Have you managed to avoid the onslaught of cuteness...

...that is I Can Has Cheezburger?

If so, get out from under your internets rock and get your RDA of cute cute cute.

If you have already experienced it, well, your day is already a rainbow of flavor so there you go.

Word Cop: Are you tired? Or hesitant due to concerns?

My Readers seem like a pretty literate bunch so this is in no way directed at you all. This is for Hiring Managers.

If you have some concerns about a candidate's background and are therefore feeling reluctant to bring them on board, you can be

a) LEERY
or
b) WARY

But if you put the two together, it does not, actually make a super-strength hybrid of the two. It just makes you tired because that is what WEARY means. And I really doubt you are "really super exhausted of his background due to his job hopping." The candidate might be weary from the hopping. (rimshot)

But you are, again, either LEERY or WARY.

Thank you and good day sir.

Vernal Equinox Has Sprang, Part Deux

Okay, I know I just promised less navel-gazing, but...I am sitting here this afternoon and wondering what this odd feeling is that I have when I realized:

I AM HAPPY IN ANTICIPATION OF GOING TO JOB 3 THIS EVENING.

I AM LOOKING FORWARD TO IT. "IT" MEANING WORK.

I can't stop being totally weirded out by all of this.

Recruiter: Heal Thyself

Considering all my navel-gazing and off-topic posts of late, I have somewhat lost the moral high ground when it comes to berating others for overestimating my give-a-care about their personal details through the job search process. Let's face it: the bread and butter of a blog like this are ridiculous e-mail addies and poor phone manners, not what I think about this season's couture shoes.

NEVERTHELESS. I have never been less than forthcoming about my own hypocrisy (which, actually, sort of makes my hypocrisy rather noble and impervious to criticism, no? What? Oh, ACTUAL "No," huh? Well.) so I am take a break from providing you with every little irrelevant detail about my own life and get right back on that horse of pointing shaming fingers at those who assume we find every little irrelevant detail of their lives just so endlessly fascinating. (*Snorting with derision*) Idjits!

So today we were discussing this recruitment company that we are considering using. It's the kind of company to whom you pay wads and wads of cash up front in order to get some possible folks.

We reviewed the website, and there is a page dedicated to the founder of the company whom, I suspect, sort of IS the company. Ya know what I mean? You get the sense it might be one dude + one fancy website and that's about it.

On the section about him, it references some of his recruiting experience...but then it prominently features all this other stuff, like how he is a certified Rolfer and something about an ashram and some other stuff about Tai Chi...and it's like, I'm not against any of those things in my personal life, like whatever. Ashram it up, dude.

But I can just imagine one of the higher-ups in contract review doing due diligence when we submitted this multi-$K request for funds and going, "Um, WHAT? This shining example of professionalism is the person you want me to pay a fee UP FRONT for candidates, sight unseen? DENIED." (Insert sound of giant rubber stamp thwacking down.)

When recruiters themselves can't tell the difference between appropriate-professional and appropriate-personal...well, we're losing. I'm losing.

Off-topic: This is why I had to speak out.

(Yes, I'm talking about shoes again.)

See.

First they take a kitten heel and put it on a wedge sandal, and you think...that's awful, but it just seems like an isolated fashion aberration so I'm not going to do anything about it.

But THEN DONNA KARAN just goes and puts a TEVA-STYLE SANDAL on a WEDGE SANDAL? And suddenly everyone who didn't speak out about the sick mating of the kitten heel with the wedge sandal shares responsibility.




OK, once again I am reverting to super stevedore language so close your eyes and plug your ears if you're delicate:

Sweet fancy Moses, what the fuck is that catastrophe of a shoe, Donna Karan?

....

What did the wedge sandal DO to these people that they want to punish it so? I know Diane von Furstenberg disparaging calls them "prosthetic-looking," but honestly, I've never heard anyone else say one bad word about the wedge.

It's fun, it's kicky. Sure, it's a little ankle-twisty, but whatever: avoid uneven surfaces and never ever for a minute stop paying attention to what you're doing and you'll be fine.

So why? WHY? Why must you mangle a perfectly adorable summertime shoe this way?

