You know World of Warcraft? (Yeah, I don’t either. I've heard about it, but I really have no idea what it is...) Well, if you don't know about WoW, I'm almost sure you probably don't know about the WoWC!
WoWC is the World of Wild Crafters. I know, you're thinking, how crazy could crafters be? Other than the occasional hot glue gun accident or needle incident, there can't be too much to it, right? WRONG!!! The crafting world is filled with enough characters to write a spinoff of Harry Potter or Melrose Place (the original one).
You've got your scrappbookers (they're a bunch of cutters), your cake and candy makers (they're usually my favorite because I never turn down food), floral arrangement ladies (I'm pretty sure they're all born in the spring and named April), wood workers (their slogan is "We do it against the grain"), painters and photographers (that's like a Hatfield and McCoy feud. And the framers are stuck in the middle).
There's the jewelry makers (who are easily distracted by all their shiny things) and the needle point girls (don't piss them off unless you want a needle to the eye). And don't forget the quilters out there. (They are usually found in gangs they like to call guilds and they're like the Masons of Crafting. Once you've made a rambling rose quilt with appliqué you reach the 33rd Degree and get a special ring.)
And then you have the knitters and crotcheter. They're a tough crowd. And you're usually one or the other. No bi-craftials allowed! (I don't consider myself bi-craftial. Instead, I consider myself an ambassador between the two sides since I do both.) I know, I know. You're thinking "Betty, I think you've finally cracked." But honestly, this is serious business!
You see, being a military spouse means you move around a lot just like your servicemember. It's usually really hard to keep bouncing from job to job. Not to mention the cost of day care is pretty much absurd. So many wives find ways to keep themselves busy, and market their hobby as a means of extra income. Shit, I'd do the same damn thing if I could. I totally want to make money off of what I love to do, and was going to do anyway! (Isn't there a saying about if you're doing what you love then it's not really called work?)
Well, in the WoWC on a military base, you end up having many people that do very similar things. It's inevitable. It's not like there's one knitter or only one baker in the world. I mean, we do live in America. In case you didn't get the news flash, we support capitalism here (unless you're busy occupying Wall Street).
Turns out, when there's a little competition, some just can't handle it. It's gotten so serious lately, people are starting to de-friend others! I mean wow! This is EXTREME!!!! Whoever said crafters are a bunch of boring old ladies has no idea what they're talking about. This shit is the makings of the next hit reality show!
And apparently the wives are involving the husbands as well. When I told Stoofy about this, he scoffed.
S: "You women find the most ridiculous things to bitch about. You wanna know what those guys are saying? 'Dude, did your wife bitch at you when you got home? Yeah. Me too. Over crocheting? Yeah! FUCKING IDIOTS!'"
When I explained this is serious business and there's now competition, he replied:
S: "Everybody's got somebody else! McDonald's has Burger King. PF Changs has Panda Express. Everyone has competition. Get over it!" (This is where I realized we’re both fat kids because we’re using food chains as an analogy.)
Me? Well everyone's got a blog in this world. I just have to figure out what my gimmick is to keep hooking readers. (Hahaha! I said hooking! I'm now a pimp! You’re all my bitches!) Maybe if I can't hack it as a blogger I'll keep working on the script for my new pilot show Crochet Drama: Secrets of the WoWC. Maybe Snooki would be available for the lead role?
About Me
- Betty Bakedgood
- I'm a working single mom who loves to write in my spare time... so bare with me when there's a lull in the blogging. It means I'm out enjoying my daughter, Elly's, crazy antics!
Showing posts with label Job. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Job. Show all posts
Monday, November 7, 2011
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Nightmares of the Working Mom
I feel like I'm living a nightmare right now. It's weird, because so many things are positively falling into place as I get out of the Navy and transition into the real world. Everything except one: daycare for Elly. Now that we're all moved out of base housing and temporarily settled with Abby, the next hurdle in my life is finding full time daycare.
First of all, watching a marathon of Law and Order: SVU is really not helping my daily panic attacks when it comes to for Elly’s childcare. (Kids getting murdered and neglected all the time. Who the hell let me have the remote?)
