Tag Archives: opinion

Interviewing Tip-Toes

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We saw an overall attitude approach to interviewing in one of my last posts. Some of you agreed and disagreed on this approach…

But, let’s push that aside for now. This post is about the big guns.

White socks.

Apparently they don’t go with dress shoes no matter what you are wearing.

I heard this from a career counselor.

I don’t mean to be a nay-sayer. I am sure this councelor is very good at landing people jobs. BUT- somehow- I got my new job wearing white socks. At the time, I didn’t know any better. Call me lucky. Call me so good it didn’t matter, not even in the follow up interview. I wore them. I didn’t even have any neutral colored socks that weren’t boot socks at the time. I even wore them my first couple weeks of work.

Honestly, I doubt anyone noticed. This may be because I was interviewed by people more interested in skills or attitude. This could be because I was interviewed by men or just people who are too deep to judge a person based on socks. It could be that these people just didn’t look at my feet. They might be secret white sock supporters even.

Sock racism.

Call me crazy, but maybe it is just okay to wear white socks with dress shoes. Maybe it’s not awesome, but I don’t think it looks that bad. I’d hire someone wearing white socks (even after Labor Day).

Fashion police, arrest me. I thought white socks were pretty safe, or at least safer than the ones with the little flying moo-cows on them. Those ones are okay only *after* they hire you.

Who Would Want to Wear Women’s Clothing?

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clothes?
Someone at work the other day had the audacity to imply that women had it better because of the variety of clothing we get to chose from. When I get up in the morning exhausted and have at most an hour to get out the door, believe me, the last thing I want to think about is how to match up this variety. Does the color, pattern, and cut match? Will I be too cold? Is this somewhat see through (and if so, do I have a clean white bra?)? I can’t wear that shirt with that bottom, I need a longer shirt or a higher cut of pants. Damn it, those are two different shades of blue.

Variety isn’t what I’m thanking of when I’m faced with the daunting task of clothes shopping on a budget for practical, versatile clothing. I want something I can wear often, not be too uncomfortable in, look decent in, not have to wear something under, and won’t fall apart if I put it in a washer (I *will* hang dry as a compromise, but who has the resources to hand wash their clothes?). Variety means you could potentially buy a piece of clothing that can be only worn with a certain other set of clothing to not look stupid.

I don’t need to look “damn” even a fraction of the time in my world. I still don’t want to look stupid. That bar is higher for women, with pressure from both men and other women. If a guy wears something stupid, it not only okay because he’s a guy, but it might be kind of cute or endearing.

I like guy’s clothing. Too bad it doesn’t fit women correctly. That doesn’t mean I don’t own and wear men’s clothing if I like it enough. It’s elegant in its simplicity. It’s really hard to screw up or not find something when shopping. It’s very practical and spans seasons and occasions easily. If there are designs or logos, they’re more often subtle or of cool things. Too boot, the sizes even make sense. Hallelujah.

Women’s sizes… for pants I wear an 11/12. What does that mean? I have no idea. As it is, I have a lot of 13/14 too. Why are they /? I don’t know. What waist size and pant length does that equal? Well, there must be some algorithm based on brand, style, and those arbitrary numbers with the /. Women hackers are working on it as you are reading this. If you are a woman who is (what some person somewhere decided) ‘a bit tall’ or ‘a little short’ (or someone has determined your waist size is inconsistent to your leg length), you’re pretty much screwed or need to become a seamstress. Some pants have little bits of leeway. You can get a 11/12 tall. How tall? Well the amount you’re supposed to be if your ass is that size and you’re taller, duh!

Do you like pockets? Someone thinks women don’t, because half of my pants don’t have them (though they may be styled to look like they do).

So, if pants are complicated, don’t get me started on shirts. Guys have short sleeve and long sleeves. Women have those, and three quarter sleeves. Guys have crew or v-neck. Women have every cut imaginable, including square. I mentioned see through shirts above, and I’m not joking when I say you have to check to make sure before you buy a shirt (or skirt, unless you want to purchase and coordinate a matching slip*).

There are all kinds of additional shit people like to put on shirts and bottoms too. Dumb designs aren’t the half of it. Shoulder pads, body suit attachments, beads, sequins, fringe, fur, shininess, fake pockets, fuzzies, and whatever else they just decided was in, or was in at some point. Every year some other stupid trend comes along. Last summer, for the life of me I could not find a tank top that wasn’t long enough to be a dress. Some women don’t have much curves around the waist, so maybe having a long tank top was okay. For me, having a shirt that needs to fit both my waist and but is a joke. It’s also silly. Why does my ass need to wear my fitted shirt?

