As you know, I bought  little notecards last week to send as Thank You cards to my Company E interviewers. They are BRIGHT PINK and reminded me of mehndi designs and Islamic art -  I KNOW, I'm a bellydancer right down to my corporate core. I CAN'T HELP IT. (Side note 1 - does nobody write notecards or letters anymore? Because it was nearly BLOODY IMPOSSIBLE to buy nice, plain - i.e. blank - notelets or notecards in the shops.) Last  night, I wrote the cards out. I kept it brief (the notecards are very little!), and just said thanks for your time, was lovely to meet you and to hear about your plan for this exciting new role, really keen, hope to hear from you soon kind of thing. I did NOT go for any of the lengthy suck-up letter bullshit advice from the Interview Assvice websites, because DUDE. It's bad enough that I'm having to WRITE A FUCKING NOTELET, I'm not essentially writing another (hate hate HATE) Cover Letter. (Side note 2 - how long has it been since you wrote, BY HAND, a little letter? Even a little notelet? I.e SOMETHING NOT TYPED? Because my hand fucking CRAMPED like a bastard after every two lines or so. OUCHIE.)

This morning, I popped round to Company E and handed the cards over to the Receptionist, who did seem a bit baffled by it but what the hell. She probably thinks I fancy them or something. *eyeroll eyeroll* But let's not get me into a Gender Politiks In The Workplace rant or we'll be here all day.

So anyway, got home and got onto Skype to chat with Ma about how the whole thing had gone - she texted me about it last night, but I was too tired to bother answering because I am a bad daughter. (Side Rant: How come whenever Oprah Bloody Winfrey uses Skype on her show it's all FABULOUS smooth clean pictures and perfect sound? And when I use it the picture looks VAGUELY like you COULD be looking at the right person [through a smearing of vaseline] and every now and then the speech   g  e  t  s     d  r  a  w  n     o  u  t     l  i  k  e     t  h  i  s     a  n  d     b  e  c  o  m  e  s     a  l  l     r  o  b  o  t  y     f  o  r     a     m  i  n  u  t  e   andthenspeedsuptocatchupandsoundslikesomekindofChipmunksOnSpeedWTF? Fucking favouritism, that's why. Goddamn Oprahism.) Anyway, my mum was NOT IMPRESSED with the Thank You Cards idea. Not impressed at all. And neither was I when I read the tip, and neither was Himself when I told him I was going to the shops to buy Thank You Cards for my interviewers. Because we are British. Even worse, we're both BRITISH and the subset thereof: SCOTTISH.

Non-British flisties may wonder why this is an issue, and if we Brits have some kind of ANTI-NOTELET POLICY or something, so I shall explain what the problem is, in a nutshell - Pride. The Great British Stiff Upper Lip. Tall Poppy Sydrome. There's something very British about not tooting one's own horn. Being a boastful, arrogant asshat is really anathema to the British personality (although perhaps less so nowadays) - to write a THANK YOU card after an interview seems like BEGGING. Or like some kind of underhanded attempt to get yourself to the front of the queue instead of getting there on your own merit. It's... it's downright unsportsmanlike or ungentlemanly conduct. So for me, countenancing buying that little notelet and writing some kind of greasy thank you note was a real step into heathen foreign territory.

And for the Scot in me? Just writing any kind of notelet was GAY. Possibly even using the WORD "notelet" is gay. We don't HAVE feelings of which to write! Bring me a small fluffy animal that I might BITE OFF IT'S HEAD and write threatening sweary words in it's blood! That'll show 'em who to hire! I jest (of course), but there's an element of that. Scots also have a PROFOUND case of Tall Poppy Syndrome - you are *not* meant to try to be "better" than you are. Salt of the earth is a good thing, overacheiving IS NOT. Pride comes before a fall. My father was perversely proud of being "Working Class" (even though he... didn't work. Hm.), and poured scorn aplenty on anyone who tried to have "grand ideas" or "get above their station" in life by... oh, you know, WORKING or GETTING AN EDUCATION or any of those filthy high-faloutin' things that GOOD PEOPLE shouldn't have any truck with. So going for an interview for a higher-status job was loaded enough for me, much less then write some kind of GROVELLY LETTER. It pressed all kinds of strange, guilty, "You KNOW you're not really good enough" buttons in my subconscious. Not a nice experience.

