Yup. That song is still stuck in my head. I believe it has now been 72 hours and I'm still singing it. Singing it waking up in the morning. Singing it waking up in the afternoon. Singing it to the grocery store clerk. Singing it to the guys at the gym. I like to break out in song at the gym just as some beefcake is ready to pop that last blood vessel in their neck and their head explodes. Some of them are going to die of a heart attack, anuerism, or some steroid complication anyway (just because you're not jabbing it in your butt does not mean all those "supplements" being smuggled up from the USA are real vitamins). Wouldn't it just be nicer if it was death by singing? Maybe the gym junkies wouldn't be so angry all the time if they had someone singing to them.
For anyone else jobhunting out there, it looks like the hiring frenzy might be starting. Keep your head up because this week does look to be a good one. Spring is good for that. This week I'm writing some tests for a federal job and although I'll most definitely screw up that interview, I'm pretty excited at the job prospects again. I've decided that minimum commitment with a paycheck is more my style than becoming prime minister, too, and that's helping. I figure if I'm going to kill myself with stress and french fries, it's going to be because I'm running my own business. The big corporations have screwed up so badly the last 5 years and are hemorraging so much money, they're half dead. It's time to take a bite before they sprout a second head and bite back.
I'm running out of things to say lately. Well, this weekend was good. Was slightly blinded by my cousin's home-brewed maple wine last night. It was so good, though. And good times. Nothing like being slightly blotto on a Sunday night with good friends that have to work in the morning. Or friends that do run their own business and have to bake all night 1/2 out of their head. I want to see that cake in the morning. I want pictures. I also think I'm in love with a parrot. A parrot that skateboards. Who couldn't fall in love with a parrot that skateboards, even if he does eat the skateboard in the end. Oh, and the pigeons are back to their Zumanity Cirque de Pigeon outside my front window. Gotta love spring entertainment. Male pigeons are so dumb. The female pigeons are like, "Seriously? Didn't I already tell you I was interested? So what are you doing way over there wasting my time, dumbass?" And the male pigeons are like, "She likes me. She likes me. She doesn't like me. She doesn't like me." Even though the female pigeon has already given the universal symbol (the waving of the butt) of "come in, I've got beer in the fridge.". Eventually the female pigeon just walks away and the male pigeon has to now make up some pretty fancy moves to get even close to the waving butt and the Corona in the fridge.
So, there you have it. My life. Still jobhunting. Trying to figure out how my roommate found my pants on his computer chair. Eating peanut butter out of the jar, with pants on, because my pants have now reappeared. Trying to think of a way of solving world hunger and ending wars. Thinking of how many bottles I need to collect to fill up my gas tank. Typical Monday.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Day 51: Crunch Time
Ten days left before I decide - Alberta or Ontario. It's a daily argument I have going on in my head amongst other conversations (getting kind of noisy up there, and I really do think the peanut butter debate is long over, Kraft Smooth is a definite winner despite my conspiracy theory on Kraft. Another day...). Ontario has free rent, my mom, K's air hockey table, and friends that remember me for which My Little Pony was my favorite instead of which job I got fired from. But I like Alberta. Plus Alberta apparently has more job opportunities. Although I'm starting to wonder what I have to do for those "opportunities". Trust me, I'm not shy, I'm willing to do alot of things right now that I'm sure I won't be too proud of later on in life. Oh well. We all have our little secrets. Let bottle collecting be one of mine.
Crunch time, yes. That means apply for all jobs paying. Hundreds. That way, when I hit the highway May 1 to Ontario, I'll get the call just about when I reach the QEW Niagara and have to turnaround and come back again. Well, if that's what I have to do to get a job, so be it. Nothing like a good mother-daughter road trip with my mom, anyway. We won't talk to each other for a month after.
Yes, I miss Ontario. I miss the trees, juicy fruit (well, maybe not for much longer. The entire green belt is being plowed down for the little box revolution, paper houses for everyone...). I miss the lakes, the shopping, the people, and just the metro-ness of it all. But in Alberta there's simplicity. You blink and rush hour traffic is over. People generally make enough money to pay their rent. There is never a rush to do anything. Best of all, I blinked and somehow some pretty great people walked into my life out here. Awwwwwwwww, I know! So sentimental...