Fitted clothing is a good idea if you have a sizing structure to match fits. Men come in enough varieties for body type. With curves, women have at least double the variation. With sizes so vague, how does someone find a fitted shirt that fits when the sizes are: x-small, small, medium, large, x-large (and some larges with more and more x’s). Most women take a small, medium, or large. Is someone trying to tell me that most women in the world have upper bodies that fit into 3 categories? Even a man knows (and maybe especially a strait man) that women’s breasts come in a variety of sizes and match up with a variety of stomachs.

I haven’t even touched on women’s shoes, belts, and purses. I didn’t even get into dresses. I feel I’ve gone far enough and just don’t want to go there right now.

I hate women’s clothing. It has nothing to do with my body either. I know that when I find a perfect fit (once in a life time) of something that isn’t some weird failed art project, I look good.

I can’t wait for the day it’s acceptable for men to wear any and all of women’s clothing. A few things will happen: women’s clothes will come in a wider variety and more accurate sizing. Also, men will understand how much of a pain in the ass it is and expect less of us. Maybe, women’s clothing will become more practical.

The empathy would also be nice. They will say, “Wow, pantyhose sucks. It’s itchy, it can get ruined by breathing on it too hard, and did I mention it’s itchy?”

And we’ll say, “Mmm-hmm.. damn strait.”

*slip – n. A skirt like thingy that goes under a skirt. Why one isn’t sewn into the skirts that need them is a mystery.

Today VS Tomorrow

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Final Fantasy 6 Son of a Submariner
Here is a tip to all the young, aspiring bad guys out there. To be a truly crazy, evil, and scary villain, try addressing the protagonist (as he gets away in a castle submerging into the desert) like so. Only then will you show your evil wit. Take it from Kefka of Final Fantasy 3/6 (SNES/Playstation).

It gets old trying to predict the future. I enjoy working on things for the future, it’s the expecting and trying to make things turn out a certain way that can be a bit grating. I try to live keeping in mind that people die in silly, unbelievable ways ‘before their time’ all the time. Even if you’re taking care of the ‘macrocosm’ of your life, the big picture, if you forget about the ‘microcosm’, all the moments that make up your day (and essentially you) then you’re missing out on life. As helpful as a crystal ball could be, it’s not the point.

Trying for tomorrow is great, but no matter what we work for or how hard we try, it can be a bit of a problem to expect things to work out as a result. I encountered that in a rather big way when my big long term plans for Virgina did not work out and I ended up in back in Mass. I saved a lot of money the summer before for the move (and all the things that went with it). I was looking forward to it even before that, when I was in Newcastle, “It’s gonna be so great!”.

My eggs were mostly in that basket. I’m glad I managed to make time for fun this past summer, maybe my last summer in Portland ever. I had living situation issues, but then I just made sure I was gone from my living space and with friends as often as possible. I miss the guys and gals I hung with (my P-land pals), even the people I worked with and the job itself. I miss it in a nostalgic way, however, not a ‘now sucks’ manner. I also don’t regret working so hard because I did make time for fun. I’m trying to make it so I can look back fondly on this time too some day.

Just keep going. It’s all we can do. Work for tomorrow, but live for today knowing tomorrow could still up and decide it has other plans for you.

Brits Eat..?

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spotted dick in a can
My original thought was that I needed to come up with something in honor of Gary Gygax now that he has passed on to that campaign setting in the sky. This may still happen after I’ve finally come to accept its truth. Until then, I’ve made some startling discovery at what our friends the British apparently eat.

As a disclaimer, yeah, McDonalds is from over here and it’s gross. I’m sure there are other nasty things that make it out of our borders that I don’t eat, like Jello. As far as I’m concerned, none of it comes even remotely close to what I have discovered…

1. Spotted Dick: This is one I’d actually heard of. What I didn’t know is that it comes in a can. Also horrifying is that on this can it says you can microwave it. DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME, because last I checked metal cans and microwaves don’t mix. I knew this, but didn’t know the extent of it until my little sister blew up the microwave trying to make Jello one day.

I have not tried spotted dick, but one of my friends has (see photographic evidence). Let’s see what she has to say on the matter:
eating spotted dick

“It’s as good as can be expected considering it’s cake from a can cooked in boiled water…”

I think that’s as good a review as we’re going to get.

2. Mr. Brain’s 4 Pork Faggots in a Rich West Country Sauce: I barely know where to begin. I am trying to figure out what about this meal is a faggot. I am searching my definitions… homosexual man? No. Bundle of sticks? Nope. Measuring those bundles of sticks? No again. Cigarette? Uh-uh. All right… I’m just going to have to assume that one of these weird meatballs is also known as a faggot.

