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October 07, 2005

Loser

I recently entered my purses in a craft contest for Venus Magazine, a feminist publication with a musical focus. I was waiting to say anything about it here because I didn’t want to jinx my chances of winning, but now it seems that doesn’t matter because I haven’t won. That’s right, I’m a loser. But I’m also a winner because I gave it my best, as evidenced by the website I created as my entry. You should check it out; there are pictures of the three most recent purse creations as well as complete (and illustrated) instructions for how to make them.

Posted by April at 01:36 PM | Comments (0)

October 04, 2005

Pictures of My Past

Yesterday I posted so many words I feel the need to balance the site with some pictures. I went through my box of photos, which is an interesting emotional experience. Some pictures make me really nostalgic, some remind me how many embarrassing moments I’ve had, and many make me wince at some of my fashion and hairstyle decisions. The ones I’ve elected to post today just make me really happy. I was hoping to post some from my time in college, but those are all too unflattering, too incriminating, or both.

The first is of David, beloved friend and husband. I think this is from my trip to visit him in South Carolina, and I think I took it after we ate some of his brother’s special cookies. David looks good in a toga, doesn’t he?

This one serves as a reminder of why I don’t bake. My last attempt at making a cake from scratch, over ten years ago, is pictured below and you can see the result.

And here is another cake I bought at a bakery (or rather at the bakery counter of a supermarket) see how much nicer it looks? You were so touched by that store-bought cake, Carlo.

This is a funny one of my sister Autumn and me at the Horde Festival, 1998- apparently. Do you remember that, Autumn? The picture, I mean. I know you remember what happened before the show.

My family likes to give gifts along a theme and one year my sister Summer got a lot of stuff involving chickens. Here’s one of them.

Here is a cute one of my younger sister having fun on the tree swing in front of our house. She is probably about seven or eight here. Somehow I doubt she swings from the redwoods like this.

And here she is again wearing a diaper on her head. Fortunately Rebecca stopped using diapers as hats shortly after she stopped wearing them on her bum. That’s me in the background—I touched this one up in Photoshop a little to make it easier to see.

Here’s a classic picture with me and my two older sisters Autumn (with the classic 1970’s tomboy cut), and Summer (with the braces). I was ten months old in this picture. Look at those ears!

The last one is of me at five months. You know, I’ve seen this picture hundreds of times but I just now noticed how cute the Snoopy pajamas are.

Well, thanks for indulging me on this trip down memory lane. I’ll see if there are any more pictures I can post to include anyone who may have been left out of this batch.

Posted by April at 05:15 PM | Comments (3)

October 03, 2005

Greener Rewrite

Based on the reviews I’ve gotten I’ve rewritten ‘Greener Pastures.’ It’s now in three parts and almost twice as long. I think it’s better than the first, don’t you?

And on a completely separate (and disturbing) topic: We drove past a garage sale this weekend and they were selling guns. At a garage sale. Nate wanted to buy one for my three-year-old nephew, but I thought it best to wait until he starts kindergarten.

Greener Pastures, take two

Ted and Belinda sat in the smallest of three conference rooms at Clarkson & Kent, one of the preeminent accounting firms in the city. Belinda, an angular and petite woman who wore her greying hair short and spiky, was in the process of explaining her company’s vacation and sick leave policies to Ted. Belinda was conducting Ted’s second interview for the position of Junior Executive Assistant, though she was distracted and disengaged for most of their conversation. Belinda found Ted capable enough but wasn’t genuinely concerned with what he said, nor did she press him for details.

The fact was she resented being placed in the position of interviewer in the first place. She hated doing interviews and this was compounded by the fact that Ted, or whoever else might be hired, would probably never see her again. Belinda worked as Mr. Clarkson’s chief of staff and was filling in today for Judy, Mr. Kent’s ‘girl Friday’ and Belinda’s workplace nemesis. Judy’s daughter was giving birth to her fifth or sixth child today and Judy was at the hospital. Belinda didn’t see why she should lose an entire day’s work conducting interviews for another department. Interviews that could have easily been rescheduled considering that the child was being delivered by c-section.