Crunch time, yes. That means apply for all jobs paying. Hundreds. That way, when I hit the highway May 1 to Ontario, I'll get the call just about when I reach the QEW Niagara and have to turnaround and come back again. Well, if that's what I have to do to get a job, so be it. Nothing like a good mother-daughter road trip with my mom, anyway. We won't talk to each other for a month after.
Yes, I miss Ontario. I miss the trees, juicy fruit (well, maybe not for much longer. The entire green belt is being plowed down for the little box revolution, paper houses for everyone...). I miss the lakes, the shopping, the people, and just the metro-ness of it all. But in Alberta there's simplicity. You blink and rush hour traffic is over. People generally make enough money to pay their rent. There is never a rush to do anything. Best of all, I blinked and somehow some pretty great people walked into my life out here. Awwwwwwwww, I know! So sentimental...
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Day 50: Rosebuds and Monster Trucks
Oops. Missed a day. I was actually, er, jobhunting this time. Oh, and it was 2 for 1 movies at my video store so Thursdays are pretty much a write-off for me as it is. Can't think of anything good to write about either, even this morning. I've got writer's block and I'm not even a real writer!!! What does that say about my future...bleak, dark, blank...Oh well, at least I have the next 3 discs of My Name is Earl. I love that show!!! Kind of makes me want to have cable sometimes.
As for today, today is a busy busy day. I need to find parrot wear (a parrot friend wants to see Alice in Wonderland. The original plan was to disguise him as a bunny to get him into the theater). The only parrot wear I've found so far are capes that make them look like different birds. That's how birds cross-dress, I guess. Pretend they're a peacock when they're really a budgie. Great idea and very liberating for birds everywhere, but not quite what I was looking for. I need a serious bunny disguise.
In further regards to an earlier post/boring rant (oh, here it comes, another boring rant...kill me), check out the magazine Rosebuds if you want to know where the government buy-out for the car companies went to. Rosebuds is actually an ultra-lux growers lifestyle magazine and can be picked up for free at Shell Shock in Alberta and likely hydroponic stores in Ontario. My roommate and I have every edition to date in our washroom if you can't find one yourself. This magazine signifies the future of legalizing marijuana, and is evidence that major corporations have already invested in that market. Whether you like it or not, your taxpaying dollars are subsidizing the new corporate weed industry. Rosebud magazine is shiny proof of that. My Ontario friends might not understand the significance, it really is more of a western "alternative" lifestyle, but what you should understand is that throwing smokers and growers in jail and maintaining a circuit of organized crime to sell unregulated "drugs" is a political game that is frankly getting pretty old and costly. However, what is a real shame is the people who are going to have control of the growing and selling of marijuana in the near future. They will be your typical major corporation not caring about anything but their profit margin. So, if you smoke, smoke away while you can still get the good stuff. Once the big guys get in there, it will be an exact repeat of what happened to tobacco.
You know what the real kicker is, these car companies still don't get it. Like any other magazine subsidized by male-dominated corporations, it's got full page pull-outs of girls and cars. The day I see Antonio Banderas or Henrique Iglesias naked in a full page pull-out car advertisement is the day I know women have finally made it and is the day I buy a brand new car. And not a hybrid, either. I'm in Alberta now, I want a big, shiny, monster truck and I want car companies to try and sell it to me. In fact, I am a completely unpractical woman and would like to be treated as the non-floor washing, non-vacuuming, non-cooking, non-baby factory woman I am. If that means ME buying a hot dog stand to pay for MY dealership and someone finally standing up to giant arses like DW, so be it. GAME ON.
As for today, today is a busy busy day. I need to find parrot wear (a parrot friend wants to see Alice in Wonderland. The original plan was to disguise him as a bunny to get him into the theater). The only parrot wear I've found so far are capes that make them look like different birds. That's how birds cross-dress, I guess. Pretend they're a peacock when they're really a budgie. Great idea and very liberating for birds everywhere, but not quite what I was looking for. I need a serious bunny disguise.
