I'm calling BS.
The idea of a "consolation prize"? That's bullshit.
I'm working my way through the interviewing process these days, and it can be kind of exhausting. I have yet to hear anything back from the interview I went on last week, but I have decided something: I'm celebrating either way. Either I will celebrate because I've gotten the job (paneer tikka masala! a nicer bottle of wine than usual! PINK HAIR!) or I will celebrate because I tried my hardest and had some valuable interview practice (paneer tikka masala! a nicer bottle of wine than usual!). I will not issue a consolation prize. I will not need a consolation prize. I will not need consolation, dammit.
Because I will be proud of what I have done, whether that has resulted in a job or not.
So there.
Sunday, 15 June 2014
Thursday, 12 June 2014
"Finnegan?"
I'd looked through the house, under chairs, on the bed, Preposition Noun, you name it. No cat.
This was a problem. The cat is a strictly indoor cat, despite his clearly expressed wishes. I had been gone for five hours, so if he had gotten out, he could be pretty far away.
"Finnegan? Gins?"
I was wandering around the yard, call for the cat. Some people would consider this a complete waste of time-- and it would have been, with some cats. But not this cat. This cat comes when he is called, 99% of time.
"Finnegan?"
"Mew."
"Gins?"
"Mew. Mew! Mew."
"Finnegan. Cat. Where are you?"
"Mew mew mew mew mew..."
I looked around. Under the deck? No. Behind a bush? No. Behind me? No. The mews were coming from...
Up?
My eyes followed the sound. There was a cat on the roof. (No, not a hot tin roof. Just a shingle roof.)
"Mew?"
"Hold on, Gins. I'm going to get a ladder."
I ran to the garage, purple bathrobe flapping, grabbed the smaller of the ladders, and rushed back to the house. I snapped the ladder into place, and clambered to the top. Finnegan crouched on the edge of the roof, peering anxiously over the edge. Reaching out to him, I pulled him gently toward me.
"Mew?"
Cat safely cradled in my arms, I reversed down the ladder, brought him inside, and served him a bowl of his favorite food.
Then I put on my dress and shoes, and headed out the door for my interview.
Just your average day.
I'd looked through the house, under chairs, on the bed, Preposition Noun, you name it. No cat.
This was a problem. The cat is a strictly indoor cat, despite his clearly expressed wishes. I had been gone for five hours, so if he had gotten out, he could be pretty far away.
"Finnegan? Gins?"
I was wandering around the yard, call for the cat. Some people would consider this a complete waste of time-- and it would have been, with some cats. But not this cat. This cat comes when he is called, 99% of time.
"Finnegan?"
"Mew."
"Gins?"
"Mew. Mew! Mew."
"Finnegan. Cat. Where are you?"
"Mew mew mew mew mew..."
I looked around. Under the deck? No. Behind a bush? No. Behind me? No. The mews were coming from...
Up?
My eyes followed the sound. There was a cat on the roof. (No, not a hot tin roof. Just a shingle roof.)
"Mew?"
"Hold on, Gins. I'm going to get a ladder."
I ran to the garage, purple bathrobe flapping, grabbed the smaller of the ladders, and rushed back to the house. I snapped the ladder into place, and clambered to the top. Finnegan crouched on the edge of the roof, peering anxiously over the edge. Reaching out to him, I pulled him gently toward me.
"Mew?"
Cat safely cradled in my arms, I reversed down the ladder, brought him inside, and served him a bowl of his favorite food.
Then I put on my dress and shoes, and headed out the door for my interview.
Just your average day.
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