Tuesday, December 23, 2008

A little bit of hardball

Well, I played a little hardball, and hip-hip-hurray, it looks like I've got me a contract! Three months, at a higher rate than the first two offers, and this stint should lead into fulltime once we've carved out my role.

I feel happy and very blessed.

And it was so great to be able to leave my shoes under my desk over the holidays!

Of course, there's a little more to the story. I'm not Rosalind Russell saucily smoking a cigarette and cooly demanding more dough. But I did ask for more and they did give it to me. I was so stressed out this morning, as soon as a friend in the office asked me how I was doing, the tears started leaking out. She knows me well, so she made me vent my stress - rather than cram it back in, which is what I was clearly trying to do. Anyway, she told me I seemed to be trying to convince myself that the SVP didn't like me and that I was personalizing their lowball offer, when in fact, that's what they're offering everybody for contracts these days. As usual, talking it out helped a lot and I was able to be productive all day, until about 4pm, when I hear I got the contract.

I went over to the doorway of the SVP's office - many moons ago he was a drinking buddy of mine, but that's all history now - he's a biggie! I asked him if I could give him a great big kiss. As I well know, there's nothing he'd hate more. But he let me give him a great big hug, and congratulated me, and we agreed it was going to be great.


Monday, December 22, 2008


I got a verbal offer for a six-month contract. For 60% less than they're paying me now. With no benefits.

Why they think that's a good offer is beyond me.

So my boss went back to the biggies and tried for more dough. And they went up a bit, but still be below what I'd even want for fulltime permanent. So, bless her heart, she went back and tried again for more dough, though still way below what they're paying me now. I can't figure out why they're lowballing. It's not nice!

We may hear back tomorrow. Or not, and I'll have to wait til January.

However, it makes me really happy that my boss is so willing to go to bat to get me hired, even on contract. And I really am happy there, despite the usual bullcrap that always seems to be sitting at the upper levels.

Sunday, December 21, 2008

It won't be long before we'll all be there with snow

When I was a kid it used to comfort me when we got excessive snow. I honestly felt that it kept a lid on chaos. Everything in town would get so quiet.

I still can't help feeling that way, even though I know it's not particularly true. But it feels true.

Saturday, December 20, 2008

Monkey on my back

I've become a total stress monkey again.

I am possibly going to be offered a six-month contract, which may eventually become full time. But I haven't actually been offered this mythical contract and now both the Prez and the Chairman have gone on holidays til 2009. And, note, there is a vacancy right now in the department I have been working in and want to be hired in. Sounds simple, right? A no-brainer. Just hire me. But no!

They have to "rethink" the way they want the department to "look". Gaaaaaaah!

I really want benefits and I want stability. And I want to not worry so goddamn much about getting the flu and having to call in sick.

The waiting and wondering and not getting anywhere is putting me right back into living in Stressville, Ontario. I've been feeling extra antsy the past few days - even getting heebeejeebees in my legs and having the heart palpitation thingie and my eyes seeing stuff move in the periphery and slight dizzyness and irritability. With a bit of nausea thrown in - just enough for me to look up the symptoms of stroke, and then think, oh man, now I know what's wrong. I ain't having a stroke - I'm on the verge on another anxiety attack.

I want this stress monkey off my back.

However, I see it's snowing again. Pretty.

Monday, December 15, 2008

And we LIKED it that way

This is pretty much all we saw up north this past weekend - boy, was it fun! Tons of the stuff!

Just like back in the old days, we were all saying. Snow in December is par for the course, but this much? Not since I was a kid, walking 10 miles home from school, through the park, all the way through town, across the railway tracks, over the bridge over the river, up Hunt's Hill, all the way up Toronto Street, and finally home - in the snow! Carrying a metal lunch pail! With a glass thermos! That always broke! And we LIKED it that way! (Wasn't that dumb? I mean, making kids' thermoses out of glass? Didn't they know how far a lunch pail can slide down an unsanded road when given a gentle shove?)

It's all true, I did have to do all that walking home from school through tons and tons of snow, through the park, town, tracks, bridge, hill. But it wasn't really 10 miles. Or was it?

Oh jeez, I bet there's a thing somewhere on the web where I can actually measure how long I used to have to walk home from school when I was a kid. Let's see now.

Dear me. How disappointing. 1.62 kilometres. Or just a shade over a mile. Felt like longer. Hunt's Hill was high! And the site won't do elevation outside the U.S. Here's the website. You have to double-click to mark a point.

In other news: would you look at that. I just found my old lunch box on eb@y. I just typed in metal lunch box, flowers, and there it was.

Friday, December 12, 2008


Someone got fired here. Someone whose job I now want. Ugh.

I want to apply for it, of course, but I don't want to be tacky since I think his chair is still warm. Plus, I feel bad because I want his job and he got fired.

But now what I really want is for the job, which would be fulltime, to be offered to me. And then I can continue to feel bad about it, while paying the rent and providing for my family at the same time. Maybe even getting some benefits.

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

I'm just wild about hairy

I was checking my email this afternoon and found this ad; isn't it great? Doesn't it make you want to go buy some Dove shampoo?

In other news: I've had a financial reprieve. My contract got extended until Christmas, and I'm now working on yet another team at good ol' Jobsite I, the third one since the beginning of October. It's good because this time I'm on the Editorial team, and that's just where I want to be. I'm still hoping they'll just find me so indispensable that they'll just say, "C'mon and stay!"

As for blogging, well, the hormonal fun-fest formerly known as The Miracle of Being a Woman has been making me conk out at around 9:30, and I still have difficulty blogging while I'm asleep. I compose lots, but writing it down is tricky.

Speaking of which (the hormonal fun-fest, that is)...

The Mystery of the Perpetual Motion Feminine Protection Disposal Unit has been solved!

One of the sanitary disposal thingies in the women's washroom has been opening and closing by itself, at regular intervals, for the past three months. The way they're supposed to work is you press on the top, a little drawer opens and then you put your discarded doo-dad into the drawer thing, and then it closes on its own.

But how would it open and close on its own? Was it a balance thing like those birds that used to dip their beaks in a glass of water?

Now I know. Last week a guy strolled by with about 20 of the units on a skid. I figured he must know about these things so I asked him. He said, in a tone that indicated he knew he was about to deliver disappointing news, "It's not magic. There's a little machine in there that does it and that one unit was malfunctioning."

He was right; I was disappointed. But the weirdness of knowing that there's a company out there that makes machines that open and close feminine protection disposal units almost makes up for the disappointment that there was no ghost in that machine.

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

Bad habits

Charlie and I were out doing errands on the weekend, and we had to get some cash and deposit my paycheque at the bank machine. There was nobody ahead of us, but soon there were several people lined up behind us. Right behind us was a nun in full gear, which included a wide white Flying-Nun-style wings over her wimple. Behind her were two men.

Charlie likes to help me get cash by pressing the "OK" button on the ABM each time we need it and then likes to count the money. So he's counting, "20, 40, 60, 80, oops (as the $20 falls to the floor), 100!" I say, "Pick up the one from the floor sweetie," and the nun says, in an exasperated and (I hate to say it) foghorn-like voice, "Hurry UP!!"

I just smiled and said, "We're doing our best", and then one of the men behind the nun says in big loud voice, "You're doing a great job, son!"

As for the nun, I guess she was still a novice.

10 points to whoever can remember the Flying Nun's nun-name.