Monday, April 30, 2007

Friends and Teammates

When Natasha, a sweet girl who plays on my hockey team, has been interested in starting to play soccer for some time now. When she learned that I’ve been playing soccer since way back when, she inquired about where and when and why I play.

I invited Natasha to join my coed indoor soccer team but, truthfully, I didn’t think that she would actually do so. We play at crappy times at an arena an hour from her house. But Natasha was really, really keen on playing soccer. She joined our humble squad.

For someone with no experience with the game, she did exceptionally well.

For the caliber of the league, she was weak.

But she had fun and didn’t once complain about being overmatched. I just sort of figured that she knew that she sucked and didn’t really want to talk about it. I wouldn’t have wanted to talk about it either.

And then I get an email about her wanting to play in a summer league. The same summer league that I play in.

“I don’t want to play with beginners! I am such a snob!”

Honey, you ARE a beginner. And you are NOT good enough for that league. Not even close.

And so there I am, stuck looking like an asshole for not asking for her to join my team. She’s not good enough for my team. She’s not good enough for my league. What am I supposed to do?

Tell her that my team doesn’t have room on the roster for any new players.

Lying is bad. But it is so much easier than telling someone that they’re not anywhere near as good as they think they are.

I directed her to the shittiest team in the league. “Ask them for a tryout,” I said.

I hate that team anyway. Make them give her the bad news. Or let her lose 231-0 with them. Just remove me from all involvement, PLEASE!

And this whole Natasha mess got uglier on Friday. The guys on my team decided that they would like to play another session. In hushed voices, they admitted that they weren’t going to ask our goalie back and asked if I thought my sister would play in net for us. Then, they gave me the lowdown on our roster.

Natasha (along with a few less skilled guys) was not included.

“It’s not that we’re mad at her or anything,” one of the guys said. “We just want to be more competitive.”

I totally understand that line of thinking. We were one of the weaker teams in the league. I don’t like to lose.

But I also don’t like hurting my friends’ feelings.

And I don’t really want to lie again.

So I’ll omit.

While feeling really, really guilty.

Sunday, April 29, 2007

My kind of Sunday

I'm sad that the weekend is over.

I could repeat today 100 times and continue to enjoy it.

-Getting up in the morning to skate.
-Stopping for a mocha.
-Chatting on the phone with Lucy.
-Returning to Mom and Dad's house to lunch baking in the oven, cupcakes on the counter and iced tea chilling in the refrigerator.
-Stripping off my tights and long sleeves in favor of soccer shorts, a tank top and a healthy slathering of sunscreen.
-Retreating to the deck with my sunglasses and a book.
-Spending the afternoon in the silent company of my mom (also engrossed in a book) and my dog (soaking up the sunshine).
-Moving only to refill my drink or to better angle myself in the sunshine.
-Getting some sun, but not a sunburn.
-Painting my nails my signature color.
-Doing just enough housework so that I won't go to bed feeling like a total lazy ass.
-Feeling incredibly content.

Friday, April 27, 2007

Why I should look at my calendar more

I get up at 6:15 on Friday mornings, a half-hour earlier than I do on mornings when I'm going into work. Friday mornings are for skating.

I was up a little too late last night. Watching Grey's Anatomy, the Red Wings playoff game, packing up clothes and makeup and a few shirts I need to return to my sister and putzing around my apartment pretending that I didn't have an early wakeup call.

When my alarm clock went off this morning, I was tempted to turn it off, roll over and sleep until I felt rested. The night felt short. My body was still tired.

It took forever to get ready.

I nearly spilled hot tea on myself as I locked my front door.

The drive to the rink isn't short. I woke up eventually.

And got to the rink.

To learn that - per our freestyle session contract - there wasn't skating today.

I didn't want to get up this morning. And I got up. TO SKATE ON SESSIONS THAT DID NOT EXIST.

I am so bitter.

I think I'll take a yoga class instead.

Thursday, April 26, 2007

Sweetness and light



Last night, a random Wednesday, I came home from yoga class. A yoga class that I went to straight to work. And I looked at the box of strawberries in my refrigerator. Dug the milk chocolate Easter bunny out of my pantry.

