Esteem

How much rejection can one person take? It's just so much.

Of course, in an economy like this, getting laid off from one's job is nothing personal. But it's hard to not take it that way.

And every little rejection, every non-answer to a job application, every time you feel like an offer of assistance is fruitless ... it just adds up to rejection. To feelings of rejection, anyhow. And it's hard to not take it personally.

Your friends who have been there will tell you not to take it personally. Your former co-workers will remind you of what a hard worker you are. If they are still at the company, they will tell you how much things stink without you. Everyone will tell you that it's not you - it's the company/economy/etc ...

Sound familiar? "It's not you ... it's me".

I'm coming to the anniversary of an "It's not you ... it's me" conversation. And I'm unemployed due to an "It's not you ... it's the business" conversation. And, in my head I know that both those things are true. I know that the relationship wouldn't have worked out well (and A sent me a link to a horoscope site that basically said it was doomed from the start). Doesn't mean the "it's not you ... it's me" conversation didn't send me into a tail spin for a very long time. As for the job ... things were tumultuous right before I was laid off (one of the owners was very verbally abusive to me and to most of the rest of the staff) and I had been putting feelers out for something better, but I was still taken completely by surprise when the "it's not you ..." conversation happened. Even if I know I will, eventually, find something better.

At times like this, the unemployed gal just wants a little ego boost. A little pick me up. Something/someone to make her feel like there's a reason to get out of bed in the morning. There are a ton of blogs out there about being single in NYC. There are a ton of blogs out there about being unemployed right now. I'm not trying to combine the two - but they're both facts of my life ... and it'll come up from time to time.

Thanks for reading/following ... it takes a little bit of the sting out of the daily rejection ...

Check It

Look at me

Guest Blogger; Part Four

Matt's just sent me an update on his job hunt:

Has my dignity bottomed out? Not just yet. Check this:

(This is from that lame site called oDesk that demanded I pass a skills test before I be allowed to apply for anything.)

"Our company is looking for people over 18
years old to write reviews for some of the webs
most popular dating and (adult websites).

As a writer for us you will be given free, unlimited
access to several websites. You
will be required to visit each site and write reviews
based on quality of content and other
criteria specific to each project.

Compensation varies per project.

If you are interested in this opportunity please
email us.."

I really doubt that the reviews will really be of "dating" sites, so much as they'll be of that particular brand of classy portal specializing in such erudite subjects as midgets, fisting, and barnyard "friendships." Or perhaps combinations of the three. I'll pass.

And, I really hate when people screw up the use of apostrophes, i.e.: "some of the webs most popular" Come on people, is it really that difficult to differentiate between the plural and the possessive? That's what, 8th grade English class? Or, perhaps they've been so busy perusing the web's most popular adult sites that the blindness that afflicts those who engage in the activity accompanying the frequenting of those sites has already begun to set in. That was a really wordy way to say they've gone blind from spanking it too much, just like my said would happen.

Longing

OK. Here's the thing. I want things. I really want things. I am a girl who likes to shop. I am a girl who loves clothes. And fashion. And most of all ... oh my goodness ... shoes! I have always loved shoes. There is no telling when it began. My mother, who does not love shoes in the way that I love shoes (and barely comprehends it), is pretty sure I came out of the womb that way. I definitely recall absolutely needing a pair of blue ankle strap clogs in 1980. I was in first grade. They were beautiful (Thank you, Nana).

So, with unemployment on me ... and trying to be so good with my money - eating out less, if at all. Going to bars almost never. Graciously accepting drinks from employed friends. Cooking. And, most importantly, refraining from shopping. And I have been so very good. I have skipped sample sales. I have not bought new jeans (though loads of my friends say I should ask the ex for his fancy discount to get a new pair). I didn't buy new rain boots, though mine are too big and I trip over my own two feet if I walk too far in them. I let winter arrive without new sweaters.

But another season is upon us. And I am in need of summer clothes. I promise you, this is not just an itch that needs scratching. This is for real. I need sandals. I will not lie. I am not a huge fan of sandals, but ... sometimes ... they are necessary. In the summer time ... the go with jeans and short shorts (I have plenty of those!) and sundresses and maxi dresses ... A good neutral sandal can go a long way. And I need a pair.

Those of you who know me may say, "Come now, MatchGirl. You have plenty of shoes. How can you possibly need sandals?!"

OK. I hear you. I see where you're coming from. I do have loads and loads of shoes. Some that I barely wear. But, I am not saying I need boots or sneakers or ballet flats or espadrilles or towering heels. I have those things. Sure, I find ones that I like. I see ones that I may want. But need? No. But I do need sandals. (Or, I will when the cold, wet, grey weather goes away).

