COVID-19 Diary - Wall

I woke up angry this morning.

I received some bad news yesterday. As I wrote a couple of days ago, I'm one of the lucky ones - I still have a job.

But.

I'm taking a pay cut. It's a pay cut that creates a frustrating and, frankly, insulting situation.

But.

I learned today that the largest employer in our little town laid off most of its workforce. As the Rising Star Casino wrote in the letter to its unlucky employees, should the casino reopen, the employees will be able to reapply for a position.

Ah, perspective.

I lost a good job in the economic crash of 2009. I was without work until March of 2012. It was a hard time for our family.  We lost a house, a car and eventually, a marriage.

I have never regained the salary level I lost in 2009.

My heart goes out to the people who have lost their jobs as a result of this crisis. Unlike 2009 when it felt like I was watching one friend after another slide over the edge from employment to unemployment, this crisis showed us what it would feel like to slam into a wall.

Hard.

This kind of thing is traumatizing. Trust me on this. These people, like so many others, have lost their jobs through no fault of their own. None. We didn't see this coming.

I fear that harder times are coming. Please be kind to each other. Watch what you say and what you post on social media about jobs, the social safety net, people in need (they don't need you to broadcast your generosity if you help them out), healthcare, unemployment benefits (no one wants to be on unemployment), who works hard and who doesn't, who is deserving and who isn't.

You might think you're being funny, insightful, or clever, but take it from me - that stuff hurts. It's pointless pain. Keep your opinions to yourself because no one needs your shame right now.

When I was out of work, the economy was so bad that the Administration had to keep begging Congress to extend unemployment benefits. Every quarter was a nightmare while I fretted that my benefits would end and there was no job in sight.

One day I was scrolling through Facebook, having taken a break from trolling all the job posting websites, and I saw someone I'd grown up with posting about how all the lazy people who wanted more unemployment money should "just get a job."

I'd spent hours every day looking for a job. I'd applied for hundreds of jobs sometimes having to complete applications requiring so much detail that it took over an hour to complete.  In all that time, after all those applications, I had two interviews. One place didn't hire me, but the other did.

At half my 2009 salary and a much longer commute.

And I felt lucky to have a job.

I'm telling you this so you don't hurt someone with your words.

Sermon over.

Stay home if you can. Tell someone you love them. Make a plan for hard times. Wash your hands. Remember the Golden Rule.

This is the day when things fall into place

A brief story about the power of social media. Or maybe the value of connecting, reconnecting. Who you know. The ending of one chapter, the beginning of another. A shift of gears. A new day. A move from a red square to a black one. Is it the Phoenix or the egg?

I'm stalling.

See, the thing is, I reconnected with a friend, a former colleague on Facebook. This friend knew that I was out of work and suggested I apply for a position with his employer. And so I did. And. And....

I got the job. I mean - I got the job!!! (Throws confetti into the air, runs around in circles making incoherent noises. Halts, realizes that she's going to have to clean up the confetti, shrugs and resumes pandemonium.)

And it's not just a job. It is a position I really, really wanted.

I start in a couple of weeks.

After being out of work for two years and two months (you bet I've kept count), I'd pretty much given up. My friend's timing was perfect. Having him as an internal reference surely helped. Without his connection, I may have been overlooked for this position because of my old job titles, but during the interview process it became clear that my best skills were well-suited for this position.

In other words, I'm beside myself with joy and gratitude for my friend who knows from experience what a toll long-term unemployment takes on a person.

Thanks to all of you for the support, kind words and patience as I've struggled to hold on to the belief that things would turn around. There were many days when this blog felt like the only thing I'd accomplished, if you could call it an accomplishment.

When it comes down to it, I'm here because you're here.

Thank you, all of you, for being here.

The Not So Great Depression

It feels like one of the cats got my tongue. I've haven't been able to think of anything to say. I partially blame the medication I'm taking. It makes me feel so even. It's strange. MathMan suggested that perhaps what I'm feeling is actually normal and because my moods have been so rollercoasterish I don't recognize it. Normal.

I thought about that. He could be right. Maybe I've been functioning for a long time with a low grade depression using a patchwork of coping methods to get by. Sometimes stressors made it worse and I would feel a deeper sense of gloom and then things would clear. For several years MathMan has patiently waited for me to accept that I might need some medical intervention. He endured my blues, my acting out, my upswings like a champ. Like a champ who knows how to retreat into work, how to deliver a verbal ass kicking when needed, and how to pick around the psychic minefield that has been a life with me.

I have sometimes asked myself which of us is the sick one. Twenty-four years. That man deserves a certificate and a $20 Applebees gift card for perfect attendance.

The tipping point came when the coping skills no longer worked. Food didn't work nor did writing or a variety of other distractions. I was moving deeper within, becoming fearful and anxious about everything, looking for any excuse to not leave the house or have contact with people, losing sleep and gaining weight. I didn't leave my bedroom unless I absolutely had to, "forgetting" to go to the mailbox to get the mail many days in a row, letting the grocery stockpile sustain us to avoid trips to the store, not answering the phone.

And then came the job interview and I had to get out of my head and push myself. I did it. It felt good to get out of the house and into the city, to talk to adults and to revisit the ways I had actually once been a productive, thriving, successful executive. That I'd once been able to do a vast array of things including running a household.

That was a little like touching fire. I'd spent the last two years not letting myself think too much about the professional life I'd had because having it yanked from me made me angry. Oh sure, I tried to focus that anger, to put that energy to work finding other positions, but with each passing month and a visit to the Department of Labor to sit fidgeting and fretful with the other people who just wanted a job, I became less focused and more dispirited.

Was it time to revisit what I could offer potential employers? Some job searchers have even gone as far as taking online college classes in hopes of updating their skill set and making themselves more competitive in a new industry. On average, a job hunt can last as long as twenty-one weeks. The effects - multiple rejections and the resulting blows to one's self-esteem - can leave a long-lasting impression on the individual.

When you're looking for a job, you start with what you know. Then you expand. You look in other fields, other cities. Then you lower your expectations. And lower them some more. Then you look for seasonal work. And in case you believe the fallacy about unemployment being a deterrent to people finding work, know this - at least in the State of Georgia, you have to show that you're seeking work. You must report to the Department of Labor monthly and show a list of the jobs for which you have applied and they have to be jobs within reason. I couldn't say that I was applying for jobs to be a nuclear engineer, for example.

When nothing came of the interview and then the holidays were looming and my unemployment insurance was running out and the job listings dwindled, I went into full retreat. How were we going to manage on MathMan's salary alone? What do I have to do to get a job? What can we sell? Do we find somewhere less expensive to live? How can we even afford to move? What the hell, you mean we can't take all the money out of the 401k? It's MathMan's money for fuck's sake. All of it. No matching. We'll pay the taxes and penalties, just let us have the money because we can at least pay our rent for the next few months. Shit.

 My high tolerance for pain evaporated and I cried uncle.

The doctor gave me two prescriptions - an appetite suppressant which I've taken before, and an anti-depressant. The rationale being that although the anti-d is supposed to be weight-neutral, Cute Dr. J. didn't want me to gain. He knows me well enough to know I'm going to feel better if I'm more fit.

Here's how I know the anti-d is working. In the past, when I've taken this appetite suppressant, the kids have called it the angry pill. For good reason. Without it, I can be a bit, um, mercurial. With it I was like Bobby Knight with a lit firecracker stuck up his butt. I might have even thrown a chair or two.

But not this time. I'm like some Zen master of serenity. I've heard the kids talking about it when they think I can't hear them.

"Oh, man. When is she finally going to blow?"
"I don't know, but I hope I'm not home when it happens."
"She should have gone crazy when saw the mess in Sophie's room. Look at her. She's just lying there on her bed watching TV. No screaming, no raging around, no throwing things in the garbage. It's kind of freaky."
"Oh, yeah, well she didn't even say fuck once when Mitt Romney was lying about the President in his speech."
"Not once?"
"Nope."
"Has anyone talked to Daddy about this?"
"Hey, you guys. I can hear you!"

