Thursday, 7 April 2011
The Daily Grind
I haven't posted since February. But not for lack of trying. Since Feb I've done nothing but try to get a job. I tried and tried, then I got a temp to permanent role, then at the last minute they pulled it out from under me. So now I'm working temp, and trying to find a job. I feel like I've done nothing but work, and I've worked so hard, but I still have to find a new job, then work just as hard as I have at this one for a few months before I can relax. It's not like I've even been on interviews. People literally just don't call back. I am sure if I get an interview, I'll get the job (after all, I beat out people for this one) but its hard. And I'm sick of it. I just want a job, so I can get paid, and enjoy living in London- something I havent been able to do so far since I've been back. All I've done is daydream about going back to Oz and working part time, or going back to Boise and... working part time, haha, see a pattern here? I'm sure if/when I get a proper job the urge to retire won't be so strong. I just want to enjoy doing things BESIDES working and not be so tired whenever I'm home! Sarah's gotten us a lovely river-facing flat, and I want to enjoy it!!!
Sunday, 13 February 2011
The Great London Tights Fiasco
I've been back in London for one week now, and am doing alright. It was harder than expected to leave Boise, going in I thought after almost 3 months I'd be itching to leave, but I definitely could have stayed longer, and I miss my family and Abby. But, I'm happy to be back with Sarah, and she's found us a wonderful flat on the Thames. Yes, on the Thames. And not even at a gross dirty bit! It's a top floor penthouse flat, and we have gorgeous views, over to central London from the front, and of the river from the bedroom and living room. I'll put up some pictures soon.
Sarah organized a lovely little get together at the Hurlingham Pub with some of our best London friends- Mia, Blakeley and Sam, which was amazing, and I even got to meet our very Irish landlord, and share an odd little dance! It's nice to be back, as I missed them all.
Unfortunately, I'm not enjoying the job search. Who ever enjoys job searching? Probably no-one, but definitely not me. The first day after I was back, I went to meet a recruitment agency in the city around Farringdon station. That was good fun. I left home two hours before to make sure I had time, didn't have to rush, and factored in any wrong turns or closed tube lines. It was the first time in one year that I had on a work skirt and TIGHTS. Tights and I have never had a good relationship. And today was no exception. You see, I have never mastered the art of tights and a skirt. I find that as soon as I leave the house, the skirt works its way up, and the tights work their way down, so I am constantly pulling down my skirt to avoid looking like... I don't know, someone with a much-too-short skirt. I waddled to the tube station, got on the train, and made a vital mistake: I sat down. So about 20 minutes later I stood up and started my hunt for the recruitment office. I noticed my tights had worked their way down from my waist to my hips, and as I walked, they rolled down, down, and I caught them mid-thigh. What's a girl to do when her tights have become thigh-highs, her skirt is yearning to be a mini-skirt, and she's in the business district of London? Panic! I dove into the nearest alley, hoping to have a chance to pull them up. Looked around, nope, CCTV camera staring right at me. So I dashed to the next alley along, firmly holding my tights up, skirt down, and doing my best to look as if I'm not about to flash an unlucky passerby. The next alley had windows into office buildings. The third alley was filled with practicing ballet dancers. Couldn't I catch a break? Apparently not. It continued like this, running into alley after parking garage entrance, after secluded doorway, until I made it to my destination. That should have been the end of it, but of course not- I had to navigate a steep flight of stairs on my way down to fix the situation, and in the heels I had just put on (you mean zebra print converse shoes aren't professional?) I managed to stumble down at least two and make a loud ruckus.
So that was that. When I finally got into the interview, she seemed disinterested and suggested I go back to my old company (you mean the one that inspired me to move to Australia for a year just to escape the stress? No thank you!) instead of finding me new opportunities. So, I've spent today putting my CV on every website I can think of and applying for what seemed like hundreds of jobs but in reality was probably more like 20. So here's hoping!
