WTF?!

• A roasted garlic balsalmic vinegar sauce. Which OMFG is the BEST thing I've ever tasted.
• Harissa paste - AT LAST! A Southland source! I can make Moroccan chicken again. w00T!
• Hazelnuts roasted in Chilli and Garlic oil (TASTY, but a little spicier than I expected!)
• Fancy artisan Rocky Road chocolate - white chocolate with pistachios, semi-dried cherries, coconut, marshmallow and merangue
• A mahoosive bag of coarse bulghur wheat for taboulli-making

• A lime infused oil that tasted absolutely INCREDIBLE. It was rice bran oil, too, which I don't usually like.
• Pomegranate syrup
• Orange blossom water
• Dukkah (only because I'd had some the other night, so I didn't feel compelled)
• Hazelnut Butter
• Assorted fancy cheeses. I only tasted the feta, which, HOLY HELL, was proper tasty. (sidenote: can't be doing with that COW milk feta or SHEEP milk feta. GOAT CHEESE, PEOPLE! GOAT!!1!)

• A tiny bottle of Modena balsalmic vinegar for $90, OMFG.

Random reference of the day: this song. Just in case you think I'm going to some weird sexual hafla or something, I dunno. There probably IS some bellydance event SOMEWHERE featuring peach fusion or peaches or SOMETHING, you just know it. Or someone has once bellydanced to that song. O_O

Anyway!

This evening I am driving two and a half hours (that's one way, not round trip) to go to a hafla where I don't know anyone. And I suspect it's going to be mostly Tribal, even though I am a hardcore Egyptophile. Yes, that's how desperately dance-starved I really am.

I emailed a dancer in the NZ Teacher's List in the largest city down here in the South (Dunedin, hilariously Scottish in it's deportment, where my accent draws no attention AT ALL), and she was VERY nice and chatty and helpful, so hopefully I'll get the chance to meet her and say hello in person. She's performing too, and I *think* she's Oriental styled, so that should be interesting.

I'm looking forward to it, even with the thought that it's probably going to be Tribal heavy (Dunedin seems to be mostly Tribal styled). I fucking HATE meeting other dancers when I'm this heavy - I was so awkward and uncomfortable even meeting our own suzycat  in person for the first time, wondering what she was going to think of this short, fat, terribly unglamorous person. I *know* that's more to do with me and my own self-image (and knowing how I used to look and how I used to dress and carry myself) than it is about other people judging me, really. Although I know that does happen too. *sigh*

Anyway, I'm not trying to PROVE anything or DO anything or GET anything out of it. I'm just going as an audience member to enjoy myself. I'll also take mental notes so that I can post a review of my evening's entertainment for y'all. In the interests of Bellydance Anthropology, you know. 

So until tomorrow (or possibly later tonight, who knows?!) flisties - have a good Saturday!

 

I DID indeed receive my Combination Nation DVD's the other day. And I've been watching them and writing one of my "I Obviously Wrote This WHILE I Was Watching" live-action type reviews. I may get round to posting it at some point soon, although I'm sure none of my flisties are particularly interested. But hey! Some bellydance n00b may one day stumble across my journal or something, so... yeah, I provide a totally clear, concise and valuable service. Or... something.

Anyway, I'm slo-o-owly recovering from the massive disappointment body blow that was my EPIC FAIL of acheiving Awesome Job at Company E. I've been off the fucking rails eating wise, and have gained 1.4 kilos.
 

fuckshitarsebastardfuckshitarsebastardfuckshitarsebastardfuckshitarsebastardfuckshitarsebastard

Well, shit happens. *sigh*. I'll get back on the wagon this week and see how I go.

So I've seen two jobs that I could apply for this week. This is a HUGE number here in Invercargill - it's much more common for at least two weeks to go by before ONE job I can apply for comes up, so two in one week is a pretty big deal.