One of them appeared at the door. "Are you mad?"
"No."
"Okay. We --"
"It's fine. I know."

If this is normal, it's going to take some getting used to and I  don't mean that in a negative way. At my last doctor's visit, he doubled the dosage. It's taken me a week to feel less foggy. Writing is difficult. Much of the time, I feel passionless, dulled. I lose minutes staring out the window.The political discourse that would have once had me in a frenzied lather results in a minor froth. I'm the flat beer on the emotional spectrum.

And oh my word, I finally had to ask MathMan to use a taser on my G-spot because either this medication has moved my orgasmic cheese out of my ever-lovin' reach or I'm a guy suffering from Low T or Low Testosterone. Which obviously, I'm not because when I begged him to tase me, bro, MathMan didn't have to move any junk to get at it.

I may have just wandered way off track.

The point is I'm having to relearn normal. The upside is that I've already shed fifteen pounds. That feels good. Working out feels good. Sleeping well feels good. Not running on adrenaline all the damn time feels good. Not losing my shit over little things feels good. And that taser? Well.... mustn't grumble. Too much.

Looking back at this post, I guess it's Lisa - 1; Cats - 0. Please don't tell the cats. They're sore losers with sharp claws.

xoxo

Dogpile on the Rabbit

Last week I received two gifts I'd like to return - the rejection letter from the job I interviewed for and the official letter telling me I've exhausted all 99 weeks of my unemployment insurance. They came the same day.

I immediately started looking around the garage for things we could sell. Sophie, the youngest, most succulent of the Goldens, sidestepped up the stairs and locked the door behind her.

MathMan aka Dr. Hofstadter regarded me warily. Waiting for the storm.

I tossed the letters aside and went back to the task at hand.

"You okay?"

"Mmmmhmmmm."

No one said anything for a moment.

"I guess it's good to get all my bad news at once," I said as I stomped on the next soda can waiting to go in the recycling bin.

Bob Lefsetz.

Tree Stand Philosophy 101. My brother's blog.  He always was the favorite.

My very brief, positive review of The Buddha in the Attic. 

The rabbit hole I fell down today.

And then this.

I.U. is losing as I type this, but the game has been exciting. A metaphor for life?

Animals in Midlife Crisis and one more.

Unemployment Diary: Shortfalls and little sins

On Monday I put on dress clothes. Underneath was a torture device otherwise known as a foundation garment and a pair of pantyhose that have been in the drawer for so many months, they no longer recognize the shape of my leg. Good thing putting on pantyhose is like riding bicycle. You don't quite forget.

I applied makeup and lipstick. Not my usual red, but something more subtle and understated. I put on conservative jewelry and made sure my ankle bracelet didn't peek out from under my pants when I sat down. In that moment, I was glad that I'd forgone that chest tattoo. With a rack like mine, I'm not supposed to wear high necklines. It's a rule, so say my daughters who've watched plenty of What Not to Wear.

I walked out to the garage careful to avoid any contact with the cats. I was wearing black and didn't need to be flecked with cat hair. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw how clean the car was. MathMan had made a special effort to have it tidied up. I would be pulling up to valet parking and I wanted to make a good first impression.

This would be my first in person job interview since February 2010 and I was nervous as hell.

All the way there, I thought about what I would say, the examples I could give for how I was the best qualified person for the job. It's a position outside of my former career industry so it feels like a long shot to begin with, but I  kept telling myself that I had years of related experience and therefore had no reason to be so nervous.

You know your strengths and weaknesses, I told myself. Play to your strengths.

And yet, it felt like so much was riding on this. It's only the fourth interview I've had in two years. The further south on I75 I traveled, the more monumental this interview became.

I arrived and introductions were made. Everything was going well.

And then the first question of many more to come was asked. It was, of course, the one question that would expose my most critical weakness.

I admitted I didn't have an immediate answer to the question, but that I would know where to find the answer. Then I saved myself with a follow up comment.

"Oooh, that's good. Yes," the interviewer said with a smile.

Phew!

Okay, I told myself, the worst is over and the interviewer hasn't cut this short.

The rest of the situational interview went well, I thought, and I had plenty of experience to draw from for each answer. I didn't spill my glass of water, curse or lean over and pick lint off the interviewer's suit. (He was dressed impeccably.) My handshake was firm and my personality warm.

As I drove home, I listened to MSNBC. They played a clip of some doof or other repeating the mantra that the unemployed need to just go get a job.

Were it that easy. The unemployment rate in Georgia is 10.2%.

It still feels like a long shot. I'm trying not to make myself crazy wondering if I'll hear back from them. I haven't taken to ironing yet so maybe the steps I'm taking to reduce my anxiety are working.

If I don't hear from them by next Monday, I'll be putting out the following alert:  Send laundry.

Give me something good about your week. What's gone well?

The Fundamental Attribution Error

Source

The Fundamental Attribution Error. Sounds like a Big Bang Theory episode title, doesn't it?

It's actually a psychological term describing how we use internal factors to explain what happens to someone else while we apply external factors to explain the things that happen to us.

Ari Melber covers it in this video. (Here's hoping that the ad preceding the video won't be for a financial institution.)

 

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

This is a different world, a whole new ballgame. Let's rein in our assumptions. The last thing we need is to support policies based on judgments that aren't founded in reality and facts.

Take the unemployment thing. I didn't lose my job because I didn't do it well. I lost my job because the organization was tied to construction and we suffered serious revenue losses and my job was eliminated and outsourced. The guy sitting next to me at the Department of Labor the other day didn't lose his job because he didn't do it well. He lost it because the place where he worked doesn't have enough demand to keep four techs employed and he was the last one hired so......

If you lose your job, it's not going to be because you woke up one day and said "Fuck this steady paycheck shit. I want to struggle and live with financial insecurity. I'm going to stop doing my job well." If you lose your job, it's going to be because this economy is getting meaner and leaner and someone has figured out how to keep their business running without you. Should that unfortunate thing happen to you, may anyone you encounter understand that your lack of a job is not your fault. And if they can't then may they have the decency to keep their mouths shut. Or better yet - to help you find your next job.

As Melber says at the end of the video, it's time we call out this lack of compassion and understanding. We need to ask the people who still want to believe that large numbers of Americans don't want to work - would rather struggle to survive than get up each day and go to work - that question: Really? That's your argument?

I dick around with Fundamental Attribution Errors all day long. Sometimes they keep me warmer than the cats curled around my feet. Seriously, the sanctimony I can pull together when presented with something like an episode of 16 and Pregnant or those people with forty-two children. Mind you, I'm not advocating we limit the number of babies a woman can have or the age at which she can have them, but it still doesn't make it right when I indulge in that kind of judgmental thinking.

There's a lot of ignorance (that Put Me in Charge screed, for example) perpetrated on social media, but there's plenty of clever thought, too. One of my favorites is this:

The Fundamental Attribution Error says that if you're not wealthy, it's because you don't work hard enough, didn't choose the right career path, didn't plan well and aren't smart enough. If I'm not wealthy, it's because the government takes all my money in taxes and gives it to lazy, poor people.

What are your fundamental attribution errors?

Thrown

 Sometimes he finishes my sentences and gets it right. Sometimes he finishes my sentences and I want to throw something at him. And I've been known to throw things. Fits. Unopened cans of Hershey's Chocolate Syrup. Cellphones. The bathwater out and that damned baby, too.

"The thing that drives me crazy about this..." that was me. My line. My mistake is trying to reduce it, whatever it is, to just one thing. The thing that drives me crazy. As if.

I know, I know, on top of writing, you're the one doing all the housework. That was him.

True, but that wasn't what I was going to say. I may have snarled. I didn't throw anything. "Yes, but..."

