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I always tell people I'm the subject matter expert of nothing because by and large, that has been the formula for my career. I always know a little about everything and enough to be dangerous, but never enough to be considered an "expert" in anything.

As far as experts go, I do feel like I've learned plenty about the dos and don'ts of interviewing. A lot of this expertise comes from having made my own rookie mistakes, but in recent years, it also stems from my experience as a hiring manager and the "interesting" people I've met and accidentally hired through the interview process. So, without giving up the names of any of these fine individuals, I give you these useful tips on how to kill your interview. I guess I'll let you decipher what I mean by "kill" in this context.

Be Punctual. Anyone who knows me is laughing their ass off right now that I would even have the audacity to provide such advice. Let's be honest here; I'm not on time for anything. Ever. I've arrived late to weddings, funerals, my own law school graduation ceremony, classes, doctor's appointments, to work like every single day, and yes - job interviews (plural). I fondly recall the time I arrived late to a job interview that was scheduled at a small local diner where I was to have breakfast with my interviewer; a nice attorney who was actually considering hiring me to be an associate for their three-person personal injury firm. I was late because just as I was leaving, my stupid cat vomited all over the living room floor. We're talkin' big chunky vomit with snotty brown bile on light beige carpet. Like any horrified human being who knew she wouldn't be home for another ten hours, I quickly cleaned it up as best as I could manage with less than five minutes to spare. By the time I got out the door, I was flustered and already late. And, like any imbecile who hasn't yet experienced enough job rejection in her life to learn a lesson, I felt inclined to let my interviewer know exactly why I was late and that I just had to take care of that mess because who wants to come home to all that dried nastiness?...and then yeah, we proceeded to eat breakfast together. (I ordered oatmeal because nothing really grosses me out after having worked in a nursing home.) Needless to say, I didn't hear from him ever again and I do not chase ambulances for a living.

Less than a week later, I interviewed for a summer clerkship with one of the big law firms in downtown Minneapolis. Of course I was late and because the combination of "chronic tardiness + Asian + woman + automobile = disaster," this story did not have a happy, gainful-employment-kind-of-ending either. As I drove up the parking ramp, I either under- or overestimated the right turn into the ramp and scraped the shit out of the passenger side of the car. I frantically parked, ran into the building, hurled myself into the elevator and tore into the conference room where I informed my panel of interviewers - yes PANEL - what I just did to my car and that I was "real sorry" for being late. God, it is a wonder I am employed at all. The moral here is "Even if you can't be timely for most things in life, for the love of all things good, allow yourself ample time to get to a damn job interview." NEXT...

Q&A. We're all familiar with the stupid clichéd questions that hiring managers will ask during the interview like, "How would you describe your greatest weaknesses?" or "Tell me about a time you overcame a really difficult obstacle," or "If you could be any fruit, which fruit and why?" Personally, I try to avoid the clichés because I think these questions are predictable and I expect that prospective candidates will already have bullshit fake answers prepared that I don't want to hear anyhow. So quite frankly, I'm just going to cut to the chase and ask you very pointed, basic questions that really get at what I want to know.  Here is a sampling of my questions followed by examples of shit I really wouldn't suggest you say to me if you want to get hired:

Q: "So, what motivated you to apply for the position?"
A: "Convenience, really. I hate driving all the way across town to get to my current job. Also, downtown looks fun."

Q: "What would you say is your biggest challenge in your current job?"
A: "Probably...(pondering thoughtfully) being organized. I'm not good at keeping track of things and can be a little scatter-brained at times."

Q: "What is it about this position that interests you most seeing as how you have never worked in a compliance role before?"
A: "I am really interested in the compliances." (etc. etc. more stupid, etc.) Note: There are a lot of words in the English language that are not made plural simply by adding an "s." There are many examples in the animal kingdom, such as deer, fish, moose, mouse, goose, etc. What's even more frustrating is that there are words that can't form plurals at all. "Compliance" is one of those words. If you add an "s" to it, the interview is automatically and immediately over.

Interviews are just as much about the candidate asking questions, too.  Here are some of my favorites:

Q: "How much vacation time will I receive with this position?"
Q: "What do the bonuses look like for this level of job?"
Q: "Do I have to be here every day or can I work from home?"
Q: "How much does this position pay?"

Here, dumb ass, let me answer all of the above for you. "You will have 365 days of vacation, but unfortunately for you, you will have no spending money coming from us to enjoy yourself. But, as an added bonus, you can be home every day for all I care because we're not paying you ANYTHING AT ALL. Best of luck to you, my friend."  NEXT...