For his part Ted wasn’t paying attention to the interview either. He focused instead on his surroundings—every surface was smooth and cool: glass, concrete, steel, and exotic hard woods. Ted saw his reflection in the smoky glass wall behind Belinda and thought of how far he’d come since his humble beginnings as a receptionist for a plumbing parts manufacturer five years earlier. Then his “desk” had just been a folding table in the front of a dusty warehouse. There hadn’t even been a computer for him, not that he needed one. Ted had spent six weeks transferring calls to various branches of the plumbing company before he made up his mind to move on. He’d been moving on ever since.

After that fateful decision Ted spent his evenings embellishing his resume and e-mailing it to dozens of different companies, most of which he’d picked out of the phone book based on the size and quality of their yellow page ad. Eventually Ted landed another reception position at a small dentist office. It didn’t take long before he was disillusioned with that job as well. While he did have a computer the monitor was only eight inches, the program he used to schedule appointments ran on DOS, and there was no Internet access. Additionally, the dentist’s office was located in one of the poorer ethnic boroughs of the city. Ted wasn’t bothered by the ethnicity as much as the poverty. He determined to find another position and within a few weeks’ time he did.

The past five years had more or less gone the same way: Ted would get a job, soon grow to hate it, find another- presumably better- position, and quit his current job. He always made up a lavish excuse to account for his sudden departure despite his previous enthusiasm and excellent performance. For if nothing else, Ted always gave his best. Then he would begin his new job and start the whole process all over again.

Belinda brought Ted from his reverie when she stopped reading from her notes on the company’s 401k plan and sat up in her seat. She was glad the interview was almost over and sounded relieved when she said, “Well- do you have any questions for me, then?”

“Yes, actually. I’d just like to be sure there aren’t any questions regarding my ability to perform the job if I were hired.” Ted smiled confidently. He’d recently read this was the way to close a job interview and had been practicing it all morning.

Belinda’s smile was a mechanical reaction to Ted’s. If she had to listen to one more person use that line today she knew she’d explode. “No- I think we’ve covered everything.” Belinda stood and extended her hand to him, “Thank you for coming by, Mr. Robeson. You’ll be hearing from us soon.”

Ted shook her hand firmly, “And thank you very much for your time. Have a nice day.” He was still smiling as he left the conference room. As he passed by the people he hoped would soon be his colleagues Ted was pleased he’d decided to wear his Armani instead of his Brooks Brothers suit today. Clarkson & Kent was an Armani kind of place.

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“…And then he said, ‘No, mom- you go to church. I have to go home. There are things I need to do.’ Can you believe that? He’s not even three yet!”

Ted and Cindi sat across from each other at the sushi restaurant where they’d had their first date. Ted absently stirred wasabi into his soy sauce as Cindi recounted her nephew’s latest performance of ‘Kids Say the Darnedest Things.’

“Ted? Are you all right? You’ve hardly said anything all evening.” Cindi reached across the table for her companion’s hand but he withdrew it and straightened his tie as he cleared his throat. Cindi looked concerned and then sheepish when she suddenly remembered something. “Oh my god, how could I forget? Your interview today—how did it go?” Cindi reasonably guessed the interview as the reason behind Ted’s mood; poor thing was completely wrong.

“I don’t think we should see each other any more.” Ted cleared his throat again and took a long swallow of Kirin.

Cindi almost laughed but as she searched Ted’s expression her heart sank. “You’re not joking; you’re serious about this? I don’t understand…”

Ted sighed, “We have different priorities, Cindi. This would never work in the long run and I think it’s best if we just go our separate ways now because it will only be that much harder down the road.” Ted had rehearsed this and delivered it as though he really believed it—that it made him sad to say so but there was no denying the truth.

Cindi swallowed hard to keep from crying. “But you don’t know about my goals or priorities or whatever.” She dabbed the corners of her eyes with a napkin. “We’ve never even talked about the future that way. We don’t even make plans for more than a week or two in advance. What do you really mean?”

“I mean that when I envision my future, my life how I want it to be in five or ten years, I can’t picture you in it.” This part was true, though Ted hadn’t thought it out in exactly those terms before.

Cindi was a nice enough woman, and they’d had a lot of fun together—at first. Ted met Cindi the same way he met all his girlfriends, online. They met in chat rooms over a few weeks, graduated to phone calls, then dinner and, after an appropriate amount of time, to bed. It had been about six months since Ted and Cindi began seeing each other regularly and Ted had started to think their relationship might be different than those in his past.

