Tag Archives: career

A diamond is forever. So’s that chocolate stuck to my butt.

Last night was my monthly networking cocktaily thing. Every four weeks it’s hosted by a different area business — this month it was hosted by a jeweler. Whoever thought this one up is nothing short of genius. Offer 20 different wines to 100 women, some with their spouses, get them loaded and provide the perfect setting for impulse shopping.

And, just to ensure your prey is feelin’ good and primed to buy, offer this.

I’ll have an extra shot of endorphins, please?

In addition to Co-worker, my good friend Megan and I spent a LOT of time admiring these beauties, made by a local chocolatier. Come to think of it, we paid more attention to the chocolate than the jewelry. Which is good for my overdrawn bank account. Not so good for my arse.

Someone plays dirty.

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Beer cans, biplanes and the intricacies of networking

Last night was my once a month, sometimes excruciatingly tiresome, obligatory networking cocktail-y work thing. This month’s outdoor event was okay — made fun primarily because my best guy friend in town (we’ll call him News Guy — I love him to bits) showed up. His timing couldn’t have been better. I needed someone to tell me if I had BBQ ribs stuck in my teeth. I did not.

So, I’m standing there, talking to News Guy and someone else we’ll call Manorexic, and this crazy woman comes up to me, addressing me by my first name, which she’s clearly just learned from my NAME TAG. She has her 14ish-year-old son in tow. They are obsessed with the Bud Light in my hand. That I’m so obviously DRINKING.

Turns out her elderly father makes model biplanes out of Bud Light cans. I learned it takes 18 cans to make one airplane. I also learned her father doesn’t drink, which poses a dilemma. Because the money he earns from the sale of these planes — apparently there’s a market for things of this nature — goes to his grandson’s music lessons. Which, I’m thinking to myself, ‘Oh, PLEASE let them be COUNTRY music lessons, or I’ll be crushed.’ The irony of the whole story is lost without the Country.

I told her when I was done, the can was hers. She thanked me, and she and her son — the music lesson grandson — backed away a good … three feet. Waiting. Watching. Chicken Hawks to my field mouse.

I tried to ignore my Beer Can Stalkers. It must have been around this time that conversation turned to seafood and my intense dislike of all things fishy. I distinctly remember saying I didn’t think I’d make a very good lesbian.

Note to self: In work-related social situations, best to remember the difference between INSIDE voice and OUTSIDE voice. Probably a good rule of thumb in any situation.

I almost forgot all about them.

Half an hour later, as the party was winding down, we moved to a completely different location. The Chicken Hawks chased me down, planted themselves in front of me and just stood there. Smiling. Holding a bag of cans. Not really a TRUE bag — more like a plastic toilet paper wrapper fashioned into a bag. Which only paints a better picture.

“Take your time. No rush!” Mama Stalker said, standing WAY too close, popping the Personal Space Bubble.

Rather than go off on the woman, News Guy took a step back and looked away. I stood there like an idiot, trying to chug the remainder of my Bud Light. I suggested she check out the trash for more cans.

She remained. Inside my Personal Space Bubble. Smiling.

I was so annoyed and freaked out I finally handed her my half full beer telling her I’d get another. “Are you sure?” she said, taking the can. Still smiling. Still completely socially inept.

The thing was, it wasn’t like she was some random person crashing the event. She had a name tag. She was invited. Apparently the nuances of “networking” had her confused.

Perhaps she’ll leave the beer can fetish at home next month. I shall be drinking wine.

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Filed under Piece of Insanity

The Best Jobs for Single Parents

There’s no doubt about it – most single parents need to be somewhat creative with the daily balancing act. When it comes to career, the tradeoff between flexibility and salary is a hugely important consideration. I myself, made the decision a few years back to move out of the city (out of the state) and back to my hometown, knowing it was the best environment to raise MP. In doing so, I effectively cut my salary by 40k.

I ain’t gonna lie. It hurt.

But the tradeoff allows me to work four days a week instead of five. And spending more time with MP has always been the primary objective. At her age, she doesn’t recognize the ‘Haves’ from the ‘Have-nots.’ Or the Sneetches on the Beaches. It would be wonderful if her eyes could forever remain blind to the difference. I know chances of that are slim, but for now, having us fall somewhere in the middle is just fine.

sneetches.jpg

After all, the future’s wide open.

In the meantime, I’m always on the lookout for ways to generate supplemental income. With that in mind, here’s a job I thought might be kind of cool for adventuresome single moms and dads. (Don’t laugh – I heard about it on the John Tesh Radio Network. I know, I know …) Could be a great way to show the kids the country, take a little vacation, earn some air miles and make some money!

And if you haven’t seen this already (The Best Jobs for Single Parents), you might find it interesting. I thought it was another thing worth sharing.

Just passin’ it on …

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Filed under News Piece

Hunchback of a Dame


Yes, I know I have poor posture.

Blame it on the height.

Or the nightly bath routine of a rambunctious preschooler.

So thank you, my anonymous friend, for pointedly placing this in my inbox (and my inbox alone!), and reminding me that a back is a terrible thing to waste. Were it not for you, I may have forgotten to drink my milk at dinner tonight.

It’s good to be loved.

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Filed under Piece of Information

Who Left Porn On The Printer?

Someone left porn on the printer at work today. I have five female co-workers. My boss is male. Between a few of us, I think we were able to narrow it down to a likely suspect. (You make the call.)

I actually have nothing against *most* porn. It has it’s place. But, now I know a certain unnamed someone is “looking for a fug buddy,” (and doing it at work, no less – eeww) and …. I just threw up a little in my mouth.

This is Fug.

The Profanity Pug.

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Filed under Piece of Ass