Be a good listener. When the hiring manager is introducing herself, it would be nice if you'd be patient enough to let her finish her introduction before interrupting. I mean, what is wrong with you? I need all of 32 seconds to tell you who I am and you can't STFU long enough to humor me?

It's also important that if during the interview, you come to the horrible realization that you don't actually understand a goddamn thing about the position, that you find an intelligent way to ask some questions and learn more and that you actually listen to the explanation.

OR...you can also let the hiring manager know that "whoever wrote this thing [the posting] didn't do a very good job because this is really vague."  I mean, chances are probably high that the hiring manager had nothing to do with the scripting of the job posting, right? Wrong. Yeah, I wrote that job description.  I customized it because the general job descriptions written by our HR department are in fact vague and say nothing about this actual job. I pretty much spelled it all out for you. NEXT...

TMI. There's that fine line between showing your sparkling personality yet maintaining an air of professionalism. There are certain things you should probably forgo sharing about yourself in your first interview, such as your gruesome physical ailments, your bizarre personal hobbies and how you got fired from your last position, but it really wasn't your fault because the manager was difficult and doesn't deserve to be alive. Stuff like that. Keep it to yourself. NEXT...

Look the part. You really can't take things for granted when it comes to basic common sense and making a good first impression. I'm not shitting you, but people have shown up to interviews with me looking as follows:

• Man in a trench coat buttoned up to the top and tied around the waist. He never removed his jacket. I swear he was naked underneath. I wanted to ask if he was clothed, but that's not an appropriate interview question.
• Woman with crazy, ratted hair and smeary raccoon eye make-up. Since this was an early afternoon interview, I assumed she'd just come from a most incredible nooner. 
• Young woman with sheer blouse...and white bra. Ladies, white under white. You may as well have worn a neon bra. Taupe, while completely un-sexy, will easily remedy walking about in public like your bra is on the outside. I'm typically not one to stare inappropriately, but COME. ON. Throw me a bone here.

On second thought, I'm having a moment of self-reflection here and thinking that I really should revisit how I draft a job description. Clearly, I'm attracting the wrong candidates. Epiphany noted. NEXT...

Gratitude. There's nothing I like more than receiving a lovely little thank you note after an interview. Quite frankly, I expect it because I'm a stickler for old school formalities. I'm even cool with an e-mail because after all, that's how peeps communicate these days. Even if an interview is poor, it's like the candidate's final Hail Mary pass at redeeming himself. That being said, however, if you do have a shitty interview, you should avoid saying things like this as part of your thank you:

"Because of the interview formalities, there was without doubt, a mild sense of awkwardness from all parties and I certainly hope it does not become the focal point in your review assessment."  [and....end quote]

Whoa, whoa, wait a second. WHAT?!?!? Did you just call ME awkward? Interview formalities? Mild sense of awkwardness? Oh yes, there was awkwardness, alright. There was that pivotal moment when you screwed the pooch and we all knew it, yet you kept asking question after question in a valiant attempt to resuscitate your chances at getting this job. I'm sorry, kind fellow, but you need to get back on monster.com and keep giving it the old college try.

And with that, I invite you to apply for my open position and come have a delightful interview with me. You can decide how you want to "kill it."

"I will sell this house today. I will sell this house today..."

I knew that when we listed our home for sale in late May, it would be an exercise in patience. You may be thinking, "Wait a minute, I thought you sold your house already?" Well, we did. In fact, the first day we listed it, we had an offer within about four hours. My eternal pessimist knew that offer was just waaaaaaay too good to be true because quite frankly, it was too good to be true and I really don't feel like re-hashing the details of its demise because a) it was infuriatingly stupid, b) the buyer was an unreasonable douche, c) my life never works that easy and d) it was infuriatingly stupid. But, to make a long story short, the buyer canceled because she was/is completely leotarded. (P.S. I hope the house she eventually buys has a latent termite problem.) At any rate, this was not one of those gratifying sort of "I told you so" moments.

So, here we are, back on the old MLS again. Showing activity has been relatively plentiful and we still have ample time before we're scheduled to move into our next place in November. Eventually, "the one" will stop by and fall in love with it, but until then, I'm doing my very best not to smother Brent with a pillow in the middle of the night because you can only imagine how unbelievably uptight he has been throughout this whole process. GAWD. Okay, we all know we're talking about me here and not him, but admittedly, we're both getting tired of keeping this place showroom clean and the minute we have a confirmed buyer, all three of us are going to mess up all the toilets in a colossal way and not clean them because it will be beyond liberating.

