nurses thrusting on my stomach to get the placenta out and despite all the complete idiots that were in the room with us! You were an easy delivery (as far as I'm concerned ANY delivery is not easy when you're pushing seven pounds of human being out of your crotch). But I would do it all over again if I could have another you. I am very, very lucky and very, very blessed!

Happy Birthday! Lucas, you are the brightest bulb on my Christmas tree. Shine on!

I love you!

Love,
Mom

The Dating Game

Contrary to popular belief, being single (read: divorced) at 44 isn't so bad. I love having my own time and doing my own thing. I wake up and go to bed whenever I want. I hardly spend any time at the grocery store because I can find a satisfying dinner when my refrigerator is practically empty. Cheese and crackers with a glass of wine makes a great dinner. Oh who am I kidding? Cheese and crackers with a bottle of wine makes a great dinner.

An unmade bed is acceptable and dusting the living room with a Kleenex is all right. No one complains about anything I do. But when you need someone to fix the broken microwave, hang a closet door, sweep the garage or take out the trash...or you know, to kill spiders and boxelder bugs, it would be nice to have a guy around to do it. And fine, I admit it sure would be nice to look at the evening sky with someone special or share wine together, or hold hands and feel tingly.

So, sap that I am, I joined match.com. For the first couple of weeks, I checked the pictures and profiles all the time, and I sent a few email notes to guys I thought might be nice to meet. But there never seemed to be a connection. One guy said he found it "sexy" when a woman makes the first move (which I had done). He thought I was appealing and attractive but he wasn't interested in me. Well, smoke another one, buddy. Who do you think YOU are? Prince Charming? I'm sexy, appealing and attractive but you're not interested? OK, I wish you luck in your search (that's the stock language on match.com).

Match.com offers automatically generated "top matches," "daily 5" and you can "wink" at other members to express your interest (instead of writing an email, but I prefer a man that can construct a complete sentence). After several winks from guys that were clearly not matches (I mean did they even read my profile at all?! I said I eat SALAD, not three cheeseburgers and a super size fry!), I'd had enough. It kills me when a match comes automatically with the automatically generated match information, "Like you, he's not a smoker," or "Both of you enjoy baseball."

It should say, "Like you and 40 million other people..."

Come ON! That's not a match. So I've given up. Now I use my match.com membership to make fun of people. Bad? I don't think so. Can you really blame me? (Correct answer: no.) I mean, when a guy picks a name like CecilDragon, SheGuns or ThisDogStillHunts for his username, what do you expect? He's asking for it. And you can count on me to dish it out. I'm not gonna sit home on a Friday night and pity myself for not having someone to hold hands with. I'll make fun of his ass all night.

SheGuns? What does that even mean? I was very clear in my profile that I'm interested in MEN, not burly women who look like Chyna! And for goodness sake, ThisDogStillHunts. Really? Not in these woods, buddy. Then you've got LeftWingLoon, LoudPipes, BigDaddySugar and MadeInJapan. I mean that is just too much information.

...and then there's Tedlicious...

I am SO done.

A Day at the Zoo

It's called the zoo for a reason.

The first thing I saw as Mac and I were parking the car in the Dolphin Lot at the Minnesota Zoo this morning was a woman wearing a short, see-through white skirt, pink thong underwear and brown, suede-ish, high-heeled boots. The good thing about this? I no longer feel like white trash. What EVER was I thinking wearing tennis shoes, jeans and a t-shirt?

There weren't many cars in the Dolphin Lot, but there were several school buses and hundreds, if not thousands, of school kids. I have a new found respect for elementary school teachers and parents who chaperon. I also have a new found respect for parents of 6-year-old boys who come ill-equipped with indoor voices.

Mac and I started our zoo visit outside looking at the monkeys. I think they were actually orangutans but any sort of monkey-looking animal was a monkey to us. Since Mac is only two, I figured there's no need to confuse him (and I didn't know the difference either). It was confusing enough for him when I said, "Let's wait our turn."

He loved the monkeys and even said, "Butt" when one climbed the tree near us. No confusion there.

