treefroggirl

I have a screw loose about how I see the world. Sometimes there is a bit of a Fellini movie running in my head. I’m like a fat Ally McBeal.

For example, a few years ago I was walking past Buckingham Palace and saw the guards with the guns and I thought, “There’s a way to commit suicide.” That thought led to an a scene in Stealing Gnomes that let me tick a few boxes for things I was trying to set up in the first ten pages.

SARAH: What did you get up to today?

ANDREW: Composed my suicide note.

SARAH: Proactive of you. Decided how you might do it?

ANDREW: Have a couple of ideas in the pipeline. The Anna Karenina.

SARAH: Horrible to do that to the train driver.

ANDREW: Thought the same thing. Plan B is the Virginia Woolf.

SARAH: Where are you going to get stones heavy enough?

ANDREW: Figured I would go to a garden centre.

SARAH: People who drown look dreadful after.

ANDREW: True. I’d hate to be an ugly corpse. All blue and bloated.

SARAH: Quite unseemly. I wouldn’t appreciate looking at that when I come to identify the body.

ANDREW: You’re right. I should consider your feelings. Besides, they’re both derivative. What I need is a whole brand new way of offing myself.

SARAH: I completely agree.

ANDREW: So I decided on Buckingham Palace.

SARAH: Sorry?

ANDREW: I’ll wait until she’s home. Standard flying. Put on a big fake beard and a rucksack with wires and flour spilling out of it. Rush the semi-automatic packing guards while screaming, ‘Down with the infidels!’

SARAH: It’s certainly unique. You’ll get into The Metro for sure.

ANDREW: But then I thought. . . What if they don’t kill me? They’d deport me back home. The U.S. wouldn’t get the satire. They’d think I really was a terrorist. They’d waterboard me. Strap electrodes to my genitals and make me listen to the Barney theme song.

SARAH: I’m shocked. Shocked. I can’t believe the Americans would ever torture anyone let alone their own citizens.

ANDREW: Easy tiger. So I decided rather than killing myself quickly, I would join Max and drink myself to death! . . .Sorry. . .

I am lucky that the darkness I carry around inside me is something I (usually) can turn around and use.

A year ago or so things were rather dim for me. Job wasn’t in a good place, marriage wasn’t in a good place, finances weren’t in a good place.  Of course things got better. They always do. And then. . . they got worse.

I was made redundant, marriage finally had its death rattle, I had to babysit small children. . . Then it got better.  It always does. I got a job back at Microsoft. The break-up has been very civilised, I’m going to be doing a blog on the MSN health and beauty page starting in January. . .

I know there is going to be another down slope again. I actually look forward to it. Well, that’s not strictly true. But I do try to remind myself that the fun part of the roller coaster is when you go down, not up.

Why am I talking about this?

A year ago, a friend of mine forgot that things always get better.

If you are someone considering crawling under the floorboards, please, pick up the phone, call a mate, call a hotline, reach out. . .

I’m not a religious person, but I’m lighting a candle for you tonight Barb, and a candle for all of us shuffling along in the dark.

I’ve had a couple of amusing job hunt moments the last few months which gives me great anecdotes for parties.

Scenario 1

The interviewer was South African. Not that there is anything wrong with that . . . However the accent made one of the questions he asked me even funnier in my head.

SOUTH AFRICAN INTERVIEWER: So, a lot of men work here. I’m trying to do something about that. But would have a problem? How would it be for you working with a lot of men?

I blink, control myself from arching my eyebrow and saying, “I’m sorry? What year is it?”

I smile. Tilt my head. Lean forward slightly.

NICOLE: I’ve always been a girl that enjoyed hanging out with the boys.

He liked that answer and we moved on to more appropriate territory and I ended up moving on to the 2^nd and then the 3^rd interview before I was rejected. It was in the 3^rd interview that the Sales Manager asked me an interesting question.