This whole selling process reminds me so much of why I can relate to Annette Bening's character in American Beauty, which is hands down one of the best movies ever. I've expressed my feeling of kindredness with her character before, but usually in the context of her completely awesome mental breakdown scene.  At any rate, I'm something like this as we prepare for every showing, except we do not have a swimming pool and if we did, you can bet your ass I'd have it looking like a tropical oasis.

In the meantime, I know our story will eventually have a happy ending and not an American Beauty ending. Our house will sell and we'll finally move into the home we've been dreaming of all our lives. Brent will likely not get popped in the head by a deranged teenager and I have no plans of sleeping with Buddy Kane, the "King" of real estate, though if we get desperate enough heading into October, well, who knows...

Just humor me for a second...

My colleague and friend, Leah, explained the significance of a tattoo on her wrist that I'd never seen before. That spurred a conversation about tattoos and though I think tattoos are pretty awesome, I'm so non-committal about things, I don't see myself ever getting inked. Also, I'm not a huge fan of needles or pain and I get tired of things really quickly. I could see myself regretting the tattoo after about a month. (Maybe that's why people get the ol' tramp stamp? Out of sight, out of mind?)

This is just for the sake of nonsense, but you MUST choose from one of the following tattoos. Again, if you want to participate, you must choose from the options below. If you don't like this game, well too bad - it's my game and I said so, so just pick something and move on:

1. A little tiny swastika in the middle of your forehead (just an itty bitty one)
2. Two or three tear drops near your eye (left or right eye; like I care, it's your face)
3. The famous "cat butt" tattoo
4. The phrase "Meaningful Chinese saying" in Chinese on your mid-lower back
5. Your current significant other's name in any visible location
6. A giant "W" on each butt cheek

I think your choice will say a lot about you.  These are your only options.  If you choose something else, you're just not following very basic instructions and that signifies that you're a loser.  Thanks for playing.

Like a Boss!

At dinner tonight, Caleb asked me, "Mom, are you a boss?" I replied, "Yes, I suppose so," though I'm really not a fan of the word "boss" because I immediately envision someone sitting behind a desk barking orders at people and just acting, well...bossy. I'm not ruling out that I'm like that, but I like to think otherwise and I guess it's not up to me to be the final judge on that one. (Co-workers, feel free to weigh in. I'm a big girl; I can take it.)

Anyhow, Caleb continued to ask if as a boss, I "get to fire people."  I explained that while terminating someone from a job is part of being a boss, it's never fun because generally people's jobs mean a lot to them and losing one's job puts people in a difficult position (even if they played a role in losing their job, which usually they do!)  The obvious footnote here is when people don't care about their job because they've just won the Powerball or they're just apathetic and well, quite frankly, I try to not hire people with that kind of lousy attitude. In other words, letting someone go is part of the job, but it is neither fun nor is it a privilege. In all honesty, I've never once enjoyed letting someone go.

Caleb showed me what kind of boss he would be given the opportunity. This first picture is him sitting behind what can only be his giant mahogany desk someday.  Note the feet up and arms in the relaxed position, but the "boss scowl" that puts everyone on notice that he means business.

This next picture is his best "termination face."  More specifically, he is yelling, "You're $%*ing fired!!  Get out of my office!" (He didn't actually swear when he played out his little simulation, but let's be honest - this kid is going to have a filthy, filthy mouth one day.  We all know that to be true.)

Look, I don't know where he learns this shit because I certainly do not come home bragging about firing people, nor have I ever let someone go in such a heartless, cold manner. For starters, I reminded him that he'd better start toeing the line at school and stop getting yellow, red and blue card flips for behavioral mishaps or HE'S going to be the one on the firing line. As his parents, Brent and I will continue working on that, but we should all hope we don't end up working for this little tyrant one day.

"Back to school, back to school, to prove to my dad that I'm not a fool..."

Caleb's perception of Mr. Vetsch, his elementary school principal:

"I don't really ever see the principal. I think Mr. Vetsch is in his office watching the news and eating banana wraps all day. Sometimes he pauses his shows and stops eating his bananas to make some announcements, but then he goes right back to the TV and his banana wraps." 

Who knows if this is accurate or not, nor do I have any idea what a banana wrap is, but today was probably a big day for bananas and very unfortunate news. For this reason, let me offer you this somewhat random distraction from today's events.