And it obviously can't be just any daycare. I have a laundry list of requirements, but when tasked with typing them all out in an ad on Sittercity. I drew a complete blank. I think I'm actually paralyzed with fear just thinking about leaving her with a stranger.
I'm a psycho new mom. Like I take crazy to a new level when it comes to Elly. So I constantly picture wherever I drop her off, the lady will smile and wave, and then as soon as I'm down the street, Elly's left to crawl through glass and cigarette butts, eat the dog food, play with everything dangerous, left in her own filth and the lady that said she spoke English can't actually read any of the instructions I left. I show up and my daughter is completely traumatized and I collapse in a heap of working-mom guilt.
Just typing this is making me cry.
Because there isn't going to be anyone in this world that can do what I do. Not even my own mom, but she's the next best thing! She at least keeps my daughter on a schedule. I on the other hand have let it all go to shit. Ok, so maybe there is at least one person in this world that can do what I do... probably because she's already raised my daughter once when she raised me.
But still....
I keep envisioning child neglect and abuse and just plain old craziness in every daycare. And yet, I'm stuck. We're a two income family. It's what works for us. (Especially in the most expensive place to live in America according to the latest census information. I also live in the #1 wealthiest county in America. The median income is around $89,000. I won't be making that.) So I have no choice but to find daycare.
I'm also a coupon clipper and deal shopper. But this isn't exactly one of those things you become a full-on penny pincher. Because who skimps on their child care? If there's anything in this world that the saying "you get what you paid for" more closely describes, I'd be shocked. Honestly. If you're going to be paying pennies to some secret evil witch, you can't be surprised when you show up at the end of the day to pick up your kid and she's in the oven. But on the other hand, we can't exactly afford an au pair! Geez! We're not one of the Real Housewives of DC couples!
Now, I know I'm making this so much worse in my head than it actually is. I get that.
I know I will eventually find the perfect place for Elly and it will become a second home for her. And maybe that's what scares me just as much (if not more). What if I find a place that's just so perfect, that she likes the babysitter more than me? What happens if she loves her more than me because she spends all day with her and not with me? And now I've come full circle in the working-mom guilt.
This is why I'm living a nightmare right now.
First of all, watching a marathon of Law and Order: SVU is really not helping my daily panic attacks when it comes to for Elly’s childcare. (Kids getting murdered and neglected all the time. Who the hell let me have the remote?)
And it obviously can't be just any daycare. I have a laundry list of requirements, but when tasked with typing them all out in an ad on Sittercity. I drew a complete blank. I think I'm actually paralyzed with fear just thinking about leaving her with a stranger.
I'm a psycho new mom. Like I take crazy to a new level when it comes to Elly. So I constantly picture wherever I drop her off, the lady will smile and wave, and then as soon as I'm down the street, Elly's left to crawl through glass and cigarette butts, eat the dog food, play with everything dangerous, left in her own filth and the lady that said she spoke English can't actually read any of the instructions I left. I show up and my daughter is completely traumatized and I collapse in a heap of working-mom guilt.
Just typing this is making me cry.
Because there isn't going to be anyone in this world that can do what I do. Not even my own mom, but she's the next best thing! She at least keeps my daughter on a schedule. I on the other hand have let it all go to shit. Ok, so maybe there is at least one person in this world that can do what I do... probably because she's already raised my daughter once when she raised me.
But still....
I keep envisioning child neglect and abuse and just plain old craziness in every daycare. And yet, I'm stuck. We're a two income family. It's what works for us. (Especially in the most expensive place to live in America according to the latest census information. I also live in the #1 wealthiest county in America. The median income is around $89,000. I won't be making that.) So I have no choice but to find daycare.
I'm also a coupon clipper and deal shopper. But this isn't exactly one of those things you become a full-on penny pincher. Because who skimps on their child care? If there's anything in this world that the saying "you get what you paid for" more closely describes, I'd be shocked. Honestly. If you're going to be paying pennies to some secret evil witch, you can't be surprised when you show up at the end of the day to pick up your kid and she's in the oven. But on the other hand, we can't exactly afford an au pair! Geez! We're not one of the Real Housewives of DC couples!
Now, I know I'm making this so much worse in my head than it actually is. I get that.