Pork Faggots

My next question is what is so west about this sauce. The spotted dick friend tells me: “…the West Country (where my Brit ancestors originally hailed from) is a region of England.” This is good to know, but it tells me little about the sauce. Another friend who tried the ‘faggots’ recalled the experience like a horror story. She had this to say on the matter:

“I shudder to remember. This was back when I was eating meat, but no amount of creepy processed fast-food spaaaaaaaaaace meat could have prepared me for this. Pork faggots are basically these meat balls made not out of what we would typically define as “meat”, but instead is ground up pig’s liver and possibly some other organs covered in some disgusting gravy. Ugggh!”

So far, spotted dick in a can is better than microwavable Mr. Brain’s pork faggots.

Toad in the Hole
3. Toad In The Hole: So… you put sausages in “Yorkshire pudding” batter and bake ’em. Now I’m out of willing candidates to try these things, but my spotted dick friend did have this to say:

“Oh, SHIT, Toad in the Hole? That looks terrible. TERRIBLE.”

Brits need to stop taking their sausages and putting them in everything! …

…!

…we’ve already mentioned spotted dick, so I’m sure that couldn’t have sounded much worse.

Also on the subject of Brits and sausage…

4. Black Pudding: It’s sausage made with congealed blood. Brits like sausage apparently, and need variations.

5. Brawn apparently is a sausage form of head cheese. This has nothing to do with cheese, but everything to do with a head of a calf, pig, or sheep. It also can contain meat from the feet or heart. It’s even eaten cold. At least then we won’t smell it if someone reheats it. Thank heavens for small favors. I am not posting a picture as I’m afraid to try and find one.

Alright. This is about as much on the subject I can look into right now. If any Brits are out there reading this, we could use some insight into your cuisine. I for one, don’t get it. This is coming from someone who loves sushi, so I’m thinking the average American would be even more lost.

I guess my biggest questions are, do you actually eat this stuff, eat it often, and like it? …or is this just food propaganda that makes it across the borders to frighten us? I mean, there’s fish and chips, and that’s great.

Inquiring minds in the U.S. want to know!

Doubly Singular

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Soul Blazer crab walking

This post’s image is brought to you by the Enix game Soul Blazer for the SNES. On one hand, this may be an introduction to a tutorial. On the other hand, it might be a pickup line.

I enjoy being single. The world is, in general, a much simpler and happy place when you’re dealing with a single point of view. It’s a bit harder to argue with yourself. I’m not much in the habit of betraying myself. And when I screw up, no one is there to tell me so or rub it in except me. I’m hard enough on myself, so it’s a bit of a relief to not have double the guilt.

I’ve seen enough people cringe when I go on like that. I know approximately what they’re thinking. “Wow. That’s a pretty jaded viewpoint. What about all the good stuff?”

I used to have good answers to this sort of cynicism. I used terms like “…when I find my soul mate…” as opposed to, “…if something close to this even exists…”. I used to believe that love could be enough to make any relationship work if you worked at it hard enough.

But, really, it doesn’t work that way. People suck. A person will expect you to work at the relationship while simultaneously looking over their shoulder for something better, making you feel like you’re doing something wrong, and not feeling even remotely obligated to meet you half way on anything.

The two ways of dealing with someone when they try to make you meet them half way on anything:

1. Argue.

2. Agree without even listening to what you’re agreeing to.

I prefer people that will argue over those who will ‘yup’ you. “Yes, honey” makes me want to impale peeps and marshmallow bunnies on knives while pretending they’re real. You at least can be sure the argumentative ones are being honest about what they think and feel with you. They trust you enough to expose their own opinions and feelings. Unfortunately, they also usually think their thoughts are automatically more qualified than anyone else’s. It’s not that they think they’re always right, it’s that you’re always at least more wrong than they are (if you are performing the great sacrilege of having a different point of view).

To these people, being wrong is a significant event that determines one’s mental capacity. Proving someone wrong and making them feel stupid for it go hand in hand. Nothing says “I love you.” more than, “You moron, you got that movie quote wrong.”

Even though I like being single, I will admit that finding that ideal other person would also be wonderful. It’s something that is always at least in the back of every single person’s mind: what is your ideal like? What are you going to look for differently next time (as if we don’t chose slight variations on the same type of people over and over)?

I’m thinking that next time I will try to find someone that has the capacity to both be very honest *and* very caring. I want to find someone that will feel like they can say anything to me, but would like that person to have the ability to say, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” and “I don’t agree with you, but you make a valid point.” and mean it.

