Get a job (an open letter to my baby sister)

Dear 'Bear,

So you are going on a job interview. Congratulations!  While I know that you have gone on a few of these in the past, you will discover that people hiring college students are looking for something a little different than people hiring high schoolers.  When you a hire a high schooler you really just want them not to show up to work stoned and maybe maaaaybe go 5 minutes with out answering their cellphones once in a while (the things we do for cheap labor).

When you a hire a college student (at least, in my experience of hiring college students, which I now do with some regularity) you are using this interviewing process as a learning experience for them, but I see it not as a, "I am not going to hire you just because you showed up 'almost' on time and are learning" rather a, "When you don't get a phone call from me, use it as a chance to learn something about not being terrible at this," learning experience.

And guess what, chances are most of the college students you are competing against for these jobs probably do not have meddling older sisters to tell them how its done.  So, anytime you would like to show your thanks in snowcaps and a diet Green Tea Ginger Ale, is fine with me.  You lucky devil.  You're welcome.

I will say that if you follow these steps exactly and you don't get the job, you have free reign to call your ex-potential-company-of-employment whatever sort of conjugation of "douchebag" you would like.

So - first things first - you better research the living daylights out of this company.  You have a google, use it.  "But this company out in po'dunk nowheresville doesn't have a website." Yeah, but chances are they have been written up in the local newspaper, or are listed as an external link as someone else's website.  Whatever it is - you can figure out a way to make it work.  Figure out a way to bring it up in conversation.

"I want to work here because I truly believe in your mission, [insert mission from website here], and think I would be a valued member of your organization."

"I read about your work with [insert thing you read in the paper/other website] and am excited to be involved in this kind of work."

Here's the thing, this stuff sounds real dumb, but people eat it up, especially from college kids.  Its one thing to want a job, its another thing to want a job with this particular hiring-college-kids-because-they-don't-need-health-insurance jamspot.

And then you get to the interview.  And you arrive 5-10 minutes early.  Not any more or any less.  If you roll up 30 minutes early, people are going to be annoyed.  They have way more important things to do, like play on facebook, and troll around the office looking for free cupcakes.

And good lord, keep your flip flops at home.  And your jeans.  And your bookbag.  You know what you do bring?  Your freakin.resume. Maybe I skipped a tweet somewhere, but I am pretty sure you should bring a copy of your resume with you to every single interview.  Not because they'll ask for it, but because on the off chance that they do, you haven't failed at the very first request they've ever made of you.

And during the interview, remember, the thing people like to talk about most?? Is themselves.  So talk about why you're qualified and answer all their questions (and for the love of god, spend 20 minutes before you walk into the interview thinking about a time you had a challenge/had to over come something/failed so you don't have to make something up on the spot).  But then!  Talk about them!  Ask them about their background and why they like working at whatever place is underpaying them to do way more work than they should be.  Ask them what they would ask if they were being interviewed (oh man!  Double bonus points!) and be genuinely interested in what they have to say.

And then? You leave. You can email the next day to say thank you for the opportunity to interview but that is IT. Do not call, or text or bother them.  Believe me, if they want to hire you, they probably will. 

Be friendly.  Smile a lot.  Ask questions. Be excited about whatever they are saying.  Remember fun facts that you've already learned and drop them like they are hot.  In real life you're going to need actually qualifications and proof that you deserve the job, so enjoy this brief moment where being more prepared counts for all the marbles.

Wear deodorant. Don't play with your hair.

Love always,
your big sister.

my turn

Hyperbole and a Half has a new blog post up which is enough to totally make my week most of the time.  If you aren't reading her you're making a huge error in Internet judgement.

My favorite post is this one for the very selfish reason that it totally happened to me (sort of kind of not at all)...

During my junior and senior years of college I was living in Prospect Heights in Brooklyn.  It was a lovely little neighborhood that bordered on one of the swankiest BK neighborhoods and one of the most dangerous.  I would get off at my train stop and I could see a White Castle just a few blocks down Atlantic Avenue but I never went there (despite my deep and insatiable love for small food) because it was, in general, a poor choice to go to places that, "Jay-Z talks about in his early work."