He tried again. I know the money worries me, too.

Wrong again. Well, I mean, he was right. Of course the money stuff is worrying me to no end. I swear that at least 50% of my excess body fat is due to that fucking stress hormone, but no, I was going to say something more specific about money.

"Listen to me!" Now there's a universal cry if ever there was one. "What makes it so hard to focus sometimes is that when I had a job, I showed up, I did my job, I got paid. It was a given. Now! Now, there's a very real possibility that I'll do all this work - the writing, the editing, the fretting over finding an agent  - all this time spent on this and there's no guarantee that I'll ever be paid a cent for it."

Saying it didn't make it better. I felt flattened, defeated, over it. Why can't I just find a real job? A job with a paycheck? How did I go from being capable of managing an organization to being unemployable?

"There's one sure fire way to guarantee that you don't get paid for it," he said quickly so I couldn't cut in. It was my turn to finish his sentence. I must have had that look in my eye. "Don't finish it. Don't put it out there. Don't try to find an agent or to publish it on your own. There's your guaranteed failure right there."

There's nothing left to say. I turn back to the computer and get back to work.

What throws you?

30 Day Photography Challenge - Silhouette

First things first: A lot of you will relate to Summer and her 13 things.  Randal's 13 things better not topple over on him or his eye.

UPDATED: Geoffrey is rescued by a cat.

UPDATED Encore: We could call Summer Hazel.

Today I'm supposed to give you a silhouette so I walked around the house camera in hand and determined not to point the dang thing at myself again.

I dicked around with a few things, but it felt pointless because the image stuck in my head when I think silhouette is this one that graces The Storialist's Facebook page.

Now this is what I think about when I think silhouette. Delicate, a beautiful cameo. And if you haven't read Hannah's poetry, you're in for a treat.

************************

There's an unemployment diary post at my other blog. I'm feeling a bit raw and ready to nutpunch someone.

Unemployment Diary: Swing Time

Another Monday.
Another week.
Another chance to do good, get something right.
The pressure of Monday and its promise of a shiny new week is making me wish for tired old Thursday where I can gaze lovingly back at Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday and take stock of the week. More or less. WINNING? You betcha.
Today I go and play yet another round of Come on, lady, won't you even consider being a home health aide with the Department of Labor Dude.
He means well, but seriously? Take care of the needs of others and be paid precious little for the pleasure?
Now you're just describing my homelife,sucka.
 I'll whip out my long list of jobs applied for.
The Excel spreadsheet of shame, a life's work itself these days. A map of failures to make a great first impression.
And he'll nod and remember that oh, yeah! this is that woman who does that thing for a living he doesn't quite understand.
But her old title sounds important. Does it involve the mafia?
Well, you're doing everything you can by the looks of it.
I won't tell him about how I'm looking for work in the sex industry.
He'll smile. I'll smile. It's all we can do.
Given the constraints of the workplace and human decency.You know.
And I'll go home again, enthused not so much, but at least safe in the knowledge that I'm not alone.
The Department of Labor office is rocking.
Especially on a Monday.

Unemployment Diary: Call me

Fun fact: A turnkey operation for that phone sex hotline will cost $799 set up fee plus $50 a month in maintenance fees. All I need is a home phone (got it) and a preamble which identifies the line and the cost per minute. Billing begins in three seconds...

And I'm going to have to create a marketing strategy.

This idea is taking shape. A question remains:  Will I be able to do get through a call without laughing? The websites I've researched stress a level of professionalism and good customer service to ensure repeat customers and word of mouth marketing. Really? Do people, guys mostly, I suppose, discuss their phone sex calls? I'm going to have to do some reconnaissance on this. Maybe do a Joyce Hyser like in Just One of the Guys. I guess I'll listen in at bars, the gym, the grocery store. Maybe the local barber shop?

Looks like I'm going to have to improve my game. I can imagine all kinds of things going wrong.(dream waves go here)

Oh, yeah, baby. Yes, right there. Mmmm. Oh, one second. (Stage whisper) Sophie, Daddy will have to help you with that math homework when he gets home.  Ooooh, yeah. Do you like that?(Note to self: Lock door)

Or ....

You want me to say what? Um...okay. But do I have to say it in that Edith Bunker voice again? (Note to self: Rehearse!)


Or....

Tell me how you like it.  What? No, not your hamburger. MathMan! get off the line! (Note to self: No second extension for the business line.)

Or.....

And then I take your ..... shit, I've lost my notes, what do you like me to call your thing again? (Note to self: Get a whiteboard. And markers.)

Or.....

Yes, you can call me Dcup, Senator. I mean, darling. Senator darling. (Note to self: Confidentiality rules. Remember them.)

Or....

Mmmmm, what? Oh that? It's my new sex toy. It does? It sounds like a mixer? Well, that's interesting. You just keep going, while I pop this cake into the oven.... (Note to self: No multitasking unless the customer requests it.)

It's also been suggested to me that I might want to update my look for the marketing material. Really? Color my hair? Botox the crinkles? Loofah the cellulite? Wouldn't it just be easier to use photos of my younger, more nubile self? I'm still that flexible hottie on the inside. Or a graphic. Why not just a graphic? Like my old DCup avatar? (Let's not discuss how old that thing is.)

What do you think? Maybe I'd better research the ethics of this. I mean, what is not sexy about this?

Would have been better if the sour cream weren't fat free.

 

Okay, maybe my adviser has a point. And even though I sound quite young on the phone, won't callers figure out pretty quickly that someone with my experience would have to be at least ...... oh nevermind. I'm overthinking this.

First things first. I'll see if I can do this kind of work for someone else. It that works out, then I'll get my own line.

As I mull this over, aside from the initial investment and the fact that I will finally be paid for my sex work, there's little reason to prevent me from giving this a try. It's rather like I've been in training for it for the last oh so many years.  And here's another upside to it:  Reading erotica can now be considered research and prep instead of just that thing I do when no one is around to hear the buzzing.......

The Long Month

This is one of those posts that I really hate to write. We've hit the financial wall (again). I know. Let's just not look at each other, okay, because I cannot make eye contact when I'm doing this. The last couple of days have been a carnival of anxieties and so I haven't written because it's hard to bring the funny when, well, you know. The good news is that in two days, I've run twenty miles. It's the only way to control the hamsters in the brain, wear them the hell out.

If you're thinking about a donation, this would be a good time.

Thank you, in advance, whether you give or not. Thank you for being here.

You know how I love you.

Lisa

Intransigent

Photo: Lisa Golden (has nothing to do with post)

Last night MathMan and I went to bed with the TV on. Before we turned on the Foyle's War DVD, we'd been watching MSNBC and listening to the day's political spin.

As I listened to the cadence of words, the repetition of phrases, I thought about Sherry's post at A Feather Adrift. She pointed out a couple of new buzz phrases that have become part of the conversational stew surrounding the U.S. budget, the debt ceiling and the deficit.

The American People.

Job creators.

There is no American People the way it's used by politicians. Hell, you can't even get The American People to agree on Coke or Pepsi, but if you ask politicians why they're doing something, they'll you that The American People sent them to Washington to do xyz. What they should say is that they won an election and now they're going to carry out the wishes of their donors while pretending to give two shits about what the people who elected them want them to do.

The phrase job creators is the perfect illustration of this. Republicans are using the phrase to cover the entire spectrum of business and the wealthy. Big business and small. Job Creators is code for People on whom we will not raise taxes.

The people they're referring to don't actually create jobs in any meaningful way. Tax cuts don't create jobs. Demand creates jobs. You can give businesses all the tax breaks in the world, you can hand them massive tax refund checks (which is a transfer of money from the taxpayer to the corporation in case you didn't realize that) and they still aren't going to create jobs if there isn't a critical mass of consumers who want and can buy their services or goods because they have money with which to buy those goods and services.