I know I will eventually find the perfect place for Elly and it will become a second home for her. And maybe that's what scares me just as much (if not more). What if I find a place that's just so perfect, that she likes the babysitter more than me? What happens if she loves her more than me because she spends all day with her and not with me? And now I've come full circle in the working-mom guilt.
This is why I'm living a nightmare right now.
Monday, September 12, 2011
BOOBS!
I couldn't come up with anything catchier than the word BOOBS for a blog all about boobs. Because honestly, boobs are generally pretty catchy all on their own. Or at least mine are. (They catch plenty of food I accidentally drop, which in turn leaves a stain. They're the reason I need new clothes... that and my little drool monster.)
To say I have big boobs would be to say Niagara Falls is just a waterfall. It's a bit of an understatement... considering they're in your face. I've been blessed with the bosom, but I wouldn't consider it a happy blessing.
And it seems the older I get, the bigger they get. I wish it was like when you're a kid and every year your relatives send you a check for how old you turned that year. (By the way, I'll be anxiously waiting at my mailbox this November for a box full of $29 checks people!) Instead, with each birthday candle I get an extra ounce of flesh hanging off my chest. Awesome. I'm worried that by the time I hit retirement, my boobs will be collecting a Social Security payment all of their own.
And having a baby hasn't made the problem any better. In fact, it's only made it worse. Because I am the Dairy Queen. And when the Dairy Queen is full, the girls have increased a whole cup-size. I don't even know how that is freakin' possible? But it is!
When I was pregnant, I grew huge. And I got worried that when the milk came in it would be unbearable. I was worried I wouldn't even know if the milk had come in yet because how would I be able to tell? A very wise friend of mine explained to me that if you have to ask, then it hasn't come in yet... because YOU'LL KNOW IT! She said it's like you all of a sudden have bocce balls.
HAHAHAHAHAHA! Bocce balls. As if! Let's try bowling balls!
At least that's what they feel like! Don't even get me started on the dangers of running before pumping milk. Do you remember those old Dolly Parton jokes you told (and barely understood) in elementary school about how when she comes back from a jog she's got two black eyes? Yeah, there's some truth in that fucking joke. And it's painfully not that funny.
Another huge problem (pun intended) with big boobs is finding clothes that fit. Over the weekend Abby and I went shopping for grown-up clothes for her new job and my job interview (I aced it by the way!). And I had two great dressed that I tried on and they fit perfectly... except in the chesticle region.
And as I look in the mirror and realize there's nothing I could do but laugh, I shout across the dressing room door to Abby and say, "The dress looks good, but my boobs are too big for it!"
To which she replies, "That's something you'll never hear me say in my life."
Because as much as it sucks to have jumbotrons, it can't possibly be any better to have barely there's either. Maybe she and I can find a 2 for 1/ bosom buddy special at the plastic surgeons?
To say I have big boobs would be to say Niagara Falls is just a waterfall. It's a bit of an understatement... considering they're in your face. I've been blessed with the bosom, but I wouldn't consider it a happy blessing.
And it seems the older I get, the bigger they get. I wish it was like when you're a kid and every year your relatives send you a check for how old you turned that year. (By the way, I'll be anxiously waiting at my mailbox this November for a box full of $29 checks people!) Instead, with each birthday candle I get an extra ounce of flesh hanging off my chest. Awesome. I'm worried that by the time I hit retirement, my boobs will be collecting a Social Security payment all of their own.
And having a baby hasn't made the problem any better. In fact, it's only made it worse. Because I am the Dairy Queen. And when the Dairy Queen is full, the girls have increased a whole cup-size. I don't even know how that is freakin' possible? But it is!
When I was pregnant, I grew huge. And I got worried that when the milk came in it would be unbearable. I was worried I wouldn't even know if the milk had come in yet because how would I be able to tell? A very wise friend of mine explained to me that if you have to ask, then it hasn't come in yet... because YOU'LL KNOW IT! She said it's like you all of a sudden have bocce balls.
HAHAHAHAHAHA! Bocce balls. As if! Let's try bowling balls!
At least that's what they feel like! Don't even get me started on the dangers of running before pumping milk. Do you remember those old Dolly Parton jokes you told (and barely understood) in elementary school about how when she comes back from a jog she's got two black eyes? Yeah, there's some truth in that fucking joke. And it's painfully not that funny.
