I just got a call that I didn't get the Library Assistant job I interviewed for on Tuesday. This totally blows. The flip side is that the two wonderful women who interviewed me did say that I was, in fact, super awesome, but with 25 other applicants they just went with the one with the most experience in the end. They did say that they do want me to work for them and that I should apply for the next opening because they were really impressed with my interview.
So, in one way I'm all sorts of bummed, but I'm also happy that they did actually like me. Oh well.
Now my house is shaking from thunder and it's setting off other people's car alarms. Today is not my day. My cat George is looking at me like, "make it stop, please, just make it stop." I'm sorry kitty. Mommy has no control over the weather.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Saturday, January 29, 2011
How Do Drive a Library Worker Crazy
Here's a few examples of the situations I deal with on a daily basis. Some days I lose faith in humanity.
- Oh, you say you can't find these two books on our shelves for two days when the computer says they're in? Let me go look. Oh, they're right on the shelf in the correct location by call number! I'm beginning to think you don't know what a book looks like or how to read.
- Slow down. Don't run, please.... I am just a ghostly voice from the great beyond telling you not to run.
- I cannot help you when you're talking on your cell phone. Either finish your call outside or call them back. Otherwise I will join in on your conversation or refuse to help you until you hang up.
- The cd/dvd/audiobook/playaway you are holding in your hand is in fact a cd/dvd/audiobook/playaway. No, it is not a book. Yes, I know the sticker says '14 day book,' but that's only to inform you that the you can only check out the item for 14 days.
- Yes, I need photo identification and two things with your name and current address to create a library account for you. Yes, that's a Social Security card. No, it does not count. Why? Because we're funded by county taxpayer money. I'm glad you just live up the street, why don't you go home and get some bills or something for me to confirm your address.
- Fiction means stories that are not real. Non-fiction means it's real, possibly educational and not what you're looking for.
- It's 9:00 p.m., please leave. I gave you a 15, 10, 5, and 1 minute warning. That does not mean you can keep browsing like you have nothing else to do.
This song came on while I was working on this post and figured it was a pretty good way to end this post.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
I Had a Turn Down Dream
Monday night my dreams betrayed me.
For those of you who do not know, I have an internet crush on Mr. Day[9]. Monday night I had a dream about him.
In the dream I had some dream friends that did not resemble anyone I actually know who were getting married. Somehow I was a part of this wedding and we were having a friend/getting to know you night out with all the wedding party people. At the dinner Mr. Day[9] sat across the table from me. We instantly hit it off. We made jokes and laughed. I think at one point we made some sort of joke/reference to an Alanis Morissette song.
The group was leaving the restaurant and were heading to some sort of bar or something. It was cold and dark outside and I had on a pair of fingerless gloves made from some scrap sock yarn I actually have. As we were walking and laughing Day[9] coyly slid his hand into mine.
I stopped walking, turned to him and said, "Sean (his real name) I should tell you that I'm engaged. I like you but I can't you know, do this." He smiled, smiled said he understood and let go of my hand. At that point, dream me was like 'damn why did I wear gloves?!' Instead, he offered to be my escort and keep other guys from hitting on me or doing something uncouth. For the rest of the night we hung out as friends and it was great.
I woke up and was so disappointed in dream me. Seriously, it was a dream, not real, why oh why did you say that?! I drifted back to sleep for a few minutes after this dream and Day[9] was there again. This time I was single in the dream and we were about to set up information for a date when Fred decided it was time to wake up and mewed in my face. Damn cats.
I heart you too Day[9].
For those of you who do not know, I have an internet crush on Mr. Day[9]. Monday night I had a dream about him.
In the dream I had some dream friends that did not resemble anyone I actually know who were getting married. Somehow I was a part of this wedding and we were having a friend/getting to know you night out with all the wedding party people. At the dinner Mr. Day[9] sat across the table from me. We instantly hit it off. We made jokes and laughed. I think at one point we made some sort of joke/reference to an Alanis Morissette song.
The group was leaving the restaurant and were heading to some sort of bar or something. It was cold and dark outside and I had on a pair of fingerless gloves made from some scrap sock yarn I actually have. As we were walking and laughing Day[9] coyly slid his hand into mine.
I stopped walking, turned to him and said, "Sean (his real name) I should tell you that I'm engaged. I like you but I can't you know, do this." He smiled, smiled said he understood and let go of my hand. At that point, dream me was like 'damn why did I wear gloves?!' Instead, he offered to be my escort and keep other guys from hitting on me or doing something uncouth. For the rest of the night we hung out as friends and it was great.