(Photo from Vogue this month, shot by Steven Meisel)

Vernal Equinox is All Sprang Up in Here

I am now up to three jobs. However, Job 2 and Job 3 are related to things that I enjoy doing and am interested in. This is a very weird development.

As we all know (or I guess more accurately, as I theorize based on very little data and then presume everyone agrees with), our current economic model depends on despair to thrive. So jobs that many might find rewarding and engaging generally pay about a half a farthing and a crust of stale bread once every other fortnight.

This is why so few people I know seem able to actually make a living doing something they truly enjoy. We all seem to end up sort of doing the thing we are best able to tolerate without bludgeoning to death co-workers, customers/clients and managers.

I realize that this might seem like a pretty banal epiphany, but banal epiphanies are the sort I am best at: doing some stuff you like is like REALLY a lot better than doing stuff you can just tolerate. I realize that is not only a banal epiphany, it is essentially a tautology, but still. It's kind of news to me.

I guess at some level - even though I've been blindly fighting towards doing work I like - I think I still had a very deeply ingrained belief that...well, ALL work was WORK. "That's why they have to pay you to do it!" and all. I guess until I actually experienced doing some things I liked, I did not really truly realize and understand HOW MUCH BETTER LIFE IS that way. And not just while you are at work. You are like, just happier in general.

Again: banal, obvious, but I am sometimes like a space alien who has only recently landed on this planet and there is still a lot I am figuring out.

So this epiphany occurred because of this morning. Normally I have to work nearly every weekend on Job 1 - recruiting - primarily because I let myself get behind during the week because in between talking to The Crazies I have to take a lot of breaks to avoid losing my shit entirely with the next person. There is a lot of talking myself down in this current role.

And, normally, after getting through a weekend of work by numbing myself with refined sugars and having marathons of house-flipping shows on in the background (I find watching jobs that both have a beginning, middle and an end AND make things look very tidy and clean very satisfying which is why I could watch house-flipping shows all day every day), I usually start off Monday feeling close to as exhausted as I felt when I ended on Friday.

But after this weekend - which was no less filled with work than normal, just a different sort, I awoke this morning chipper and A-OK with things. I did not have to beat off the hovering black cloud of gloom as I trudged my way to the coffee maker. I did not have to give myself a pep talk and then escalate that to a stern talking-to to keep from returning to the warm comfort of my lovely bed. I was just all...fine and shit.

Who knows what effect this will have on this blog? Like the economy, it depends on despair to thrive. A cheerful Ill-Suit might be likely to post the below and call it a goshdarn day!

Despair: Now in Real Time!

Normally I do try to buffer in some time between the day job happenings and my posts due to my totally unwarranted paranoia.

But today I am feeling ca ca enough to just go ahead and LIVE BLOG THE AWFULNESS.

I have phone screened a gajillion people this week and 90% of them have been:

• Unqualified despite what their resumes said. It stretches the boundaries of credulity, if you have only used a certain software once a month in a job you have held for a few months, to call yourself an "current expert user." Maybe so, but the hiring manager is going to think I am an idiot if I send you in for an interview. Now get off my phone. Thank you for wasting 15 minutes of my life with your fibs.
• Complete nutjobs. I know I am the Girl Who Cried Nutjobs, BUT this week I received independent confirmation from someone who is not a misanthrope (she is, in fact, a REGULAR and NORMAL person) that all of these candidates are, in fact, totes crazeeeeee.
• Argumentative and vaguely belligerent. I am not a person who goes looking for confrontation - the LAST thing I want is more interaction with humans - so I am usually eager to deflect and avoid. Nevertheless, I seem to have stumbled upon a group of candidates that is itching for trouble. I know I know I should show and not tell but I am too exhausted to give you some specific examples. It's just all oddly adversarial out there, which, to me, is not a word I would normally associate with recruiting. And again: independent confirmation from a cheerful, non-curmudgeonly co-worker.

AND WHAT IS WORSE:

It is THURSDAY! Not Friday! I mean, it's nearly Friday and that means it's nearly not a workday (although they are ALL workdays right now, but at least on Saturday and Sunday it's just me and the laptop and I don't have to talk to any people). But I have about four more hours of phone screening today and I do not know how I am going to get through it without losing it all over one of these people. Even the cheerful co-worker admitted yesterday that she was nearly yelling at a candidate.