Whipped up heavenly chocolate-covered strawberries.

Just. Because.

How am I not married? How can I be:
a. a blonde
b. capable of such delicacies
and not have men attempting to sweep me off of my feet at every turn.

I don't get it.

I needed to come of age in the 1950s.

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Viva

For a few years now, Meg has been saying that she wants to go to Las Vegas for her 21st birthday. Meg is a child of very, very strong self-esteem: she simply could not imagine why anyone in her life would rather do anything but celebrate the birth of her.

Meg's birthday is in July.

And, for a while, it looked like Vegas wouldn't work out. Our cousin Anna, who we're both very close with, is spending the summer after her college graduation in Europe. Meg's roommate/teammate is studying overseas. Her best friend from childhood isn't 21 yet and neither is our cousin, Paul.

Meg was bummin', but she was realistic. If her 21st birthday trip to Las Vegas wouldn't live up to her wild dreams, she would rather not go. We discussed celebrating her birthday in Los Angeles instead, staying with our cousin Danielle and seeing David Beckham play a game with the Galaxy.

She was okay with that. And I - believing that the sooner I meet David Beckham, the sooner we're getting married and reproducing - was okay with that.

But, this week, the Vegas trip cracked wide open.

Cousin Liz and her husband are in. Cousin Danielle is in. Their parents are in. Our parents are in. I'm in.

Meg is, of course, SO in.

And then there's all of the possibilities: our neighbor/Dad's best friend and his wife, Meg's other roommate/teammate, Meg's best friend from high school, random other family members and pretty much anyone we've ever met.

We have very suddenly entered the planning stage. And I seem to be heading that project.

I've never been to Vegas.

There's only one thing I want to do when I'm there; I will see Ice: Direct from Russia or I will throw a fit akin to the temper tantrum I threw at Disney World when I was four.

Other than that, this trip is a blank slate.

We need places to go. Specifically, we need someplace we can celebrate Meg's 21st in the VIP style she demands.

We need things to do. I trust ya'll to give me the crème de la crème.

We need restaurants to dine at. Because my biggest priority is always food.

We need somewhere to stay. Hotel/casino or vacation rental?

Therefore, we need you and your fantastic suggestions. Hit me up, kids. Make this easy for me. Make the most important decision of this trip whether I should get Ice: Direct from Russia tickets for the topless show (amusing, yet floppy?) or the family show.

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Family trait

Even at a young age, I liked to tease my mother for making the bed in our hotel room. I would giggle as she smoothed the blankets and pulled them taught, reminding her that housekeeping would be in to make the beds.

Mom would tell me that she was just making the room neat. That, just because it was someone's job to clean the room didn't mean we needed to slobs.

I would taunt her, too, when she’d tidy up before the housekeeper came over. Mom wasn’t one to humor my teasing. Every week, she would roll her eyes and give me the same lecture: it was housekeeper’s job to clean the house, not our clutter. Now get your homework off of the kitchen counter and put away the clothes hanging in the laundry room and leave me the hell alone, child.

Now that I’m old, I completely understand where she was coming from. Which kills me.

But you know what kills me more?

I made my bed in my hotel room when I was in Chicago.

On Sunday night, I stayed up late doing laundry and emptying the dishwasher and filing a towering stack of old bills and receipts and other paperwork and getting my soccer bag out of the middle of my living room. My building’s maintenance crew was coming in to change the filter in my furnace. And even though my common sense tells me that:
a. maintenance couldn’t care less how trashed (or clean) my apartment is
b. maintenance sees a lot of apartments that are infinitely more nasty than mine could ever hope to be
all I could think about was making my apartment squeaky clean and beautiful, a reflection of the person that I am on the inside and on the outside.

Needless to say, I was nearly late to work this morning – due to running around my apartment like a madwoman, making sure that my pajamas were off of the floor and my toast crumbs were wiped up. N*elsen is coming over today to check on my ratings box. Which, by the way, is not kept in my kitchen and is not kept in my bathroom.

Oh, hello, neurotic. Glad to have you part of my genetic makeup.

Monday, April 23, 2007

Sorry. I'm writing about the job search again.