We've tried this tax cut experiment for over ten years and it's failed. The proof is in the unemployment line.

Source: Think Progress

By the end of the day yesterday, it became clear that another word had burrowed into the DNA of the American political lexicon. I really wish that we had some sort of app that could identify which talking head was the first to use it in the current context. Now that's the kind of app that could entice me to buy a smartphone.

The word?

Intransigent.

There it is all over the television. There the word is, too, on my wall, smack in the middle of the list of adjectives I have taped next to my desk.

Intransigent. Intransigence. The words are being used to describe Republicans who are unwilling to compromise.

In today's political atmosphere, the word compromise no longer carries the air of maturity, but rather it's spat out as it's own euphemism. Only bed-wetting liberal pantywaists compromise. Pussies compromise. Real men, real Americans don't compromise. The American People don't want compromise. They're busy hollering yeehaw while riding their rugged individualist lawnmowers.

I zeroed in on this word and became obsessed with it because unlike Job Creators and The American People, this word is accurate. It's not code. It's reality. Republicans have dug in on the subject of taxes. They'll tell you that they're carrying out the will of The American People who know that the The Job Creators need to pay lower taxes so they can create jobs and that we need to cut government spending and cut taxes because taxes and Big Government are the problem.

Or shorter: We're all Grover Norquist now!!!

See how that works?

I'd been drinking and that brought everything into focus like when you suddenly notice the veins in your hands look like rivers on a map. "When we wake up in the morning and turn on the TV, let's see how long it takes for someone to use the word intransigent on Morning Joe," I said, mashing my pillow into place.

When I'm happily alcohol softened, MathMan justs lets me talk. "Okay," he said. He probably just wanted to get laid.

As I fell asleep, I pontificated on the Balanced Budget Amendment. "That's like if your car breaks down and you quit your job because you can't get there and you can't get there because you won't raise revenue to fix your car."

Then everything went black.

The alarm went off at 6:10a.m. I opened my eyes, assessed my level of hangover. Nothing. Excellent. I reached for the remote, pushed the power button and glanced at the clock next to me. 6:11. MathMan bailed out of the bed and headed to the shower.

"blah, blah, blah, instransigent....." said Pat Buchanan to the roundtable on Morning Joe.

"One minute! It took one minute!" I laughed and threw the covers back. I was free to get on with my day.

What are your favorite political phrases, euphemisms, codes?

Pushing. Really hard.

I just needed some Edward Gorey.

I've spent the worst part of today applying for more jobs and writing cover letters. Dreadful.

Writing cover letters has got to be one of the most painful things I do these days and lately painful has real, specific meaning. Just this week I've performed surgery on my own leg. That's painful in a different way. I don't know what that black thing was sticking out of my thigh - a stinger or some other part of an insect or arachnid, but some of it is still in my leg and now it's surrounded by a hard, red lump. It's gross. Shut up. This is not doctor visit stuff. This is stiff upper lip, put some antibiotic ointment on it stuff. If an earwig climbs out of the pit I've dug with a needle, well, so be it. Must not grumble. But cover your ears because I'll be screaming like the girl I once was.

So I know painful. But this business of writing cover letters? Fuck that. I know I play a writer on this blog, but dear lord, trying to sell myself concisely is like trying to push really hard and turn my clitoris into a cock.

Perhaps I should include that in my next cover letter. Bet that would get someone's attention.

Seriously, folks, being unemployed blows enough, looking and looking for a job and finding bupkiss blows harder. Jamming my fingers to the keys and attempting to make enough magic to compel some HR person to sit up and take notice and even deign to roll their eyeballs across my resume? Dreadful. I'd say it's soul sucking, but I remain on the fence vis a vis souls.

And shit, don't even get me started on my resume. Lie, don't lie? Does it even matter anymore, daddy?

When I lose steam, I go trolling for ideas. You want to know what's really frustrating? All the How to Find a Job advice comes from people who have a job. Yeah, try being unemployed, 45, having been a bit too high above your station and without a job in this economy. Then tell me again how networking and crafting a great resume and cover letter is the ticket to success. Even the Department of Labor counselors have suggested I whittle my resume. Fine, but then how do I explain the last twenty years? All these motherfucking online applications require you to click a box indicating that you're presenting yourself truthfully. Okaaaay.

And since I'm already in the ditch, is this how it's supposed to go? You follow the rules, go to school, get a job, move up the ladder, do more than put in your time, you take risks, have some success, push yourself, leave things in better shape than you found them just so you can what? Deny you did any of that stuff so you can find a job, any job?

American Dreams. American Screams. A lie. The old rules no longer apply. The unemployed need not apply.

Oh, bitter. I should stop now. Here's what I'm settling on for my template cover letter.

Dear Prospective Employer:


Please hire me. I offer twenty years of progressively responsible administrative experience that can be bent and molded to fit your individual needs. I am a Libra, a middle child and woman. You can't find a more accommodating person than that. I come from a long line of hardworking people and as proof of my work ethic, I offer you a list of things I've done for little to no pay since having been laid off from my last job through no fault of my own. (please see attachment)


I am intelligent enough to do an excellent job, but not so intelligent to make you feel threatened. I have a good sense of humor and promise to use appropriately which means I'll laugh at only your jokes. I have no life and what little personal ambition I had has been sucked out of me. If you employ me, I give myself to you. I can start immediately and my salary needs are flexible like Nadia Comaneci.


I look forward to hearing from you to discuss the open position. Call me!

Best regards,


Lisa

Shit. That's no good. The Nadia Comaneci thing totally gives away my age. Back to the keyboard...

What Took You So Long?

Things I've learned been reminded of this week:

!. You can go "home" again.
2. Just because friends don't call you doesn't mean you shouldn't call them. Maybe they're giving you space and maybe you hurt them just a tiny bit.
3. Three years is a long time and not very long at all.
4. You have to ask for the job.
5. There may be hope for me yet.
6. Lots of things don't change in your absence. Lots of things do.
7. One person's small action can set off a chain of events they don't even realize they triggered. There's a story there. I know, it's been done.
8. It is possible for someone to disappear without an Invisibility Cloak or faking their own death.
9. Old friends fall quickly into established patterns when they're reunited.
10. As much as I hate to admit it and even more, I hate to do it, it's very good for me to get out of my charming domestic box with its cat hair lining and ironed curtains.

New readers don't remember when I used to write about work, but some of you will remember the old job where I used to travel with a small, tightly-knit band of rowdies who liked to party late into the night. My role was noisemaker, singles stuffer into g-strings, cheerleader, herder of cats, director of traffic and den mother. Now doesn't that sound more fun than being the Executive Director of a small professional association of people who manage something?

Yesterday, I went as a guest to my old association's luncheon and saw a lot of old friends and acquaintances. I didn't know what to expect since the last time I saw these people, my life was coming apart. After I left that job, I stopped talking to those folks because I was a little hurt and I was embarrassed about my situation. So when I wrote one of the past presidents to ask him for a reference, he said of course and also invited me to the luncheon. I was afraid to go, but just like he used to when we worked together as partners, he insisted in his way. He often knew what was best when I couldn't see the forest for the trees.

It took me no time at all to get my networking legs back. There were handshakes and hugs and many questions about where I'd "disappeared" to. Most of these people thought I'd gone to New York. They didn't know I'd stayed for only one day.

I glossed over the details and collected business cards and suggestions for where to look for work. A recruiter asked me to call her. I even got hired by one of my old friends to do some freelance writing and editing.

I learned about the changes in some of my friends lives and oohed and aahed over photos of kids, lost weight and job promotions. The most familiar moment came when the featured speaker, a Georgia State Representative, was giving his speech. I was seated between two past presidents. The one who insisted I come and the other with whom I once drove from Atlanta to New Orleans. Mr. Insist leaned over and whispered "Your job is to ask during Q and A if he's ever tweeted photos of his privates."