Then we went inside the Tropical Trail, which must have needed to be a tropical temperature to keep the animals feeling like they were in their natural habitat. Holy hell, was it hot! And loud. But I seemed to be the only one sweating from every crevasse in my body. The heat (and noise) didn't bother the 6-year-old boy next to me at the lemur cage who kept screeching "LEMUR! LEMUR! LEMUR! LEMUR!"

Jeeze kid, I'm not deaf. Er...I wasn't three minutes ago. I might be now!

We also looked at the turtles, flamingos, fish and a couple other tropical animals before I could take the heat no longer and found our way out of Tropical Trail, seemingly against the natural traffic flow.

The breeze and temperature outside were perfect for a day at the zoo (if there is such a thing). We walked the path and saw ostrich, giraffes, wild boar, caribou, moose, horses, zebras, prairie dogs. Tons of animals that I'd never thought of seeing. It really was interesting. The wild boar smelled like shit. And I really was beginning to feel like we should head in the direction of the Dolphin Lot. After all we'd been there for almost two hours. That's quite a long time for a two-year-old and a sweating, hungry woman.

At our last stop along the path, we came upon a group of, I assume, first graders. I only assume this because we were looking at "BUFFALO! BUFFALO! BUFFALO! BUFFALO!"

Do all 6-year-olds shriek no matter what?

We continued to head toward the Dolphin Lot. I neglected to recognize on our way into the lot that there is sort of an upper and lower Dolphin Lot. I also forgot that there would be about SIX THOUSAND more cars in the Dolphin Lot than when we arrived (at the same time as white trash, pink thong mother and family).

We managed to find the car after meandering in both upper and lower lots. I got Mac strapped into his car seat, got the stroller folded down and put it in the back. I put the camera and diaper bag in the car and thought for just a second about taking a teeny weeny cat nap before the ride home. And at that very moment, I thanked God that I don't have any toddlers of my own, or any 6-year-old boys who are indoor-voice-challenged.

Honestly though, seeing Mac's big blue eyes close slowly on the ride home made the madness and profuse sweating all worth while. A sleeping baby is a precious baby -- until you need to wake him up for lunch.

Cruel World

I just looked in the mirror (no I'm not going anywhere, I just looked, OK?) and noticed my sort of less-than-gigantic earring was making my earlobe sag! What is UP with that!?!

Another joy of aging, no doubt.

I do feel it is necessary to point out that to date, I've been OK with the change in my eyesight, the need for cheater glasses (cuz let's face it ladies, some of those glasses are cuter than we are!), tweezing hairs from a mole or two and finding new age spots from time to time. I'm totally OK with wearing age-appropriate swimwear and foiling my hair to cover gray (I only have gray in a couple places, btw).

I've even gotten used to people thinking that I'm my ex-husband's wife's mother. I mean technically I could be. It's fine that people don't think I'm 38 anymore. I'm so OK with being my age that two weeks ago when someone said to me, "I assume you're over 40," I didn't snap back with, "and I assume you want a black eye."

Hot flashes? No problem. Excruciating pain in my shoulder? Ibuprofen is my friend! Weakening wrists? Love it! Aching hip? Bring it on baby!

But come on, as if it's not enough, for heaven's sake that I need to look in the mirror sideways to make sure my Full Coverage Body by Victoria is supporting properly before going out into public. Now you're also telling me being over 40 (44 but we don't need to get boring with all the gory details) means I can no longer wear cute earrings without first having to double check the sagability factor of my earlobes?

It truly is a cruel, cruel world.

A Slice of Heaven

It was just a 9-hole par 3 course, but oh what a challenge it was. You'll need to know right away that I have never been much of a golfer (and that is the understatement of the century but let's just go with it for now). I had clubs, but I had no idea why. My husband (we're not married anymore, which had nothing to do with my lack of golf prowess) must have bought them for me with hopes of me gaining interest in the game (or whatever you call it -- sport? I hardly think so).

My idea of a "good round of golf" is driving along in a golf cart with the walkers (I mean golfers) with their clubs and a cooler of beer. And by the way, when I'm driving you'll need to grab the club you need now and the club you'll need for your next shot because if I find a good spot to soak up some rays, you won't see me for a while. I've been known to miss a hole or so. But whatever. Get OVER it already and just use your 1 wood all the time like I do. I've found that it provides the best odds of connecting with the ball.