I had a phone interview today. I have convinced myself that this job is perfect. Whether or not this job is actually perfect is yet to be seen, of course. I just hope that I have a chance to fairly judge it. And by that, I mean that I am praying and wishing and cashing in all of my good karma. I really want this job.

It isn't the first job that I've really wanted and haven't landed. So I err on the side of pessimism. I think that I performed admirably in the interview and, still, I will not get invited to a second interview.

(I already tried that positive thinking crap. Where did that get me? Curled into the fetal position on my living room floor, sobbing to my mom over the telephone.)

Since I simply cannot contribute my own, your positive thoughts would be appreciated.

I should find out by Monday.

Oh, and you wise folks: thank you note/email for a 20 minute phone interview? What about if the interviewer didn't provide you with contact information but a Google search did?

Saturday, April 21, 2007

Awww, soccer boys

I didn't know any of the boys on my soccer team prior to this season. Our team blows, but we're having a lot of fun.

On my way out last night, a gaggle of boys from my team stopped me to find out if I'd like to continue playing with them. Games would still be on Friday night, but without the entirity our current cast of characters. I assume that their plan was to weed out the undesireables and start afresh. With new jerseys and a new team name.

Fun!

As far as I know, they haven't asked any of the other girls on my team. So that's awkward.

I had two favorite parts of interaction with these boys.

Favorite Part #1:
As we're walking out of the building.
Boy - "Can I be that guy? That guy who gets your number?"
Other boy - "Don't worry. He's married."
Me - "That makes it even better."
Boy - "...that married guy who gets your number."
Me - "XXX-XXXX. And you spell my name with a Y. Get it right."
Other boy - "Al-eye-son?"
Me - "My parents think they're cute."
Boy - "I bet your parents are cute."

Favorite Part #2:
In the parking lot, as we're walking out to our cars, I pop my trunk.
Boy - "Alyson's pimping. Look at that car."
Different other boy - "Is that a Lexus?"
Me - (laughing) "A Lincoln, actually. Have a great week, boys. See you next Friday!"

I am a compliments whore.

Friday, April 20, 2007

Benefits of time

I wouldn't have guessed that, five weekends after our St. Patrick's day debacle, things between Colin and I would be this way.

For the most part, I have put the breaks on the childish relationship that we were sustaining. Somehow, I have convinced myself not to count on him. I have trained myself not to expect from him. I have essentially given up on him.

...without entirely giving up on him.

Part of my heart remains hopeful that he will grow up, realize, change. But, after five weeks of denying it the light of day, that part of me is quieter. It is there, but it is not so ferocious. It no longer feasts on me. My self-esteem is not a part of the daily diet of my irrational hope.

I don't call him like I used to.

And I don't scold myself for nearly calling him.

It gets easier.

But it doesn't go away.

He was in Illinois last weekend. For work. He stopped by my hotel en route to his destination. His coworkers (and good friends) and I had drinks. I reminded my heart to keep a steady beat. I chided myself for the hopeful daydreams of him picking me up for a night in Chicago that inevitably danced through my head as I rode the elevator (alone) back to my room.

Before, my expectations would have been higher.

I still had expectations.

If he showed up at my soccer game tonight with a dozen roses (I can write this fantasy because it is so incredibly unlikely), we would go back to how we were. If I go out with him tomorrow night, I could lose all that I struggled to learn.

And so I keep moving on.

With a bit of hope. And a lot of cynicism.

There are worse combinations, I suppose.

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Job search Monday

At work on Monday morning, I hurriedly called Liz (the lone coworker who I genuinely like and trust) over to my desk to show her something.

It was a job posting that I stumbled over on Sunday night. The position seemed to fit her perfectly and, judging by the employer, would offer her a substantial pay and benefit increase. Her eyebrows raised when I showed it to her. "Email it to me," she whispered. She scratched down her personal email address and pushed it across the desk.

I smiled, nodded and did as she asked. Liz is a sharp woman, a fantastic friend and a dynamic and efficient worker. If this job is as right for her as it seems, she deserves to get it.

Less than an hour later, Kevin called. He had landed an interview, he said. I laughed when Kevin told me what it was for: I had emailed him that job posting.