In further regards to an earlier post/boring rant (oh, here it comes, another boring rant...kill me), check out the magazine Rosebuds if you want to know where the government buy-out for the car companies went to. Rosebuds is actually an ultra-lux growers lifestyle magazine and can be picked up for free at Shell Shock in Alberta and likely hydroponic stores in Ontario. My roommate and I have every edition to date in our washroom if you can't find one yourself. This magazine signifies the future of legalizing marijuana, and is evidence that major corporations have already invested in that market. Whether you like it or not, your taxpaying dollars are subsidizing the new corporate weed industry. Rosebud magazine is shiny proof of that. My Ontario friends might not understand the significance, it really is more of a western "alternative" lifestyle, but what you should understand is that throwing smokers and growers in jail and maintaining a circuit of organized crime to sell unregulated "drugs" is a political game that is frankly getting pretty old and costly. However, what is a real shame is the people who are going to have control of the growing and selling of marijuana in the near future. They will be your typical major corporation not caring about anything but their profit margin. So, if you smoke, smoke away while you can still get the good stuff. Once the big guys get in there, it will be an exact repeat of what happened to tobacco.
You know what the real kicker is, these car companies still don't get it. Like any other magazine subsidized by male-dominated corporations, it's got full page pull-outs of girls and cars. The day I see Antonio Banderas or Henrique Iglesias naked in a full page pull-out car advertisement is the day I know women have finally made it and is the day I buy a brand new car. And not a hybrid, either. I'm in Alberta now, I want a big, shiny, monster truck and I want car companies to try and sell it to me. In fact, I am a completely unpractical woman and would like to be treated as the non-floor washing, non-vacuuming, non-cooking, non-baby factory woman I am. If that means ME buying a hot dog stand to pay for MY dealership and someone finally standing up to giant arses like DW, so be it. GAME ON.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Day 49: Part German, Part Scottish, Part Irish, Part Mongolian rapist...
Part German, part Scottish, part Irish, part Mongolian rapist. But I'm 100% Irish today. My beer is green. Happy St. Patrick's Day. And like everyone else, I don't have a clue what I'm celebrating. I mean, was St. Patrick at least hot? Because if he wasn't, I don't see the point in my drunken belligerence tonight. I'll stay at home if he wasn't, because Willy Wonka was a good guy, too. A man of intellect. A man of prestige. A man of my dreams. I love you, Willy. You see, Willy brought us Laffy Taffy, Nerds, and all sorts of other great foods that are helping to put an end to anorexia everywhere. His contributions to society are STAGGERING.
Enough about Paddy and Willy, on to more important things, like me. I was discussing with a close friend of mine my chronological decent into "failure" just the other day. He listened. He hemmed. He hawed. He stared at me with complete disbelief (it could have been gas though, I don't know). He then flat out told me that there is no possible way I can successfully work for someone else unless I literally take over the entire company in less than a year. Normally I would have taken a little offense to that, wondering how I can "change my ways" and fit in and "do what's right". But he was dead-on, I'll never fit in. I've never fit in as far as I can remember. I've always done the "Joanne" thing, like that kid singing to themselves while building sand castles in the ditch on the side of the road or fishing for treasures in the sewer grates (that was super fun, the rest of the kids on the street later caught on to that one and then we would have competitions) or like having to be the lead astronaut and relocating the imaginary spaceship to my front steps. That was alot of work. But it had to be done. The other kids never knew where the f*** we were going, of course I'm going to be the lead astronaut!!! Idiots. Sorry S., I know you're reading this. You had a good grasp at being the co-astronaut. It was J., she just wasn't pretend astronaut material. She really wasn't. I had to replace her with her little brother, K. Of course, once we decided on using a catapult to get around a little faster, we really needed C.'s swingset and sandbox and it was J. that redeemed herself by negotiating for us.
What the hell am I talking about. Slightly losing my grasp on reality today, but I'm all good with that. I really do miss my pretend spaceship and candychocolateland (it later became fireman land when we turned 13, but that's another story). Anyways, I have a solid plan. Can't tell you about it, I'm going to keep that one to myself for a while. But I can tell you that I do have plans on being filthy stinking rich in a year or two. I think that's reasonable, don't you?