So anyway, we were golfing on this par 3, right? I can't remember for sure which hole it was on, but I hit the ball (which is a big deal in and of itself) and it sliced to the right. Not just a little slice. It was a humongous slice into the opposite lane thingy (apparently the lanes are called fairways or whatever).

"FORE!" That's what you holler when you want to give all the walkers (I mean golfers) a heads up to watch out for flying balls (sounds like a fun game, right?) Since I was a new "golfer," my husband cut me a little slack and let me hit another ball. And rightly so. I mean what's a golf ball cost anyway? Fifty cents? (Might I remind you that we aren't married anymore?)

Using my 1 wood (can't understand why it's called a "wood" when it's made out of some sort of silver-looking material) I made contact (another big deal) and the ball went left (also known apparently as a hook. Whatever, it went left, OK) into the other fairway. My husband said we should pick up the balls and keep going. I looked at him as if he had a 3rd arm sprouting and said, "Pick them up? They're golf balls! What'd' they cost like fifty cents a piece?! I'm not gonna go pick them up. Just gimme another one."

Speaking of 3rd arms sprouting. He probably could have used a 3rd arm because he carried his bag and my bag, and picked up a few of the foul balls too. Although my bag couldn't have been very heavy -- it only had a few essential clubs (i.e., putter, 1 wood and 5 iron, which I don't consider essential at all!), I'm sure it can't be fun to walk around with two cumbersome bags strapped to your shoulders. But I wouldn't know about that.

And then there was this little pond.

Once when we were there I managed to hit my ball riiiiiiight over it on the first try, which caused issues ever after. I didn't want to hit around the obstacle. I wanted to hit my ball over the obstacle. I mean, isn't my enjoyment worth at least six or seven golf balls? Hand 'em over.

My poor husband (have I mentioned that we're not married anymore?). Sometimes I feel sorry for men. But I will say this; he said that being married to me was like being in heaven. Isn't that sweet? (I'm probably paraphrasing. He might have said something more like he needs to get a new pastor because being married to me isn't what he was told heaven would be like. I just can't remember for sure.)

Anyhew to finish the story. It was a par-3, so before you know it, we were done. But the last hole had a really gigantic tree at the end that managed to catch my ball right between its roots, thereby rendering it hit-less. What? A ball of mine rendered hit-less? So I went to pick it up (all fifty cents worth!) and move it just a little or toss it into the fairway perhaps or somehow get it to a hittable position. When I bent down to grab the stupid ball, a bird shit right on the back of my hand!

That's gotta be a metaphor for something.

Happy Mothers' Day

I like the Arthur's Jewelers idea of Dad buying a strand of pearls for Mom and the child buying her a matching bracelet for a dollar!

But I wonder if I could modify the idea ever so slightly?

My suggestion for the happiest Mothers' Day in the history of mankind would be if I could, oh, let's just say pay my life insurance bill and my son could pay my credit card bill for a dollar. Or If I could pay my Excel bill (in its entirety, mind you) and my son could pay my car payment for a dollar.

Or best yet would be if I could pay my utility bill and my son could pay my monthly mortgage bill for a dollar (I mean really, do I have to pay this every month?).

Arthur's Jewelers, this would make me the happiest mom ever!

Signed,
An unemployed-in-debt-up-to-her-eyeballs-yet-still-Hopeful Mom

Blizzard Baseball: Orlando Memories

Traveling to Orlando with my son's baseball team was memorable for all of us: my son, his baseball buddies, his step mom Katie, the other parents and me.

Katie and I traveled together with my son, the rest of the team and another mom, Pam. The team always stays in hotel rooms together and parents stay wherever.

Being smart, economic travelers, Katie, Pam and I shared one room. To Katie and me our friendship has become normal and something we’re pretty proud of. We do lots of stuff together and some people even think we're mother/daughter (yes, I would be the mother of that mother/daughter team). And most of our friends think it's great. But apparently my son is not as comfortable with it as we assumed.