I laughed, drawing the attention of my other president so, of course, I had to repeat the joke to her. They both leaned in and I shared with them that I'd learned to be more subtle than that. I would just raise my hand and ask for the State Rep's Twitter handle.

One said to the other, that's why she's the writer.  

As we chatted in the parking lot afterward, Mr. Insist talked about finding happiness and wondering if he would ever find it. He asked me what had taken me so long to get in touch. I could think of many reasons, but I didn't have an answer. I changed the subject. I told him how I'd been thinking that it was our meeting at a national training for the parent organization back in 2002 that led him to recruit me for the job in Georgia so that my family moved here and all the things that had happened as a result.

He wanted to know if I blamed him?

Blame him? No. How could I? But it made me think of how our actions, no matter how insignificant they seem at the time, have ripple effects we'll probably never be aware of.

Promises were made to not be a stranger and we said goodbye. I drove home and emailed gratitude and resumes to the people who requested one. I got in touch with the fellow who hired me to help him with writing and editing. I wouldn't let another three years go by.

Unemployment Diary: Burn it down boys

Source

Americans are divided by what they believe is the appropriate size and role of government. Conservatives, not true conservatives, but people who watch Fox News and vote Republican, believe that Democrats, liberals, and progressives (Aren't they all the same thing? No.) want a big, meddlesome government that snatches most of your money in taxes and micromanages the lives of Americans and business like I micromanage the Pussies for Peace at mealtime. They also believe that they (PWWFNAFR) are voting for small government that allows Americans mind blowing freedoms so vast that we can be a regulation-free, tax-free heaven on earth if only government (always the problem) would just stay out of the lives of Americans and corporations and stop stealing their money.

Except neither is true. Instead of focusing on legislation that would provide the needed carrots and sticks to persuade business to create jobs or doing something big and audacious like the works program from the 30s, Republicans in Congress and in any number of state legislatures are wasting taxpayer money meddling in the uteri and sex lives of its citizens and debating whether adults should be able to buy alcohol on Sunday.

The only demographic enjoying small government is big business and they enjoy the pleasures of having their diamond fruitcake and fucking it, too. Government stays out of their way long enough to allow them to amass huge fortunes through sketchy business practices and when that scheme blows up, they turn to Daddy government to cover their tab all the while declaring their ability to handle continuing lack of oversight because this mess wasn't really their fault anyway. It was those awful consumers who caused the world economy's meltdown. Buying big houses and shit they didn't need. The nerve. Not that anyone profited from that spending spree. Oh no.

So smaller government means smaller for business, but not just business, but specifically big business. What's good for them isn't always good for small business as anyone struggling to get credit for their business can tell you. But smaller government as defined by current Republican leadership also means that individual freedoms are curtailed unless it comes to taxes. But even that is a big lie. We cut taxes for the top and the problems become local. Local governments raise fees and lay people off to cover their nut. Yes, the government has shrunk but so has its ability to deliver services and so has the number of employed people in your community. So far no business - big or small - has rushed in to most places to fill the gaps.

But here's a way in which yes, I admit, I want a bigger government. I want a government that sees something wrong and uses the tax dollars to help people and to shape society into something better.

On the state's department of labor website, there's a job posting for an on-site housekeeper that (1) Required the person to live at the hotel/motel/Holiday Inn* (say what?); (2) Paid minimum wage $7.25; and (3) Would deduct the employee's weekly rent from their paycheck.

Again, say what?

A little quick math.

Assumptions: The lucky person who gets that job works 40 hours per week, claims one deduction for state and federal and gets paid weekly. He or she (most likely she) will net $247 per week.

Now, let's say that her weekly rent for the room is $100. That leaves her with $147 per week on which to live. Sounds okay, right? She doesn't have to pay for her utilities because that would be covered by her rent at the hotel/motel. Fine. But let's look at this monthly. She has $588 a month with which to pay for the following:
Food and her personal care and laundry items (she can't steal soap, shampoo and detergent from her parsimonious employers, can she?)
Quarters for her laundry
Car payment, if she has one
Auto insurance
Gasoline
Health insurance & doctor visit copays
Dental care
Savings
Phone bill
Tithing
Incidentals

That $588 is stretched. I can't even fathom what it costs for an individual to buy medical insurance these days. Let's hope she's healthy and without any pre-existing conditions. And I included tithing because people here consider religion a vital part of their lives.

So getting back to the government. This job is posted on a state website that is monitored by state employees. Here's what I want from my government in this regard:

Pick up the phone and say to that employer in the sweetest voice you can muster "Hell no, this is bullshit, this is not Dickens' England, are you fucking kidding me? We're trying to get people to earn living wages, not slave wages. How can this person help stimulate the economy, thus creating demand which creates more jobs, if they don't have enough money in their pocket for the essentials, much less disposable income? Really - are you fucking kidding me? If you're going to require the employee to live on-site then you should provide free housing, free use of the laundry and a written contract that outlines their hours and overtime. And once more - are you fucking kidding me?"

That's what I want. I want a government that is looking out for us, too, not just the corporations who that have the stated goal of making the most profit possible no matter what. In fact, it's because that's their mission, and I don't blame them or fault them for that, but that's exactly why we need government to regulate them, to look out for the individual, to make certain that we aren't going back to the old days of the company store and company housing. It's enough to be beholden for your income and health insurance, but to be at the mercy of employers for housing, too? Bad idea.

Now that imagined conversation goes against my preferred method of catching more flies with honey than vinegar (sorry, vinegar, in this case you lose), but I am willing to set aside my pseudo-Southern charm and passive aggression long enough to clap that ballsy employer around the earhole.

Because here's the thing - that employee who is putting in full time hours (likely more without overtime pay) and playing by the rules is still going to require government assistance for things like health care. She'd possibly qualify for Medicaid here in Georgia. So the taxpayer is subsidizing this employer who gets off the medical insurance hook.

That's the kind of taxpayer and employee abuse that I think government should put a stop to. An employee must make a living wage and taxpayers shouldn't have to subsidize employers through the backdoor. We need regulation because employers use these kinds of methods for increasing their profits. And it flies in the face of what's good for our society as a whole. There's no escaping the fact that the quickest way to create jobs is to create demand for goods and services. Put money in the hands of the people who will spend it et voila! We want! We need! Here, take our money! Continue to concentrate the money in the hands of the few and well.....(looks around, shrugs).....this is working out well for the top 1%. Yes, yes, but the wealthy will invest! Uh huh. So where's the evidence that that idea is working out?

Sadly, instead of creating incentives (a stick, not just a carrot is needed) for business to pay living wages and put some money into the hands of the many (who will spend it), our government is rigged through a pay for play campaign system to protect the needs of the few.

As that famous philosopher Spock said, "We're fucked."

I do understand that businesses have to keep their payroll low in order to stay afloat, but there are also basic human rights that must be honored. And since business - small or large - can show spectacular displays of being incapable of doing this, government must step in.

For those of you wondering, no I didn't apply for the job. I'm not qualified. Another neato thing employers are doing is upping the experience requirements for any and all jobs. You want to know why someone like me just can't go out and find any old job? Well, that lulu of a position requires that you have a minimum of twelve months of housekeeping experience and they expressly note that cleaning your own house doesn't count.

Right - because snaking drains, making old, cheap faucets shine and learning how to remove cat vomit stains from carpet and red Georgia clay from white baseball pants aren't transferable skills.

*Not a Holiday Inn for real. At least as far as I know.

Unemployment Diary: Enough

"I'm hungry."

"What would you like to eat?"

She pauses. I wait. And wait. I'm impatient. I have things to do. "Phia? What would you like to eat?"

She looks at me, her dark eyes in a squint. "I can't decide. There's too much to choose from."

Ah.

The issue of scarcity comes up in a way I didn't expect. But then this is why people who win big in the lottery lose their minds and end up destitute and depressed three years after they bought the yacht, the life size statue of Elvis, the portable zoo, and the vintage jukebox collection for their custom built pool house.

