So sayeth Apple. They’re going with candidates with more Apple peripheral experience than I for the holiday, but they’re going to call me after. So my job now is to learn as much as I can in the next two weeks so that I am better prepared. I’m an idiot to not have gone in there more prepared. But I can only learn from my mistake.
At least for now, I’m collecting unemployment, and we can go see my SIL and family up in Syracuse for Christmas.
on the Apple front. G says I’ll hear from them on Monday. We hopes.
We went to my mom’s tonight for Chanukah (yeah, I spelled it like that. You spell it whatever way you want.) to spend some time with her and her boyfriend B, my brother and his wife, and their gorgeous daughter, Léa. I had my camera with me but forgot to take it out, she was that captivating. We had a tea party, and she kept feeding me chips with a spoon (“mo’ tsips”). If you asked her for a “bisou” she’d come and plant the tiniest kiss on your cheek. G noticed that she’d say something in English and then repeat it in French. “Two” then “deux.” She had trouble with “ice cream” but none at all with “glace.”
For dinner we had my mother’s famous noodle kugel (ohmygoditwasfuckingdelicious) for which I need the recipe. We had the ubiquitous latkes, and flank steak, and then this dish that one of her residents suggested; asparagus with heavy cream, cheddar, and ham. Really fucking good. She gave each of us couples a 400-piece jigsaw puzzle “made especially for you featuring an extract from the US Geological Survey map base centered on your home. The jigsaw covers an area of 4 miles north-to-south and 6 miles east-to-west.” Your home is at the center, and the centerpiece is shaped like a house. Wicked cool, and I wish I could link to it, but the website returns an error. There are two email addresses on the back of the box, hopefully one will work for those of you interested: In the UK, sales@mapmarketing.com. In the US, orders@historicnewspaper.com. Visits to both of those sites led nowhere useful; perhaps email will. I don’t know how my mother found it, probably a catalog. I’ll take a picture of the puzzle one it’s finished.
I guess they’re finally broadening their horizons. (That’s Martin Mull in the background.)
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On this day: Something old, something new… 2006
The first one that stuck, anyway. The first one of which I got pictures. Here’s the view from my upstairs bath off the master bedroom, of our miniscule back yard:
And here’s from the front door, of our porch out to the street.
It stayed very cold all day, we kept the fire fed, and G made a delicious gumbo for dinner. We watched the recorded Lighting of the Rockefeller Center Tree (everyone except Josh Groban was lip-synching), and Heroes. I can’t barely wait for tonight’s season finalé!
“…Monday Monday, it was all I hoped it would be…”
At 1:30 pm I will be in my second interview with Apple. With the manager. Who was the one who told me to apply for the job. Squee!
And by Monday, our curtains will be up, our two Christmas trees bought (Penelope and Pablo) and decorated, and the fall garlands removed from our front porch and possibly even winter garlands put up in their place.
In other news, I can’t access the NaBloPoMo site to post my last post. Fuck! Oops, now I can!
EDITED TO ADD: The interview is now Tuesday at 1:30 pm. Which blows the title of this post, but hey.
At 8 pm tonight at the Danbury Fair Mall, I had a job interview. With Apple. Well, with one of their representatives, anyway. They’re hiring for a new position: Personal Shopping Specialist. Basically, I’d get paid to do what I do best, convince people that they reeeally need what I’m selling. With aplomb. They’re trying to hire people that look like their buying public more, that resemble their customers. Someone like, me, say, instead of an 18-year-old boy-thing. I said that I probably never thought of Apple as a place to work since the field was mostly dominated by men. They’re trying to change that image. I hope it starts with me. I’ve been a proponent of all things Apple since the tender age of twelve, when we were the first people on the block with a computer, the Apple II+ in 1979 (yes, that makes me VERY OLD INDEED). I’ve long considered an Apple logo tattoo, and if I get this job, I just may do it. I certainly don’t need Anil Gupta to do it, but just maybe I will, make it all shiny-like. Or with knitting needles crossed behind it, to show off my loves. Even though I knit with circular needles. But I digress.
To digress even further: our email was down for about five hours earlier, from three to eight pm; if you sent me something during that time, please send it again (everything bounced).
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On this day: Finished Priscille’s Poncho 2006
Jack is our GPS, a Garmin Nuvi 660 little box o’ wonder that I have found myself loath to live without. And he is missing. I love his little voice (or big voice, when he’s plugged in to the stereo) that tell me that I’m still going the right way. He comforts me. Reassures me. And now he’s gone missing. With me driving to Danbury Thursday night after work. I need to get there in the 44 minutes that Google predicts, or I’m busted. I could just make the appointment for 8:15 pm, just in case, but that sounds idiotic. I was asked to provide times for which I was available, and I gave 8 pm as one of those times. I better hie my ass out to the ninth-floor parking lot and hope for no traffic or accidents. I’d also better call ahead and ask about the best place to park. I’m not familiar with the Danbury Fair Mall, have been there on more than one occasion, but not in recent times. I could always do a dry run tomorrow night or Wednesday, but that’d mean getting home really late. As Charlie Brown was wont to say, “Good grief!” I’ll set G to looking for him (Jack, not Charlie Brown), since G was the last one to use him.