On the last night of the trip (which was very fun. We visited Cocoa Beach. Love saying that. Cocoa Beach), my son and his buddy, Jordan, needed to stay in our room because team funds didn't cover costs for the boys to stay in their own rooms that last night. We figured this was no big deal and we’d have plenty of space, including sleeping because we had a pull out couch in addition to two double beds. Not a lot of walking space after all our suitcases were strewn about, but who cares? We were only going to be in the room together for something like six hours. Notta biggie, we'll manage, it's cheap.

We didn't actually announce sleeping scenarios because I think we all assumed who would sleep where: Jordan and Pam (mother/son) would sleep in one double bed; I’d sleep in a bed with my own son; and Katie would sleep on the pull out couch. No problem. Perfectly logical. Nothing to fret about.

However, apparently we hadn't all assumed the same scenario. As we were getting situated on that last night, my son blurted out in a mild state of panic, “My mom and my step mom are NOT sleeping in the same bed!”

Wow. Poor kid. I wonder how long that had been weighing on his mind?

When to shower - not so obvious anymore!

I keep thinking I've learned something from my unemployment experience. And I have. Really I have learned some things. But the lesson that slips my mind now and then, ever since my Naked Interview, is that I need to shower right when I get up (or at least by 8 o'clock). It's 11:20 am and I haven't showered yet (What? I've been busy). But I can't shower now, lest my phone should ring and I'd need to jump out and do another interview in the nude.

I am expecting a call "early this week." And since my luck usually kicks in at the least opportune times, "early this week" no doubt means the minute I step foot in the shower! Regardless of whether I stop typing right this second and jump in the shower, or if I wait until I've finished this to my liking and then jump in the shower, I'm positive either option will yield a call within seconds of dousing my hair with Pure Abundance by Aveda.

What other options do I have? My irrational self wants to give it a go and jump in the shower quick like. But my rational self says that's not a good idea -- another Naked blog post won't cut it.

Rational self wins. I'll have lunch.
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Had lunch, watered the plants, hemmed a pair of pants AND showered (it's afternoon by now). No call.

Then my friend Deb called. We were having a nice conversation about this 'n that and we need to get together soon because we haven't seen each other in forever. The other line beeped in and who do you suppose it was? You guessed it! I had to cut Deb off mid-sentence to take the call that would have been so much more convenient to take ANYTIME between like 1 and 6 hours ago!

But whatever. Pleasantries ensue and as a result I have an interview set up for later in the week.

I can now leave the house without worry of missing an important call. No, I don't consider Mortgage Elite an important call (so if you're reading this, STOP CALLING!).

You know you spend too much time at your ex-husband's house when. . .

. . . you log onto facebook and YOUR username pops up on the landing page of their computer.

. . . the neighbors think YOU'RE the grandma!

. . . you know exactly where to find the Diet Coke and could likely do so with your eyes shut.

. . . you get slightly annoyed when your son has moved his car out of the driveway into "your" parking spot so he can shoot baskets.

. . . and the number 1 reason you know you've spent too much time at your ex-husband's house is. . . When you say, "I just thought of a good idea, " his wife says, "What? You're moving in?"

I Regret To Inform You

Oh, I see. Oh, yes, yes, I understand. You can't hire me for this position. I understand. Thank you so much for letting me know. I certainly do appreciate your time. Have a great afternoon.

No I do effing NOT understand. But what difference does it make? The decision has been made. If you are going to tell me that I'm not hired, at least don't give me the BS about "We have reviewed your resume and have carefully considered your qualifications. While your skills are certainly impressive, we have decided to pursue other candidates for the position."

Or, "While we are not currently hiring we would like to keep your resume on file, as any moment we could get insanely busy and need help"

Or, "I have the difficult job of informing you that we are not able to bring you on board [XYZ company] at this time."

Or, " We have decided to move in a different direction with this role. I appreciate your time to respond to my initial request and wish you the best in your search. "

Or, "Like many others in this economy I have imposed a hiring freeze until things brighten up a bit."

Or, "After carefully reviewing the qualifications and background of the candidate pool for this position, we regret to inform you that we are unable to offer you a position at this time."