Scarcity affects your brain. Going from having not enough to having more than enough is a weird transition.

We went from being a family with enough to a family with not quite enough. When I was employed, we were already juggling madly. Because I've made idiotic decisions in my personal life and financial life and began my career in the Pink Collar Ghetto and never learned the art of negotiation thus giving away a lot of my talent without ever labeling it a valuable commodity, we were in Chapter 13 Bankruptcy (that's the one where you pay back your debt to those long suffering banks like Citibank, Chase and Barclays) and in the settlement, we gave up our house and a car.

We tested the notion that once you get behind the eight ball, it's really hard to get out. Guess what! It's true! You've heard that if you're in a hole, the first step to getting out is to stop digging line? Well, once you stop digging, you still have to claw your way out, running at the steep sides, clutching at nothing but a belief that things will get better if you follow the rules whatever the hell they are. And don't forget to dodge the dirt clods being lobbed at you by someone up there. And I don't mean god.

Even so, we had enough. Not shopping and vacations and savings account enough, but enough.

So we went from that to not quite having enough. We reached the end of each month feeling stressed and hungering for things we couldn't have. I worried about having the utilities would be cut off. We still can't agree which is worse- having the gas, water or electricity cut off. We experienced each at least once. The cats found it exceedingly difficult when the TV was cut off, for example. Not being able to watch Animal Hoarders was tantamount to torture. But they, too, survived.

When food was more scarce than we were accustomed to, we each reacted in our own way. MathMan and I hid any treats in our room because the kids became territorial as we got squeezed.

"I spat on that so don't eat it."
"That's my last bit of ice cream. You had two bowls of it already."
"Can I have a piece of your gum?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I have to make it last."

It wasn't all bad. We've grown from the experience and I hope we never forget making choices such as whether to eat what's left of the salad now or save it for lunch tomorrow? Salad. Right. That wasn't me.

Realizing that we couldn't continue that way, especially if I hadn't found paid work before the unemployment checks stopped coming, we took a hard look at our variable expenses and decided that we would have to cut spending on groceries because that was one thing we could control. I took the couponing class and started researching buying groceries on a cycle and stockpiling.

I had no idea what a radical change that would mean for us regarding the issue of scarcity. Through inertia and ignorance, we'd been living a split deprivation. The first two weeks of the month, we lived our old life - a fully stocked pantry and refrigerator, money on the bank card for gasoline. The last two weeks, it felt like a rerun of the Great Depression with cellphones and iPods and a message at the gas tank that read "Please see attendant." Gulp.

So now we have enough food and with the money we're saving on groceries, cleaning supplies and electricity (using the dryer less), we're able to pay our bills on time. With our tax refund, we paid off our outstanding medical bills except for the orthodontist, but at the end of this month, we'll bring that bill up to date. We set aside some savings for emergencies because we drive two cars, each with 200,000 miles already under their fan belts and we're considering moving closer to MathMan's job, but there's no getting around the fact that moving is expensive and would cause yet another financial setback. Rising gas prices may create a no win situation and force the issue. Damn it. I like gazing at that balance in the savings account.

Now what was my point? Oh, yes. Having enough. And how living with scarcity changes you. It's true. Sometime in early January, I had my Scarlet O'Hara moment. I stomped around the backyard, hiked up my dress, shook my fist at the sunset and announced that we would never go hungry again.

The neighbors are still talking about it.

The kids will adjust. MathMan and I will adjust. We always do.

Here's the nice part. Having enough moves us from the receivers' column back to the givers' column where I, at least, feel more comfortable. Some of the food that I'm getting for free is going to a local food bank and the free toiletries are going to a woman's shelter. There's even a way to recycle expired coupons. You can send them to military bases where they can be used by our service members and their families.

This is what it looks like when people have a chance for a fresh start. Our family is going to recover from this financial mess. While the reality that I'll never replace my former income is a frustrating example of how things have changed for workers in this nation, I can at least use my experiences as a long-term job seeker as blog fodder, book fodder and a reason to drink. Plus, it's aces for putting a quick end to fundraising phone calls.

"Hi, Mrs. Golden, how are you today? This is Shelley with the Save the Speckled Easter Egg Fund and I'm not calling to ask for money, but can I tell you a little about what we do?"

"Sure. I've been unemployed for over a year and still can't find a job so I'm lonely and bored. Broke, too, so there's no disposable income for me to donate, but please do, tell me what your organization is doing."

Click.

I guess she'd heard enough. Dang it. I had to go back to talking to the cats.

*********

Speaking of fundraisers (and I do support some), my friend Latka is fundraising for the Multiple Sclerosis Walk. Latka's father suffered from the disease and now his daughter Meredith, age 30, has been diagnosed with it. Please join me by making a donation. If we each give, it adds up. And some day, it will be enough.

Thank you.

Unemployment Diary: My Pledge to You

Dear Potential Employers:

It's been brought to my attention by the counselor at the Department of Labor that my resume may be a problem for you because it contains titles such as Executive Director and Vice President and the things I've listed under accomplishments and duties make you itch with anxiety and your eyes cross with boredom. Contrary to what those liars in the college employment placement office told me in 1989, you are not dazzled by my transferable skills and upward career trajectory as illustrated by the job titles beginning with secretary (1989) and ending with Vice President, Programs and Services (2009). In other words, my resume intimidates you or causes you assume that I'm only applying for your job because I am desperate.

Now that's a pity because I am desperate. As in you can smell it on me if you get too close.

Because life is full of paradoxes, people who will counsel me to sanitize my resume of high falutin' words and dastardly deeds like creating budgets, managing volunteers and staff, developing marketing plans or serving as the chief staff of a small organization (read: guide the Board of Directors to do what you want, but make them think it's their idea) think that I'm not smart enough to know that I should have multiple versions of my resume, each targeted for specific industries, fields, and levels of employment, I've been advised to once again revisit my self-promotional material to see if perhaps it can be whittled and reworked in order to make you think that I didn't work for nearly twenty years to get promotions, better pay and better titles.

Well now that leaves me with some interesting choices, doesn't it? The last time I held a secretarial job was in 1995 and even then it had the fancy title of Administrative Coordinator or some such nonsense and paid more than most of the jobs I see listed today. Plus it had killer benefits. So how do I explain what I've been doing for the last sixteen years?  Okay, the last year is easy - job hunting, bitching about job hunting, cleaning, living on the dole, writing things to shove into a pile under my bed, taking pictures of birdies and pussy cats, reading and more recently couponing which I now like to call Hunting and Gathering. But what about the years 1996 - 2009? How do I rework the pain and pleasure of those jobs which ultimately led me to Georgia, the running of a small organization and the path to ruin also known as my last job?

Oh, hang on. Potential employers don't appreciate negativity, do they? Fine. Let me worry about how to fix my absurd problem of having played by the rules, climbed the ladder and achieved some career success. I'll just take out my magic Sharpie et voila! I've always been a secretary/administrative assistant/customer service associate/waitress/barista/sales associate/other duties as assigned doer.

Because in reality, I was. Not just as a mother and wife, but in my former paid jobs, not only did I do the big, important, if you fuck this up, we're going to have expensive problems kinds of things, but I also cleared the table of food debris after Board meetings, ordered lunches, planned meetings and parties, wrestled with the copier, crawled around on the floor hooking up technology, packed and lugged boxes, made love to the postage meter, cleaned out storerooms, answered phones with a smile in my voice, created and maintained hardcopy and database files, kept multiple calendars, made travel arrangements for myself and others, submitted expenses, stuffed envelopes, designed newsletters, drove my boss to the airport, and ruined many a manicure inputting reams of data entry. Because when you work in an office of two or three or five people, you pretty much have to do it all at some point. We didn't have People for that. We were the People.