Another huge problem (pun intended) with big boobs is finding clothes that fit. Over the weekend Abby and I went shopping for grown-up clothes for her new job and my job interview (I aced it by the way!). And I had two great dressed that I tried on and they fit perfectly... except in the chesticle region.
And as I look in the mirror and realize there's nothing I could do but laugh, I shout across the dressing room door to Abby and say, "The dress looks good, but my boobs are too big for it!"
To which she replies, "That's something you'll never hear me say in my life."
Because as much as it sucks to have jumbotrons, it can't possibly be any better to have barely there's either. Maybe she and I can find a 2 for 1/ bosom buddy special at the plastic surgeons?
Friday, September 9, 2011
Recuperation from the Military
Since joining the military in 2004, I've lived by certain standards because it's my job. The things I've had to change or alter are things you (the non-military you) probably take for granted.
My hair is a certain length because the best hair style to fit my face is an "in between" style that is too long to wear down in the military, but too short to pull up in accordance with military regulation. So I can't have it. I instead have a bushy rat's nest.
My nails are a certain length because that's how long I can have them. They aren't painted because what's the point if they can only be clear or flesh tone? (I actually remember the year they began to allow french tips in the Navy! THRILLING!!!) Might as well leave them be. (Unless you're in the USMC and wearing your dress uniform. Then you get the privilege of wearing red or shades of coral! SNAZZY!)
I stopped wearing earrings because it was too hard to find the specific ones I could wear in uniform in my jewelry box. And finding regulation earrings isn't exactly an easy task. (Yes, there's even a regulation for the size and type of earrings you can wear! There's a regulation for EVERYTHING!!!!)
I've never been too adventurous in the eye shadow department, but even if I had, there's no point to it... plain jane is what I can wear.
Men's boots and shoes are my every day accessory to my khaki top and black slacks. I couldn't tell you if big belts or skinny jeans are 'in' this season. But I can tell you the exact measurement from the shoulder to the bottom of your service ribbons and name tag. And if you don't have your warfare pins correctly measured, I'll call you out on it.
Last night with Abby and my new Canadian friend, I had a revelation! I seriously need a full recuperation from my service. And I'm not just talking about Veteran Affairs compensation for various disability ailments. I mean, I deserve a military funded make-over to prepare myself to be in the world of NO REGULATION!
I mean, other than no white after Labor Day, no ICP (Insane Clown Posse, aka Freaks) clothes other than on Halloween, and spandex is a bad idea for EVERYONE, there doesn't seem to be many rules when it comes to fashion. Or maybe I'm just naive. Maybe there are rules and I don't know them.
I'm pretty sure one of the rules is don't show up to an interview with gnarly man-feet. That's probably going to be a problem since I have man-feet...they're crusty, dry, and cracked. The nails are hap-hazardly polished. I have calluses that ordinarily you wouldn't see in boots, but now that I'm about to enter the working world and I have to wear pretty shoes, I'm going to need to get filed off. Pedicures will be required. It might take an industrial team... or hungry fish. (If you haven't seen the pedicures by fish, check them out. Nothing says 'I want to feel pretty' like getting eaten by fish!)
I'm going to need an entire head treatment too. We're talking deep conditioner, full cut and style, and whatever face potions can help erase the decade worth of worry lines I got in half that time. Not to mention I'm going to need some de-brainwash treatments to get all the damn rules and regulations out of my brain and make room for whether argyle socks, leggings or tights go best with my outfit for the day.
My hair is a certain length because the best hair style to fit my face is an "in between" style that is too long to wear down in the military, but too short to pull up in accordance with military regulation. So I can't have it. I instead have a bushy rat's nest.
My nails are a certain length because that's how long I can have them. They aren't painted because what's the point if they can only be clear or flesh tone? (I actually remember the year they began to allow french tips in the Navy! THRILLING!!!) Might as well leave them be. (Unless you're in the USMC and wearing your dress uniform. Then you get the privilege of wearing red or shades of coral! SNAZZY!)
I stopped wearing earrings because it was too hard to find the specific ones I could wear in uniform in my jewelry box. And finding regulation earrings isn't exactly an easy task. (Yes, there's even a regulation for the size and type of earrings you can wear! There's a regulation for EVERYTHING!!!!)