Scenario 2.0

SMILEY, GLOSSY BIG TEETH SALES MANAGER: So, Sales. We promise the world to our clients. You know how Sales is. (We all laugh. Yes, we all know how Sales is. The bastards.) The thing is, sometimes we can’t do what we promise. I need to know that you’ll be strong enough to push me back. To bring me in line. Can you do that?

Normally this question might not have stuck in my head so much because he’s right. Sales does promise the world to clients when sometimes you can only take them to Lands End. People like me are the ones that get to then deal with the customers ire and wrath while Sales gets to do the tequila shots. But given the earlier question from his South African colleague, it felt like he was also asking, “Are you going to be able to deal with the stress sweetie or are you going to be a big Girls Blouse.”

While I, yes, those that know me, know I can be a big crying girl, I also can pull out a very strong personality who does not suffer fools or assholes (see be a big bitch) when she is needed. I however did not say that. It didn’t seem to be a selling point at a place with so many men.

I smile. Tilt my head. Lean forward slightly.

NICOLE: I’ll be able to push you back.

They ended up going with a man that had worked at Google. Damn Blasted Google. Damn blasted man with his blasted penis that will be able to push Smiley, Glossy Big Teeth Sales Manager back. As it were.

Scenario Trois

Interview for the Department store where I start tomorrow.

I’m being interviewed by a twelve year old. When he asks me a question and it starts moving organically into a give and take conversation, he will catch himself, look startled and then will frantically refer back to his notes as a safety line.

YOUNG MAN: So, a lot of young people work here. Will that be a problem? Will that be a problem for you working with people that are so much younger than you?

I blinked, controlled myself from arching my eyebrow and saying, “Go fuck yourself.”

I smile. Tilt my head. Lean forward slightly and explain that in New Media there are a variety of ages that I had needed to collaborate with and that it certainly would not be an issue for me.

It goes without saying that all of these questions were utter rubbish, but they’re crap not for what you think they’re crap for.

Each of these questions was a closed question. Each could be answered with a simple yes or no. And while I answered truthfully, how do they know?

Little hint for people out there doing interviews . . . if I may steal something from my former employer. . . ask competency based questions. Questions that are composed around a specific competency that is key to the candidate succeeding in the position and that force the person being interviewed to demonstrate their success in that competency.

Example: Instead of: “Are you going to be strong enough to push me back? Ask: “Tell me about a time when you had to tell a colleague that they were giving the client unreasonable expectations of what you could actually deliver.”

I promise you it will be a much more interesting interview, you will be able to glean if the candidate is actually the right man. . . err person for the gig and avoid a HR violation while you’re at it.

It’s a funny thing when you are out of work. People ask you how the job search is going. They usually lean toward you, nod and look serious when they are doing this. They know that you don’t have a job because you did, you would have jazz-handed into the room, “HEY! I HAVE A JOB!” And yet they feel compelled to ask because it is the polite thing to do. They have lines that they need to play. You have lines as well.

FRIEND: How’s the job search going?” (FRIEND nods, and frown half smile grimaces in a, “sorry to hear you got fucked in the ass when you weren’t expecting it, but I’m sure once you get over the initial shock it must not be that bad” sort of way.)

ME: Yeah, you know. It goes. Just trying to get out there.

FRIEND: That’s all you can do.

ME: Yep. Yep, yep. Something will turn up.

FRIEND: Yes! (They say this with relief and a smile and hope the conversation will turn to something cheery like the Holocaust.) And you know, everything happens for a reason.

ME: Yes. Yes it does. Sometimes it’s a bad reason, but yes. It is a reason.

FRIEND: Ah, you! Aren’t you funny! Ha! And you should be so happy you’re not at X because of Y. We all are jealous actually! We wish we were made redundant!

ME: Ah, you!

(We laugh with just the slightest edge of hysteria. Me because I am out of work and my friend because they are very serious when they say they wish they had been made redundant.)