As for other duties as assigned, I've even written about how I'm willing to go above and beyond. You can expect topnotch effort and creativity from me and that includes Breaking and Entering on Your Behalf and Teaching You How to Use Urban Dictionary and Other Swell Things to Make You Appear Hip. If you will only give me a chance, that is.

After careful consideration, I've decided that all future resumes and pleas applications for employment will contain the following pledge (places hand on stack of books made up of a Gregg Shorthand Manual, The American Heritage College dic-tion-ar-ry, three manila folders, a generic employee handbook and a daily planner circa 2003 that came free from a marketing firm):

I, Lisa Golden, do solemnly swear to be an honest and faithful employee, willing to carry out the simplest and most complex duties assigned by you, The Employer, with a professionally cheerful demeanor, a minimum of supervision, a maximum of customer satisfaction, no questions about work conditions or rules, no sniping about salary or benefits or lack thereof, no comment about your tie choices, shoes or taste in movies, no eye rolling or heavy sighs, no passive aggressive references to your lack of intelligence, no use of sarcasm, humor - ill or otherwise, or large words. I vow to never utter the words "Well, in my last position" nor to ever mention that I once made more money or held a higher position than my current one or yours for that matter. 


I pledge complete loyalty to you and the organization for which you stand or sit in that fine leather manager's chair and to complete all tasks to the best of my ability without dragging with me into the workplace any personal issues and needs, any reminders that I might have ideas of getting up in the world or any need for vacation, sick or family leave days. I will not litter my workspace with personal items or reminders that I have a life outside of work. I will never make a suggestion about how to do things better unless expressly asked by you or your superior, at which point I will offer the most obsequious (sorry about that big word, it means boot-licking) answer, repeating the phrase "Well, as (your name here) suggested" first.When it is just you and me, I will make you feel comfortable in taking my ideas as your own because, as any employee worth her White Out knows, your success is my success and any and all good things coming to you will eventually trickle down to me.


Finally, you have my assurances that even though I've had better paying jobs with fancier titles, I will not bail out on you at the first sign of an economic recovery. I've learned my lesson about changing jobs for better opportunities. I am here for the duration. You own me. I know how lucky I am to have this job. And if you find that you must, at some point, let me go due to economic factors outside your control or because you must slash payroll to make a larger bonus, you can be confident that I will not leave in a blaze of poo smeared file folders and angry emails to vendors and customers. I will stay as long as you need me and create as smooth a transition as I can for the person who will be doing my job after I'm gone.


So help me, Todd. I do. Amen?

And now that I've made my pledge, please allow me to address some things that might be obstacles to my employment as far as you're concerned.

1. The credit check. While I understand that it's important for people like bank tellers and bookkeepers to have clean credit and no reason to embezzle to pay off their debts, I find this new wrinkle in employment requirements unnecessary. It is a new day. It's not bankruptcy, it's a government bailout trickling down. We gave taxpayer money to the banks to cover their bad debts. I paid my Chapter 13 bad debts as long as I had a job. After that, it became impossible to pay the monthly bill. Ergo, the banks got most of the money owed to them plus the car and the house which was how the deal worked. That's called a secured loan because it has collateral that can be repossessed by the lender. Neato, huh?

Understanding this weakness in my personal financial history, I've shown the good sense to not apply for jobs in finance, banking and bookkeeping. Now you show the good sense to stop using credit checks to weed out good potential employees who've been swept aside in this mess of an economy.

2. Those advertising that Unemployed Need Not Apply. This isn't unemployed. This is learning new skills. With my new stockpiling skills, just think what I can do for your office supplies line item. Hand me that Staples catalog and watch me make magic happen. Phone bill too high? I've got tin cans and string. You can save money and go green at the same time. What are you paying for that water cooler?  Your staff can have that some sharing time carrying buckets of water up from the industrial park's retention pond as they get from standing around the Crystal Springs bubbler.

Hey, maybe I should become a consultant and charge three times as much as you would pay me!``

3. My former salary. As I told the woman at the Department of Labor, of course I'm willing to work for ten, twenty, thirty thousand dollars less than I used to make. Who wouldn't want a deal like that? It's exactly why I went to college, worked my ass off for almost twenty years, left my kids in the care of others, took on extra duties to earn promotions, traded off salary for title, worked for no insurance benefits and no pension or 401K because my former employers were cheapskates and wanted to pay me about 1/4 less than a man would make for the same job and tried to make me feel guilty for asking for more money.

This is me dangling over the barrel. Do I look like I'm in a position to negotiate?

4. Moving to where the jobs are. While the kids would be delighted to be uprooted again and MathMan can afford to leave his megabucks generating scam as a math teacher, this isn't really a viable option. Employers understand this economy all too well. Just try finding a position that offers moving expenses these days. Besides, we got rid of our snow shovels when we moved to Georgia. Not only would I have to pay to move us and our stuff, I'd have to buy snow shovels and Snow Melt again.

5. Isn't it time for you to retrain to be something else? Oh sure, I like to think about how my future in auto or diesel would be sweet like crude oil, but we've been over this. As I like to say to the cats in my best Jewish Mother voice "And why do I need another job title that isn't doctor or lawyer? So I can make minimum wage cheering people on as they pass kidney stones?" Cheering them? I'd be more likely to rush them.  Are you done yet? How about now? Oh, please, I've had three kids with no drugs, so just stop with all that grimacing and noisemaking. You're fine. And wipe that up. I'm your nurse, not your maid.

Seriously, you do not want me in the medical field. It would be a setback to humanity of epic proportions. But since I mentioned maids, now there's something I've been training to do all my life, but I digress.

Thank you for your time and consideration. I look forward to hearing from you soon about the open position.  I am available for an interview at your convenience, but don't think that I'm without time commitments because I'm not currently working. Today is Mystery Coupon Day at Publix, after all.

Unemployment Diary: Should Have Charged for Product Placement

My mother never really spent much time drilling the old Don't talk to strangers thing into our heads. For one thing, our town was so small, there weren't any strangers and for another, Mom had plenty of other things for us to be afraid of like Republicans winning elections and perceptions that we were anything less than solidly Middle Class.

So without this ingrained wariness of people I don't know, I'm apt to have forty-five minute long conversations about unemployment and wage stagnation with strangers in Staples or ten minute long convos in the frozen food section of Publix with a woman who offered me a coupon and ended up walking away with some frozen garlic bread and a coupon I gave her in exchange.

It's all in a day's work now that I'm accepting the fact that I might never have a traditional job again and I better jolly well figure out how we're going to manage in the future. As I've mentioned before, looking for a job has gotten so ridiculous, it is now sublime. But as any rule following collector of unemployment checks does, I continue the hunt like a technology-enhanced Elmer Fudd stalking Bugs Bunny. My gun is a laptop loaded with seventeen different mutations of my resume like interview-repelling viruses. Just like in the old Warner Brothers cartoons, the rabbit is winning and I'm still talking funny.

So despite the magical thinking of supply side economics, revenue numbers stay down, John Boehner, so what gets cut?

Again? My subconscious is skeptical. Haven't we gone through this already? We have. We've nailed down every fixed cost as best we can. While I continue to seek new income streams, we must get serious about cutting our variable costs even more.

As a result, I've been away from my usual corner of the blogosphere as I trolled the frugal living websites for ideas and attended a class (free, of course, at the library) on how to save using coupons. First, let me say that there is a wealth of information out there and second let me say that I've been feeling physically ill about how much money we've wasted over the years for the sake of convenience or due to sheer ignorance and laziness.

Implementing these money saving strategies has been time consuming because I'm either a slow learner or a perfectionist or both, but I assure you, they've been worth it. See, I'd assumed that cutting back equaled deprivation. Not so. Sure, you can buy an awful lot of convenience, but if you watch your pennies, you can have enough and the peace of mind that comes with not running out of stuff like food and toilet paper or money. Man, that sounds like ad copy for an infomercial, but bear with me, because there is a dark side to all this. And we're all about the dark side, aren't we?