I've never been too adventurous in the eye shadow department, but even if I had, there's no point to it... plain jane is what I can wear.
Men's boots and shoes are my every day accessory to my khaki top and black slacks. I couldn't tell you if big belts or skinny jeans are 'in' this season. But I can tell you the exact measurement from the shoulder to the bottom of your service ribbons and name tag. And if you don't have your warfare pins correctly measured, I'll call you out on it.
Last night with Abby and my new Canadian friend, I had a revelation! I seriously need a full recuperation from my service. And I'm not just talking about Veteran Affairs compensation for various disability ailments. I mean, I deserve a military funded make-over to prepare myself to be in the world of NO REGULATION!
I mean, other than no white after Labor Day, no ICP (Insane Clown Posse, aka Freaks) clothes other than on Halloween, and spandex is a bad idea for EVERYONE, there doesn't seem to be many rules when it comes to fashion. Or maybe I'm just naive. Maybe there are rules and I don't know them.
I'm pretty sure one of the rules is don't show up to an interview with gnarly man-feet. That's probably going to be a problem since I have man-feet...they're crusty, dry, and cracked. The nails are hap-hazardly polished. I have calluses that ordinarily you wouldn't see in boots, but now that I'm about to enter the working world and I have to wear pretty shoes, I'm going to need to get filed off. Pedicures will be required. It might take an industrial team... or hungry fish. (If you haven't seen the pedicures by fish, check them out. Nothing says 'I want to feel pretty' like getting eaten by fish!)
I'm going to need an entire head treatment too. We're talking deep conditioner, full cut and style, and whatever face potions can help erase the decade worth of worry lines I got in half that time. Not to mention I'm going to need some de-brainwash treatments to get all the damn rules and regulations out of my brain and make room for whether argyle socks, leggings or tights go best with my outfit for the day.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
That's not fair!
We live in a world of haves and have nots. I have a lot compared to a lot of people in the world. (Actually, I have too much stuff now that it's time to pack up and move again. So I've been having a garage sale trying to get rid of my crap and allow others to have more crap in their life... all for the low low price of $2 a bag!)
So is life.
I've accepted this as the way it goes. Well, for the most part.
I have more than a lot of others. Yet, people who have more than me still approach me and tell me thank you. Why? Because I'm in the military. I chose many years ago to raise my hand and pledge an oath to serve our country. And every day I'm grateful I did.
My service has given me a lot to be thankful for. I met my husband because of the military, I've traveled the world, and I've made the best friends a Betty could ever ask for.
I've gotten a few free meals and free drinks. I've attended concerts and sporting games on someone else's dime. I've received discounted clothes, shoes and vacations. I've even gotten tax free computers, furniture and a breast pump. I think the best thing I ever got super cheap from being in the military was my hospital stay when I was in labor with Elly. FREE!!! BOOO-YAAAAAH Bitches!!!! (The stretch marks and puking were just an extra bonus thrown in by Mother Nature.)
I'm very grateful that in this day and age, the American public feels strongly about supporting the troops. There are endless programs out there supporting us- everything from job initiatitaves (let's hope that helps me out soon), home programs, to helping out around the holidays. And Sears is one of the companies helping out the military.
They have a program called Heroes on the Homefront and every year service members can register to win a gift card for the holidays. A friend of mine got $100 last year. Not bad considering he'd gotten back from Afghanistan and just had a baby. Thanks Sears!!!
But the registration this year was a bit of a cluster fuck. It was yesterday, but the system had a technical glitch. So they scrapped those and did it again today. Although, not everyone knew about the update. Needless to say, a lot of people ended up not getting registered before the deadline today.
And once that happened, so did all the bitching!!! THAT'S NOT FAIR!!! I DIDN'T GET REGISTERED!! BUT... BLAH BLAH BLAH!
Are you serious people? This is a gift for God's sake. You are not fucking entitled to it. It's not yours just because your husband is deployed. It's not yours just because you've been stationed a few sucky places with a few sucky chains of commands. It's not yours just because you have to stand duty this holiday weekend. IT IS A GIFT!!!