Anyway, once I'd written my notelets to MY standards (brief, no grovelly hoo-hah), I was happy enough to take a chance to deliver them. Himself, initially HORRIFIED by presumably the thought that I was going into a card shop to buy two overpriced "THANK YOU" cards featuring teddy bears and butterflies and dear GOD a POEM, warmed to the idea very much when I showed him the notecards, and more so when I showed him the wording. We both figured that there was nothing OFFENSIVE about them that would be shooting myself in the foot, and that if nothing else, reminding the interviewers of my name on Day Two of the interview schedule was probably useful.

And then, as mothers often have an uncanny knack for doing, Ma reached through Skype and punched a hole in the whole thing, making me completely doubt myself. AFTER I had already handed the fucking cards in and couldn't do a damn thing about it. Ma is a high-faloutin', managerial type, BTW, not like Evil Dad at all.

Says she: "Oh." *screws up little tiny face in disgust, although I'm not quite sure through the vaseliney film of Skype... she might just have been fighting a sneeze* "Oh, I'm not sure what I would have made of that when I was an interviewer."
Says I: "Well, I know. I'm not comfortable with it either. I think it's an American thing. It can't hurt though, right?"
Says she: "It just seems a bit... cheeky."
Says I:     o_O  *tries to convey "WTF, thanks muchly, Ma" through grainy poor quality webcam picture Evil Eye*
Says she: "I mean, I'm SURE it'll be OK, but I always thought thank you letters were more of a rejection thing, you know, 'Thanks for your time, such a shame to have missed out, keep me in mind' ? No?"
Says I: "It is, mum. But if it gets them thinking about me on day two of interviews it just kind of raises my profile a little."
Says she, in the terribly heavy, LOADED way that only a mother can: "Oh well. I guess it'll be interesting to see what they make of that."

*sigh*

Thanks, Ma. You always know just what to say to make me QUESTION EVERYTHING I JUST DID, ALAS AND ALACK, TOO FUCKING LATE. And you always manage to come down juuuuuuuust on the Other Person's side of the Devil Advocacy. You're just lucky that you're the only Good Parent I've got, or I would so trade you in for a puppy.

The Noo Zillunders that Himself works with thought it was an excellent idea - I'll just have to take some consolation in that. Who knows whether Operation Notecard will pay off? Or if Operation Stealth Awesomess Document will pay dividends. Or whether none of the above apply and some other awesome candidate is currently rocking the interviewers world. At the very least, I can say I tried my absolute best, even putting aside my British Awkwardness and everything.

(well... not TOTALLY aside. It's fish 'n' chips for tea. You can take the girl out of Britain, but you can't take the Brit out of the girl. More's the pity!)

 