If Caleb is anything like me, he will see the principal's office soon enough. Having a child in elementary school reminds me of some of the more inexplicable, embarrassing and strange memories I have from my early adolescence. Here is a small sampling:

Pass the glue, please.
Remember those little bottles of Elmer's paste? Don't ask me why, but I remember eating an extraordinary amount of that paste in kindergarten and genuinely liking it. I scooped it out with a tongue depressor or my index finger and just ate it for no good reason. (I was fond of the glue, too and would readily eat that if it was within closer reach.) I do NOT; however, remember learning anything useful in kindergarten. I'm sure I wasn't reading until sometime late in 1st grade and I certainly wasn't learning a foreign language. Could've been the paste and glue consumption, but I don't remember doing much of anything except making shitty crafts, napping, playing and singing songs.


Labels are important.
There was this 6th grade picnic at Alexander Park to celebrate the end of the school year and the end of "elementary school." It was a Friday. I distinctly remember it was a Friday and here's why. 
Earlier in the year, I had received a simply adorable package of "Day of the Week" underpants. After a while, I wasn't all that strict about wearing Monday undies on Monday and so on an so forth and on this particular day - a day when someone decided to "pants" me down to my ankles in front of several of my classmates - I was wearing the Sunday undies. I was thankful that the school year was mostly over, followed quickly by a long summer break with a transition to the junior high school, because by the time fall rolled around, most people had forgotten to tease me about my alleged failure to change my underwear on a regular basis.

At any rate, I think this traumatic event is a reason for my obsessive attention to detail and why I refuse to wear undergarments with any sort of distinct labels or markings. Plain and non-descript is the way to go if you're looking to get an extra day or two out of your drawers, folks. 


Some nuns are evil.
At first, I labeled this paragraph "Nuns are evil," but broad generalizations are unfair and I do recall a kind nun or two from my brief two-year stint in Catholic school. Unfortunately, it's the mean ones that really left a mark, both figuratively and literally. I won't delve into all of the events that led to these nuns taking out their pent up, hostile aggressions on me, but I remember certain nuns grabbing me with their sharp talon-like nails and leaving marks in my arms, yanking me by my ear lobes and doing other things to humiliate me like making me sit behind the classroom door for time-outs. Seriously, what the hell? Is that what they used to teach nuns in the nunnery? No wonder I gave up Catholicism for Lent one year and never turned back. 


My whole class was a giant asshole. 
This memory is actually just one gigantic recollection that spans from about the 4th through the 6th grades and really implicates my entire class at Washington Elementary School. Any Washington Elementary alums reading this are free to either agree or disagree, but I distinctly remember us making a few teachers completely lose their shit (Mr. Jaeger, Mr. Gora, Mrs. Knack, Mrs. Holmblad). I also recall a physical altercation between some of the students and the poor principal. Mr. Burgdorf, rest his soul, must have taken an unprecedented break from the news and his banana wraps that day, but I won't ever forget that incident and thinking, "Man, this class is a real bunch of assholes."

(Note: I looked all over for a 6th grade class picture.  No luck.  Anybody have one?  Send it to me, please.)


I'm going to abruptly stop here because I'm tired and well, it's my blog, so I will stop whenever I damn well please, but I do hope Caleb has some normal memories of his childhood. I'm also grateful that Elmer's has largely done away with old school glue and paste in exchange for glue sticks. (They taste horrible, too.)

Good night!

Warning: TMI

I have a habit of ending up in rather deep personal conversations with people on a regular basis and I am often times surprised by how quickly these conversations erode to a level that is not only juvenile, but downright disturbing (albeit hilarious).

A common theme will typically involve some discussion of bodily functions as just one example. If discussing such matters is beneath you, well - steer clear of me. Pooping and farting are absolutely on the table (no, not literally, you dumb ass) for open debate and discussion. Yes, there are aspects of pooping and farting worthy of debate and that may even be controversial. Not controversial in a "guns don't kill people, people kill people" sort of way, but more lighthearted in nature, of course.

Like earlier today, I chatted with a distant colleague and friend who I've known since kindergarten about bathroom etiquette in the office. He had just exited the men's room feeling somewhat embarrassed by his failure to hold back a sudden "splurge" of uncontrollable #2 and was sure that the other man in the restroom was likely grossed out. I told him I thought guys were kosher with this sort of thing in the men's room because quite frankly, my boss' office is right on the other side of the men's room and damn, I've heard some of the horrifying sounds that have reverberated through that wall. No one appears to be holding back anything and I'm eternally grateful I can't associate those sounds with the faces of my male counterparts around the office or I'd never get anything accomplished at work ever again.

I went on to explain that my perception and experience is that most women will play the waiting game with each other and try to outlast the woman/women in the neighboring stalls until they have the place to themselves. I've personally played this game before and have sat on the can doing essentially nothing while I've waited for the woman next door to just get the hell out of there. If you "win" the game, you might get a full minute or two to yourself where you can quickly do your business and carry on with your day like a proper lady who never poops.  If you "lose" this game, you walk around feeling and looking like you might burst all day long until you get home where you run inside and well, explode with relief. At any rate, he thought this was really fucking weird and that I'm weird and in researching this more, I've come to learn this is an actual condition and it is shared by both men and women, so there.

