Looking for work and other energy drains

Wow. It has been more than a month since I last wrote. WOW. That is all I can say. This job and career hunt is one exhausting and outrageously time-consuming venture. Pretty much eating up all my creative energy, all my writing energy for anything other than cover letters.

I feel like Charlton Heston, another Northwestern alum, in Ben Hur. Driving a wild chariot with too many horses.

Horse #1 is the horse of a full-time job, one with an above average salary and benefits for my whole family.

Horse #2 is the horse of One Purpose PR, my message and media relations consulting biz that is just taking off the ground and which is what I REALLY want to put all my energy into. But times being what they are, folks are understandably squeamish about plunking down dough for anything, and since my layoff was so unexpected, we don't have a cushion to sit on for too long with this horse.

Horse #3 is the horse of not wanting to do anything except eat buttered popcorn, bon-bons and fill up my Netflix queue or head to the Rockies Spring training camp. Seriously. I could use a long rest and nothing does it like either baseball, chocolate and salt.

Horse #4 is the horse of living the life of a writer. Getting paid great amounts of money to sit and write whatever comes to my mind.

Back to reality.

The thing about looking for a job is that it is until you get one, it is all you do and it is amazing how long it takes for decisions to be made. Mostly this is because the people hiring already have full-time or more jobs and the process of interiewing once, two or three times, plus checking references, takes up most of their working hours.

I recently signed up with a temp agency and had to fill out a skills form, which included math. I'm a writer, mostly because words make the world make sense, while numbers just confuse me. When I was struggling over averages and square roots, I wished my oldest had a cell phone so I could have texted her for the answers. Not a great moment. I did at least ask for a calculator and the receptionist didn't guffaw at my answers, so I suppose I was able to do pretty well, after all.

My parents may scratch their heads, and I know they have to the point of self-injury, as to why I spent so much time chasing after the dream of being on stage. I can safely tell them that all those years of auditions and rejection are finally paying off. I know that if I don't get a job it is not because I am not good enough, smart enough or talented enough. My resume says otherwise. It is because there are so many of us overqualified folks out there that it is a real buyers market and the employers are the buyers. I feel like the house I live in, a sweet 1950's brick ranch house which could use some work, but which has really great bones. And going on job interviews is like being in an endless open house and you know what that means in this market - the house has to be perfect, clean and look brand-spanking new.

Case in point. When I first moved to in the winter of NYC, circa 1988, I would go on auditions for hours. Get up at 6am and come back, exhausted and dejected, at about 5pm. When spring began to emerge, I found a stunning yellow dress that I felt great in. Light, effervescent, like a tulip who could sing. I went to an open call for some show I was not right for and proceeded to sing my little heart out for the casting director, a woman who must have been the inspiration for the grunge movement. I have never seen so many variations of faded plaid on one person in my entire life. At the end of my 32 measures, she looked up from her NYTimes crossword puzzle and said, "That was very nice, Lisa, but DON'T EVER WEAR THAT COLOR DRESS AGAIN." You see, sometimes, you just can never tell what will set a person off either in your favor or against you. I guess this person either had some deep psychological response to the color yellow, or who knows? But what I did know was that it had nothing to do with me.

In the past six weeks since I was laid off, I have probably sent out 200 resumes and cover letters. It's pretty much all I do. I use Monster, PRJobslist, CareerBuilder, YahooJobs, Craigslist, CANPO, LinkedIn and more. I've become a networking maniac, turning every encounter into a possible connection for work or consulting. I'm relentless. In six weeks, I've had three job interviews. This is with more than 12 years of experience as a marketing and public relations specialist with a damn good track record. Is it my hair, my wardrobe? My age? The ever-deepening worry lines forming between my eyebrows? Got me.

Today I went to an interview and pulled out my portfolio, to proudly show off my collection of brochures, newsletters, ads and so on that I have designed, overseen and conceived. When I began to open the flap of my chic-ly black portfolio, I spied a small pink sock stuck in one of the plastic sleeves. I clenched my teeth, balled up the sock and shoved it into my satchel. I don't think the interviewers saw the sock, but it's presence gave me a great laugh on the way home. A little humor to keep it all in perspective. I have my health, my family, our house, a car that hopefully won't die anytime soon, pets and children who adore me.

Because in the end, as the wise ones always tell us, that is what all this is about. This endless job search. Being able to provide for my kids, do work that I love, make a positive difference.

And because I don't know any better, I am foolish enough to believe that something is coming. Something big and real and just right for me.

I'll let you know when that happens.