• Bought 4 DVD's despite not having any money. (THEY WERE TOTALLY ON SALE)
• Walked around in the park
  • Resisted feeding the ducks because DAMN, is that WHOLE FUCKING LOAF floating in the pond?
  • Been bitten by mozzies, OMG *scritch scritch scritch* *BLEEDS* *SCRITCHSCRITCHSCRITCH*
• Walked into town
  • FINALLY tasted a Memphis Meltdown Rocky Road ice cream. It was not as good as the Big Hokey. (sigh)
  • Bought NOTECARDS so that I can act like an American (it's apparently de rigeur for our American friends?) and write a goddamned thank-you note to my interviewers on Tuesday. This does not sit well with me, but I will take ANY ADVANTAGE I CAN POSSILY GET at this point
• Sat outside in the garden in the sunshine, listening to music
  • Walked round to the dairy to rectify the previous day's Big Hokey disappointment. OUT OF BIG HOKEY's. Got Magnum Gold instead. IT IS NOT THE SAME.
• Trawled Bhuz and Livejournal and totally stalked all my flisties. (Hi guys! I'm in ur jurnal, readin' awl ur old biznez)
• Watched Halloweeny TV, including a Shrek mini-cartoon, and The Witches (OMG forgot how awesome it was, and got all wistful about how I fell in love with Angelica Houston in this movie and wanted to look like her when I was a proper grown-up because she was EVIL and SEXAY. Then discovered lots of other goth girlies and dumped the idea since it wasn't as exotic and DIFFERENTY as I thought. Boo.)
• Shut my driveway gate and all my curtains and totally hid from any kiddies seeking candy, because I am a big candy-bogarding asshat.
• Drew up a plan for a RIDICULOUSLY kitsch dance studio. Including blue prints for the building and what facilities it would have.
  • Doodled interior design plan for said fictitious studio
  • Researched BUILDERS who might be able to build said studio, because, you know, MY PLANNING STAGE, let me show you it.
  • Made plans for CLASSES and RETREATS and EVENTS for said studio, including where the stage would go and how it should have ramps at the side so that dancers can glide off the stage into the crowd, and OMG I NEED A JACUZZI. Because every studio needs a jacuzzi, if you're going to WASTE TIME DAYDREAMING
  • Run through my Beginner choreo, because I need something to teach in my TOTALLY NON-EXISTANT FANTASY STUDIO
  • Drifted through the internet looking for CD's to buy. Because I need new musical inspiration for my dance, since clearly I don't spend enough time FANTASISING and DAYDREAMING about dance-related hoo-hah.
• Posted this post.

• PREPARED FOR TOMORROW'S INTERVIEW, OMFG!!!

Good arvo to you, friendly reader! Would you mind giving me a bit of advice? Kthnx.

( If you answered "Sure! I'll help!" please to make with the clicky. If you answered "Bog off! Sort your own problems" feel free to ignore clicky, but don't be wondering why you won't get a Christmas card this year. YOU ARE OFF MY LIST. )

Well. It really is a funny old world, isn't it?

Yesterday's Property Inspection was fine. I only had to get indignant once with one thing which was LIKE THAT WHEN WE MOVED IN, and the lady caved immediately, so.... yeah, I totally win. They're sending round their wee handyman to oil the squeaky sticky garage door, reseal the base of the toilet in the spare bathroom (the thing that was LIKE THAT WHEN WE MOVED IN), check out the Mystery Guttering Piece which fell off in the Snowpocalypse but yet we don't see any obvious missing puzzle pieces that it can fit back into, and fit a runner thing in the door jam between the bedroom and the en suite to save the carpet fraying. Which is awesome, because I was going to do those things myself and now I can be a lazy cow and just direct some man to do it. Success!

So this morning I had my interview with Company V (yes, I am using their first initial rather than any kind of alphabetical sequence. Rumbled.). Last night, I was dying my hair (which, for some bizarre reason I had been avoiding for weeks?) and laying out my suit and reading up the company's website and whatnot.... and I noticed that on their Staff Bios page, one of them "teaches bellydance in her spare time".

:oo

I've been Googling around looking for anyone in the wider Invercargill area who might be dancing, and came up with nothing. Bupkiss! And then here I am, randomly applying for  a job - and OH HAI, AM BELLYDANCER! LETS BE FRIENDS! It's a weird... weird, random little world.

So I got to the office for the interview this morning (in the PISSING RAIN. Oh yeah, aren't I glad I spent ALL THAT TIME drying and straightening my hair? YEAH. Totally worth it), and I *think* I saw Bellydancing Girl at the reception counter. and I briefly though of saying: "Hey, are you C? You're the bellydance teacher! You know, *I'm* a bellydancer and I've been looking around for other dancers, isn't that FUNNY?! Where do you teach, etc etc etc PLEASE BE MAH FRIEND", and then I came over all weird wondering if I was really sure that was definitely her from the thumbnail on the website, and should I really be calling a stranger by her first name, and would she think I was OMFG CRAZY STALKER, GAH!

So instead I just totally stared at her. Classy.