I could go on to say that the idea person would be a dichotomy between a lot of things. I am someone who has always been (somehow) extremely left brained and right brained at the same time. I also have the capacity to be both over logical and over emotional. If this doesn’t make any sense, get to know me better. If this sounds frightening, it can be, so you might want to poke me with a stick through my cage a few times before getting too close.

But what is with this useless exercise? It’s the ultimate self centered thought, to pretend there is going to be someone else out there who you will find in your lifetime that matches your wants and needs more perfectly than you even understand those wants and needs.

On top of that, I’m pretending I’ll actually chose things about the person the next time my mind and body betray me and do the love suicide march once again.

I have not planned it when it’s happened. I’ll not even be looking.

So, as I continue to actively not look for someone else, I also try not to go down this silly road wrought with self-indulgent romanticism. The pessimistic blather may not be much better, but it at least supports my independence. It’s better than being a desperate romantic any day.

When You Google Yourself

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Phantasy Star 2 Wanted

To the right: Phantasy Star 2 (Sega Genesis).

When you Google yourself, you expect to find yourself in at least a few places that you didn’t expect to be found.

What no one expects is for some idiot to treat their blog like it’s some pre-teen’s live journal and talk about you unkindly as if no one would ever know it was you. If someone were to do that, you’d at least expect them to try and hide who you are. Like say “this guy” or “someone I know…” or “…we’ll call him Bobalicious…”. If they still used, not just your first name, but your whole legal, given name, you’d figure they’d at least have a reason to… like some kind of vendetta. Maybe you keyed their car or slept with their sister. Maybe you kicked their dog.

What if all you did was try to be polite?

A friend of mine ran into someone she used to know. During the conversation, another old mutual friend came up. She asked how this friend was doing, what they were up to, and even took down their number. She did it just to be polite, never called the number, and didn’t even think about it again until much later.

Much later, she was playing everyone’s favorite internet game: Google myself!!

When she Googles herself, she gets a lot of results from people who are spell check impaired since her name is close enough to real words. There are other people with the same name. Nothing too noteworthy…

Then she found this (all misspellings, bad grammar, etc. I kept, but the names are ***ed out):

 
“So I wonder what’s gonna happen when ********** calls my cell-phone. Will I answe it? What would we ever have to talk about. Apparently we’ve been living in the same town for quite awhile- I wonder why she doesn’t ever come downtown. ***** said she looked the same, acted the same. It would be a shame if she’d never blossomed. Maybe she just still shy. I’m terrified of talking to her”

 
She was satisfied with telling her friends about it and us all saying ‘what an ass’, but I was a bit more pissed. I wanted to call that number and give this guy something to be terrified about.

Another friend did some reconnaissance and found the blog. I left a comment. I even left a link to my blog…

 
“So I wonder what’s gonna happen when ********** calls my cell-phone. Will I answe it?”

When? Don’t you mean if? Just because she was polite enough to ask for your number doesn’t mean she’ll call it, especially if you’re posting this.

“What would we ever have to talk about.”

Life? Is there really so little that has happened to you since you last spoke that you’d have nothing interesting to tell an old friend about?

“***** said she looked the same, acted the same. It would be a shame if she’d never blossomed.”

She still looks and acts like ****. Yeah, I know, too bad she didn’t conform to the way she should look or act.

“Maybe she just still shy. I’m terrified of talking to her.”

She’s shy but you’re terrified of talking? She’s like barely five feet tall and an openminded individual. Whatever she had to say, I bet it would have been nicer than what you had to say on the internet.

Well, no need to be afraid. I’m sure she won’t be calling you now.

 
I hope he reads it. I hope it makes him blush. I hope he then links to here and sees that I talked about it in my blog. I hope he then writes a follow up post either bad mouthing me or trying to defend himself.

Never blossomed? I’m sorry that we’re not all flowers or bloomin’ onions. We’re women who come into our own, but not exclusively in ways designed specifically to appeal to your own individual male sensibilities.

Look the same? Did he expect her to have a problem with not being a six foot blonde with a paper thin tummy and mushy melons? Did he expect plastic surgery on his behalf?


Sound the same? She’s always had interesting things to say and an amazing singing voice. Who should she sound like…

Him?

And all these conclusions are jumped to because he talked to someone who talked to her.

Is the terrifying thing that he may hear about how great she’s doing? She’ll tell him all the places she’s been and things she’s done, and he’ll feel small and empty and write about it on his blog. So instead of calling her, and judging for himself how this friend is doing, make a preemptive strike online. He belittles her so he can feel better about it when she calls. If she calls. She isn’t going to call him. Why would she?

He apparently has nothing much to say anyways.