If you were lucky enough to get registered. Good for you. You still might not get a gift card. And if you bitch about that, then maybe you should stay away from me. Because I might just punch you square in the face you ungrateful snot.
Like I said before, the world is full of haves and have nots. Accept it! Because honestly, not everything is fair in life and if you can't deal with that, be prepared for me to shoot a word-rocket at your face. It won't be pretty. Until I have more than the orange-toned whorebags I love to watch on the TV, life is never going to be fair!
I have a lot more than a lot of people. But I also have a lot less than other people in this world.
I've accepted this as the way it goes. Well, for the most part.
Some days I get really pissed off that I'm not as smart as the Mark or Randi Zuckerbergs of the world. If I was, then I'd be a billionaire. On the other end of the spectrum, I'm also too smart to be Snooki or JWoww, hooching it up for the entire world to see. If I was that easy or trashy, then I could be a millionaire and be a guest on Regis and Kelli.
Instead, I'm just average. Nothing too special. I am married, I have a kid and a dog. I've got a job (for now). I'm the all-American dream.
I have more than a lot of others. Yet, people who have more than me still approach me and tell me thank you. Why? Because I'm in the military. I chose many years ago to raise my hand and pledge an oath to serve our country. And every day I'm grateful I did.
My service has given me a lot to be thankful for. I met my husband because of the military, I've traveled the world, and I've made the best friends a Betty could ever ask for.
I've gotten a few free meals and free drinks. I've attended concerts and sporting games on someone else's dime. I've received discounted clothes, shoes and vacations. I've even gotten tax free computers, furniture and a breast pump. I think the best thing I ever got super cheap from being in the military was my hospital stay when I was in labor with Elly. FREE!!! BOOO-YAAAAAH Bitches!!!! (The stretch marks and puking were just an extra bonus thrown in by Mother Nature.)
I'm very grateful that in this day and age, the American public feels strongly about supporting the troops. There are endless programs out there supporting us- everything from job initiatitaves (let's hope that helps me out soon), home programs, to helping out around the holidays. And Sears is one of the companies helping out the military.
They have a program called Heroes on the Homefront and every year service members can register to win a gift card for the holidays. A friend of mine got $100 last year. Not bad considering he'd gotten back from Afghanistan and just had a baby. Thanks Sears!!!
But the registration this year was a bit of a cluster fuck. It was yesterday, but the system had a technical glitch. So they scrapped those and did it again today. Although, not everyone knew about the update. Needless to say, a lot of people ended up not getting registered before the deadline today.
And once that happened, so did all the bitching!!! THAT'S NOT FAIR!!! I DIDN'T GET REGISTERED!! BUT... BLAH BLAH BLAH!
Are you serious people? This is a gift for God's sake. You are not fucking entitled to it. It's not yours just because your husband is deployed. It's not yours just because you've been stationed a few sucky places with a few sucky chains of commands. It's not yours just because you have to stand duty this holiday weekend. IT IS A GIFT!!!
If you were lucky enough to get registered. Good for you. You still might not get a gift card. And if you bitch about that, then maybe you should stay away from me. Because I might just punch you square in the face you ungrateful snot.
Like I said before, the world is full of haves and have nots. Accept it! Because honestly, not everything is fair in life and if you can't deal with that, be prepared for me to shoot a word-rocket at your face. It won't be pretty. Until I have more than the orange-toned whorebags I love to watch on the TV, life is never going to be fair!
Monday, August 22, 2011
Role Reversal
As my bio description states, I'm hooking for jobs and pimping myself out in resume form. On top of that I'm saying prayers daily that I some how don't end up homeless and unemployed. I'm in the process of getting out of the military. It wasn't my choice, and if I had it my way, I would have served 20+ years. But my fate is sealed and I'm on my way out due to budget cuts and the changing tide of the Defense Department.
It happens. In fact it's happening so much the military as a whole is in a major downsizing. Worse, is the number of unemployed veterans from the current wars. The latest unemployment numbers for vets right now are sitting at nearly 12%. That's about 3 percentage points more than the overall unemployment rate.
So to keep myself from those statistics I'm a job hunting, networking fool. Any chance I get, I work into the conversation that I'm getting out of the military and looking for a job, plus I rock. Why wouldn't someone want to hire me?