Enough about Paddy and Willy, on to more important things, like me. I was discussing with a close friend of mine my chronological decent into "failure" just the other day. He listened. He hemmed. He hawed. He stared at me with complete disbelief (it could have been gas though, I don't know). He then flat out told me that there is no possible way I can successfully work for someone else unless I literally take over the entire company in less than a year. Normally I would have taken a little offense to that, wondering how I can "change my ways" and fit in and "do what's right". But he was dead-on, I'll never fit in. I've never fit in as far as I can remember. I've always done the "Joanne" thing, like that kid singing to themselves while building sand castles in the ditch on the side of the road or fishing for treasures in the sewer grates (that was super fun, the rest of the kids on the street later caught on to that one and then we would have competitions) or like having to be the lead astronaut and relocating the imaginary spaceship to my front steps. That was alot of work. But it had to be done. The other kids never knew where the f*** we were going, of course I'm going to be the lead astronaut!!! Idiots. Sorry S., I know you're reading this. You had a good grasp at being the co-astronaut. It was J., she just wasn't pretend astronaut material. She really wasn't. I had to replace her with her little brother, K. Of course, once we decided on using a catapult to get around a little faster, we really needed C.'s swingset and sandbox and it was J. that redeemed herself by negotiating for us.
What the hell am I talking about. Slightly losing my grasp on reality today, but I'm all good with that. I really do miss my pretend spaceship and candychocolateland (it later became fireman land when we turned 13, but that's another story). Anyways, I have a solid plan. Can't tell you about it, I'm going to keep that one to myself for a while. But I can tell you that I do have plans on being filthy stinking rich in a year or two. I think that's reasonable, don't you?
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Day 48: Becoming the Hobo-Gladiator
Somedays I just don't feel like getting off the couch. Somedays I really can't get off the couch. The one good thing about being unemployed is you do get a little bit of time to yourself. You get to obsess about your weight and your clothes and your skin and your hair and everything else that separates you from a hobo. But you essentially feel like a hobo. Gone are the days of Lacome's $90 creme de la creme. You become that Dove girl you always said you would never be. Basically, you are a hobo in good shoes. Until the shoes aren't so good anymore. Than you really do start to become the hobo.
Hoboism is not all that bad, though. Are hobos worrying about what kind of car they're driving? Are they freaking out because Visa called and wanted this month's payment in full? How many hobos do you see eating comfort food and gaining 100lbs? No, they have to work for their meals, they're digging/negotiating/stabbing for that big dinner once a week. They're not sitting in front of the big screen eating pork rinds (remember those? soooooo good...). It's a full time physical job, being a hobo. No long hours of numbing data entry for them.
So I'm pretty convinced that hobos have some pretty good abs under all those decades of fashion accummulation. I'm thinking it's probably a good thing to lose everything, have nothing, and then maybe you can be a little more responsible when you finally do crawl back to the top. Kind of makes you appreciate the cashmere a little more. My slow decent into hoboism isn't really all that bad. I'm thinking it to be a little like fat camp myself. Years of school and working 3 jobs, one begins to appreciate the times when a few pounds are shed without complete starvation and waking up at 4am to get a work-out or bike ride in. See, when you've not got a job to go to, you really don't have an excuse to leave the gym early or skip a day. You've also got time to fight the ice and snow to get to the liquor store on your bike (it really is fun riding a bike while your a little into the bottle already. You see things along the way, so many things. It's just like a big adventure...).You see, when there is no boss nailing you for being three minutes late or asking you why your hair looks like a wet rats nest or why your not wearing any socks (you always forget something when going to the gym before work, I particularly enjoyed the days when I forgot my underwear. You get that rush, thinking while your being yelled at, "I've got no underwear on". Takes the edge off a little, and the words aren't so cutting.), the workout takes on new meaning. You start training to be a gladiator. Because you can.
So today, I can't get off the couch. I physically can't get off my couch. It makes me wonder how the gladiators made it through life. But I guess they didn't. ahaha. Poor bastards, I guess life could be worse. Will not being able to touch my face for the next 2 days help me find a job? How about my inability to use the brake pedal in my car? But hey, I'm sure I'll look good in that new dress I stole from the recycle while I pick up empty bottles. The things we do to try to be skinny...yeay, unemployment.
Hoboism is not all that bad, though. Are hobos worrying about what kind of car they're driving? Are they freaking out because Visa called and wanted this month's payment in full? How many hobos do you see eating comfort food and gaining 100lbs? No, they have to work for their meals, they're digging/negotiating/stabbing for that big dinner once a week. They're not sitting in front of the big screen eating pork rinds (remember those? soooooo good...). It's a full time physical job, being a hobo. No long hours of numbing data entry for them.