Anyway, the interview went fine, (and incidentally my suit was looser! W00t!) but I got angry with myself on the way out because WAFFLE. WAFFLE WAFFLE WAFFLE WAFFLE WAFFLE WTF AM I SAYING WHAT WAS THE QUESTION AGAIN? OH LOOK, SQUIRREL! I don't know what the hell is wrong with me, but my GOD I talk a lot of shit. I was friendly, and bubbly, and chatty, and had a little joke and a laugh with them, and they seemed very relaxed, but.... I think they're going to remember me as a "nice person" rather than an awesome candidate for the job. Which.... is maybe not the most successful interview strategy in the world? Go me. Rats. Anyway, they're interviewing all week due to the massive response they had (damn), and because of all those candidates they *may* have to do a second interview. Either way, they're aiming to let me know by the end of this week. Yay, at least no long waits!

Which brings me on to OMG UNFORESEEN MORAL DILEMMA! Stay with me, there's some background ramble coming.

Remember the local government body job I was kvetching about the other day? The one I applied for, like, 5 weeks ago and never heard anything and had to chase them up even for an ACKNOWLEDGEMENT of my application? And that I was going to man up and send an email saying: "guess I've been unlucky, still would like to work for you sometime, good luck and thanks" to get closure on my own terms?

Yeah, so I did that.

And I got this email back:

 

So! Now I have this moral dilemma brewing. I'm a worrier - just such a bloody worrier, so indulge me here. Some background details:
 

• The job at Company V (today's interview) is a fixed-term 9-month position. The job at Company E is offering a permanent position.
• To get to Company V, drive 30 minutes. To get to Company E, drive 10 minutes.
• The people at Company V seem really nice. I haven't met Company E, but their slowness is driving me mental.
• The job at Company V is in HR with Finance. I hate Finance, but I've been interested (and largely unsuccessful) in getting into HR for years now.
• The job at Company E is higher profile, managing/co-ordinating project teams. I LOVE project work, and am very good at it.
• The job at Company E pays $20,000 more than the job at Company V. Yyyyyyyyyeah, kinda noticable difference there.

 Hey!

Hey, it's me! Been a while, huh? Forgotten what I look like? Christ, lucky you.

Yeah, so Things have been happening. And Stuff. And, very likely, Shenanigans. No wait, that sounds kind of lighthearted and fun. Shit. Let's go for Shit has been happening.

Canterbury, the district I lived in until very recently, had a massive earthquake. There was damage. It was VERY traumatic for the people of the city I used to live in, Christchurch. In fact, it IS still very traumatic because the aftershocks have STILL not relented and given the people an unbroken night's sleep since. Mercifully, there were no fatalities and very few injuries, so all's good in that regard. But the Council's response has been... interesting. They've done well in some areas, not so well in others, and for a while got very bulldozer-happy with some beautiful historic buildings. I was fairly sure tragedy was looming large and the beautiful Garden City would lose a huge chunk of it's graceful character and become, god forbid, yet another bland concrete wasteland.

Not so! The people of Christchurch and many of it's Councillors have shaken off the shock and realised that this is the time to protect the city's history. Common sense may yet prevail.

In other news, I am finally a FULLY LEGAL migrant! My visa was approved THIS MORNING, a mere THREE MONTHS after my application. Three months of not working, living on meagre savings, not knowing if I was going to be booted out of the country at a moment's notice. It's been.... stressful. Just, you know, a tad. What with the not having enough money to live on much less find $5000 for flights home. Hmm.

Anyway, now I have a work permit! I can totally work and feel like I have some USE in the world instead of being a hermit! I can put those Kleenex boxes away instead of using them for shoes! I can have a shower with purpose as if I have somewhere to go! Hurrah!

Oh, except for the fact that I'm getting NOWHERE with my job applications. Here's a quick run-down:

Applications: 5
Interviews: 2
Job Offers: 0

Now, I KNOW that's not many applications. Bearing in mind, these are tentative applications I was making for jobs I thought were too good to pass up, despite the whole technically-not-actually-legal-to-work-at-the-moment issue. So, I fully expect the number of applications will rise. I can only hope the number of interviews will also rise, and that someone (dear god, SOMEONE) will make me a job offer.