There was quiet excitement on Monday morning. Neither were (or are) certainties, but nevertheless, I was happy for my friends. Opportunity can never be taken for granted.

There was a whisper.

A silly, doubting whisper.

You can find jobs for others, but you cannot find one for yourself? How undesirable are you?

At 2:30 pm, I received a request for a phone interview.

Kevin's interview was yesterday. He feels confident. Liz is preparing her resume. She feels confident. And, on Monday afternoon, I have a phone interview. For a job that fits me in education, in challenge and in interest.

I hope this week is a turning point. A defining moment.

We deserve it. We all deserve it.

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Not quite living up to its name

I did a stupid thing.

I got myself into the habit of baking something special to celebrate the birthday of each and every one of my coworkers. And now I’m in trouble. Because a birthday treat is expected. To the point where requests for certain treats are made.

It’s kind of annoying.

I don’t always feel like baking.

But, with two years of yummy baked goodness to live up to, I don’t really have a choice.

Last night, I didn’t want to bake. But I begrudgingly stopped at the grocery store on my way home from the gym and picked up the ingredients for fudge. My recipe is a good one – and gloriously fast and simple. It would suffice.

I was on the phone with my parents for the duration of my trip to the grocery store. I didn’t bother to get a cart, so I carefully balanced an armful of chocolate chips and marshmallows and vanilla while gabbing away with Mom and Dad.

When I got home, I was distracted. CNN was on the television. I was feeling sad. I was trying to decide if I wanted to blog about yesterday’s tragedy.

I was not reading the recipe card clearly.

At the grocery store, I bought sweetened condensed milk instead of evaporated milk.
In my kitchen, I measured out sweetened condensed milk instead of evaporated milk.

Which is how I had the good fortune of getting to go to the grocery store twice, to make the fudge twice, to do the dishes twice.

Have I mentioned the name of the recipe?

No fail, five-minute fudge.

Yeah.

Monday, April 16, 2007

On VT

It has taken me all night to work up the nerve to write this.

Generally, I don't blog about current events. It isn't my thing; I'm not that person. I don't have the confidence, the knowledge or the passion to touch the issues that effect us all. In my writing, I tend to be more immediate, more self-centered, more engrossed in the meaningless drama of my own life.

I cannot say anything about the shootings at Virginia Tech that hasn't already been said.

But I will try.

In my immediate, self-centered way.

I was in high school at the time of the Columbine High School shootings. I remember feeling scared, but not horrified. I went to a small high school; I knew, with some level of certainty, that none of my classmates were capable of such violence.

In the four years that I lived in Ann Arbor while going to UM, I cannot recall once feeling seriously afraid while I was on or around campus. I would be cautious, of course, at those times that I was trained to be aware of - walking alone at nighttime, mostly. But I was happy and I was naive. I felt safe on campus, in the classroom, alone in my dorm room, dropping my head to unlock the door of my car after dusk.

Unlike high school, I did not know everyone at UM. I did not know their names, let alone what they were capable of.

And so today I am scared and horrified.

Scared because it is the only logical reaction.

Horrified because, as a student at a university with 23,000 undergraduate students, it could have been me.

It could have been Meg. Our cousin Liz. Dozens of others who I know, appreciate, love. It could have been Ann Arbor.

Or anywhere else.

That is why I am shaken. Because this could have happened anywhere.

Name the campus.
Name the state.

How could you feel anything but fear?

Friday, April 13, 2007

If they only knew

My hockey team lost 9-1 in our first tournament game.

Other than that, the best part about this tournament has been hearing about my team's last goalie.

"We like you," I was told. "You don't keep a BLOG!"

Oh, heavens, no. I would never blog!

Their last goalie was a blogger, apparently. She made a habit of talking smack about her teammates on this blog. And she kept a link to the blog in her email signature. (How clueless can you be?)

One girl on the team found the blog and sent an urgent email to the team: our goalie blogs and she blogs about us!

The response from the team: what is a blog? How does it work? Where can you find it? How can you get one?

When they straightened out the technical and everyone accessed and digested the blog's contents, the team was outraged. The goalie was confronted. And she continued to write shit about them.