Anyway- my neighborhood felt safe enough but I heard plenty of stories of robberies and other stuff you don't tell your parents about so that I always was very aware of my surroundings (you don't not spring from the womb in the District of Columbia without some solid street smarts).

SO - at some point in that time I contracted a very serious case of the flu.  Having been a fairly healthy kid, I am not very well versed in how to be sick without being totally pathetic and ridiculous.  I was feverish and miserable and stayed in bed moaning.

At one point, around 10 or 11 PM I decided I was feeling better and decided I needed some ginger ale and orange juice immediately.  There was a 24-hour diner catty-corner to my building that delivered, so I called them.

"Hi, can I get a bottle of orange juice and a bottle of ginger ale."
"We don't have bottles, only cups."
"I can't get a bottle?"
"No."
"How much would a cup cost?"
"It would be $6 total."
"For a cup of ginger ale and a cup of orange juice?"
"Yes."
"That is ridiculous."
Click.

Even with a 102 degree fever I am a bargain shopper.

After I hung up I put on my coat.  Down the block in the other direction there was a bodega that was also 24 hours and I knew would be able to make me a better deal for more of the liquids I so desperately craved.  I had been wearing the same clothes for about two days but made no effort to do anything except put on outerwear and find some money.

I made it down the block and into the bodega just fine, but something, I don't know if it was the smell of the slightly rotten deli meat or the hundreds of virgin mary candles but I knew something was not going right.  I found my juice and ginger ale and tossed some dollar bills on the counter.  At this point I could not hold myself upright without leaning on the counter but I took my purchases (because we all know that the best thing to do when you can't handle your own body weight is add a quart of OJ and a 2 liter of Canada Dry) and walked out.

This is where things get hazy.  I know I made it across the street before I faceplanted.

As a kid I was always epically jealous of girls who fainted.  It was the way to get attention.  I used to wish that I could do it just once so that when I faked it it would at least look realistic (I was very method in my pretty, pretty princessness).

I don't quite know what happened when I really did faint - I do hope that there was an instant where I was having my teen-queen-movie-first-kiss moment where it was like, "This is it!" but I spent most of the way to the ground unconsious so there is no way to know.

Once I hit the asphalt I regained as much consiousness as can be expected pretty quickly.  At this moment, this could have taken a very SVU turn.  A smelly-ass 20-year old, with no identification on her, is passed out on the street corner at like 11:30 at night, and when I first opened my eyes I was totally disoriented (probably because I was lying on the ground) and so I kept saying, "this is not where I am supposed to be."

Luckily, the first person to come upon me muttering to myself wished me no harm.  Once he realized that I was still talking about not being in the right place he probably wished himself away from this sketchtastic scene.  But he very nicely asked me if he should call an ambulance.

"No, I'm fine."

Like I said- not super good at being sick.

I managed to stand up, fall back down and then stand up again while still insisting that I was totally fine and that I just needed to go one block and I would be home.

He was super wary about all this so, naturally, I negotiated, "listen, you can watch me walk to my apartment and then if I fall down again, you can call an ambulance."

He seemed fine with these terms so I stumbled home as fast as I could with the thought that the faster I walked the less likely I would be to pass out.  This logic managed to work as I made it in and up two flights of stairs, through my unlocked door and into bed before passing out again.

But Rachel, what about the orange juice and ginger ale?!

Don't worry.  They made it all the way through this journey unscathed some how and were incredibly restorative, making this entire adventure totally worth it.

mark it

Today is the day I lost all my self respect.

Its been a long time coming, and it wasn't all my fault - there were a fair number of environmental causes that lead to my inevitable down fall but never the less - its gone.  All of it (or maybe just most of it and the rest of this feeling is residual hunger and low self-esteem).

Today is the day I spent $4.02 on a 12-oz drink that I knew knew was going to make me sick.