And not every day has been a good one. There are some days where I think to myself, "Betty, what the hell are you doing applying for that job? You aren't nearly qualified for it, and there's no way you're going to get it. You're just a crazy kid!" But then I realize, I have nearly 10 years of experience in my field. I've been doing this for a long time. And I'm pretty good at it. Plus I rock!
If you've never applied for a federal job before, let me tell you what it's like. It's tourture. Getting waterboarded would be more fun. You need to tailor your resume to each individual job. Then you have to answer a laundry list of questions. Half the questions are the same, just reworded differently. It's not fun. And then you submit everything and wait weeks to even hear back if you're resume made the cut.
The worst part is when you get a notification that you're qualified, but not best qualified. What the hell does that even mean? You're good, but you still suck for us. Nothing like an upper for your Thursday morning.
Well, all the hard work of applying has finally started to pay off. I've gotten a couple calls and recieved notice my resume has made it through the first round of cuts. Now it's time to start getting ready for interviews.
I've been interviewing people on various subjects for 7 years. I'm pretty darn good at asking questions and getting the exact soundbite I want for my story. But being the person peppered with questions is something totally foreign to me.
I'm so scared that they're going to ask me what my biggest weakness is and I'm going to launch into some crazy ass story that ends in my crying over spilled breast milk. Or worse, I make a completely inappropriate joke about somebody's inept organizational skills and it turns out it's my prospective employer's desk I'm making fun of. Or WAY worse, I ask the woman escorting me to the interview room how far along she is, and she replies she's just fat. UGH!
Needless to say, I'm super nervous about interviewing for a job. It's an employer's market, not a job seeker's market. And I just need to prove that I'm the shit (but don't smell like shit)! So the rest of my day today will be spent buying 10 pairs of nylons (because I'll rip a whole in 9 of them just trying to get into them), researching the job and employer, and pattening my P&P method. (That would be the pray and puke method.)
In the end, I know this is just my way of getting "hyped up" for the game. And that I'll actually be just fine and will find a great place to work that pays well, has good benefits, gives me all the federal holidays off, and enjoys my witty sense of humor. Now, if only they'd just reveal themselves to me so I can stop P&Ping.
It happens. In fact it's happening so much the military as a whole is in a major downsizing. Worse, is the number of unemployed veterans from the current wars. The latest unemployment numbers for vets right now are sitting at nearly 12%. That's about 3 percentage points more than the overall unemployment rate.
So to keep myself from those statistics I'm a job hunting, networking fool. Any chance I get, I work into the conversation that I'm getting out of the military and looking for a job, plus I rock. Why wouldn't someone want to hire me?
And not every day has been a good one. There are some days where I think to myself, "Betty, what the hell are you doing applying for that job? You aren't nearly qualified for it, and there's no way you're going to get it. You're just a crazy kid!" But then I realize, I have nearly 10 years of experience in my field. I've been doing this for a long time. And I'm pretty good at it. Plus I rock!
If you've never applied for a federal job before, let me tell you what it's like. It's tourture. Getting waterboarded would be more fun. You need to tailor your resume to each individual job. Then you have to answer a laundry list of questions. Half the questions are the same, just reworded differently. It's not fun. And then you submit everything and wait weeks to even hear back if you're resume made the cut.
The worst part is when you get a notification that you're qualified, but not best qualified. What the hell does that even mean? You're good, but you still suck for us. Nothing like an upper for your Thursday morning.
Well, all the hard work of applying has finally started to pay off. I've gotten a couple calls and recieved notice my resume has made it through the first round of cuts. Now it's time to start getting ready for interviews.
I've been interviewing people on various subjects for 7 years. I'm pretty darn good at asking questions and getting the exact soundbite I want for my story. But being the person peppered with questions is something totally foreign to me.
I'm so scared that they're going to ask me what my biggest weakness is and I'm going to launch into some crazy ass story that ends in my crying over spilled breast milk. Or worse, I make a completely inappropriate joke about somebody's inept organizational skills and it turns out it's my prospective employer's desk I'm making fun of. Or WAY worse, I ask the woman escorting me to the interview room how far along she is, and she replies she's just fat. UGH!