Having to pay deep attention to complete strangers all day long sometimes feels like zombies are eating out my brain.

Resume advice involving zero references to poop or shoes

While I'm out, here is some resume advice that a) confirms what I'm always gnashing my teeth about and b) is boring.

The Ill-Suit got a spot

And is at the cleaners. Will be back in three days if we get there before closing.

Off-Topic: I cannot remain silent on this issue.

I am trying to stay on topic lately, but something has come to my attention and I simply cannot sit quietly by. I must speak out.

Now, I want to make it clear that I do my best to avoid mindlessly settling into any gender-based cliches. But sometimes I must admit that my genuine tastes and some stereotypical girlie concerns overlap. Mainly with shoes.

I am sure that somebody in gender studies has written a paper like "Binding Her Own Feet: Women, Patriarchy and the Semiotics of High Heels" or something along those lines. (Aside: is there an online Master's Thesis Title Generator? If not, there should be.) But I personally cannot and choose not to parse my reaction to shoes. I just love them, and the higher-risk, the better.

Except not these.



Ok, for those of you who don't like salty language, skip the rest of this post.

Fendi, makers of this monstrosity: What the fuck is this shit? A KITTEN HEEL on a WEDGE SANDAL?

Number One: I can walk in anything but this has broken ankle written ALL OVER IT.

And B! It's hideous. HIDEOUS. I am offended by the very existence of this shoe.

If, Reader, you disagree and would like to spend NEARLY $500 on this mutant shoe, here's where you can.

But click that link and never darken my doorstep...er...blogstep?...again! I have to draw the line somewhere.

(I'm just playin', Reader, I still love you! Come back! Please!)

Candidates: Please Start a Fight Club or Something

I really cannot throw stones about being grumpy as I live in a glass house called: Writes a Blog Dedicated to Complaining.

But Candidates, how can I put this nicely? Well, some of you are a little high-strung. You seem a little on edge.

Here's how it goes.

I make a lot of phone calls. To people who applied directly for a job, to people whose resumes I found online, etc. I will generally make one call per week to a person (my company would probably prefer more but I think that most people prefer to not be harassed and that it's actually more effective if I am not all up in their business about it). If the person isn't there, I leave a voicemail. Because I have taken to heart my own advice about leaving voicemails and because I have a crappy headset, I generally try to listen to it to make sure it's audible, etc.

So then some time passes. And I get these calls back:

Me: Hello, this is Ill-Suit.

Nameless Person: (barking, staccato) Hello. I got a call from this number.

Me: Oh, okay, sure, what is your name?

Nameless Person: (shouting over the sound of their own veins throbbing) WELL YOU CALLED ME SHOULDN'T YOU KNOW?

Of course, but I also called about thirty other people today and there is no name on the caller id and I actually didn't commit your number to memory.

So then I try to gently explain to the individual who I am and why I might have called, and the caller than has to make the ever-so-awkward transition from Phone Rage Dickwad to Cheerful Applicant. It's a tough one to pull off.

What I don't understand is that I KNOW I left you a voicemail, I know I sent it correctly and it was audible...if you are so irate at the possibility that someone you don't know (presumably a telemarketer, etc.) is calling you, why would you first call back the number blind instead of listening to the message?

I think some of these people must just feel really trodden upon or something and are looking to get their righteous indignation on. I totally understand: the Man has got me down too, but I am not the Man, folks.

Anyhoodle, my dad is great and all, but he also suffers from Phone Rage on occasion, so I try to not hold it against the candidates as I know it might just be an isolated weak spot.

But for reals, Candidates, I think you need to take a martial arts class or go chop wood or (again, I can't recommend it highly enough) start a complaining blog. Whatever. Just relax.

Actual Unfortunate Names: NSFW Blind Item Guessing Game

So the other day, my friend President of the Debate Club paid a visit to the blog to test my logic. She found it failing on at least one post, but luckily I won the round by default because I think she will be too busy/disinterested to revisit the blog again to rebut.

After the visit, she let me know that she passed along some of the gems to her husband and co-workers, who, she informed me, all had the same reaction:

"How does she write that and not get fired?"

Ummmm.

Gulp?

So like, I mean, um, yeah, I know but.