Which is a big reason (other than her not being any good) that she's not playing with the team this year.

And why their goalies are not allowed to keep blogs.

Ah, if they only knew.

Thursday, April 12, 2007

The Company Slut strikes again

I was organizing the bottom drawer of the file cabinet at the front of the office when Len, the 70 year-old man who works part time for us, came in for his shift.

Len looks at me, kneeling in front of the cabinet, papers strewn all around me.

"On your knees again, eh Aly?"

NICE.

It is an honor to know that my reputation as the Company Slut (based only in fiction!) is finally getting around to the part-timers.

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

Irritation

All I wanted to do was bake some cookies for my hockey teammates to share on our drive to our tournament in Chicago. Could I manage? No. I put in extra flour (which, in my defense, the recipe suggested if you were using butter - which I did) and the cooked turned out like dry, thirst-inducing mounds of paper pulp. ARG.

All I wanted was to get some work today. Instead, every customer within 25 miles either called, stopped by, sent me an email or otherwise bothered, irritated or inconvenienced me. ARG.

All I want is to bring my hockey gear out to my car. I'm spending tomorrow night at Mom and Dad's, so I have to have everything packed and ready to go when I leave for work tomorrow. It is currently poring. ARG.

All I want is for Colin to propose to me so that we can have a beautiful wedding and live in newlywed bliss for a few luxurious years before we settle down and have two adorable, blonde, soccer-playing babies before I get too old. But Colin is an ass. And not marriage material. ARG.

All I want is three or four more hours in the day. ARG.

Maybe tomorrow I'll wake up on the right side of the bed.

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

Love letters

Dear Dinner of Sushi and Cheesecake,
I like you. You really should come around more often.

Dear Kevin's Replacement,
Do you know why I don't want to talk about the house you're buying with your girlfriend? Because I cannot stand the irony. You tell me about your new house; Kevin confesses that he's afraid that, if he doesn't get a job in the next month, he'll lose his.

Dear Life,
I know exactly how I want you to be. Do me a favor and fall into line with my dreams, please.

Dear Bills,
I know, I know. You're just so boring!

Dear Laundry,
Ditto.

Dear Mother Nature,
No more snow. PLEASE!

Dear Fingernails,
I wish you could paint yourself.

Dear Colin,
Today, I considered making a list of all of the reasons why I should just get over you.

Dear Gomez,
Do you have any idea how addicting How We Operate is? It's currently my favorite album.

Dear Chicago,
Very excited to visit this weekend. It's been too long.

Dear Readers,
Have I told you lately how much I love and appreciate your readership? I'm not going to lie: it's pretty much the highlight of my life.

Dear Bed,
Don't weep; I'm on my way.

Monday, April 09, 2007

Pieces of Weekend

Mom and I went to Costco. I am now the proud owner of an industrial sized bag of Stacy’s Pita Chips.

* * *

I had a soccer game on Friday night. I went to it straight from making an amazing chocolate mousse cake with Lucy.

In my game, we were playing an asshole goalie who thought so highly of himself that he would attempt to take the ball from his goal down the field to ours. On one of his monumental runs down the field, he took a bad touch on the ball. As a result, the ball was too far in front of him. I stepped up to the ball and crossed it to a teammate on the other side of the field.

And got leveled.

This fucker didn’t try to avoid me. He didn’t even try to slow down. Here I am, body in a very vulnerable, extended position as I am passing the ball and a grown man plows into me at a sprint.

It is like I have run into a brick wall.

I bounce off of him. I hit the ground. I hit my head.

I have never been hit so hard in my entire life.

I’m dazed and woozy as I get up. I am stubborn and I stay on the field. I am completely aware of what is going on, but everything feels foggy.

When I sit on the sidelines, I hang my head between my knees. I am nauseous. I am concussed.

Stupidly, I play the rest of the game.

* * *

There is a bit of concern surrounding me at the end of the game. Maybe I look as poorly as I feel? I’m not sure.

I probably shouldn’t have driven home.

I know that, ideally, I should be woken every two hours. It’s midnight by the time I get back to my apartment and I know that Colin is out with his friends. I call him and let him know what is going on. He’s sweet, concerned. He will call me and wake me on his way home from the bar.