I'll leave you with the view from my bedroom window!
Sarah organized a lovely little get together at the Hurlingham Pub with some of our best London friends- Mia, Blakeley and Sam, which was amazing, and I even got to meet our very Irish landlord, and share an odd little dance! It's nice to be back, as I missed them all.
Unfortunately, I'm not enjoying the job search. Who ever enjoys job searching? Probably no-one, but definitely not me. The first day after I was back, I went to meet a recruitment agency in the city around Farringdon station. That was good fun. I left home two hours before to make sure I had time, didn't have to rush, and factored in any wrong turns or closed tube lines. It was the first time in one year that I had on a work skirt and TIGHTS. Tights and I have never had a good relationship. And today was no exception. You see, I have never mastered the art of tights and a skirt. I find that as soon as I leave the house, the skirt works its way up, and the tights work their way down, so I am constantly pulling down my skirt to avoid looking like... I don't know, someone with a much-too-short skirt. I waddled to the tube station, got on the train, and made a vital mistake: I sat down. So about 20 minutes later I stood up and started my hunt for the recruitment office. I noticed my tights had worked their way down from my waist to my hips, and as I walked, they rolled down, down, and I caught them mid-thigh. What's a girl to do when her tights have become thigh-highs, her skirt is yearning to be a mini-skirt, and she's in the business district of London? Panic! I dove into the nearest alley, hoping to have a chance to pull them up. Looked around, nope, CCTV camera staring right at me. So I dashed to the next alley along, firmly holding my tights up, skirt down, and doing my best to look as if I'm not about to flash an unlucky passerby. The next alley had windows into office buildings. The third alley was filled with practicing ballet dancers. Couldn't I catch a break? Apparently not. It continued like this, running into alley after parking garage entrance, after secluded doorway, until I made it to my destination. That should have been the end of it, but of course not- I had to navigate a steep flight of stairs on my way down to fix the situation, and in the heels I had just put on (you mean zebra print converse shoes aren't professional?) I managed to stumble down at least two and make a loud ruckus.
So that was that. When I finally got into the interview, she seemed disinterested and suggested I go back to my old company (you mean the one that inspired me to move to Australia for a year just to escape the stress? No thank you!) instead of finding me new opportunities. So, I've spent today putting my CV on every website I can think of and applying for what seemed like hundreds of jobs but in reality was probably more like 20. So here's hoping!
I'll leave you with the view from my bedroom window!
Thursday, 20 January 2011
Tuesday, 18 January 2011
The paranoid ramblings of someone who is scared of mice.
As the Scottish would say- 'There's a moose loose aboot this hoose'.
I feel like I'm in the movie 'Mousetrap'. I'm being outsmarted by none-other than a common Idaho field mouse. The Smith house mouse has dodged every humane (and out of desperation, one inhumane) trap I can throw at him. I've baited him with peanut butter, chocolate, ginger snaps (what self respecting mouse doesn't love ginger snaps?) and to no avail. In fact, I'm sure he waltzed in to my first attempt, devoured the peanut butter, and sidled on out again!
He's been hanging out in my room. For all I know he could have been using it as his summer home for months- I doubt anyone comes in here when I'm not in town. I found, in a plastic bag, in a shoe box on the middle shelf of my closed closet, a devoured fun size candy bar from dinner show, circa 2005. I'm sure eating 6 year old chocolate made him a bit ill, I can't imagine it tasted great, but even so- its gone. Did he Houdini himself in there, eat the chocolate bar and, curiously, half of an unsent note of teen anguish addressed to Julia Green as a sort of tag to let me know it was him? I can practically hear him shouting 'Stick it to the establishment!' as he scurries down his little hole.
He also defaced a little koala bear's face on the wrapper of a chocolate Sarah had given me as a souvenir from her flight from Oz. By the time the mouse was done with him, he was literally just a pair of ears. This guy is the Banksy of mice. Or something.