I woke up and was so disappointed in dream me. Seriously, it was a dream, not real, why oh why did you say that?! I drifted back to sleep for a few minutes after this dream and Day[9] was there again. This time I was single in the dream and we were about to set up information for a date when Fred decided it was time to wake up and mewed in my face. Damn cats.
I heart you too Day[9].
Saturday, July 24, 2010
The Story of My Birth Is Pretty Epic
I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say the story of my birth is pretty epic. Okay, maybe not epic, but I think it's a pretty good story. In fact, in high school I had to write a autobiographical story and chose to tell the following tale. My teacher said she would have thought it was fake if she didn't know my cousin and heard great Novak tales from her.
It all started one July evening around 6:00 or 7:00 p.m. My mom was at home with my brother (age 6) watching reruns of the Brady Bunch. Her water broke and it was action time. Grandman Dorthy picked up my brother and my mother headed to Novak Liquor to get my dad and they could go to the hospital.
My mom rushed into the store in a panic. She was ready to get to the hospital and get this baby out. My dad was calm and collected. He told her not to worry and that they had plenty of time. Dad had my mom sit behind the counter while he kept the store open and helped customers (it's a one man opperation). So there they sat, timing contractions and talking to customers until 9:00 p.m. when my mom had had enough. She wanted to go the hospital and she wanted to go right then!
For the first time in Novak Liquor history, the store closed early. In my lifetime I can only think of two occasions where the store closed, for the funerals of my grandparents who had opened the store.
Instead of heading to the hospital, my dad stopped at his parents' house that was right across the street from the store. He did this every day he got off work to visit with them. They chatted casually until my mom was fuming with anger. Grandma Rose suggested that he might want to get her to the hospital.
They finally made it to the hospital around 10:30-11 p.m. The night nurses got her settled in and my calm, collected dad started to panic. He kept trying to leave the room. My dad is squimish when it comes to pain. My mom refused to let him leave and to keep him calm would laugh whenever it hurt rather than scream or cry out. I mean, if you've ever seen any sort of real birth, you're familiar with the terrible sounds that emit from a woman. Imagine instead loud bursts of laughter. And David Letterman because that's what they were watching.
Around 12:30 a.m. the nurses were frantically calling my mother's doctor to come in and get this birth underway. He told them not to worry, I probably wouldn't come out until 6 or 7 a.m. This doctor did not understand how badly I wanted out.
At 1:10 a.m. on July 24, 1987 I came into the world. The nurses were in a panic. The only delivery doctor wasn't available because there was another couple who had gone into labor an hour or so before me. They had to get me out themselves. My dad was so excited he couldn't remember the weight and length so a nurse wrote it down for him on a post-it. He still carries it in his wallet to this day.
This story may not seem very epic right now, but if you ever hear me or my parents tell it in person you'll understand why I think it's so great. I mean, I was almost born in the liquor store. If my dad had waited until closing (11:30 p.m.) it would have been too late.
In 9th grade we had to write a short autobiographical sotry of your life and I chose this one. My teacher said that if she hadn't known my cousins she would have thought it was a work of fiction.
It all started one July evening around 6:00 or 7:00 p.m. My mom was at home with my brother (age 6) watching reruns of the Brady Bunch. Her water broke and it was action time. Grandman Dorthy picked up my brother and my mother headed to Novak Liquor to get my dad and they could go to the hospital.
My mom rushed into the store in a panic. She was ready to get to the hospital and get this baby out. My dad was calm and collected. He told her not to worry and that they had plenty of time. Dad had my mom sit behind the counter while he kept the store open and helped customers (it's a one man opperation). So there they sat, timing contractions and talking to customers until 9:00 p.m. when my mom had had enough. She wanted to go the hospital and she wanted to go right then!
For the first time in Novak Liquor history, the store closed early. In my lifetime I can only think of two occasions where the store closed, for the funerals of my grandparents who had opened the store.
Instead of heading to the hospital, my dad stopped at his parents' house that was right across the street from the store. He did this every day he got off work to visit with them. They chatted casually until my mom was fuming with anger. Grandma Rose suggested that he might want to get her to the hospital.
They finally made it to the hospital around 10:30-11 p.m. The night nurses got her settled in and my calm, collected dad started to panic. He kept trying to leave the room. My dad is squimish when it comes to pain. My mom refused to let him leave and to keep him calm would laugh whenever it hurt rather than scream or cry out. I mean, if you've ever seen any sort of real birth, you're familiar with the terrible sounds that emit from a woman. Imagine instead loud bursts of laughter. And David Letterman because that's what they were watching.
Around 12:30 a.m. the nurses were frantically calling my mother's doctor to come in and get this birth underway. He told them not to worry, I probably wouldn't come out until 6 or 7 a.m. This doctor did not understand how badly I wanted out.