EXCEPT THAT HE DOESN’T.

Self-absorbed motherfucker.

I’m still pissed. He called me on Saturday when I was at the bar with my friends and I let him have it – really, really have it. I dismissed his stupid excuse with a groan and a few choice expletives. I have never been so blunt or so mean to him.

He deserved it.

* * *

I felt horrible at work on Saturday. Nauseous and headachy and generally horrible. I left a few hours early.

Mom and Meg dragged me to the mall, where I shopped in a daze. I didn’t want to be there, but I didn’t want to disappoint them.

One of My Girls, April, was celebrating her birthday on Saturday night. At 9:00 pm, I wanted to be asleep. Instead, I was driving to the bar. Other than yelling at Colin and eating the chocolate mousse cake, I didn’t have much fun.

* * *

I finally started reading Mitch Albom’s new book.

* * *

Easter was low key and lovely.

I lost every Easter egg hunt I participated in. My parents still hide eggs for Meg and me. It’s cute. And my grandma, as always, had an indoor and an outdoor Easter egg hunt. Yes, outdoor. In the snow. With four participants over the age of 20.

Grandma’s house is like Neverland.

(Peter Pan’s Neverland. Not Michael Jackson’s.)

* * *

Colin sent me a Happy Easter text message. It was all I wanted from him.

Acknowledgement that I exist.

Sunday, April 08, 2007

I have

A concussion.

Pretty much guaranteed myself a spot on Aviva's shit list.

An excessively full stomach.

A very big, very loud family.

To be at work an hour early tomorrow morning.

Too many stories from the weekend.

(We'll cross that hurdle tomorrow.)

Thursday, April 05, 2007

Resolution Review 3

1. Read 12 novels.
Loved the novel I read this month, Indecision by Benjamin Kunkel. It was – thankfully – much more mentally stimulating than the crap I read last month, and quite apt for a girl who feels as though she may never wade through this quarterlife crisis.

2. Find a new job or go back to school. Or, ideally, find a new job AND go back to school.
On the penultimate day of March, I landed a job interview. It was nice to get a nibble because, while I’ve kept up with searching on indeed.com, I was starting to lose momentum. It is awfully hard to fill out application after application when you’re seeing no fruits of the labor. I’m sick of standing at the edge of this cliff and screaming into the wind.

3. Go to the gym with increased frequency.
Gym: I made it to the gym 12 times in March, which means I’m at 33 total visits of my goal of 175 trips to the gym for the year. This is one is going to be tough, if not plain ol’ impossible.
Hockey: 3 times in March. With the exception of the tournament I’m playing in next weekend, my season is now over.
Skating: 10 times in March. Much better than February.
Soccer: 4 games, 1 practice during the month of March. It’s been really, really great to start playing again.
Overall: 30 instances of physical activity. That seems to be one less than there are days in the month of March. Go me.

4. Not make a weight-related resolution.
I was happy with my food intake and with my body. It wasn’t even a temptation. Love that.

5. Knit more.
For the second time this year, I’ve attempted to make another one of the adorable baby hats that I knit back in November. For the second time, I’ve screwed it up. To make me feel better about not being able to make a hat that I already made (perfectly!), Meg said that maybe making a baby hat without having a baby in mind to wear it is bad luck. We’re going to go with that. I completed the hat before I realized that I made a painfully big mistake, so I’m going to count it towards my total for the year.

6. Stop the incessant purchasing.
There was that one weekend where Meg was home from school and we mainly entertained ourselves by shopping…yeah. But, other than that, I’ve done fairly well. I don’t go out and purchase something new and cute to wear every time I go out with Colin or my friends. Which is more than I can say for myself last year.

7. Visit with my grandparents more.
Continued improvement. I saw the grandparents for their birthday party at the beginning of the month, for an impromptu dinner on a Friday night and for a quick visit on another day. It’s good. It makes my grandma so happy. And I always enjoy myself, too.

8. Cut back on the coffee/hazelnut cappuccino mix that I feast on allfrickingdaylong at work. It’s as bad as sipping on a soda all day.
I have still yet to break the one cup three days/week limit. I’m drinking a lot of tea these days and less of the sugar/coffee sludge. It helps that the weather is getting warmer; half of the time I’m drinking that crap it’s in an attempt to stay warm.