So then mum blocked his secret passageway with a piece of what I understand to be thick plastic- which stopped the little monster for a week or so, but starting three nights ago he has been waking me up at all hours of the morning by gnawing and scratching at the plastic. Like I'm just going to let him in? No, thank you. I've tried banging on the wall, turning on the light, moving the bed- nothing deters him. As a result I have a very odd sleeping pattern.
And tonight- technically, this morning- the unthinkable happened. This great Hulk Hogan mouse chewed through the plastic like he was ripping off a cheap white t-shirt in a strip show- with ease. I awoke to a clatter (and scurry) at 3:45 am- scurry scurry under the bed, scurry scurry by the window, scurry down by the door- he was everywhere at once and nowhere at the same time. I had no idea I was this scared of mice until an hour ago- I'm a prisoner on my own bed! What if I put my feet on the floor and he seizes the opportunity to run all over my feet? Or WORSE- up my pant leg!
This may seem irrational to some of you, but trust me, it's not. I'm almost certain mice don't feel the effects of gravity, so they could run up my leg. And obviously they are out to get me, so I can't put my feet on the ground- that's what they want me to do.
But why, mice, why? I pay my taxes, I, like you, enjoy cheese, chocolate (apparently) and eating things that are not and were not ever mine. We are the same, you and I.
And besides, I hear my brother has a half eaten cookie in his room.....
I feel like I'm in the movie 'Mousetrap'. I'm being outsmarted by none-other than a common Idaho field mouse. The Smith house mouse has dodged every humane (and out of desperation, one inhumane) trap I can throw at him. I've baited him with peanut butter, chocolate, ginger snaps (what self respecting mouse doesn't love ginger snaps?) and to no avail. In fact, I'm sure he waltzed in to my first attempt, devoured the peanut butter, and sidled on out again!
He's been hanging out in my room. For all I know he could have been using it as his summer home for months- I doubt anyone comes in here when I'm not in town. I found, in a plastic bag, in a shoe box on the middle shelf of my closed closet, a devoured fun size candy bar from dinner show, circa 2005. I'm sure eating 6 year old chocolate made him a bit ill, I can't imagine it tasted great, but even so- its gone. Did he Houdini himself in there, eat the chocolate bar and, curiously, half of an unsent note of teen anguish addressed to Julia Green as a sort of tag to let me know it was him? I can practically hear him shouting 'Stick it to the establishment!' as he scurries down his little hole.
He also defaced a little koala bear's face on the wrapper of a chocolate Sarah had given me as a souvenir from her flight from Oz. By the time the mouse was done with him, he was literally just a pair of ears. This guy is the Banksy of mice. Or something.
So then mum blocked his secret passageway with a piece of what I understand to be thick plastic- which stopped the little monster for a week or so, but starting three nights ago he has been waking me up at all hours of the morning by gnawing and scratching at the plastic. Like I'm just going to let him in? No, thank you. I've tried banging on the wall, turning on the light, moving the bed- nothing deters him. As a result I have a very odd sleeping pattern.
And tonight- technically, this morning- the unthinkable happened. This great Hulk Hogan mouse chewed through the plastic like he was ripping off a cheap white t-shirt in a strip show- with ease. I awoke to a clatter (and scurry) at 3:45 am- scurry scurry under the bed, scurry scurry by the window, scurry down by the door- he was everywhere at once and nowhere at the same time. I had no idea I was this scared of mice until an hour ago- I'm a prisoner on my own bed! What if I put my feet on the floor and he seizes the opportunity to run all over my feet? Or WORSE- up my pant leg!
This may seem irrational to some of you, but trust me, it's not. I'm almost certain mice don't feel the effects of gravity, so they could run up my leg. And obviously they are out to get me, so I can't put my feet on the ground- that's what they want me to do.
But why, mice, why? I pay my taxes, I, like you, enjoy cheese, chocolate (apparently) and eating things that are not and were not ever mine. We are the same, you and I.