So I'm pretty convinced that hobos have some pretty good abs under all those decades of fashion accummulation. I'm thinking it's probably a good thing to lose everything, have nothing, and then maybe you can be a little more responsible when you finally do crawl back to the top. Kind of makes you appreciate the cashmere a little more. My slow decent into hoboism isn't really all that bad. I'm thinking it to be a little like fat camp myself. Years of school and working 3 jobs, one begins to appreciate the times when a few pounds are shed without complete starvation and waking up at 4am to get a work-out or bike ride in. See, when you've not got a job to go to, you really don't have an excuse to leave the gym early or skip a day. You've also got time to fight the ice and snow to get to the liquor store on your bike (it really is fun riding a bike while your a little into the bottle already. You see things along the way, so many things. It's just like a big adventure...).You see, when there is no boss nailing you for being three minutes late or asking you why your hair looks like a wet rats nest or why your not wearing any socks (you always forget something when going to the gym before work, I particularly enjoyed the days when I forgot my underwear. You get that rush, thinking while your being yelled at, "I've got no underwear on". Takes the edge off a little, and the words aren't so cutting.), the workout takes on new meaning. You start training to be a gladiator. Because you can.
So today, I can't get off the couch. I physically can't get off my couch. It makes me wonder how the gladiators made it through life. But I guess they didn't. ahaha. Poor bastards, I guess life could be worse. Will not being able to touch my face for the next 2 days help me find a job? How about my inability to use the brake pedal in my car? But hey, I'm sure I'll look good in that new dress I stole from the recycle while I pick up empty bottles. The things we do to try to be skinny...yeay, unemployment.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Day 47: Out of Control
I was watching Sarah Silverman last night. Omigod. She's out of control. She ended the piece by singing out her butt and one other place I won't mention. That's when I started asking myself, how do I get that bats**t crazy? How come I don't sing out my butt? I think butt singing is an excellent life skill, more people should be doing it. Dude busking on the street corner, singing out his butt. It would totally mix things up on Whyte Ave. And trust me, you need something different, something unique, to separate yourself from the rest when the Fringe Festival comes to town here. Butt singing is just a different flavour of candy during the summers in Edmonton.
I have a sneaking suspicion that Sarah Silverman hasn't gone through life without being fired at least once. The only difference between her and so many other people who wind up in the unemployment line is she just doesn't appear to be the type of person who cares she's there. Imagine sitting in an unemployment seminar with her, we could learn butt singing skills and racist jokes and job interview skills all at the same time. Although it's so much funnier when a Jew denies the holocaust. Not so funny when a German does it. I am half German, by the way, and Germans aren't necessarily the funniest people in the world. Unless you find nuclear physics funny. When I go to visit my cousins, they really don't get my rendition of the muppet show with raw chickens. I heard the word "Verrückt" (crazy?) alot. I thought they were talking about the chicken until we had pork one day. Then I got a little suspicious. Kind of like when I was in Mexico for a while, I just assumed chicken was called locita. I figured out which one was the locita when it was my turn to go to the meat counter to order the chicken for cooking that week.
I think what I like about Sarah Silverman the best is the fact she manages to offend every single race, culture, age, and religion. She doesn't discriminate. One of life's most important skills, more important than butt singing, is pissing off the entire world. You're never going to please anyone, so why not just make everything an entire disaster and write about it. So that's what I'm going to do. But first, to the bottle depot. There is nothing like a good argument with a hobo first thing in the morning.
I have a sneaking suspicion that Sarah Silverman hasn't gone through life without being fired at least once. The only difference between her and so many other people who wind up in the unemployment line is she just doesn't appear to be the type of person who cares she's there. Imagine sitting in an unemployment seminar with her, we could learn butt singing skills and racist jokes and job interview skills all at the same time. Although it's so much funnier when a Jew denies the holocaust. Not so funny when a German does it. I am half German, by the way, and Germans aren't necessarily the funniest people in the world. Unless you find nuclear physics funny. When I go to visit my cousins, they really don't get my rendition of the muppet show with raw chickens. I heard the word "Verrückt" (crazy?) alot. I thought they were talking about the chicken until we had pork one day. Then I got a little suspicious. Kind of like when I was in Mexico for a while, I just assumed chicken was called locita. I figured out which one was the locita when it was my turn to go to the meat counter to order the chicken for cooking that week.