That's right.  I spent almost $5 on something that while, super fucking delicious, has the necessary ingredients to make me extra gassy and complainy about my tummy (we call this a yummy ache).

I love the Gingerbread Latte.  I have to assume that this is the same kind of love that people feel for their first born child.  I've never had a first born, so maybe I love the latte more, I don't know.  But I love it.  Always have, always will.

Back in my day - the tall skim ginger bread latte cost about $3.00.  It was a steep price for a broke-ass college kid.  But I made sacrifices and saved for my weekly treat.  Sometimes when it came down to it, I would pick coffee over college books (and by sometimes I mean most of the time).  And I came out fairly well adjusted.

In the past 7 years that I have been drinking these monsters the price has managed to go up $1.00.  That, my friends, is totally bogus.  The price of the McChicken sandwich has gone down in that time and managed to not lose any of its disgusting deliciousness.

In the past 7 years, however, I have lost the capacity to digest milk products successfully (at this point you want to interrupt my ramblings to tell me to drink gingerbread americano - and I am here to tell you that I will not, because it tastes yucky and makes me sad and there is no reason to do anything in the world that makes you as sad as watery espresso makes me) so when I do indulge, I make life pretty miserable for the enzymes and friends mariachi band in my stomach.

For some reason paying $3.25 or $3.60 to give myself a yummy ache and a caffeine buzz seemed totally rational, but when the girl perkily announced $4.02 this evening, my self-respect nose dived into the tile floor.

That's two subway rides (almost), 4 McChicken sandwiches, a PBR at most Clark St. establishments, a bowl of chili at my favorite dinner.

$4 buys a whole crap ton of stuff that $3 does not - and so I am left feeling bad about myself, but also elated and wonderful because I just had a delicious ginger bread latte and so I know nothing can go wrong.

long ago and far away

 Cape Point - the very Southernmost tip of Africa

 

Penguins at Boulders Beach

 

The hallway of my dorm on the University of Cape Town campus

Six years ago, today, I was in Cape Town, South Africa.  I was 20 and I was drunk.  I was drunk on scenery and change and alcohol.  I was confused and open-minded.  The education I got in that too-short month was so concentrated and so varied that it still makes my head spin.

There isn't a week that goes by without a passing thought about that time in my life.  A few of the pictures still hang on my walls and I still spend as many minutes as I can with my second half - Other Rachel (although, at this point we are averaging about fifteen minutes every two years).  I am so excited that a fellow alum of the program lives in the Chi so if I ever need it, I can always call her up and be like, "remember?" and she'll be like, "yeah," and I'll know it wasn't a dream.

There is this yearning inside of my insides to go back, just for a minute, or a day, or for a year - to do it all over again - like a grown up this time.  Every time I think about it there is a dull ache in my chest of wishing I could be irresponsible enough to Just Go. Maybe I was too young to appreciate all the beauty and history - but I was just the right age to enjoy being young and on an adventure.

If you have a kid (or if I have a kid) - let them travel abroad.  Its worth the money and the effort.  Its worth whatever you put into it for them to realize how big the world is.

Luck o' the Italian

I'm an idiot - obviously yesterday's blog and today's blogs count. Making my total 25 out of 30. Pretty impressive...

Anyway - today is St. Patrick's Day which happens (despite my co-worker Eli's arguments) every March 17th. And, as someone who has NO Irish blood in them at all - I think I've developed an affinity for the culture.

In elementary school - today was dominated by the Irish Jig Contest which.was.FIXED. I swear. I never won, which is ridiculous because I am/was/will ever be a Phenomenal Irish Jigger (which is not something you should say quickly as you will raise eyebrows of consternation).

Anyway, some years I would make it to the finals and then lose. Because, see, the preliminary round was judged by the teachers and high-school teacher helpers, who tended to be fairer judges as they were so burnt out they didn't really care that much. The finals were judged by the Specials Teachers (who we should have just called The Russians to get it over with) and they picked the same two kids every year. It was such bull crap. And the winners got these ceramic shamrocks that the art teacher made, and I coveted one of them with my whole heart and never won. And believe it or not, that probably had a more profound influence on why I am the jaded bitter d-bag I am today, that you think.