What’s interesting about this is that they are right. I am happy to not be at X because of Y but it is so incredibly exhausting – the looking for a job thing. The not knowing how cold February will be.

Because I am a pragmatist, I have taken a part-time temporary gig at a big department store which will help my remaining savings stretch that much further. I start Tuesday. It’s a great company and I’m really pleased that I have gotten the gig as in the past my pragmatism has meant I do telemarketing.

I also have an interview Friday that I am incredibly excited about and I am hoping that my excitement does not jinx it. From what I can see thus far, if I were to be asked, “what is the sort of corporate job that would excite you?” This is it.

I’ve jinxed it haven’t I?

Job hunting. The job hunt. The hunting for a job. Perhaps I will get a big stick and start beating people.

That is a joke of course, if you are a prospective employer concerned about my mental health. . .

Hello.

Ok. I’m back.

Lots has been going on… finished my play. It doesn’t suck. Friend of mine gave it to their agent at William Morris. We shall see.

Got fired.

Well not fired. Redundant. I am one of the 5000 people that was let go from Microsoft. Is all good. I’m not freaking out just yet about finding a new gig, but I have scheduled a nervous breakdown for later.

Yesterday was my last day.

Very strange.

Anyhoo, I have nothing but good things to say about the company and that’s not just because I will be signing a compromise agreement.

Three years ago I had a lot less grey hair. . . but I had a lot less people that I considered friends.

For your reading pleasure, here is the goodbye email I sent…

When Microsoft first told me that they were suggesting that I spend more time with my family, my first thought was, no. . . No! They can’t. . . This isn’t. . .This can’t be happening to me. . . Where else am I going to hear funky groovy conference call hold music?!?

In order to assist in my withdrawal, I’ve watched this video a few times:

<br/><a href="http://video.msn.com/video.aspx?vid=723f1933-9397-49e4-b73c-9433dfbef700" target="_new" title="Microsoft Conference Call ">Video: Microsoft Conference Call </a>

I may just randomly call in to the number. You know. for fun.

I am also not sure how I will survive without the occasional global reply all email strings.

“Please remove”
“Don’t reply all when you ask to be removed.”
“Remove me please”
“Come on people. Don’t reply all”
“Why am I on this alias? Remove me.”
“WE WORK FOR A TECHNOLOGY COMPANY!!! DON’T REPLY ALL”
“What’s your problem? I love all these emails. I feel so popular. No one usually speaks to me. I’m so lonely.”
“Everyone. EVERYONE. In the entire WORLD- The World. Literally. Not just Redmond – EVERYONE – Even Liechtenstein is getting these e-mails. Stop. please.”
“I don’t think it is stylistically correct to write ‘e-mail’ any more. Isn’t it just ‘email’? No hyphen? Just wondering.”
“Yeah, I wondered about e-mail v email myself. Let’s have a meeting to discuss it.”
“Please remove me from this string but I would love to be part of the E-MVEM project.”
“Great work everyone for seeing the need for the E-MVEM work stream!”

If you would like to include me on those strings so I don’t feel left out, my home email is:

But seriously folks. . . well. . . let’s not be too serious. . . It’s been fun. (Mostly.) A big thank you to all of you. You are all superlative people to work with. (Well. Except for you. . . Yes, you.)

If you are in London and have braved public transport during the tube strike, please come over to the Phoenix for a drink or five.