Blah, blah, blah! The form letters don't cut it for me. I really want to know what it was specifically that took me out of the running for the position. Was I under qualified? Was I over qualified? Do I need more than six professional references and three letters of recommendation? Did you not like it that I dropped off my resume in person to set myself apart from the crowd? Cuz if that's the case, the expert on Today needs to rethink her advice. SHE recommended doing that.

Was my handshake too firm? Was my eye contact too direct? Did I ask the wrong questions? Did you completely and totally HATE my interview suit? What was it? Puh-leeze! Just tell me. I'll work on it. Did I forget to mention that I'll come in early? I'll stay late, take a class, attend a seminar. Whatever it takes, I'll do it.

Am I too much of a sarcastic bee-otch?

Uh I regret to inform you that YOU'LL need to get over THAT one. And I wish you the best of luck in doing so.

Don't Should on Me

I'd heard Target had a better deal on ink cartridges for my printer than Office Max so that's where I decided to buy. Even though convenience is usually everything to me, and Office Max is closer to my house, every once in a while (every once in a great while, that is) I make choices based on rational thought and what is best for my budget.

Given that I'm unemployed and have been since last May (thank you, Mike), I went the bargain route and shopped for my ink cartridge at Target. But on the shelf clearly labeled for the Cannon 40 PG-40 black ink cartridges was some other kind. I can read. I saw right away that it was the wrong kind. I thought, however, that maybe there were some Cannon 40 PG-40 black ink cartridges in the "back" or something like that. So I picked up the Guest phone and waited for the next available Guest service person to meet me at my location (like what am I on a GPS system somewhere or something?).

Anyway someone came and cleared the request. I asked if there were any Cannon 40 PG-40 black ink cartridges in the back. We went to the aisle where I'd already searched and looked at the shelf that was clearly labeled for the Cannon 40 PG-40 black ink cartridges. The Guest service person bent down and touched the spot where the Cannon 40 PG-40 black ink cartridges were not. And she said, "They should be right here."

Do I look like a moron? I mean c'mon just tell me. Do I? Like I said, I can read and I know that's where they should be. But that happens to be where they are not. Help me out here. She does manage to offer up that the delivery will be coming on Monday (today is Sunday) so I'll just come back tomorrow. No problem. And I thanked her.

On Monday I went to the same place where the Guest service person and I stood on Sunday. You know? Where the Cannon 40 PG-40 black ink cartridges should be? They weren't there again (and no one had bothered to move the wrong ones to make room for the delivery either). So I phoned another Guest service person to meet me at my location. Turns out the delivery is on Thursday, not Monday. Come ON people! I've got resumes to print! WTF!

Believe it or not I went back on Thursday. Sometimes I do have patience. Guess what? No Cannon 40 PG-40 black ink cartridges.

OMG! I'm going to Office Max.

Yep, Thought of That!

Everyone thinks they’ve got a totally unique and awesome new idea for my job search. Have you tried this or have you tried that? What about this or what about that? Let me assure you, I’ve more than thought about it. I’ve applied for it. Contrary to popular belief I am thinking outside the box. I’ve applied to Macy’s and Nordstrom over the holidays, ad agencies, financial (blech) companies and insurance companies (blech, blech), environmental agencies, non-profits, fitness centers, retail giants, colleges, architecture and engineering firms, “company confidential,” and I’m on file with no less than seven staffing agencies plus a couple independents. I filled in as a receptionist for a day at a friend’s company. I’ve accepted cash for babysitting!! Now how's THAT for humiliating?!

And the types of jobs I’m applying for? Project/account manager, marketing fulfillment project manager, creative service specialist, executive assistant, director project management office, senior project manager, executive administrative assistant, brand manager, customer brand marketing manager, assistant brand manager, brand specialist, retail sales, marketing coordinator, project administrator, creative PM, creative services manager, channel marketing coordinator, product manager, specialist II marketing communications, editorial director. Not even kidding, the list goes on and on.

A friend of mine said, “What about retail management?”

What about it? Of course I’ve thought about it. But what makes you think out of all the 250 other applicants that I, the one with no retail management experience, would be the one to get hired. Zero retail management experience. Totally stupid idea. But thanks for playing.