Our Version of "Animal Farm"

About six months ago, DD announced that what she wanted more than anything in the world for her next birthday, was a red-eared slider. A turtle. I sat with that for a bit and thought about it. We already have two cats and a dog. A 15 year old male Maine Coon with extra toes named Boo Radley, who has been with us since our days in NYC. Got him from a flower shop and changed his name from George to Boo Radley after a particularly weepy viewing of "To Kill A Mockingbird" after which I said I wanted to have a cat named Boo Radley so I could live out my Scout fantasy of being able to whisper 'Boo" in the dark. We also have a 3 year old female orange tabby nicknamed "Kitty," but whose full name is "Buddy Boy Girl Daffodil" and whose name should be Charles Manson because she kills all the birds in the neighborhood. The trio is rounded out by a half Sheltie and half Golden named Milo who I brought home from PetSmart, at first to the dismay of my DH, but who is quite possibly the best dog on the planet.

When I asked DD why a turtle, she responded, "because they are quiet and shy."

Here's the deal. Up until about a year ago, it was pretty much princesses and pink 24/7 in our house. See earlier postings for enlightenment on the color pink. But we have turned that corner and now have entered the Noah's Ark phase of the thing. Animals, especially horses, bunnies, turtles, puppies, kitties. So far two of the three DDs want to either be a vet or have a zoo, but in the meantime, they want to fill our home with as many real, plush and plastic animals our 50s ranch house can handle.

Up until six months ago oldest DD would plug her nose with two fingers anytime we tried to take her near a farm or farm animal. But I recently signed them up for an afternoon of horse back riding. We, meaning me and DH, drove up to a beautiful ranch just outside of our town, one of those places that reminds me why we live where we do. Walked the three DDs into a large barn where promptly all the parents were handed a release form and essentially told to get the fuck out of the barn and don't come back until the class was over. They were nicer than than, but that was the message. Now, I have gotten to the point where I LOVE the stop and drop approach because the girls are all too big to be hanging on my already exhausted body and besides, I know that the scent of a mama in the vicinity translates into "I don't want to do it." But my DH is another story. He is the father who hovered, true helicopter style, on the playground for every step our oldest DH took on the various equipment and who I had to pull of the same background threatening him if he took a step back on the sand again I would report him. He looked at me when I told him we were only allowed to sit on the hill above the corral and before he could sputter out an overprotective sound, I cooed to him that it would be a perfect time for him to get some writing done and could he bring me back a sweater and a latte? He knew he was beat.

He made it back in time for the parading around the corral and yes, I openly wept at the sight of my three DDs sitting confidently on their horses for their two times round, plus a little trotting. We re-united midway between the hill and the barn and I was the hero of the weekend for finding the best thing in the world to do. We scrambled into the car amidst them saying they wanted to do pony camp, can we do pony camp, mama? Before I could say yes, they all burst into tears and cried their ponies names over and over again for the 5 mile ride home. We had arrived in our own version of Animal Farm.

When I went to the store with oldest DD to investigate the red-eared slider adventure, I was at first thrilled to see that the little swimmer would only set us back about $15. Not bad. Immediately upon telling the sales clerk that we were interested in purchasing one, he quipped back, "They are the most returned animal in our store." DD's eyes grew big. I asked why and was told, "They are skanky to clean, especially if you don't clean up after them everyday." Now, we are not what anyone who knows us would qualify as a particularly neat family. Our house is clean to the point of, well, whatever we can do before we both collapse from the loads of laundry, endless dishes, clothing to put away, not to mention the toys... The quippy sales clerk then proceeded to tell me that for a 4" turtle, we would need a 50 gallon tank. DDs eyes grew bigger and I could see the sparkling of tears starting to form. "I'm having a little trouble visualizing that," I responded. "Could you show me what that looks like?" Quippy walked me over to a tank the size of a small two door car with a price tag to match. All in all, the $15 red eared slider comes to about $1k when you add in the tank, filter, 'habitat' materials, weekly Finding Nemo-like goldfish sacrifice, etc., etc., etc., to quote Yul Brynner. But then I remembered someone had given us an aquarium that was stored in the garage, so I called DH and asked about what size it was. 40 gallons. Good enough. That would take us down to half the original cost, so DDs eyes returned to normal size and we went off to look at the kittens with her younger sisters, which were totally and completely out of the question. For now.

When I called to order our red-eared birthday present, I was told that when the cold weather hits, they stop getting them and switch to Russian Tortoises. I imagined some 400 lb. tortoise from a show I saw about the Galapagos Islands. No, the non-quippy sales clerk told me, they only get to 8" max and are not aquatic. That means no water! And they are herbivores, so no tri-weekly Nemo sacrifices. I copied some images from the web to send to DD and while at first she seemed a bit disappointed, when we saw them in person, her face lit up and she nodded yes.

Feast your eyes on Dandelion, the newest member of our version of Animal Farm. If you don't agree that he is the cutest Russian tortoise around, then wait until I post a shot of his mug.

Ain't it great to turn 8?