Cart… Horse
I was recently in Washington D.C. to look at a few apartments. I have decided, come hell or high water, that I am moving to D.C. as soon as I possibly can. The only problem is that when I decided this I also thought I would have a job by now. If you are new to the ’sure bout that’ community (we’re a community the way that a family of four is a city) than let me get you caught up. Dan and I are unemployed, this is a recurring theme. But, I have told myself that if I move to D.C. first, it will be easier to find a job. Here is my reasoning: 1) if I am living in D.C., as opposed to my parents house, I will have to spend what little savings I have in order to survive until I find a job and 2) seeing people go to work everyday all around me will motivate me to really pound the pavement and get out as many resumes as possible.
So, on Wednesday evening I signed the lease to a 2 bedroom apartment with a former co-worker from my internship last summer. I’m taking the plunge and hoping I can find a job like, nowish, so I can actually afford to live in the extremely expensive city that is Washington D.C.
I may find myself waiting tables in the mean time…
Do Work, Son
One of the things that Dan and I think could end up making this blog interesting is our chosen career paths. As you can see from Dan’s last post, he’s trying to get into that whole journalism thing, the kid can write so I guess it works for him. My direction is politics (I know, I’m the spawn of the devil for wanting to be anywhere near politics). The media and politicians have a pretty tenuous relationship, so it could be cool.
The main problem here is that neither one of us actually has a job.
I guess we’re on the right track though. Dan’s got his internship goin on and I just had a pretty promising interview. This is right back in the vein of stuff that pretty much everyone has to do, but I think it’s blogworthy.
I had my first real interview a couple of days ago. Everyone has those interviews they have to sit through when they go to work at drivethrough X, or retailer Y, or that time they were in a porno, but you pretty much know you’re gonna get the job. This was a lot more stressful than I remember any of those being (except maybe the porno). So I drove down to Washington D.C to interview with an organization that will remain nameless and interviewed for over 2 hours. 2 hours of questions, comments and hypothetical situations. It all went well though, I think I made a good impression on everyone I talked to. By far, the toughest part was my last interviewer. I was supposed to meet with the Executive VP of the company, which I was pretty stressed about already… I mean, the guy is number 2 in charge of the whole joint. Apparently, the fates conspired against me and he was called out, so instead I got to meet with the President, CEO, and founder of the organization…”Jesus”.
Ok… from that sentence it looks like I met with Jesus. I did not meet with the proported son of God, rather, I exclaimed “Jesus.”
The guy asked the kinds of questions you would expect from the President of a multi-million dollar organization. It was rough, but I think I did ok. Once I was done they told me they’d be interviewing one more person next week and that I should know if I got the job shortly after that.
In the famous words of Homer Simpson, “The waiting game sucks. Let’s play Hungry Hungry Hippos.”
Gr-Gr-Gr-Grandma!
I learned a lot about my Grandma today.
We played cards together and she was livid that the hand she held had eight cards to my two. She was even on the verge of cussing. I have never heard this wrinkled lady say anything dirtier than “Holy Moses” or “Awww Shucks.” She has fallen down steps, burnt dinner, and struggles to get up from a chair. Yet, the one thing that makes her audibly more mad than anything is a card game. She picked up a card and after surveying the play area she lets out a repressed, “DAMNIT.”
My gramsters was starring at the TV while a soccer (football) game was going on. The Euro Cup to be specific. And she’s all like, “Are those boys playing volleyball?”
No Grandma. Those boys are playing the opposite of volleyball.
She transfers milk from the carton to a smaller glass to make room for her stockade of Jell-O molds. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her make any, and I know I stopped eating them long ago so I can only imagine what use those are put to. 80% of sewer Jell-O is from my grandmother.
Today we ate some home made wedding soup together and she insisted that I eat with the smaller spoon. I don’t know where in her upbringing she was taught that using the small spoon is a privilege for the guest, but I felt flattered. Perhaps she can still manage to teach me things from the “old world” that I can apply to my current gen.
She just called my laptop a “lap computer.”
In the swirl of Mr. Magooness and old timers naivety she can provide some odd insight that turns my young brain on its side. As I was leaving her home to go play some cards with the gang she asked me, “What did you mother ever see in your father?” I looked at her in disbelief. Did she really ask me such an oddly personal question?
She may struggle to get around the house but she reeks of honesty. She tells me how fat my dad is getting, how it’s terrible to get old and that I should never attempt it. She isn’t afraid to talk of her death, and sometimes she is almost too accepting of it. As old as she is, she actively ignores the lady up the street who calls four times a day to talk to her. She’s a Grandma and here she is ignoring people! I would have never thought that was possible.
So now I wonder. Am I going to be a replica of her one day? Where I have no idea what sport those crazy kids are playing? Will I try to give my grandthing more mashed potatoes because when I was their age I wanted more mashed potatoes? I can see myself sitting across the room from my grandchildren with their super holographic/brain contraptions wondering what the hell is happening, and when I’m going to die. Holla!