St. Patty's Day didn't really matter again until college (duh). My first two years of college I didn't drink much due to my lack of friends and lack of proper identification. My junior year I cleared all that up and became a raging st. patty's day lunatic.

It wasn't until my senior year that there was any photographic evidence though. I'm not going to lie - I miss the age where digital cameras were a rarity and posting photographs on the internet even more so...at least back then when I did dumb stuff you had to be there to witness it.

Now let me be straight - in case you're reading this because you want to offer me a job or marry me or something in the future - I never did anything illegal. I mean, I probably jaywalked, but that's it. Everything else was totally above the bar/wire/thing that keeps you from getting arrested.

What happens is that the rules of proper social conduct go out the window. I tend to find it acceptable to take (normally with some sort of verbal permission) people's clothing or accessories. I have a habit of throwing things- mostly in celebration. I have no qualms about demanding that people give me things, or do things I think would be entertaining.

This is a very broad overview of my behaviors- and if you want more details - feel free to email me (as most of my SPD stories are hilarious but totally inappropriate for a blog my parents read).

I shall give you one example - last year, St. Patrick's Day itself was fairly tame - we went to the South Side Parade the weekend before which really demands its own personal blog due to its enigma-ness. And then the night of, Boyfriend and I were just trolling the streets of Wrigleyville looking for some cornbeef and cabbage (for him) and a salad/cheeseburger (for me).

We finally found a place and many of the people around were wearing the Chi-rish beads I had been lusting after most of the week.

Those Miller Lite marketing people are flipping geniuses. This is a fantastic ad campaign. Hats off.

Anyway, there were mardi gras-esque beads with the Chi-rish emblem on them and at no point did I see them passed out. People just had them. And I wanted them.

So after we had eaten dinner and are still relatively sober, we're heading to our next destination, I find a cop on the street outside the bar wearing one of the Chi-rish bead necklaces.

Rachel: Excuse Me. Where did you get those beads?

Cop: I don't know, someone just gave them to me.

Rachel: Can I have them?

Boyfriend: about to die from embarrassment

Cop: Sure. Happy St. Patrick's Day.

And with that, they were mine. On a normal day - I don't ever walk up to cops unless, you know, I'm a victim of a crime OR they're Chris Meloni. But because of the date, this felt perfectly acceptable.

So now I have Chi-rish beads which aren't quite a ceramic shamrock necklace, but then again - I'm Italian, so I'll take what I can get.

I win! I win I win I win!

I would like to take this moment to discuss how awesome I am.

At 6:05 this morning, as the sun rose over the condo monstrosity across the street, I finished* my last college paper ever (at this point, people, I have a fat kid's chance in gym class of making it to grad school).

I was going to take a picture of the sunrise but I smelled pretty badly of stupid and could not manage to get my camera to function. So here's a Brooklyn sunset. Just as pretty, only on the opposite side of the apartment.

*finished means that I could not possibly come up with another word to type so I saved it, now in the next few hours I have to make sure I did all those fancy things like write in complete sentances and use periods and stuff.

I think its appropriate to pull an all nighter for the final big paper, if for no other reason than it reaffirms my choice to be D-O-N-E with school all together.

Anyway, so I'm feeling that a little acceptance speech is in order.

First and foremost I'd like to thank the various forms of liquid caffine that prevented me from having to inject it directly into my eyeballs to stay awake after only getting 4 hours of sleep Sunday night. I'd also like to thank that bag of Microwave Kettle Corn for hanging out and being crazy delicious, even 4 hours after being popped. The West Wing season 2 dvds need to be recognized for their abilitly to lull me into a condusive writing mode. My Nantucket shirt, for giving me the drive I needed to finish this nonsense up so the summer can begin. Natalie for the coffee, and Mel for the I Can't Believe its not Butter for my toast (though as of this writing neither one actually knows that they helped the cause, thanks anyway girls!). Hallie, Tierra, Rachel, Waseem and Aimee for the cheerleading and the emotional support, particulary Hallie for still being around at 4 AM and Aimee for getting me totally excited about our upcoming "Sex and the City: Chicago Style" existance. My blogging boss needs a huge thanks for not yelling at me as I haven't done work in two weeks, Myspace for being the best distraction tool ever and Limewire for letting me download that episode Grey's Anatomy that I got to watch when I was done as my "reward" for finishing.