Have I thought about applying at Target (or Cub)? Yes. And I know I’d be better than the young, brain dead (or old brain dead) cashiers that currently work there. “Did you find everything OK?” She asks.

“No, I couldn’t find the Dixie cup refills.”

Without any regard for what I had just said, she continues to ring me up. NO. I said I did NOT find what I was LOOKING for. But whatever. I scan my credit card and leave, knowing full well that I’d be a much better cashier and I’d provide much better customer service than Miss Teen-Something-Or-Other. Plus I have previous experience.

I remember years ago working in a mall at a women’s clothing store. It gave me more satisfaction to provide directions to the restroom than it did to sell an outfit and multiple accessories to someone. When you provide directions to the restroom, you’re really and truly helping someone out – you’re providing customer service. When you sell multiple items to someone, you’re helping yourself out by increasing your commission.

Cashier positions (at least at Caribou) pay $7.50 to $8.50 an hour. Really? Yes, really. I know because I’ve applied to Caribou and I asked what the salary was. Who can live on $8.50 an hour? At 40 hours a week, that’s only about $1360 a month – little more than a rental payment. I mean you probably get free mochas, but still.

Thank you, thank you my friends for your suggestions. I really do appreciate them (really I do). But please know that as I sit on my ass all day collecting my unemployment, I am thinking outside the box.

Deliver Me From Ice Cream

Dear God,

Please don't let me eat any ice cream until after Kim's wedding. I promise to behave at least until then and longer if at all possible. But you know how hard that is for me. So please forgive me in advance. You rock!

Captain Obvious

Ya know I just gotta think things will turn around soon. My guardian angel will come back from break and my job situation will change for the better. Soon and very soon I will be gainfully employed. Until then, however, I'll be attending a weekly job transition group where I will meet other women in similar situations. We can support each other and share stories and network. But let me tell you if it turns into a sappy therapy-fest, I'll be out of there faster than you can say, "pass the Kleenex."

Support can be good. It's slightly more helpful than when my dad says, "You need to find a job."

Well thank you Captain Obvious! Do I? Do I really need to find a job? Do I have a mortgage? Am I the only one who pays my bills? Is a job what I need to find? Thanks for bringing that to my attention.

As if I haven't been looking every day for almost 365 days straight. As if I don't have a spreadsheet full of companies I've applied to. As if I don't have a file folder full of job descriptions, interview tips and networking paraphernalia. Every single freakin' time I attend a networking meeting, I come home with another stack of bullshit to file. I don't think it's a job I need. I think it's another stack of bullshit!

Thank you Dad, I appreciate the reminder. And I know you have my best interest at heart. I just hope these weekly networking meetings prove to be a little more helpful.

Heaven knows there's no way they could be less helpful.

Compassion

Really, I am a compassionate person.

But I'm also unemployed at the moment. And struggling to pay my bills. If one more debt consolidation company calls me on the phone or solicits me via junk mail, or if one more non-profit calls me for a donation, I swear I'm gonna blow! And no one will get any of the money I owe or can potentially afford to donate.

Will that make you happy? Well, will it?

I got a call today to donate in support of finding a cure for Children's cancer. Honest to God, I wish there were no cancer for children or for anyone. But I am not kidding when I say I'm charging my groceries on a credit card -- not a debit card -- a credit card. I'm charging my gas and I'm charging anything that's not a monthly bill on a credit card.

Earlier today I got a call from a contractor who wanted to give me an estimate for storm damage (did we recently have a storm that I slept through?) And just now I got an email notification from the Lupus Foundation stating that it especially needs clothing. I happen to have lost weight in the past three months -- I especially need clothing that fits for job interviews.

I wish there were no such thing as deadly diseases, and I wish no one was in desperate need of clothing or food or shelter. I wish no one suffered from physical or emotional abuse. And honest to God, I wish the United States were not in the horrible predicament and financial turmoil that it is currently in. But I cannot, can absolutely not take another solicitation from anyone, any organization, any corporate entity that asks me to help. I am strapped.