At 1:10 a.m. on July 24, 1987 I came into the world. The nurses were in a panic. The only delivery doctor wasn't available because there was another couple who had gone into labor an hour or so before me. They had to get me out themselves. My dad was so excited he couldn't remember the weight and length so a nurse wrote it down for him on a post-it. He still carries it in his wallet to this day.
This story may not seem very epic right now, but if you ever hear me or my parents tell it in person you'll understand why I think it's so great. I mean, I was almost born in the liquor store. If my dad had waited until closing (11:30 p.m.) it would have been too late.
In 9th grade we had to write a short autobiographical sotry of your life and I chose this one. My teacher said that if she hadn't known my cousins she would have thought it was a work of fiction.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Moving Complete (Almost)
All of our furniture has been moved! The only thing left in our apartment is random junk on the counter and some dishes in the cabinet. Oh, and stuff in the fridge. Other than that we're set.
I've unpacked all of the bedroom and 'master' bath. Henry unpacked the kitchen. We now have a larger pile of empty boxes than stuff to unpack. We have a lot of crap.
Henry is obsessed with this chair his mom bought at an estate sale. It's apparently a Transformer.
Also, I've made it to the cloud section of the back of the sweater. Finally.
End of line
P.S. -Don't worry, I'm actually working on interesting posts that are not about moving.
I've unpacked all of the bedroom and 'master' bath. Henry unpacked the kitchen. We now have a larger pile of empty boxes than stuff to unpack. We have a lot of crap.
Henry is obsessed with this chair his mom bought at an estate sale. It's apparently a Transformer.
Also, I've made it to the cloud section of the back of the sweater. Finally.
End of line
P.S. -Don't worry, I'm actually working on interesting posts that are not about moving.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Moving
Henry and I are in the process of moving all our crap from this tiny apartment to a nice sized house. Needless to say, the apartment is a mess, the house is only clean because everything is still in a box, and I don't know where I packed everything.
Next weekend we hope to be moved into the house (we're getting the internet switched over to there Friday morning). We've already moved over a bunch of stuff, but still have a lot more to do. All the big furniture needs to go and we haven't packed up anything in the kitchen. I'll probably be pretty busy this week.
My knitting is at a stand still while moving. I've almost reached the arm hole decreases for the Mario sweater. The sooner I get done with this project the happier I'll be. I've been working a little bit on some old projects and have also been working on some blog post drafts. Once we move, expect to see some more posts.
That's all for now. Here's a picture of my cat strung out on catnip at Christmas 2006.
Next weekend we hope to be moved into the house (we're getting the internet switched over to there Friday morning). We've already moved over a bunch of stuff, but still have a lot more to do. All the big furniture needs to go and we haven't packed up anything in the kitchen. I'll probably be pretty busy this week.
My knitting is at a stand still while moving. I've almost reached the arm hole decreases for the Mario sweater. The sooner I get done with this project the happier I'll be. I've been working a little bit on some old projects and have also been working on some blog post drafts. Once we move, expect to see some more posts.
That's all for now. Here's a picture of my cat strung out on catnip at Christmas 2006.
Monday, May 24, 2010
I Hate Teenagers
I hate teenagers. I hated teenagers when I was a teenager. They're crazy, hormonal, and have yet to learn the consequences of their actions. But most importantly, they start and participate in stupid trends! This news story about teenage werewolves really irritates me.
First of all, they're not that original. Furries, anyone? They make a point to say that they're not goth or emo. I'm pretty sure those groups wouldn't allow them to join. "Sorry, your fake tail distracts from the dark pain of our souls." They're not the only group of kids who don't feel like they fit in and they won't be the last. Like the counselor said, they're just expressing themselves.
Speaking of the adults, I do like the fact that the school administration did stand up for them by saying they are not a threat to the learning environment and do not disrupt the lives of other students. Rarely does a school allow 'strange' behavior such as this and also defend it to the public. Really, the group's rebellion is ruined because the adults 'get it.' They know why they're doing it and they don't care. I'm sure they did crazier shit. That's why I like the mom at the end of the clip. She doesn't stop him, but also doesn't allow him to be a whiny wolf bitch in the house and it's not like they're drinking baby's blood or something.
Second, these kids are really fucking dumb. The girl they interview who said that gangs were just posers looking for attention was asking for trouble. Yeah, maybe some 'gangs' in your school are posers, but there are real gangs in big cities, you know, like the one you live in that are probably related to the poser ones in your school. You are asking to get your ass kicked. Although, since your group hangs out IN FRONT OF A MALL, you probably live in the suburbs and have never seen a real gang of any sort.