But it had started again—the doubts, his acute awareness of her slightest faults. Like the way she pronounced favorite with only two syllables: FAV-rit. Or the way she talked about ‘When she was in college,’ like there were sororities and intramural sports at the technical academy where she’d studied to become a dental hygenist. The worst was the terrible question of why she insisted on spelling her name in that ridiculous manner and then correcting everyone who spelled it normally. Then of course there was the anxiety, the way his breath constricted every time the phone rang and it was Cindi’s voice on the other end. It was over. The symptoms had come later than usual with Cindi, he’d hoped it might work, but Ted had been through it enough times to know there was no denying the fact.

By now Cindi was crying openly and her eye makeup was disastrously streaming. Her attempts with the napkin only made the problem more evident. Ted was conscious of the other restaurant patrons’ attention even though no one looked directly at them. He called for the check.

“You know what, Ted?” Cindi pulled at each word between sobs.

He just looked at her.

“I always thought you were kinda weird, but I never would have taken you for a rat bastard.” She sniffled and grabbed the check as soon as the waitress brought it. Then she stood, trying her best to compose herself. Cindi could tell Ted was flustered she’d taken the check. “Cut the crap, Ted. I know you’re broke—you don’t need to pretend anymore.”

Ted watched Cindi pay for their meal at the bar and as she left he wondered if perhaps their relationship might have worked after all.

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Ted woke promptly at 6:15 am to “She Will be Loved” by Maroon 5 on the clock radio. Cindi’s favorite band was Maroon 5 and he tried not to think about her as he got up and poured himself a cup of coffee, grateful for small advancements in technology- the sort that allowed him to program his coffee maker ahead of time, having it ready as soon as he was. He sat at his desk and checked the weather report (for the third time), as well as the traffic conditions. Today was his first day at Clarkson & Kent and he wanted to be sure he would be on time.

As Ted drove to the office he thought about all the jobs he’d had and all of his relationships and was on the cusp of discovering a correlation between the two when he arrived and the issue left his mind instantly. No matter how things had been for him in the past he was optimistic that here he would feel differently, that this would finally be a position he could settle into. He might even meet a dateable woman here. The office was certainly nice enough. He waved to the attendant as he pulled into the underground garage and then took the elevator to the second-to-top floor. He walked into the offices of Clarkson & Kent at 7:45 on the nose. Ted was careful to arrive early for the first few weeks of any new job, wanting to make the best impression possible. He made his way to Mr. Kent’s half of the office to find his new supervisor. Ted smiled and greeted everyone he passed, impressed by how stylish and modern they all were. Everyone looked like they shopped at French Connection or Banana Republic; they could have easily passed for models in a catalogue. He was sure he’d reached his professional destination at last.

Ted was disappointed that he didn’t come across Belinda; he’d wanted to thank her again for the interview. He hoped Mr. Kent’s chief of staff would be as sharp as Belinda. As he came to Judy’s desk Ted’s optimism drained like the contents of a marooned oil freighter, poisoning a once pristine environment. Judy was middle-aged, wearing a cheap polyester pantsuit and garish floral print blouse. Her hair was badly permed and the most unnatural shade of red he’d ever seen. While Belinda reminded him of Annette Benning, Judy was Bette Midler at her worst.

Between bites of a fast-food breakfast sandwich Ted heard her speaking to someone on the phone, “Seven pounds, three ounces and fit as a fiddle. He’s just as cute as can be—takes after his mother, thank god.”

Ted was taken aback not only by Judy’s appearance but also by the obviously personal nature of her phone conversation, the dishevelment of her desk—or at least what he could see from beneath her breakfast’s greasy wrapper. There was a dying philodendron sitting on a bookshelf behind her and several dusty frames holding pictures of children that Ted imagined had been taken on special at the Wal-Mart photo studio. His displeasure must have registered in his posture because Judy finally noticed him standing before her.

Judy gave him a smile, revealing teeth of horse-like proportion, and said, “ ‘Morning- what can I do you for?”

That afternoon Ted spent his lunch hour with the classifieds and a highlighter.

Posted by April at 04:19 PM | Comments (0)