The last application I sent I had *such* a good feeling about. I worked on my CV and covering letter for THREE WEEKS, tweaking and refining and shining my very best light on everything. I felt the job was potentially a little bit of a stretch in as much as it paid a little more than my last job, but that my experience was relevant and sound (and in fact, pretty impressive in terms of the results I've been able to acheive in my last two roles). I was pretty sure that, even thought the job wasn't exactly "in the bag", I would at least be called to interview. (Which I don't seem to do all that well in, so that was my main worry).

Yeah, I was wrong. First, I didn't receive the promised acknowledgement of my application. So I waited a week, and then used that opportunity to contact the recruiter to confirm that my application had been received, since I was really KEEN and INTERESTED and that would surely score me some points, right? Hm. They apologised for me not receiving an acknowledgment, and told me I'd be hearing at the end of last week if I was being called to interview.

I was not contacted at the end of last week.

<sigh>

So now I'm waiting for the rejection letter. Even though you know you've been rejected, since you haven't heard within the timeframe and blah blah blah - you hold out some kind of completely irrational hope that they might just be running late! You could still totally get a call! Riiiiiiiight up until the day you get that rejection letter. It's Beaten Puppy Syndrome - you're bad to me but I'm desperate and I love you. Please kick me again!

Bastards.

But now I'm LEGAL! I can totally apply for ANY AND EVERY JOB ADVERTISED ANYWHERE! Eeeeeeexcept of course I'm currently living in the arse end of the world, in the smallest population I've *ever* lived in, and there's kind of not many jobs if I don't know one end of a cow/sheep from the other. Which I don't. (Well, I shouldn't sell myself short. One end is bitey and one end is smelly, and I'd really rather not to be too close to EITHER, thank you very much. Rules me out as a candidate, I should imagine.)

So! Once more unto the breach, dear friends - to scry over a burning hot laptop, to analyse and berate and second-guess oneself again, to pour all one's hopes and dreams into a piece of paper or email, and face heatbreak yet again. ON!

Meanwhile, I have the pleasure of having my brain drilled by the most awful noise I've heard in a long time (besides Himself snoring). The local authority, in it's wisdom, is chopping down an enormous Eucalyptus tree which sits RIGHT outside my house. You might imagine that this is some kind of bleeding heart concern for my house - what with dreaded leaves cluttering up guttering. Or oh god, ROOTS totally getting it on with my foundations and we're all paranoid about EARTHQUAKES now, so dear GOD cut that dangerous thing down! It could even fall right through the bedroom window in a storm or something!

No. It's so they can put a parking space in it's place. A parking space. Right outside my bedroom window. Now, let me be TOTALLY clear - this is not a parking space for me. Or Himself. We only have one car, and even if we had two we actually have two-car garaging (currently half occupied by exercise equipment, but we could totally move it to accommodate a second car), and an enclosed courtyard which could easily accommodate ANOTHER two cars.

The road outside is a main road. There's a school further down, which I believe has a car park. And there's free parking on the very wide side streets leading off the main street. So, naturally, there's a clear need for another car parking space RIGHT OUTSIDE MY BEDROOM WINDOW. 

Not only are they using a chainsaw (possibly the most irritating noise since nails on a chalkboard) to cut down every. Individual. Branch. One-at-a-time. They also, in the interests of... being tidy? Pissing me off? ...are running a mulcher. To turn the branches and tree into sawdust. Which is giving a lovely kind of reverberating, house-shaking, psychological warfare generally used against entrenched dictators bass counterpoint to the buzzy chainsaw. Yay!

Futhermore, last night while eating a bar of chocolate (as I do), a crown on my front tooth came out. Himself has been to pharmacies all over town this morning looking for one of those little temporary cement fixy kits, to no avail.

So I might be a totally fully legal alien and can leave the house with my head held high for once - but I'll look like a goddamned hillbilly.

AWESOME.