I found a pair that I really like at Hayden-Harnett. (Where there is another pair of amazing wedges that I do not need, but might be lusting after). Here's the thing - they may be a little pricey. But they are a local business, based out of Greenpoint, Brooklyn. I like to be a localvore. In this economy, it's more and more important to me. Sorry. A tangent, I know.

HH is having a sample sale right now - I avoided it, and after reading the reviews on Racked, I'm glad that I did. But the Racked review also had a link to an online sample sale where, it just so happens, there are a handful of shoes - in sample sizes - on there. And there are these amazing sandals. I love them. I think they will go with everything. They're a final sale, so I'm not sure if I should order them. But ... local gal that I am ... I'm thinking of going over the the shop (blocks away) and seeing if a 5 will work out. The comments on the site say that they run big, and I'm a 5 1/2, so ... it's worth a shot.

Um ... if anyone wants to talk me out of it ... do it soon!!!

Business Plan?

Today, my friends, was a productive day. A good day. I feel a little sleepy from just one too many shots at the Rabbit last night - and the fact that it has been grey and rainy (and cold! Isn't it March that's supposed to come in like a lion, not April?) all day has not made my mind wake up. But my meeting with A certainly did.

We are crafty gals, A and I. We have been throwing around the idea, for a while now, of doing something together. We have a similar aesthetic. We like the same things. While we are different, stylistically, I think we're pretty much on the same page. And we were both laid off from the same company within a couple of months of each other (they kept her on through Fashion Week and then wanted her to stay, but not to pay her ...). So, we're going into business. Woo-hoo.

Not anything brick and mortar. Not anything that requires too much of an initial investment. But something that will give us purpose. And maybe a little extra cash ...

And, when you're an unemployed gal, with the economy what it is ... anything that can bring in a little extra cash is not so bad ...

Guest Blogger; Part Three

More stories from Matt's second day of Jury Duty (by the way - last time I served Jury Duty, in downtown Brooklyn - I was there till 4 in the afternoon, read 1920s pulp novels, listened to my ipod and only got called up when it was time to get the letter telling me I didn't need to come back the next day - or again for a few years - Just another reason Brooklyn ROCKS!).

I wish I had something interesting or useful to add. Some excitements from my day of unemployment. But, to be fair, I've done laundry and spent an hour trying to clean a nasty stain off of the living room wall ... that's not really anything too exciting to write about.

I digress. Another day of Jury Duty by Matt below:

Woo Hoo, Day number 2 of Jury duty. It’s actually not yet through–I still have 15 minutes left in my lunch break. What occurred yesterday, was essentially, well, nothing. But, it did require me being at 111 Centre Street at 8:45, which did drastically screw with my sleep schedule.

We–those of us not smart enough to get out Jury duty–then milled around the hallway like a flock missing its shepherd for the better part of an hour, when we were led into a large room that at least had seats. It was here that a very entertaining court officer workshopped some of his stand up while he gave us instructions to make it through our day. Surprisingly, all of the officers here have been really helpful and nice. While the wait has been very DMV, the service has been very Jamba Juice. After being given almost 2 hours for lunch and back in the comfy seat room, Jokey McClerk began to call the names of prospective jurors for the trials on the docket. By 3:30, my name is finally called. A group of us, at least 50, were herded across the street to a different building, led up to an identical hallway >where we were instructed to wait until we were called. Again, we did our best confused livestock impression. Finally at 4pm we were led into the courtroom–oh the excitement, if only I’d been allowed to twitter my glee. At last! We were about do something, anything, just please make the boredom stop. I’d listened to all of my podcasts, created imaginary histories for everyone around me, read several short stories, knitted a scarf, and mentally rearranged the alphabet, I needed something–I’m no Buddhist monk. But wait, the judge, who again seemed very personable, asked if anyone here had any reasons why they couldn’t serve. The one or two hands that first, sheepishly went up, quickly turned into a line of at least 20 smiling people, each of whom needed a private consultation with the Judge. For Chrissakes, can we please get this show on the road! By the time Judge Wapner finished playing duck duck goose with schmucks doing their best to beat the system, it was 5:15, and with that they sent us home. That’s 8 and one half hours of my life I will never, ever see again. I returned today, not at 8:30, not even 9:30, but at 11:45–maybe the judge had a hangover. Again we all did the uncomfortable hallway dance until 1, whereupon after settling into the comfortable vinyl of the courtroom, we were informed there wasn’t going to be a trial (I knew that bastard was guilty). And guess what, it was time for lunch! Another hour devoured by senseless bureaucracy. Now, once again, I am back amid the vinyl and failure that has come to represent my judicial incarceration. And, the judge, or clerk, or goblin or whoever will amble out of that back room is already 15 minutes late. I think I know why everyone who works here is so nice and preoccupied with lunch breaks … they’re all stoned. These people need to switch to uppers. One thing about meth-heads, they are punctual. The wannabe standup comedian/clerk just came back and actually said: “We do have some things kicking around, and we might need some people.” Really? Yesterday, we were lauded as the backbone of our judicial system, and today were cleaning up leftovers. There’s a metaphor hidden in all of this, I’m sure of it.