Physically, financially, emotionally. I'm strapped. I'm living on a credit card, using unemployment and my tax refund (thank you God) to pay my bills and mustering all the emotional energy I have to apply for any job that represents some sort of hope. Yes, I have a home. No I am not living on the street. But I do not have extra money at the moment. When I do have money (and I've completely forgotten what that feels like), I tithe and I give to charities. I'm a compassionate person.

I seem to be on everyone's call list. Like where the hell did these people get my number? And who said it's OK to solicit me? Isn't there a 'please do not call list' for the unemployed? While I'm receiving unemployment benefits, can't I be on a 'do not call list for the fragile?' I am more than happy to share when I have money. But please, please, until I find a job will you please not solicit me?

That's all I ask.

A Promise Note

Dear Paula,

You have been a trooper throughout the past two-an-a-half years of layoffs and job rejections. You deserve a break. Great things will come your way.

That is why I promise to buy you all new matching Tupperware when you land that awesome position that you so aptly deserve.

Gladware, be gone!!

Unemployment Therapy

Having pounded the pavement for nearly 12 months with few prospects in sight, I've found it entertaining and almost therapeutic to critique websites, job postings and job boards. For example, here is one bullet point from a Product Manager job description:

Support efforts of cross-functional teams to achieve project objectives on time and within budget, including: Deposit Product team, Information Technology, Operations, Legal, Marketing, and other groups as needed.

As needed? Really? So let's say I apply for this job and, in the unlikely event that I actually get called in for an interview, I'm going to lose out on the job because I say something like this, "I've successfully supported the efforts of cross-functional teams to achieve project objectives on time and within budget, including product teams, information technology teams, operations, legal, marketing and other groups. And please note that I only support efforts of other groups when it is not needed."

"Will you be calling me back for a second interview?"

Calcium

My hip feels better. Must be the milk I drank at lunch yesterday.

The Naked Interview

So I'm looking for a job, right? And I haven't had much luck. I will even go so far as to say my search has become desperate these past few weeks. I'm applying for this job and that job. I'm over qualified. I'm under qualified. I'm even applying for jobs that I don't want!

In addition to applying online and wondering who grabs the resumes out of cyberspace (if they ever make it out of cyberspace at all), I've also started dropping off resume packets in person in an effort to set myself apart from the droves of other unemployed lame ducks out there. I am following up with contacts time and again, especially for the jobs I want.

Following is an example of my desperation:

After two unreturned phone calls and one returned phone call to the wrong HR contact, I was finally given the name and direct phone number of the recruiter for this really cool position that I really, really want. Jackpot.

So I called her, right? Got her voicemail, which I fully expected so I was prepared with an awesomely clever voicemail message. She returned my call! Unfortunately, I was out for a walk (knew I never should have started this exercising shit). But anyway, I called her back pronto.

Got her voicemail. Seriously? Hadn't she been waiting for my return call? But I managed to pull another fab voicemail message out of my ass. Love being clever! And waited for her to call me back. After about 20 minutes I decided to jump in the tub. I brought the phone in the bathroom with me so in the unlikely event that she'd call right at the same time I was bathing, I could hear it ring. I didn't think she'd call though because my phone usually never rings unless I'm drying my hair. And then it's just imaginary rings.

Sure enough, I had no more than gotten into the tub and laid back to get my hair wet when the phone rang. Again I say to you, seriously? I jumped out of the tub, checked caller ID and of course it was her, so I grabbed a towel and stepped out of the bathroom before I said hello (bathrooms seem to be echoey). She asked me if this was a good time to talk.

Of course I said yes, given our recent game of phone tag. But what I didn't realize was she had planned a complete phone screening interview when I had merely planned to confirm receipt of my resume and possible next steps. My conversation would have likely lasted two minutes. Her conversation lasted 15 minutes. The good news is I feel like I aced the interview.

In my past experiences, being naked has never brought me luck necessarily. However, I feel like this instance may have been different. I do expect a call back. When she calls, my plan is first to confirm on caller ID then strip down to full nakedness and grab a towel.

"Yes, yes Emily, this is a good time to talk!"

Note to self

Never post a blog after 11pm or when the wine bottle is half empty, which is often one in the same.