Like there are a gajillion blogs out there?
And my real name is nowhere on it?
And I change all the relevant details?

But so suddenly I wonder if this is a much riskier endeavor than I was really thinking.

Which makes what I am about to do even more DAREDEVILISH and LIVING-ON-THE-EDGE-ISH! Those of you with a delicate constitution: LOOK AWAY NOW!

So I phone screened a candidate recently with really one of THE most unfortunate Actual Unfortunate Names I have come across.

I can't actually post it, but I will give some clues and you can guess, either quietly in your head, or DARINGLY in the comments! I might chicken out and delete the comments that get too close to the right name but I will alert the winner otherwise if you link to your own blog.

What do you win?

SMUG SELF-SATISFACTION. At least TEN MINUTES of feeling VERY PLEASED WITH YOURSELF.

So here are the clues:

1) The first name is nickname that is a synonym for a slang term for a girl part. However! This very self-same nickname can - although not as commonly - ALSO be used as a slang term for a girl part.
2) The last name is...just flat out a slang term for a girl part.

What I found so fascinating is: if your last name is ALREADY something that is going to make middle school very very difficult...why oh why would your parents also saddle you with the double whammy of a nearly equally unfortunate nickname?

So NSFW guess away, Readers!

P.S. Gay Husband? You are not eligible for the prize because we just talked about this person today, but I'm happy to discuss other possible ways for you to have at least ten minutes of smug self-satisfaction.

What?

From resume:

"My ambitions presented to me show an outline of continued achievements."

The Single Best Useless Thing to Ever Appear on a Resume Ever of All Time Ever!

You know how I hate personal details, right. But this? THIS???? Transcends irrelevance, transcends inappropriateness. It lives on its own unearthly plane, glowing and levitating in its perfection.

"Winner of Showcase Showdown on The Price is Right."

Off-Topic: Lunch Break

To the older bearded gentleman in the Beemer in front of me at the drive-thru at McDonald's (no, I'm not proud of it):

1) I really don't have time to explain the concepts/gestalt of
a) FAST food
b) Drive-thrus
c) Talking to a minimum-wage employee through a small speaker box
d) McDonald's, in general

so you will just have to take my word for it that in a lot of ways, "Which of your sandwiches has the least amount of calories?" is not an appropriate question for this particular time and place.

And, 2) after the extremely patient employee, who has infinitely more self-control than I would have, calmly explained that yes, McDonald's actually has a written policy that they cannot provide that information specifically over the drive-thru headset, but that he would happily provide a pamphlet for you at the window, and you decide to throw caution to the wind and just wing it with your order...I think it might be safe to say that the Ranch BLT Chicken sandwich is probably NOT the sandwich with the least amount of calories.

In general, when looking to lower your caloric intake RANCH and BLT are two words to steer away from. In addition, McDonald's as a whole might be something to steer away from. These are just some thoughts.

Why don't you marry it?

You would think that something as dry and resolutely un-sexy as a major corporation wouldn't have a stalker.

And you would be wrong.

I have this candidate who applies to EVERY SINGLE JOB this company posts in the Midwest. It doesn't matter what the function, duties or level are. It doesn't matter how little, if at all, his background matches up with the job.

Director of Finance? APPLY. Customer Service Rep? APPLY. Internal Network Programmer? APPLY. Human Resource Generalist? APPLY.

Over 2500 jobs in the past two years. It takes like four minutes to pull up his online file it's so big.

So I lean towards Diagnosis: BATSHIT CRAZY. But then again I wonder if he might just be litigious and is running some sort of extended scam, figuring at some point he will have to catch someone in some kind of compliance slip-up and he can sue.

But I sort of like the Batshit Crazy option, mainly because I just like Batshit Crazy as a concept and a phrase, and I also like the idea that this dude falls asleep under a ceiling and between walls plastered with the company logo. And that when he is waiting in line at the unemployment office, he idly doodles "I (Heart) Big Nameless Corporation" on the denim binder or Trapper Keeper in which he keeps his paper work.

Oh fine whatever. Dammit: Half-assing.

Every Xmas for about the past eight Xmases, I have lost my mind to holiday gift-making (there was one exception, 2005 when I just plain lost my mind).