At this point I'm too wound up to sleep. I'm gonna do some editing, start packing (!!!) and get ready to turn this sucker in.

I can't believe its over. I've spent the past two weeks telling grown-ups that the reason I've waited until the last possible second to write this piece of horse poop is because I'm feeling, "slightly nostalgic and sad about it being my last paper." And while that was total bs when it was coming out of my mouth, it's actually kinda true. Though I bitch and moan about it, I love writing and I love having to write. Its so hard for me to write without being faced with an imenent deadline.

Anyway, lets graduate and see how things go.

OH! And while I have your attention! You HAVE to go to this site here: Help Meredith Choose and buy lots and lots of adorable stuff. Do it. NOW!

My heart is in my shoes.

It's time for the Friday Fabulous Five! things that have made this week totally kickin.

1- My new job There is nothing like seeing your name in print. Even when that print is on a screen. And as Cougar said last night, "bloggers are the writers of the future." Which is funny because bloggers are actually the writers of the present and my Mom is just a little slow when it comes to technology. Also, my mother now has access to this blog (as does my dad and various other members of my extended family) so - Hey Guys! That thing I wrote?! before?! A joke. So...just forget it.

2- FLIP FLOP SEASON!!! When I was in high school I wore flip flops pretty much year around, because I drove everywhere. Now that I walk everywhere I can only wear the 'flops (as Teeny so elegantly puts it) once it hits 60 degrees. Then once it hits 70 I can start wearing skirts. These rules are increadibly arbitrary, especially because just because the high is 60 doesn't mean that at 10 pm when I'm walking home it won't be closer to 40 as it was a few weeks ago when we had the Statan Island adventure. But the past few days have been perfect flip flop weather which means Summer is coming...and with summer comes all sorts of other fun things like graduation, Nantucket, and the need to lose 8 lbs before I even look at a bathing suit (...oh wait...), which brings us to:

3- The abundance of free food at the offices I've temped in this week. Since I do day-to-day temping I've worked in a lot of different places and they've started to rank themselves in my head. The major critera for ranking offices is how much free food I can eat there/walk away with. Both offices this week have been amazing with the free soda (fountain diet coke! in an office! brilliant...), and baked goods and chocolate and sandwiches and fruit. Oh man. The one way to make a happy temp is to feed her.

4- My graduation pictures which aren't so much fabulous as hilariously tragic. I haven't sat for a photographer since the summer before my senior year of high school. I forgot how, to the hating-his-life photographer, you aren't so much a person as one of those wooden dolls that painters use to understand the human shape. All that "turn left" "chin up" "tilt your head" "no tilt it the other way" "too much" "now put your chin down" "do a crazy dance" "make love not war" "NOW SMILE" at which point it isn't so much a smile as a grimace with tears streaming down your face because you had to go ahead and dislocate your shoulder to get the pose this guy was invisioning. I'm gonna garantee that the best pictures are gonna be the ones where I'm in the gown (which, ew...that village bicycle gown must be so gross) where I'm holding the diploma and the morter board and my elbows are at a 90 degree angle from my body and I look like some one just gave me a swift kick in the rear.

5- The 105% I got on my Cultural Anthroplogy midterm, solidifying the fact that the way to have a kickin' senior year is to take a whole bunch of 101 classes. It's actually an interesting class and I'm pleasently suprised, especially because I mainly took the class because I was hoping I would have a professor like Jerimiah Laskey on Saved By the Bell: The College Years. And even though I don't, it's stil a cool class.

Happy Weekend.

Our Nationwide Nightmare is Over!