Third, THEY HANG OUT IN FRONT OF A MALL! If that doesn't scream, loser group that does really want to fit in with the popular kids, but can't because they're 'different' so decide to hang out where the cool kids might to feel a little more cool, I don't know what does. Sorry to burst your bubble, but the cool kids are probably just stopping by the mall to get a new outfit because they have a kick ass party to go to and drink cheap beer and wine coolers. They don't hang out at the mall in the afternoon. Only poser kids do that.
I would tell you to go hang out in someone's basement, but how will you be able to stick it to the man (mall security)? You need to be able to be a smart-ass to someone of authority to feel young and non-conformist. Also, hanging out in front of the mall must be convenient when you find out that everyone else has on four chains when you only have three. You're right by the Hot Topic to pick up a new one.
Fourth, I hate their contacts. I remember those being new and cool when my brother was a teenager in the late 90s. They aren't new anymore and you look ridiculous wearing them outside the month of October. I think the thing I hated the most about it was the damn kids with the contacts and then wearing fucking glasses. Fucking posers to the max. They do make those cat eye contacts that also function like actual contacts. Of course I bet that those contacts and black framed glasses are all cosmetic.
When I was a kid I really wanted braces and glasses because I thought they would make me look cool (I guess I thought being a dork was the ultimate cool). I did end up with both (but had switched to contacts before the braces) and did not look any more cool. I switched back to my glasses because my contacts were killing my fucking eyes! I have a small muddy ring around my irises from wearing bad contacts prescribed by my doctor that were fucking killing those cells. So no, your contacts and glasses do not make you look more unique or express your true identity, they make you look like a stupid poser who will probably go blind from this fashion choice.
What happened to just having goth kids? I liked them. We got along well. Or even goat ropers. At least they didn't wear tails around.
First of all, they're not that original. Furries, anyone? They make a point to say that they're not goth or emo. I'm pretty sure those groups wouldn't allow them to join. "Sorry, your fake tail distracts from the dark pain of our souls." They're not the only group of kids who don't feel like they fit in and they won't be the last. Like the counselor said, they're just expressing themselves.
Speaking of the adults, I do like the fact that the school administration did stand up for them by saying they are not a threat to the learning environment and do not disrupt the lives of other students. Rarely does a school allow 'strange' behavior such as this and also defend it to the public. Really, the group's rebellion is ruined because the adults 'get it.' They know why they're doing it and they don't care. I'm sure they did crazier shit. That's why I like the mom at the end of the clip. She doesn't stop him, but also doesn't allow him to be a whiny wolf bitch in the house and it's not like they're drinking baby's blood or something.
Second, these kids are really fucking dumb. The girl they interview who said that gangs were just posers looking for attention was asking for trouble. Yeah, maybe some 'gangs' in your school are posers, but there are real gangs in big cities, you know, like the one you live in that are probably related to the poser ones in your school. You are asking to get your ass kicked. Although, since your group hangs out IN FRONT OF A MALL, you probably live in the suburbs and have never seen a real gang of any sort.
Third, THEY HANG OUT IN FRONT OF A MALL! If that doesn't scream, loser group that does really want to fit in with the popular kids, but can't because they're 'different' so decide to hang out where the cool kids might to feel a little more cool, I don't know what does. Sorry to burst your bubble, but the cool kids are probably just stopping by the mall to get a new outfit because they have a kick ass party to go to and drink cheap beer and wine coolers. They don't hang out at the mall in the afternoon. Only poser kids do that.
I would tell you to go hang out in someone's basement, but how will you be able to stick it to the man (mall security)? You need to be able to be a smart-ass to someone of authority to feel young and non-conformist. Also, hanging out in front of the mall must be convenient when you find out that everyone else has on four chains when you only have three. You're right by the Hot Topic to pick up a new one.
Fourth, I hate their contacts. I remember those being new and cool when my brother was a teenager in the late 90s. They aren't new anymore and you look ridiculous wearing them outside the month of October. I think the thing I hated the most about it was the damn kids with the contacts and then wearing fucking glasses. Fucking posers to the max. They do make those cat eye contacts that also function like actual contacts. Of course I bet that those contacts and black framed glasses are all cosmetic.
When I was a kid I really wanted braces and glasses because I thought they would make me look cool (I guess I thought being a dork was the ultimate cool). I did end up with both (but had switched to contacts before the braces) and did not look any more cool. I switched back to my glasses because my contacts were killing my fucking eyes! I have a small muddy ring around my irises from wearing bad contacts prescribed by my doctor that were fucking killing those cells. So no, your contacts and glasses do not make you look more unique or express your true identity, they make you look like a stupid poser who will probably go blind from this fashion choice.
What happened to just having goth kids? I liked them. We got along well. Or even goat ropers. At least they didn't wear tails around.
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