For example, the couponing world is cut throat. Yesterday at the CVS, I had to settle for the Colgate Total (.75 off one coupon) instead of the Colgate Sensitive ($1 off one coupon) because some hoarder had cleared the shelves of the Sensitive. Same thing happened a couple of weeks ago at the Rite Aid. Some selfish hoarders had snatched up all the Prevacid 40ct. $24.99 with $10 +UP reward so I had to go across the street to the CVS and get the Prilosec 40ct $24.99 with $7 Extra Care Bucks instead. But that's okay. I got two boxes, used my $8 off 2 coupon and got a $24.99 rebate form to boot.  So those hoarders can suck it.

Which leads me to my second example - name calling. Now I haven't seen any verbal assaults at the store, but at home, they're calling me names behind my back. They still haven't figured out the Mom Bionic Hearing thing apparently.

"Have you seen the laundry room?" Nate and Sophie were in the living room watching TV and assumed I couldn't hear them from the dining room where I sat skimming SouthernSavers.com and printing coupons like a fiend.

"I know," Sophie said. "How many cans of diced tomatoes does one family need?" (They were buy one, get one free and I had four .50 off 2 coupons that Publix doubles plus two store coupons. That's called stacking.)

Nate aimed the remote at the TV and switched the channel to A&E. "And what? Does she think we'll be living on just cereal and soup?"

Sophie snorted. "Don't forget the olive oil. There's like seven bottles down there." (She exaggerates. There are four bottles down there. B1G1 with store and manufacturer coupons!) Her voice grew grave. "Hey, you don't think she's becoming one of those hoarders, do you?" Ah. There's that word. Hoarder. I prefer stockpiler.

Nate thought about it for a second. "Nah, she's too much of a neat freak to be a real hoarder. She's like a cross between a stockpiler and a homesteader.What's with her making her own laundry detergent?"

"I know," Sophie laughed. "I came home from school the other day and asked if the dryer was broken because she had wash hanging all over the place. Plus she cleans with vinegar and baking soda now instead of Windex and bleach. Weird."

"Next thing you know, she'll be sewing herself some long skirts and wearing bonnets like those homesteaders."

I'd heard enough. "Hey, you ingrates! The money I'm saving is how we can afford to get satellite so you even know the difference between a hoarder and a stockpiler."

They turned to look at me. I expected a little chagrin from them. Instead they burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" I sputtered.

Nate pointed and I looked down at my shirt. A coupon dangled from my sweatered breast. Stupid static cling. I'd have to remember to add a bit more vinegar to the laundry rinse cycle until the Georgia humidity came back.

I admit, I'm experimenting with money saving ideas. Hang drying the clothes and using the dryer to fluff them for ten minutes or less will result in savings. Making my own laundry detergent is a no brainer. $10.99 for a big box of Surf or about $3.10 for the same amount of washes by mixing washing soda, borax and a bar of castile soap that I've grated. Even I can do that math.

Air drying the dishes in the dishwasher instead of using the heated dry setting = success. Turning off the high heat wash, not so much. It's trial and error. I'm still waiting to fall in love with Dr. Bronner and his amazing castile soaps, but if I remember my time in France correctly, that's where I learned that lots of lather = clean is an American notion and not necessarily true so I suspect Dr. B. and I will be BFFs soon.

Dialing the thermostat way down will be much easier to appreciate now that the worst of winter is behind us. Typing in gloves is a bitch, but typing with frozen fingers is an even bigger bitch.

Like any new interest, it's easy for me to go overboard. I start conversations with "Hey, did you see that Publix has Louis Jadot Beaujolais on sale for $10.99?" The cats don't care about Beaujolais. They want to know when I'm going to uncork the next can of Nine Lives (Box of 24 for $10.49 at Publix, still less per can than the box of 32 Friskies with a coupon).

I'd mentioned that this is time consuming. Preparing for the shopping trips is just the beginning. The trips themselves are an endurance exercise. It's as if my time is worth nothing which, according to most employers these days, is true. Yesterday, as I snailed my way through Publix calculating whether I should come back a second time so I could use my second $5 off any $30 bill (excluding the Beaujolais, naturally) an assistant manager approached me.

"I'm sorry, m'am, but we have a policy against loitering," she whispered.

I held up my hand as I finished counting the Pillsbury, Hunts, Green Giant and Progresso items in my basket (buy 20, save $5 with coupon of which I had two, but could use only one per trip hence the complicated math). "Loitering? I'm counting. And now I have to start over because I don't remember if I have six or eight cans of green beans. Say, while you're here, can you reach that jar of Mt. Olive sweet pickle relish that's on sale? Thank you."

She handed me the jar and as I placed it in the cart I said something about what a pain it is to be so short, but when I turned she was already rounding the aisle's end cap at a full run.

The grocery trips are long, too, because I inevitably end up chatting with other customers. It's funny what will spark a conversation. Like the woman who, like me, is new to using coupons in earnest. She gave me her extra Bertolli's and I gave her a New York brand garlic bread. Could I have used the extra fifty cents off another box of garlicky Texas Toast? Of course! But we're not savages,  you know. Give and take, people. Give and take.

I also find that I have to restrain myself from telling other shoppers to stop wasting their money, go home, get online and look at some Youtube videos about stockpiling and batch cooking, buy a few Sunday papers (be sure some hoarder hasn't swiped the coupon sections) and plan out their trips. They'll be amazed at what they save.

I've become such a convert. You know that line from A Christmas Story where Jean Shepard says "Some men are Baptists, others Catholics; my father was an Oldsmobile man." Well, I am now a Smart Source and Red Plum chick.

I will have to reign it in eventually. Chloe will be home for Spring Break in a couple of weeks and I don't think she'll appreciate having her room serve as a warehouse. There is a good chance that MathMan will clip my coupon wings before long.

Last night he called to let me know that he and Nate were on their way home from baseball practice. That's my cue to race around and make this house look like I've done something besides watch fetish videos and lie around watching movies with the cats. Yesterday was different. I was in the middle of creating inventory sheets for the small grocery store that's sprouted in the basement. I'd spent most of my day chasing deals all over Cartersville and was tired, but happy with my haul versus savings ratio.

Sophie was occupied so I decided I'd wait for MathMan in our bedroom and surprise him with the new homemade shampoo recipe I'd found online. I'd offer to help him unwind with a shower and well, you know. It would be a nice change from the boring old Hi, Honey, how was your day conversation we have every evening as I close window after window of Adult Friend Finder pop up ads. I got comfortable on the bed wearing the most alluring thing I had.

When he opened the door, you should have seen the look on his face.

"Well, this is a nice surprise," he smiled.

I did a Vanna White hand sweep along my naked thigh and gave him my best come on, baby smile. "You like?"

His eyebrows went up a fraction and he licked his lips. "You know I do. How nice to come home to a naked wife."

I blushed a little. "I thought we might have a shower." I'd save the shampoo surprise for after we were wet.

"Sounds wonderful." He moved closer and I closed my eyes, preparing to be kissed. "Hey," his voice was already taking on that husky tone. Nice.

I opened my eyes. "Yes?"

"What's this?" He fingered the thing I had draped around my neck. It snaked down along the length of my body.

"Oh, I thought you'd like this. It's something I got today." I closed my eyes again waiting for that kiss.

He leaned closer and I could smell the fresh air from the baseball field in his long hair. I was so ready for that kiss. He pulled back and I felt my new apparel slip away from my body as he tugged it. I opened my eyes again and looked at his handsome face which was now intent on examining the thing he held in his hands.

"Lisa, my darling, why are you wearing the Publix receipt?"

Please tell me you get absorbed and obsessed. What sucks you in and steals your time, your heart, your imagination? Confess to me or I'll make you clip coupons for me.