Thanks again,
xxxxxxxxxxx

Nicole

Sent from my iPhone

Yes I have been away for a while.I blame twitter. And I blame that there are a lot of things going on that I want to talk about but isn’t blog appropriate.But the main reason is, I really haven’t wanted to.However, I have been wanting to a bit more lately, so here we go.So what is up with me? Not a whole lot. Sorry. Am boring. I am trying to finish this blasted play and I have organised a reading for when I am in LA in April to force me to finish the blasted play. I may change the title to BLASTED PLAY. I think I have a stress rash on my arm. Either that or I have suddenly become allergic to our laundry detergent. Or it’s ring worm. Or skin cancer. Or an alien has buried under my skin and is feeding on me until it bursts out of my body wrecking havoc and mayhem upon the residents of London. My grey streak that only I knew about for years has become much thicker lately. I have been letting it go. I’m not sure if I like it or not. It’s too small at the moment to be a cool Bonnie Raitt streak but too much that it does not go unnoticed. I’m not sure what to do about it. I have spent a lot of time thinking about this.What do you think? Should I dye or should it go?  

After eight long years, the Bush nightmare is finally over. I almost can’t believe it. I hope that there is an inquiry into the abuses of power, but I’m not holding my breath.

It is now time for you to crawl under a rock George. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.

Perhaps I am the only person that will find this funny… but here is a line I just wrote.

MAX: Save me. Our kitchen is full of very serious people seriously discussing serious subjects like Kierkegaard and what are the deep hidden messages in the lyrics of Whiter Shade of Pail. I’d kill myself but they’d think it was an act of Libertarian philosophy.

This is the third year that I have participated in Project Mayfly. Essentially reflect on your life in the last year and describe it in 24 words.

Diet, drank, diet, drank.
Play started.
1988: 20 Years?!?
Travelled too much.
Writer’s Block: end?
New (real) President.
Play: found end.
Hope, love,
safe(?)

Sean, an old work mate of Stuart’s had an long lay over in London today so we thought we would take him for a walk along the South Bank so he could see a bit of London.

Sean has lived in Canada for over 20 years but before that his family was from Iran and he has dual nationality.

We took the tube to Vauxhall and walked toward the bridge. Stuart pointed at a modern, would be innocuous if not for the 50 million security cameras all over it building.

“That’s MI5.”

“Really?” Sean said.

“Yep.” Stuart said.

Sean pointed his SLR camera at MI5. “Can I take a picture of it?”

“Sure.” Stuart said.

“You sure?” Sean said.

“Yep.” Stuart said.

Sean took a picture and we continued on our way toward the Thames path.

A police car with lights on passed us, stopped and backed up several feet. It parked, lights still blinking.

“Wouldn’t it be funny if they were stopping us for taking a picture?” Sean said.

“Yeah, it would be.” I said.

Two policemen exited the car and walked briskly toward us. Cop the First was tall and blonde and had a non-descript English accent. Cop the Second was short and brunette and sounded like an extra on East Enders.

Each had handguns holstered to the top of their thigh.

“Do you know what that building is?” Cop the First asked.

We looked at each other like it was a trick question.

“MI5.” Stuart said.

“Why’ya tayken’ a-picture ov it’thn?” Cop the Second asked.

We looked at each other again like it was a trick question.

“Because it’s MI5.” Stuart said.

Cop the First and the Second reviewed the pictures on Sean’s camera and were satisfied that we were not intending to blow it up in the future even though Sean was carrying a rucksack and had a dark complexion.

“Are we not allowed to take a picture of it?” I asked.

“Oh, you’re allowed,” Cop the First said, “but we don’t encourage it.”

While we were allowed to take a picture of MI5 and we weren’t doing anything wrong, they did fill out a little citation detailing our tête-à-tête (for our records) although they kept saying over and over that this was as far as this would go and that our information would not be entered anywhere and we had nothing to worry about.

Nicole rolls her eyes inside her head, but smiles and nods at the Policeman.

When asked for his address, Sean gave them his Canadian details. He said later he considered giving his Iranian passport to see what they would do.

I must admit, both officers were very polite and friendly. If you are going to get randomly stopped for taking photos of buildings, they were the men for the job.

So if you get out the tube at Vauxhall and walk toward the river, on the right is an unmarked building.

You are allowed to take a photograph of it.

It is however, not encouraged.

Ralph, a friend in Vegas wrote a lovely post about Barb.