Monday 22 March 2004

Too damn hot

Hot hot hot hot hot hot ... it is way too hot to think, let alone move more than between the sofa (with fan directly placed and at full speed) and the fridge for more ice-cubes. 

Hot hot hot hot hot hot ... too damn hot (Jules goes off into reverie seeing self as Anne Miller in Kiss Me Kate and the "Too Damn Hot" number ... mmm groovy ... but ack the sweat'd be just pouring off and that costume would prickle something awful and no ... just too damn active).

I love summer, really I do.  Just that days in a row of 40C sap the life out of you; you can't sleep properly (especially when the cocksucker of an air conditioner is still motherfucking broken).  Tuxedo isn't handling it too well at all; he can't get any sleep at all and is looking a bit blue around the eyes.  Poor baby.

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The boy has been having some luck on the job-search front lately; he's getting quite a number of job interviews for good jobs - that is, jobs that he would like, that he'd be a perfect fit for, that would make use of his huge skills- and experience-base.  Not just a job for the sake of a job.  We're keeping our fingers tightly crossed, naturally; it would be amazing if he was offered one.  But I try not to think too much about that, and take the view that its a fantastic and most reassuring sign that he's getting to interview stage in this highly competitive job market.  It means he really is up there with the best of the best, that his cv really is that impressive, that potential employers are interested ... from here on in, I reckon, its only a matter of time.

He's good in interviews too, I can tell.  He gets his message across - that he has the skills and experience, and then some.  That he's an easy guy to work with.  That he'd be a valuable addition to a staff.  And all without showing off ... just stating facts and maybe being a wee bit self-deprecating, a glimpse of humour, but not overdoing the false modesty.

Its a fine line to walk.  I always did well in interviews - in fact of all the interviews I've had I probably ended up getting the job 80% of the time.  This probably has a lot to do with the fact that by the time I got to interview stage with an application, I was damn sure I wanted the job and it was the job for me.  That attitude may be contagious, I dunno.  I tried to be relaxed and composed in interviews, but ready for a giggle.  I wasn't over-modest but did take every opportunity to strut my stuff by using examples of work I'd done, situations I'd been in, systems I'd developed.  Practical stuff, not meaningless horn-tooting. 

I do know I came across as far too nice and sweet - hell, I was far too nice in the working environment.  Forget nice, I was a fucking doormat.  I'd do anything to prove I was up to the job - even when the work was piled on and on and I was doing work at levels way higher than I was paid, I kept being nice and going for Ms Superwoman of the Century Award.  Talk about an inferiority complex ...

I reckon if I was to have a job interview tomorrow, things would be a little different.  Oh I'd be as relaxed and composed as possible, I'd tell the interview panel what I could do without reservation.  I'd also let them know, in a subtle way, that I wasn't about to take crap from anyone; I didn't do office politics and gossip and wouldn't tolerate it under any circumstance.  I'd find out if the workplace had a decent vibe and a corporate sense of humour and if they didn't?  Fuck that job.  My priorities have changed a lot since The Abattoir days, and the environment/demographic/culture of the workplace is much more important to me now.  Also, I'm not so insecure and inferior anymore as to die trying to prove myself, beyond the call of duty, to a bunch of twerps. 

New rule of thumb:  One works to be able to live and have fun; not live to work. 

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The PUMS are heading off for a few days down south (Yallingup, I believe) which leaves Tux and I with a free house - wheeeeee!!!!  The usual routine will be adhered to; lots of noisy afternoon sex in every room in the house; lots of delicious meals cooked by moi; lots of unaccustomed quiet, deep peace and tranquillity.  Siiiiiiigh.  Maybe a boozy party or two ...

As is standard procedure, Mum and Dad have been behaving as though they were heading to deepest darkest Africa for twelve months; the fuss and preparation is laughable (well, Tuxedo and I have had to choke down giggles on a few occasions).  Mum has written up a list of instructions for watering the lawn, different sections of the garden, individual pot plants, how/what to feed the dog, what night the bins go out ... All tasks we do regularly anyway and we have looked after the house while they've been away before.  We don't know yet if their plans for Europe in May/June will come to fruition (looking highly unlikely at the moment) but the prospect of the level of angst and preparation, and instruction manuals, is somewhat frightening.  Also terribly amusing, I have to admit.  I am a bad bad child.

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