Needless to say, I'm super nervous about interviewing for a job. It's an employer's market, not a job seeker's market. And I just need to prove that I'm the shit (but don't smell like shit)! So the rest of my day today will be spent buying 10 pairs of nylons (because I'll rip a whole in 9 of them just trying to get into them), researching the job and employer, and pattening my P&P method. (That would be the pray and puke method.)
In the end, I know this is just my way of getting "hyped up" for the game. And that I'll actually be just fine and will find a great place to work that pays well, has good benefits, gives me all the federal holidays off, and enjoys my witty sense of humor. Now, if only they'd just reveal themselves to me so I can stop P&Ping.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Networking
So I'm knee-deep in transitioning out of the military and it's a messy process. I really could use some shit-kicking boots, because that's what I feel like I'm walking through every day. But that's for another post. This post is about my ability to meet new people and make sure those people know I'm looking for a job and that I'm flat out AMAZING!
The only problem is I'm moving to a state I've only visited a handful of times. (Hubby is from there and since he's followed me around for my military career, it's time to give him back the pants of the family and let him win this battle.) Moral of the story is I don't know anyone there other than my family. Cool about the family, not so cool about the I need a job and need to meet people that work in my field so I can get said job.
So, the stress level is high, just thinking about how to meet people in Washington, when I'm in the other Washington (Read: thousands of miles apart). But I do what I'm supposed to: I join linkedin. I tell all my friends. I go to career fairs and job fairs and county fairs. Hell, I even tried to go to a networking breakfast this morning (event was cancelled. Don't worry, I still had an awesome breakfast). And with all of this, I still feel like I'm lost in the wind, I have no idea what I'm doing. Not to mention, how the hell am I supposed to get a job like an adult when I don't know anyone??? AAAHHHH!!!
But then my very wise, almost-sister friend Abby pointed out that I'm a natural born networking girl (not to be confused with a working girl. Although they are pretty damn good networkers!). And then it dawned on me. I've been networking for as long as I could say Mama. She was my first network! And what a great network contact she was!!! She provided food, shelter, comfort, and Barbie dolls. You can't ask for more from a contact, other than for a job of course.
All my life I've been a social butterfly. All I've ever done is talk. In fact, my first network contact, aka Mom, hated going to my parent-teacher conferences because all she heard was "Betty's a great student, but she talks too much." Maybe that's why I ended up in the communications field... I WAS BORN FOR IT!
So this Betty is getting her network on, making new friends and new connections and is on the prowl. And once I land the job of my dreams, I'll still be networking. Because that's who I am, the networking girl.
Until later
~Betty
The only problem is I'm moving to a state I've only visited a handful of times. (Hubby is from there and since he's followed me around for my military career, it's time to give him back the pants of the family and let him win this battle.) Moral of the story is I don't know anyone there other than my family. Cool about the family, not so cool about the I need a job and need to meet people that work in my field so I can get said job.
So, the stress level is high, just thinking about how to meet people in Washington, when I'm in the other Washington (Read: thousands of miles apart). But I do what I'm supposed to: I join linkedin. I tell all my friends. I go to career fairs and job fairs and county fairs. Hell, I even tried to go to a networking breakfast this morning (event was cancelled. Don't worry, I still had an awesome breakfast). And with all of this, I still feel like I'm lost in the wind, I have no idea what I'm doing. Not to mention, how the hell am I supposed to get a job like an adult when I don't know anyone??? AAAHHHH!!!
But then my very wise, almost-sister friend Abby pointed out that I'm a natural born networking girl (not to be confused with a working girl. Although they are pretty damn good networkers!). And then it dawned on me. I've been networking for as long as I could say Mama. She was my first network! And what a great network contact she was!!! She provided food, shelter, comfort, and Barbie dolls. You can't ask for more from a contact, other than for a job of course.
All my life I've been a social butterfly. All I've ever done is talk. In fact, my first network contact, aka Mom, hated going to my parent-teacher conferences because all she heard was "Betty's a great student, but she talks too much." Maybe that's why I ended up in the communications field... I WAS BORN FOR IT!
So this Betty is getting her network on, making new friends and new connections and is on the prowl. And once I land the job of my dreams, I'll still be networking. Because that's who I am, the networking girl.
Until later
~Betty
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