I didn’t actual intend for this to be a screed against our inefficient jury system. I wanted to tell everyone about my lunch. It was free! That’s cool, right? Well, let’s review. For those of you unaware, the court house(s) are very close to Chinatown. In fact, The marble and granite of our City’s political center is only a couple of block s from the neon and red shopping bags of Canal Street. So, for lunch, I went into a very authentic looking little Dim Sum place, to have some spring rolls, and some shrimp dumplings. I was reading a magazine while eating, and so not really paying attention. As I was reading along, contentedly pondering weather or not to eat that last dumpling, something skittered across my peripheral vision. Yep, NYC’s little friend, who along with rats and pigeons have come to define this magnificent little town of ours. I know roaches exist; I am not naïve. I would just prefer not to share my place settings with them. The worst thing was that after being forced to pantomime “roach,” –English, along hygiene, I would quickly learn, not being this establishment’s strongest suit,–I was forced to produce the roach so the owner could believe my story. Luckily, or perhaps not at all luckily, all I had to do was move one the dishes of mystery sauce to send the little dude scurrying. So, I got a free lunch. And, perhaps, e Coli.

Back to the glacial pace of my day in court: It’s 3:15, now a full hour after our return and, still, nothing. 12 Angry Men was a lie. Perry Mason, Matlock, and Jack McCoy were all douchebags. Maybe OJ was innocent.

It’s 3:30, and they just sent us home. Our government at work!

Guest Blogger; Part Two

Matt's back, boys and girls ... and, unlike me who spent the afternoon running errands in the windy weather and topping it all off with my first attempt at making rice pudding (weird craving, don't ask) ... Matt has been out there making a difference, serving society.

Yes, my friends, our friend Matt has been serving Jury Duty!
Check it out:

Big news! For at least the next two days, and perhaps until next Monday, I’m gainfully employed as a professional justice meter-outer–that’s right, I’ve got Jury Duty! At least I’m getting the $40 a day (I wonder if they tax that?) which I should receive in the next 4-6 years. Let me tell you, boys and girls, it was trip–a true cross section of humanity. Because I live on the LES, this crowd was exclusively from Manhattan Island and some little sliver of the Bronx, and STILL, the insanity runneth over. I could only imagine doing it in Kings County, because I’m sure the selection would be so much more than just Williamsburg hipsters and Park Slope carriage-pushers–it would be an open casting call for all of the borough’s best stereotypes. And I bet the cases would be more interesting, as well. Instead of the plain-jane armed robbery I may end up sitting on, let’s imagine the perfect Brooklyn case: Paulie smacks his neighbor Patsy with an aged salami because Patsy wouldn’t move his Deville out of Paulie’s spot. I’d want to be there just for the pinky rings, but, I digress, and, besides, stereotypes are mean and make the baby Jesus cry. Unfortunately, this sort of puts the job search on a mini-hold; I can’t very well respond to an interview request with: “in 3-7 days, I may be able to come in.” Or, can I? I guess people would understand, eh screw it what’s the worst that could happen? Alright, that decides it, I’m back on my horse, and I’ll continue to scour the interweb; thanks for all of your help with that.

Which brings me to my second point and first gripe. I ran across a posting somewhere, I don’t remember exactly where, but it was one of the usual suspects. I clicked on a link to see more about the position, and it redirected me to a recruitment site called oDesk. The first problem, well, perhaps not problem, but annoyance, I encountered, was it forced me to fill out one of those ridiculously long profiles, that is basically just a longer format of my resume. I hate this. I have worked to whittle my resume down to a pithy selection of pertinent facts. The cover letter and interview (hopefully) are where I can dazzle them with my intellect and staggering knowledge of Friends trivia. But, still, I soldiered on. Then comes the kicker. Before I am “allowed” to apply for one of their mystical jobs, I have to take some sort of online test AND I have to score at least a 90. I’m not concerned about having the skills to get through it, but, and here’s the thing, I’m a writer, and an advertising copywriter at that. What sort of a generic skills test can you possibly give that would even begin to quantify what’s in my portfolio, or reflects my breadth of experience. That question was rhetorical, by the way. Needless to say, I haven’t taken the test yet, but haven’t seen any postings that make my bow tie spin around like Stan Laurel (was that an arcane enough reference?). Anyway, because I am a hack and whore, I will undoubtedly end up caving and taking the damn test, but, for a few days at least, I will remain a man of dignity and standards… a man making $40 a day with the rest of the citizenry too dumb or lazy to weasel out of jury duty.