And besides, I hear my brother has a half eaten cookie in his room.....
Monday, 10 January 2011
Life transforming 2011 resolutions
As we enter 2011, I invite you to make resolutions that will be truly transformative to your life as a woman, and in turn, the lives of more people than you ever would have thought possible.
- I will remind myself daily that life does not live me. Recognize that you create your own path and plan each day with this in mind.
- I will reconnect with my body. Learn about and embrace your body's natural and powerful cycles. As your body moves through hormonal changes throughout the month, it will have something different to say each day. Fighting against it only creates tension that manifests itself in challenging ways.
- I will embrace my own sexuality. Women are born as powerful, sexual, multi-orgasmic beings. This gift has been buried under centuries of religious and societal messages that have taught us to feel shame for our bodies and sexuality and to oblige our partners while forgetting about ourselves. Rediscover your natural, erotic self.
- I will set aside at least 30 minutes of pure "me time" every day. Use this time to read a book that speaks to your soul, meditate, sit in a quiet place, peel off the layers and re-discover your authentic self. When the messages of others are quieted in your head, your heart and soul can be heard and they never lie.
- I will honor my body by eating healthier and exercising regularly. A healthy body is a prerequisite for anything else you do. Treat your body like a temple and trust that when you do it will take its natural, healthy, beautiful shape.
- I will commit to consistent time with the women of my circle. A few hundred years ago, the gathering of women was outlawed because its power was overwhelming to many. Tap into this power. These women will remind you of your beauty and strength whenever you forget.
- I will challenge myself to be the one who defines my beauty inside and out. This will require critically filtering media and societal messages that tell you that you must look, act and speak in a prescribed way in order to be deemed an attractive and acceptable woman.
- I will trust my instincts. Believe in the life-sustaining instincts you have as a woman, the profound wisdom you carry and your ability to see truth. Too often we doubt ourselves. Your instincts will never steer you wrong.
- I will remember who I am at my core. Keep near you a photograph of yourself before the age of nine. She will inspire you to honor her, hear her, love her and fiercely protect her, always.
With love, From Laura and tonic.com
Saturday, 1 January 2011
Welcome, 2011
So first, apologies for never finishing my NZ posts. Seriously, here you go: NY Resolution #1- finish what I start!! Kind of annoying.
I think New Year's Eve is sad. I've come to that conclusion. I haven't had a year in a long time that I haven't shed some tears on NYE. Even the great ones. I feel like perhaps that it's sad a bit that we're leaving the years behind, coupled with nervousness about the year to come. And this year, added to just wanting to have a good, special evening. And then the boys all came over and it felt a bit less... special. A bit more like we're harbouring drunk underage kids in our basement. But I was thankful that Dad stayed up until midnight for me- he usually sleeps at 10pm, never later. Last year I rang in the NY on my own. So even though its not perfect, thank you to my mum and dad, and I got to learn to make Pisco Sours!!
So bring on 2011- here's hoping it is as wonderful as 2010 was. Though it will be difficult to top!
Maybe I should not celebrate NYE next year.
I think New Year's Eve is sad. I've come to that conclusion. I haven't had a year in a long time that I haven't shed some tears on NYE. Even the great ones. I feel like perhaps that it's sad a bit that we're leaving the years behind, coupled with nervousness about the year to come. And this year, added to just wanting to have a good, special evening. And then the boys all came over and it felt a bit less... special. A bit more like we're harbouring drunk underage kids in our basement. But I was thankful that Dad stayed up until midnight for me- he usually sleeps at 10pm, never later. Last year I rang in the NY on my own. So even though its not perfect, thank you to my mum and dad, and I got to learn to make Pisco Sours!!
So bring on 2011- here's hoping it is as wonderful as 2010 was. Though it will be difficult to top!
Maybe I should not celebrate NYE next year.
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