Posted by Kimberly on December 5th, 2007 — Posted in The Ladies, Kipple, No Pudding Until You Finish Your Meat
Diva Girl woke me up a the crack of dark this morning, complaining of a stomach ache which, within a few short minutes, progressed to barfing all over my bed. Just the way every mom wants to start the day.
I had been consoling myself with the fact that the Zen Baby doesn’t seem to have been infected with whatever ubergerm seems to have taken up residence in her sister, but that was before I realized that it’s not really that warm in here.
So, Sabrina is sick. Bucket toting, random barfing, running to the bathroom sick. And I’m sick. Achy, hot, roiling stomach sick. And Regan? Is totally chipper and ready to go sledding. No, seriously, she has her boots on and everything.
It’s going to be a very long day. On a brighter note, at least the pounding in my head has driven out the “ohpleaseohpleaseohplease” running through my brain.
At this point, I’m all but sure I didn’t get the job–but oh, how painful that “all but” bit of hope is! It’s like a loose tooth, hanging on by that last stubborn thread, or a phantom stone in your shoe that you can feel but can never find. Still, I’m starting to let go and accept the fact that they aren’t going to be calling to tell me to start dusting off my lesson plans. And I’m mostly ok with that. I mean, I really, really wanted that job, but I’ll get over it.
What I’m not getting over, and am not ok with, is the fact that they aren’t calling to tell me I didn’t get it. That’s just plain rude. I’m insulted that they are treating me–and I assume the other unsuccessful applicant–this way, particularly since unlike most HR situations, it’s not like they aren’t going to have to see us again. We’re subs; the odds are very good that we will be in this school, sooner rather than later. And then, instead of the awkward phonecall, the VP will be faced with the uncomfortable prospect of having to look us in the eye as we all avoid the elephant in the office. Bad form if you ask me.
There should be some coherent way to wrap this up, but I feel too much like warmed over crap to figure it out. So, I’m off to move the freshly washed sheets to the dryer, peel the snowpants off of the Zen Baby, hand Diva Girl a fresh bucket, and then maybe, just maybe, lie down before I pass out.
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Posted by Kimberly on December 3rd, 2007 — Posted in Kipple, No Pudding Until You Finish Your Meat
I’m not a particularly patient person. I mean I can be, but not when it comes to waiting for something. Waiting is hard for me. I like to know things, and I like to know them now. So waiting to hear about this job interview is just about killing me.
Thursday was ok. I didn’t expect to hear Thursday. I mean, it would have been nice, but I was fine with the silence. That just meant that they hadn’t picked someone else yet.
Friday was harder. They said they’d make a decision by the end of the week. Friday is the end of the week. I spent the day in a tightly wound ball of tension, that “ohpleaseohpleaseohplease” refrain echoing through my head as I puttered around, trying to keep busy in an effort to fool myself into thinking that I wasn’t thinking about it. By four o’clock, though, I’d traded my optimism for resignation. They hadn’t called me, which meant that they must have called someone else.
I’ve been trying to wrap my head around that all weekend. To understand why they choose a different candidate. Which, really, is just another way of saying I spent the weekend going over the many ways I must have messed up the interview, longing for a chance to do it over and beating myself up for my inarticulate stupidity. All of which was made worse by the fact that it was slowly dawning on my that applying for this job wasn’t just a whim. I really wanted it. More than I’d even realized.
I’d thought that I was ok with my job as a supply teacher. Happy with it even; I could certainly rattle off all the benefits of subbing over classroom teaching without needing to stop and think very long about the differences. I’d definitely achieved a balance in my life between what I wanted and what I had. Or, at least, I thought I had. But that’s one of the things about hope, it comes out of nowhere and knocks you off balance. It makes you look at your life differently and think about it in new ways. It makes you want things you don’t have.
By Sunday I thought I’d gotten myself back on an even keel. It was ok that I didn’t get this job. That just meant that it wasn’t the right time. And really, it doesn’t quite fit in with what I need out of life right now. In fact, it’s pretty selfish to even think of upsetting the applecart at this point. I resolved to not exactly put it behind me–I’ll certainly be taking the opportunity to form some kickass answers to those interview questions that don’t leave me feeling like I was a babbling idiot, drowning in a sea of my own words, desperately searching for the life preserver of a coherent thought next time–but to move on from the experience. To reembrace my life, the one I have worked so hard to build for my family these past few years.
Hope is a pernicious thing, though, and this morning I’ve been consumed by the fact that while no one has called with a “yes,” they haven’t called with a “no,” either. So now I’m back to a sense of optimism and possibility sitting in my stomach like a lead balloon as I offer up a final plea of “ohpleaseohpleaseohplease.”
I just hope it’s not too late to do any good.
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Posted by Kimberly on December 1st, 2007 — Posted in Kipple, Blah Blah Blog, iVillage
So, it’s not bad enough that iVillage took away my blog, forced me into linking my name with a woman that I can best describe as “odious,” and then fired me for complaining about that and other slights (let’s not forget the complete rewriting of my entire philosophy of life and personality to fit their construct of the perfect single mom: A pathetic, lonely woman bravely making the best of a bad lot as she desperately searches for Mr. Right. blech). Now, they’re not even paying me anymore.
For the longest time, iVillage and I used to do a little dance where they would fail to send a cheque for a month or three and I would finally work up my courage to get past my innately Canadian distaste for confrontation, particularly confrontation over money (how unseemly) and politely ask them if they could please look into the issue if it wasn’t too much bother. And they would come back with a story about the accounting department in India, and you how that goes and then finally get on with it and issue me a cheque. This went on for just about ever. Then two things happened: 1) I stopped being such a girl about the whole thing and left the apologies behind. Instead of a weak, apologetic email, I began to simply inform them of the problem and my expectation that they fix it immediately (I also started posting only memes and blogthings until I received payment) and 2) They started trying to soften me up for The Daily Mom blow. At that point, they actually amended my contract to state that I must be paid within 30 days of receipt of invoice and all was good and the cheques began arriving like clockwork.
Except, no cheque this month.
hmmmmm.
Now, really, the thing to do would be to stop work immediately. To refuse to post until I’m paid. But, I’m pretty sure that that’s what Girl Genius did, and those of you who follow iVillage saw how that worked out (within 24 hours, iVillage had pulled her blog and her archives off the site.). It’s definitely a way to go, but the thing is, I think it’s what they want me to do; if nothing else, it gets them off the hook for paying me for December, plus they don’t have to put up with me anymore. I’m not into giving them the satisfaction, so instead, I’m planning a week of memes.
So, tag me! You’ve got a meme out there? No matter how asinine, boring, or lame, tag me! I’ll do over at The Daily Mom, make my post commitment, and make a statement about getting what you pay for. (Not that Funny Mom doesn’t do that on a regular basis…..)
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