Tonight was our Thanksgiving redux, replete with grilled turkey, stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes with cheese and sausage, pumpkin soup, and pumpkin bread. Everything except the bread (which I baked) was made from scratch. I can’t say enough about the stuffing. I’m a stuffing fiend, going so far as eating StoveTop for dinner, plain, when I was single. I’m lucky enough to have a husband who really puts everything he has into the dishes he cooks. You can taste the love with every bite. Joining us at our groaning table were our friends Josh and Tony, my sister, Carolynn, her husband, Tom, and their son, my adorable nephew, Zeke (in case you forgot what he looks like, here he is).
We all ate way too much (I have my nutritionist tomorrow morning, what an idiot girl am I?) and enjoyed each other’s company, and in the end, packed up all sort of leftovers to take to friends (I may feast on stuffing alone yet again!). The Clementines I picked up for dessert weren’t as sweet as I’d have liked, but edible. I’ll have another before bed, perhaps.
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On this day: Still good 2005
First, let’s get the adorable kin pictures out of the way. Here’s Léa, manhandling her apple pie á la mode:
And little Zeke, slurping on his daddy’s head:
Both youngsters were delightedly well-behaved. Léa even had some of G’s delicious Cheddar Soup (almost everyone else had seconds). We got home around 7 pm to re-watch the parade, since I missed seeing Hello Kitty Supercute and my sister informed me that she was definitely there. Meredith Viera even commented on her appearance, wrongly pointing out “her signature right-side bow.” If you’re looking at her it’s on the right, but it’s on Kitty’s left. Idiot wasn’t even paying attention. Oh well, she’s in the parade, that’s all that counts. I got all stupid and choked up watching the Rockettes and the marching bands. Why do I do that? A good day, all in all.
A few things to be thankful for:
My snoring husband, because this means that he is at home with me, lying next to me in our king-size bed with kitties akimbo, and is slumbering sweetly and peacefully.
The internet, for bringing friends to my virtual door.
My family, without whom I wouldn’t be as fucked up as I am, making life much more interesting.
Blogs, which a lot of the time, feel like group therapy, which in real life, I CANNOT STAND, but online, feel much less creepy.
My expensive medication, which is a lot less expensive than it used to be thanks to my new job and a fabulous pdoc who gifts me with samples, and allows me to live something like a semi-normal life. I’m striving for normal. I’ll get there someday.
My new job, which aggravates the shit out of me because they want me to be manic. But I have a job to aggravate me, and therefore, a steady paycheck with benefits.
Espresso. ‘Nuff said.
Tigger, who wakes me up at 5:30 am to pee by smacking my face, without whom I would not be here.
Pye and Harry, who have the awesome power to simply be and that is enough to make me smile.
Life is hard. Wear comfortable shoes.
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On this day: Thanksgiving morning 2005
So I’m driving home from work, the late shift tonight, after having gone to the stupidmarket to pick up some last minute necessities (organic scallions, mayo on sale, Vermont cheddar, cat food and treats, Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Blue Point Hoptical Illusion, and diet soda), and I’m about four minutes from home, when I see, through the thickest fog, flashing blue-and-red lights up ahead. There are the kleig-style lights also, overhead, and a H.E.L.P. truck with its yellow flashers running. Eight police cars in total, halting traffic on both sides of 9a, Staties and locals alike. I roll down my window for the grey-uniformed trooper and ask what’s going on. “DWI check, ma’am. Have you had anything to drink tonight?” “No,” I tell him with a tired smile, “just got off work.” He tells me to go ahead to the next officer up ahead. Same questions, this time from a County police officer. Same answer. Next comes the local blue uniform, same questions, posed a bit differently. Same answers here, and he tells me to “go on home, now.” I think it’s a bit early in the evening for a DWI check, but hey, people like to party hearty up here in the sticks, and 11:20 is as good a time as any.
Pulling up to my house, there are no less than five Peekskill Police cars up and down my street, careening around corners, meeting each other in the middle, chatting, then pulling away. I park and start to unload my five bags of groceries and a fresh-faced young officer drives up and asks if I’ve just pulled up. Yes, I tell him. “You didn’t hear any gunshots, did you?” GUNSHOTS?!? “No, I kind of had my radio up.” I quickly unload my trunk, panicking as the cop drives away, knowing that G is sleeping upstairs already. I look both ways, squinting into the misty black, then bolt for the house, trying not to bang my way up the stairs. Both arms are laden with plastic bags as I fumble my key into the deadbolt and slip into the house. I gingerly drop the bags in the hallway, then stretch to kill the porch light, avoiding the sharking cats at my feet. Gunshots. In my neighborhood.
And now for something completely different. Hello Kitty is going to be in the parade tomorrow! G’s set up MythTV to record it in case we get up late.
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On this day: I feel positively great! 2005
