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.