9. Become a sweet-ass juggler.
I got my soccer ball muddy on the one day that I went outside and practiced my juggling and, because I’m lazy and haven’t cleaned off my ball, I haven’t practiced my juggling. Need to get on that.

10. Allow myself to trust Colin.
No. Not even close. March was not our month. At this point, what I need to trust is that Colin is ACTING based on what he is FEELING. I need to trust my gut. I need to stop making excuses. I’m letting us cool off. I’m giving him the reigns. I am trusting that he will do with us what he wants. And if that is neglecting us until we no longer exist? Fine.

March’s resolution of the month: Eat more vegetables
Achieved. I can only think of a meal or two where I didn’t prepare some vegetable side.

A pinch to grow an inch: April’s resolution of the month
Stre-e-e-e-e-e-tch! And stretch often!

My skating would benefit from greater flexibility, especially in my spirals. The goal would be to stretch five days a week. It doesn't have to be for a long time. It doesn't need to be anything fancy. It just needs to be consistent.

On 2007's resolutions:
The Original
Resolution Review 1
Resolution Review 2

Wednesday, April 04, 2007

I'm going to be honest with you

Like I was saying: I'm not going to get this job.

I would love to give ya'll a play-by-play to rehash the interview, but all I'm up for are a few key moments.

Interviewer: "I'm going to be honest with you, I don't think you'd stay here long."

Interviewer: "Looking at your degree and your resume...you could do anything."

Interviewer: "I'm going to be honest with you, most of those interviewing for this position have 20-30 years experience."

Me: [Uhhh. I don't have 30 years of life experience.]

Interviewer: "I decided to meet with you because you're pretty fresh out of college. You might offer something different than the other candidates."

I did fine. But I'm not what he's looking for. I was interviewed out of curiosity; I was part of a little experiment he devised for finding the perfect candidate. Which, clearly, I am not.

Moving on...

Tuesday, April 03, 2007

Here we go again

I have a job interview tomorrow. The very, very most preliminary stage of the job interview, I would guess. I was told that it would be a half-hour long. And it's going to take me twice as long to get there. A phone interview would've been nice.

I almost didn't even take the interview and, until last night, I considered cancelling. I have issues with the job title. I have concerns about what it would reduce me to. I fear a lack of challenge. I'm afraid that I will be nothing but somebody's bitch.

I live in constant fear that my parents paid a good $80,000+ for me to go to the most expensive public school in the country and I will have nothing to show for it. The fear is a disease. It may lie dormant, but is always there. On days like today, contemplating decisions that I may or may not have to face, the disease flares up. And I mostly freak out.

The call inviting me for an interview came on Friday, in the middle of dinner with my parents. I excused myself, took the call and returned to the table. I didn't breathe a word of it until yesterday, when I forwarded the job description to my mom and asked her if she thought interviewing was worth my time.

She encouraged me to interview.

It is good practice, if nothing else. And we all know - after three spectacular bombs in the last 13 months - that I could use the practice.

Once I told Mom, backing out was no longer an option.

So - what the hell? - I might as well seriously consider it.

This job could offer me a lot of good things.
I'd list them all here, but it seems like a waste of time.
I need to iron my blouse.
And it's not like I'm going to get the job anyway.

Monday, April 02, 2007

Jewish for a day

I am currently missing my first kickboxing class of the year. And I won't get to see the season finale of The Hills tonight, either. I'm going over to Lucy and Chet's house to celebrate Passover.

Every celebration needs a token gentile or two, right?

I'm making an amazing flourless chocolate cake to bring with me. Lucy told me not to bother bringing anything but I couldn't help myself. How much do I love baking for people? A lot. Especially this cake. It's going to be a winner.

I am mostly excited about it.

But what I'm really pumped about is how I made it to the super-mega-colossal grocery store, found all of my ingredients, bought a 9" springform pan and drove back home in less than a half hour. In rush hour traffic. That was divine intervention there, kids.

God wants me to celebrate Passover.
 
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