I think what I like about Sarah Silverman the best is the fact she manages to offend every single race, culture, age, and religion. She doesn't discriminate. One of life's most important skills, more important than butt singing, is pissing off the entire world. You're never going to please anyone, so why not just make everything an entire disaster and write about it. So that's what I'm going to do. But first, to the bottle depot. There is nothing like a good argument with a hobo first thing in the morning.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Day 46: I Have a Dream...
I HAD a dream. It involved some really polite, cute little rats moving entire houses all over the city and high-fiving everyone once the job was done. Too bad I don't remember more, it was really quite good, it had a real community feel to it. Maybe that's what I'm missing, the community. Or the rats, who knows. Apparently we don't have rats in Alberta, they're really ratist out here. I mean, is it necessary to hate on the little brown dudes (are they brown? I've only ever seen them in the dark), they just need food like the rest of us. There's tonnes of grain for everyone, isn't there? I'm feeling pretty good about my intestinal tract myself, I could share mine.
Yeah, community. It can really help in the jobhunting world. My only community out here is Remedy, and nobody pays much attention to me there unless I've brushed my hair. Unfortunately, I've been forced to avoid Remedy this week because it has been extra stinky lately and I'm getting kind of tired of smelling like Indian food. Well, I did go last night but only because I figured by 10pm I wasn't going out with anyone that cared. If you do get a date after 10pm in Edmonton, the dude wreaks of weed anyway, he's not caring what you smell like. Or look like. But those dates never go to well, they never remember who you are and it's like a blind date every week for them. I get tired of introducing myself to the same guy 10 dates in a row. It gets old. But what I hate about Remedy is what I love about Remedy, showering and brushing your hair is not required.
Yes, I do have a dream. It's a simple dream, really. Part of that dream includes company career websites that weren't developed by small, possibly mentally challenged children (likely the offspring of management) so when I click the backbutton on their webpage,it doesn't take me back to page 1 every time even though I've finally made it to page 99 (16 hours later). Or how about a job that actually trains you for a few hours instead of putting in the job description 20 different certificate requirements on top of your degree/diploma/10 other certificates. I'm pretty sure WHIMIS can be completed in an hour or 2 of training, should we really have to spend $100 to go get something that will expire by the time they call us for an interview, anyway? How about we all just lie? Yeah, that's more likely what's going to happen. You see, when your unemployed and finally do get a job and jump through the hoops, your so freaking broke your eating throwaways out of the staff kitchen's garbage, grocery shopping in the staff kitchen's fridge, and stealing the recyclables for gas money until they finally decide to give you a paycheck 2 months later, minus deductions for a "social fund" (yeah, right, I want a refund for every social fund I've ever contributed to, Saturday picnics with clowns and hayrides don't do it for me, or anyone else with less than 5 kids and a LIFE), union, and other miscellaneous health "benefits" that cost YOU money. Or how about a job opportunity that doesn't require fluency in English, Dutch, Italian, AND Chinese? Talk about corporate down-sizing, cheap bastards.
If you get a chance, rent the movie "Fired" by Annabelle Gurwitch. She did an excellent piece on Lansing, Michigan after GM closed its doors there. I don't think she meant to do anything ground-breaking, after all she got fired by Woody Allen for being a "retard" (Woody's words, not mine). However, it showed a town that would do anything to keep their jobs, union and all. Something you don't read in the papers or hear on the news. Media selling advertisements to these companies or are even owned by these companies will always blame the person being shown the door. YOU wanted a union. YOU wanted benefits. YOU wanted to be able to send your children to school for a better life. Here's YOUR pink slip, you retard (Woody's words, not mine). The Lansing employees were ready to give all that up so GM could keep the doors open in their city. But, GM management all got bonuses, and the lines-people all got the unemployment line, something planned years before the employees even had a clue. What's new? And do the people of Lansing know that GM, the "family" company, has been furiously advertising in weed culture magazines? Strange how they moved operations to Mexico, got a huge government buyout, and began a full page ad campaign in major weed culture magazines all at the same time...hmmmmm....