ACTUALLY, really there's THREE. The shoe shop manager job that I applied and interviewed (and was fucking rejected) for probably about three months ago is being advertised again. Guess the person who was selected over me wasn't that fantastic after all, eh?! *snerk* However, I've decided not to apply for it again. Much as I adore shoes (like... deeply and possibly unhealthily), I HATE Retail and just don't think I can work in it. I am *not* a salesperson. While I'm desperate for a job and OMFG NEEEEEEEEEEEEEED to earn some money, I won't do myself any favours securing a job that I won't be any good at and won't enjoy. Not worth the stress.

Which brings me neatly on to a job I have just sent an application away for this evening (closes tomorrow). It is.... DUN DUN DUUUUUNNNNN... a fucking PAYROLL job.

I've done Payroll for the last three years.
 

Thank you SO much to all my lovely flisties who commented yesterday and gave me luvs and supports. You made me cry, damn you all. (You know, in that way when you're RIGHT ON THE EDGE just managing to hold back the tears and then someone says something nice and you're all: "OH GOD, don't be NICE to me! *sob sob sob sob sob sob*"? Yeah. Like that.) 

I've gone into Holding Pattern mode at the moment. My mum told me off for having a "knee jerk" reaction and being all I AM GOING TO HAVE TO GO HOME, WOE IS ME, FAIL AND DOOM etc. I am... still kind of having that reaction, and am still a bit close to the teary precipice which suggests I am not entirely rational about things right now. Therefore, the best bet is probably to just sit still and do nothing, think nothing, plan nothing for a couple days - just try to get over it and pick myself up and BREATHE before making any rash decisions.

I usually pick myself up pretty quickly after job rejections (although there's always a moment of WOE IS ME because I am a certified Drama Queen), but this one... this one hurts more. This one definitely feels bigger and having it here so far from home is... scarier and MOAR SIGNIFICANT feeling. I've had a browse through the job vacancies (what little of them are to be had, rural backwater small town caveat blaaaaaaaaaaaaab), and that was kind of just another punch to the gut - my instant reaction to them was pretty bad, since the only available vacancy I can apply for is for some fucking awful looking admin assistant/receptionist a Company F, who have rejected me for a higher position no less than TWICE. I imagine the pay will be RUBBISH and the climbdown from applying for Positions Of AWESOMENESS back down to fucking Admin Monkery sticks in my craw.

And I KNOW that makes me a horrible, unrealistic snobby cow. My mother has already told me so and said I need to pull my finger out and WORK IN A SHOP if I need to. I didn't bother reminding her about the SHOE SHOP INTERVIEW that I also fucking failed, because I guess she needs her moment of lecturing me to feel like she's involved and being appropriately motherly in my moment of need halfway across teh wurld. Thanks, ma.

*sigh*

Anyay, Himself and I had a big heart-to-heart last night about our future plans, and I gret (past tense of greet, find definition here although you'll need to type the word in yourself ) and snottered and ranted and swore and flailed and just generally was a massive overdramatic pain in the arse. I threatened that going home would be the end of us (DUN DUN DUUUUUUN) as a couple because neither of us really WANTED to go home and therefore there would be angst and anger and HATE, and then Himself got really upset and I realised my being a wallowing self-flaggelating asshole was really helping neither of us, but TOO LATE because I'd already upset someone I love and had to deal with the GUILT of being a shitty person on top of everything.

*sigh*

So, Holding Pattern it is. A few days to just calm down, stop being a fucking over-reacting Drama Queen eejit and start to process things rationally. And then we'll decide what to do from here. Expect either stream-of-consciousness ramblings (apologies in advance) here as I try to sort myself out, or conspicuous silence as I avoid thinking about anything. Since, you know, avoidance TOTALLY works and is a valid and sane strategy. *eyeroll*

Big hugs and thanks again to everyone for your lovely comments yesterday! *sniff* (I was totally going to link here to a YouTube Ren &Stimpy episode featuring Haggis McHaggis saying "Don't make me cry! Ye canna..... make me cry!", but I can't find it. I HAVE found about a billionty Ren & Stimpy episodes though, so I guess that's Day One of my Holding Pattern Diary pretty much filled up!)

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!!!