Now, as anyone who had met me briefly or seen me from across a city block can tell: I am crotchety. I have ALWAYS been crotchety. I was like a crotchety eighth grader. My holiday craftiness is less out of some kind of cheery holiday spirit, more from some weird deep-seated need I have to Go Above and Beyond in a totally baroque, nearly perverse fashion. It verges on self-flagellation. I am waiting for the holiday season that Werner Herzog shows up with a camera crew to film it, and I eagerly anticipate his finished documentary with his dry reserved German narration of my yearly insane folly:

"Now, at 3:00 AM, she is overwhelmed with despair when she realizes three of her four different varieties of savory quick bread mini-loaves are slightly more dry than she would ideally like. They will not survive ground shipment. She collapses at her table in a heap of sobbing."

So about a gajillion years ago, Deborah Ng tagged me to write about why I blog. And instead of just like writing it, I made the mistake of THINKING ABOUT IT, which of course made the whole thing much more perversely baroque in my head than it would ever need to be. So then I didn't just write it because my meager store of attention span was all taken up by day- and nightjob. And THEN it just sat there, accusingly, on the mental to-do list.

So whatever, I don't know why I'm such a nutbag about this stuff. Here's my answer. I will have to tag other blogs later as I have been a bad blogging-community-member of late and am barely checking anybody else's, so gots to go see who hasn't done this one yet. But baby steps, at least I can do the answer.

Blogging, for me, has been like a relationship. It started in a sort of frenzy of enthusiasm. I found myself constantly e-mailing my gay husband and some other friends with the ridiculous resume or cover letter of the day. And then I thought, well, I of course find all this endlessly amusing, but my friends might just be smiling wanly at it. Eventually, they might even find it kind of annoying, which will make them reluctant to open the e-mails I REALLY want them to read, like the ones with the pictures of the shoes I want to buy.

So I thought I would go ahead and start a blog.

And it was like fun! Like instead of getting aggravated and hating my dayjob all the time, I was feeling actually engaged by it, waiting for the next person to do the next annoying thing because I could get a post out of it. It sort of made the day go by faster.

Then we settled into a sort of groove, a nice little groove, and some people were reading the blog, and that was cool, and my little Profile View counter was going up and I felt special.

Then it stopped being special. And it sort of became work. And days would pass and no one would comment. And the Profile View wouldn't move. I had to squeeze in this time to write these posts and they weren't even being appreciated at all. And then the blog called me by its ex-writer's name at a very inappropriate moment, and we were just fighting all the time, and I was seriously like, I don't even NEED a blog anymore.

And that's when I got into the whole Zen of Blogging. As I've mentioned before, I think it's like meditation, if I may not only change metaphors but also tone, from silly to sincere.

Now people throw around the word Zen all the time and it bugs me a little. Like it's in commercials and stuff and I know it's not exactly, truly, precisely a religion, but it's some serious stuff and I don't particularly appreciate it being used to sell paint. So please know when I talk about the Zen of Blogging, it's not some facile appropriation, I actually have owned a zafu.

And blogging is kinda it, man. You do it at first for some kind of satisfaction or attention or as writing practice and then it exists and you just do it because you do it. And if the counter goes up or the counter stays still and if someone comments or if even your friends forget the web address...still you sit down (semi-)regularly to do it.

I'm not a very disciplined person to do things on a regular basis. I'm more a fits and starts and once-a-year-sprints kinda lady. If I do have any discipline, it always for something where I can clearly see "What's in it for me?" and even then I can generally only get motivated to do the things I MUST do in order to stay fed and clothed and housed. But this? There isn't really much in it for me. I can't even put my name on it.

So I blog because I blog. And there you have it.

Thanks, Deborah! Here is her answer to the question. I will tag others at some point.

Today? More nothing.

But Rocker Contractor is back (for the FOURTH grouting of my shower tile, fingers crossed this one will take) and he had a little joke (?) about needing a "jazzercism" (like exorcism + jazzercise?) that he said yesterday and then eagerly asked me today if I had used the joke yet.

Only, it's not really a joke, like there is no framework into which the word "jazzercism" is used as a punchline or something, it's just a little portmanteau or whatever that he created so I didn't know what to tell him other than I thought it was more a performance piece than a written joke.

Suggestions for a written joke that would use "jazzercism" as a punchline are welcome.