So here is my dream, a company that doesn't profit off of little Juan's early grave, a company that hasn't adopted the "triangle" or "circle" or "square" (when I worked at a call center in Ontario, management always tried to explain their "concept" in a circle. Cute. But the only people who got it were the ones that spent their breaks smoking a joint or 3 in the parking lot. I was envious. Unfortunately, my coping skills only extend to the bottom of a bottle of vodka and I really get nothing when I'm drunk, they had to explain it 20 times before they finally realized they were talking to a deaf and possibly blind chimpanzee), a company where they hire for skill instead of geneology, a company that will more than just walk you to your desk on the first day - they will show you where the washrooms are too. A company that shares the wealth when they delve into an industry normally reserved for organized crime. And finally, a company that has a vending machine with beer in it. Too much to ask?
Yeah, community. It can really help in the jobhunting world. My only community out here is Remedy, and nobody pays much attention to me there unless I've brushed my hair. Unfortunately, I've been forced to avoid Remedy this week because it has been extra stinky lately and I'm getting kind of tired of smelling like Indian food. Well, I did go last night but only because I figured by 10pm I wasn't going out with anyone that cared. If you do get a date after 10pm in Edmonton, the dude wreaks of weed anyway, he's not caring what you smell like. Or look like. But those dates never go to well, they never remember who you are and it's like a blind date every week for them. I get tired of introducing myself to the same guy 10 dates in a row. It gets old. But what I hate about Remedy is what I love about Remedy, showering and brushing your hair is not required.
Yes, I do have a dream. It's a simple dream, really. Part of that dream includes company career websites that weren't developed by small, possibly mentally challenged children (likely the offspring of management) so when I click the backbutton on their webpage,it doesn't take me back to page 1 every time even though I've finally made it to page 99 (16 hours later). Or how about a job that actually trains you for a few hours instead of putting in the job description 20 different certificate requirements on top of your degree/diploma/10 other certificates. I'm pretty sure WHIMIS can be completed in an hour or 2 of training, should we really have to spend $100 to go get something that will expire by the time they call us for an interview, anyway? How about we all just lie? Yeah, that's more likely what's going to happen. You see, when your unemployed and finally do get a job and jump through the hoops, your so freaking broke your eating throwaways out of the staff kitchen's garbage, grocery shopping in the staff kitchen's fridge, and stealing the recyclables for gas money until they finally decide to give you a paycheck 2 months later, minus deductions for a "social fund" (yeah, right, I want a refund for every social fund I've ever contributed to, Saturday picnics with clowns and hayrides don't do it for me, or anyone else with less than 5 kids and a LIFE), union, and other miscellaneous health "benefits" that cost YOU money. Or how about a job opportunity that doesn't require fluency in English, Dutch, Italian, AND Chinese? Talk about corporate down-sizing, cheap bastards.
If you get a chance, rent the movie "Fired" by Annabelle Gurwitch. She did an excellent piece on Lansing, Michigan after GM closed its doors there. I don't think she meant to do anything ground-breaking, after all she got fired by Woody Allen for being a "retard" (Woody's words, not mine). However, it showed a town that would do anything to keep their jobs, union and all. Something you don't read in the papers or hear on the news. Media selling advertisements to these companies or are even owned by these companies will always blame the person being shown the door. YOU wanted a union. YOU wanted benefits. YOU wanted to be able to send your children to school for a better life. Here's YOUR pink slip, you retard (Woody's words, not mine). The Lansing employees were ready to give all that up so GM could keep the doors open in their city. But, GM management all got bonuses, and the lines-people all got the unemployment line, something planned years before the employees even had a clue. What's new? And do the people of Lansing know that GM, the "family" company, has been furiously advertising in weed culture magazines? Strange how they moved operations to Mexico, got a huge government buyout, and began a full page ad campaign in major weed culture magazines all at the same time...hmmmmm....
So here is my dream, a company that doesn't profit off of little Juan's early grave, a company that hasn't adopted the "triangle" or "circle" or "square" (when I worked at a call center in Ontario, management always tried to explain their "concept" in a circle. Cute. But the only people who got it were the ones that spent their breaks smoking a joint or 3 in the parking lot. I was envious. Unfortunately, my coping skills only extend to the bottom of a bottle of vodka and I really get nothing when I'm drunk, they had to explain it 20 times before they finally realized they were talking to a deaf and possibly blind chimpanzee), a company where they hire for skill instead of geneology, a company that will more than just walk you to your desk on the first day - they will show you where the washrooms are too. A company that shares the wealth when they delve into an industry normally reserved for organized crime. And finally, a company that has a vending machine with beer in it. Too much to ask?
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