Okay, wow, TMI? Yep. I sure didn't start this post with the intention of sharing all that. In fact, I meant to reference a different conversation I just had about 20 minutes ago that started on the topic of relationships, men and women, and dating and somehow concluded with us discussing clown porn. For the record, search Google for "clown porn" and go to the images. What the living hell is wrong with people? If I die and anyone looks at our home computer, I guess I will take full credit for all of the demented search terms in our Google history to spare Brent the shame of having to admit he was curious about clown porn. I may as well because I wouldn't be here to care or defend myself anyhow. I did; however, find it suspect how quickly it auto-filled the search. Hmmm....

Looking back at the beginning of this post, I did initially mention that I often get into deep personal conversations with people. So fine, the two conversations above don't seem to fairly represent what I mean, but rest assured, I've had very meaningful conversations with both of these people. I can't help that both of them share the common thread of being psychologically disturbed. Yes, I'm definitely blaming this on a shared coincidence between the two of them and not some other common denominator, like me being part of both those warped conversations.

Denial is good.

Freud surely has better things to do.

Hello blog.  I didn't forget about you.  I've just been feeling blue for quite some time and have had nothing to say that hasn't been depressing or angst-ridden.  I think this funk is clearly the result of this miserable winter that will not end.  Or maybe it's the recent series of unanticipated events that led to mass destruction within our home or the never-ending list of unfinished tasks at my job and the perpetual feeling of being behind on everything all the damn time.  It could be any of these things, but when I feel this way, I have no desire to leave a mark here because being sad is boring.  Being boring sucks. Sucking at stuff sucks and I hate sucking at stuff.

Speaking of boring, that reminds me of a dream.  Which dream?  Like 97% of all my dreams actually.  My dreams are excruciatingly boring.  I have shared the following dream with a few people, but here's an example of just what I mean by "boring."  So, I'm at Cub Foods.  There's a sale on tangerines.  I know this because there's a sign above the tangerines that says "SALE" with a reduced listed price.  I grab some tangerines, throw them in my cart, pick up a few other items and proceed to the register.  The cashier rings up my tangerines at full price, which I immediately question and then we proceed to have a cordial debate over the sale sign and whether it's intended for the tangerines or the oranges.  Both of us make good points about the applicability of the sale, but I feel I make more compelling arguments about the confusing placement of the sign seemingly equidistant between the tangerines and oranges and that from the angle where I stood when I was in front of the fruit section, it was closer to the tangerines, which also makes me wonder about the real difference between tangerines and oranges...

If anyone completely tuned out for that entire paragraph above to go do something else like floss one's teeth or close the window entirely, I wouldn't blame you in the least.  The sad part is that I left out a lot of the finer details like the listed sale price and that the sign was mysteriously suspended above the fruit in mid-air and what I provided above were actually "the highlights."  If you loop that sequence of events 39 more times and slow it down so that each time it happens it takes about 15 minutes, you'll have some sense of what it's like to be in my dream state.  Seriously.  I wake up and wonder why these dreams can't even have something crazy going on off to the side.  Like, why can't the cashier be someone famous, hot and naked or why can't there be some circus clowns performing lewd acts on a goat by the popsicles (or with the popsicles)?  Something, anything.  I know the demented, twisted potential of my mind so these dreams are painfully weak and just unacceptable.  Subconscious, throw me a freakin' bone here.

I can't actually remember the last time I had a dream that was even remotely interesting. When I share my dreams with Brent, his typical reaction (if he can even stay with me long enough to endure the lame details) is "Well?!?" and I confirm that actually everything I described above with the orange and tangerine sale confusion was "it."  I don't even get full closure for christ's sake.  I just keep going back to the miserable tangerine display and throwing a few tangerines in the cart and the same boring sequence repeats itself over and over and over until the alarm goes off and it's time for actual life shit to get real.

I like to think my conscious life is more interesting than how life plays out in my dreams, but lately, life has felt like nothing more than a tangerine sale at the grocery store except all the tangerines are rotten and infested with larvae.  When we return from next week's vacation in Mexico, I'm hoping the sunshine will restore my mood and I can resume blogging with some energy and enthusiasm.  In the meantime, I'm sort of tired now and I'm craving an orange.  I hope there's a good sale tonight.

Sweet dreams and think spring, everyone...