I found Reece's hearts! For those of you who live under concrete, the fine people at Hershey's now make Reece's Cups in various shapes for various holidays. If I am talking at you for long enough you will hear me sing the praises of these oversized kitchy chocolates because of the chocolate to peanut butter ratio that is so vastly increased in these seasonal pieces of heaven.

So, normally I stock up around the beginning of every retail heavy holiday (sadly there are no Labor day reece's cups) but for some reason I dropped the ball in mid-january when all the St. Valentine's Day stuff started hitting the shelves (I blame on the deep deep post-holiday-not-in-south-africa depression I had for most of the month of January, it was clouding my judgement, as was the artic temperature) so in the past few weeks I've started nosing around CVS and Duane Reade and there were NO heart shaped Reece's Cups. Obviously I was distraught, so I put a call into Teeny because retailers in Conneticut are much more civilized and would never run out of such a precious necessity. They had some, she stocked up for my up coming visit, but my ID was running rampant and was channeling Veruca Salt. I wanted those bitches, NOW. So today, with 4 hours of nothing to do and being stood up by Isabel I wandered into Walgreens...a pharmacy I don't normally go to only because I hate the voice of their commercials. And there they were! Individual and Packages. I've already eaten 2. They tasted like heaven. They are in a tie in the running for being my Valentine.

The other is obviously the Season 1 DVD of Grey's Anatomy which should be hitting a post office box near me on the 15th or 16th if Amazon keeps it's promise. I could not be more excited, especially after last nights episode which I almost didn't watch, but I wasn't gonna let a pesky college assignment stand in the way of a suffering Dr. McDreamy. Or a crying Bailey. Oh, god. Crying Bailey=Sobbing like a two year old Rachel.

In other news, I bought my very last school notebook, and yes, I cried a little. Its the end of an era people! I'm really picky about my notebooks and I was really upset when Target let me down and didn't have the one I wanted (5 subject five-star minibook, college ruled with a blue cover if you're playing along at home) but I got a purple 3 subject Target brand one which is pretty and shiny so distracts me from the fact that my last semester of college is starting without the right notebook and any clue about the rest of my life.

I also got an adorable skirt for Free People, A new hot pink comforter and a plane ticket to/from Chicago to help keep me from getting to depressed.

P.S. you can buy that sweet shirt at the top from Glarkware in the TWoP section. And you should because its Hawt.

Stay tuned for my review of the Diet Cherry Vanilla Coke that I bought this afternoon. If it doesn't put me in a diabetic coma.

My lack of .02

So I found out today that baring any unforseen circumstances I am graduating from college on June 1, 2006 (yea, I know, it's later than yours but its also at Radio City Music Hall, so shove it). This is pretty awesome news. Before today graduation was this tangible thing that I knew was going to happen but didn't really think to hard about, kind of like the Amazing Race premeire or the next ice age.

So I sat down and did my graduation audit and was fairly happy at what I had achieved until I looked at my credits for my major. When I was picking classes for this semester I found out that I could get an Honors in English degree if I took this one particular class, which sounded like a good plan. Then I found out that I have to have a 3.5 in my major, which sounded totally cool. I had had some problems but overall I felt I did pretty great in my English classes. Then I figured out my GPA. 3.48. Seriously. I have a 3.4-fucking-8. I am less than a tenth of a point away from being able to get an honors degree and I am livid. I'm trying to calm down, because I have a whole semester to work this out and its good that I caught it now. I noticed that the one grade that stuck out was my B in Fiction 1. My professor at the beginning stressed her un-belief in the whole "grades" thing which to me means you should go ahead and give everyone who does the work at least a B+ or an A- because, why fuck up someone's life over your own personal "beliefs"

I sent my professor a very calm and understaded e-mail asking for her reasoning behind my grade and now I'm just waiting for a response because seriously, if that B were to magically become a B+?! I would be in the clear. And really, the fact that I came to all the classes and did all the work and participated and all that shit should really make the "+" unless its because I didn't cry in our little conference. Which means I'm just going to have to kill her.