Can anyone explain to me all these people who want me to work from six to six, Monday through Saturday, for one hundred dollars a week? Not even "plus living expenses"--they expect you to be paying your rent, food, etc. On that amount.

That is less than two dollars an hour.


Also, they do not want me to discipline the children, but they want the house run, as far as I can tell, with military precision.


Just, what. Who let them have kids?

So one of the nanny agencies I am signed with? They came up with a family almost perfect for me. They live HERE. Which means that I could maybe stick around the summer for my godson to be born and get SPOILED ROTTEN by me. (I am so TORN, y'all. I so badly need money, and would like to try living somewhere that is NOT HERE, especially if it is near people I am dying to meet, but...the BABY. He is coming in July and how can I not be here for that? Of course, this is probably largely moot anyway because nobody has offered me a job.)


So naturally I was very excited and flailed a lot and sent them a very proper and enthusiastic and professional cover letter, targeting the concerns they had named in their listing, etc. etc.


And then I realised my internet had been lying to me about not connecting, so I had in fact sent them my very professional message, uh. Six times. *FACEPALM*


GOOD THINGS:

~Intelligent, good-looking boys who compliment me on my alliteration (literally, how cute is that?)

~Jeeves and I have achieved naptime detente! Also his mum and I have discussed expanding our possibilities for morning activities which is nice.

~Wooster is totally blissed out by his swing.

~I am writing about Shane and Brendon going to Disneyland with the Uries

~Maybe the nice family will forgive me? The nice thing about working for people privately is they are more likely to be forgiving of unprofessionalism like...well, like mine

( TWH meme )

In other news, money being a wee bit tighter than I'd like, I'm very happy to say that I've got a chance at a second one-hour-a-day, five-day-a-week job, and another chance at a two-or-three-hour-a-week job (that one practically confirmed.)

My sister has a friend at work wanting to switch daycares, but needing one until seven-thirty or so, so what we're thinking about is I'd close with the kids there, take 'em to their place, maybe start dinner. It's only an hour, but she'd be paying me probably ten bucks (time and gas), which could make a big difference, fifty bucks a week.

My dad's company wants someone to lay out their newsletter, so I would be doing that plus I'd get SHINY LATEST ADOBE LAYOUT THINGY on my computer, which makes me happy.

Job-hunting is the terror of the gods.

Except that they are gods, and can put things like "omnipotence" on their resumes.

Also, they are rarely fired.

Perhaps it is only the terror of mortal beings like me.

But I am terrified. I've been doing it all morning.


In other news, I spent the weekend dutifully watching Sakura. Here is the result: I still don't think much of Anime as an art form, but I will admit that the story actually managed to be intriguing by the end, and that I became fiercely attached to one of the characters. Before he turned out on the side of the angels, thank you. Therefore, I pronounce the series mediocre...not horrible, perfectly tolerable, but certainly not something I would bother ordering off E-Bay.

And my baby boy deserves to be something more than an Anime character. *snuggles Syoran*

Mostly it was amusing because of the (no less than three) incestuous pseudo-stalker relationships. Nobody seemed to have any trouble with having undying romantic love for their cousins, and there was a positively abnormal amount of videotaping people. I found that part highly amusing, but then I am twisted. And the main love interest throughout the whole thing was so sensitive and sweet that I was sure he would turn out to be gay, and then it turned out that he was a supernatural being so I thought, well, that explains it, and then he turned out to be gay after all...*clutches head*



Gram is gone. She died Saturday morning...two days after it was expected. The funeral should be Wednesday or Thursday, giving her twenty-something grandchildren and however many of her seventy-something great-grandchildren as can make it time to get here.

I'm still mostly in my uncomprehending state that--I've discovered in the last year and a half--is always my first reaction to death. Either something will happen to snap me into reality or when I see her at the funeral it'll hit me. For now...I'm a little sad, but mostly it's not real.

Thanks to all of you for your support and sympathy.

Quickly updating from library, where the web actually works.

One: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO OUR DEAREST BOY HERO.

We love you. We will ALWAYS love you.

Well.

Unless you take leave of your senses and shag Voldemort, or something.


TWO: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO OUR DARLING GODDESS-WOMAN.

We love you. We will ALWAYS love you.

Well.

Unless you stop writing.


Three: HI, everybody!

Four: I look good in a wifebeater. This shocks me. I was feeling all masculine, in that and loose shorts, playing with tools and hanging saws on walls, but nonetheless apparently I am very feminine in a wifebeater. *smug grin*

Five: I know there was something, but I have no clue what. Hmph.

I LOVE YOU AAAALL!!!!!!

Oh, wait: my current job is lost, and I have to go back and find a way to take my HP essays off its computer. Oh, dear.

*waves to eyesofgreen* One of those essays will help with the jargon, I promise!\

Yes, yes, librarian lady, I know you're closing...

USF was gorgeous. Good friends, good theatre, and--

I bought a sword!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The most Hufflepuff sword ever. Its official name is the Friar Tuck short sword--it has a priest on it--the sheath is yellow and black--I could go on and on. I will post many close-ups when I have developed my film. *snuggles sword* It needs a name, though.

The plays were excellently done, although all but Taming made me heartily agree with TC's assessment of the Bard.

Get back, all tired and happy. Get to work--my assistant has made a hash of my organizing system. She always does, but usually I'm here and I can straighten her out. She's excellent at the part of the job that she does--she does the actual processing very quickly. However, the part of the job that I do, the organizing/cataloguing/shipping of files--she does not and will not understand my very basic system. She comes off as a model of efficiency and makes me look like a bloody idiot, wasting company time. I have a stack of files as high as my head--no, I'm not exaggerating--to straighten out, re-record and catalogue, pack and ship. ALL she had to do was NOT take files from specific, CLEARLY LABELED stacks, which has been the rule since before she started helping me, and leave me a list of those that she did take from the correct stacks, which has been the rule for a week and a half. She didn't manage either. *h2k*

So much for the good mood that was supposed to leave me in. *sigh*

Tonight belongs to TC and Molly's fic. This I swear. Molly, if you do not have it by tomorrow morning you may air-mail me a bomb. Or bribe the twins to torment me for three weeks.

This morning has been all ERRORERRORTECHSUPPORTERROR
ERRORSTRIKEANYKEYREBOOTERRORERROR, so I'm a bit annoyed. I finally gave up in disgust and went to lunch. Thank goodness, when I got back, it was all better. ^_^

I can't remember the name of the high priest of Io--Mustrum Ridcully's brother. Can anybody help me? ETA: Never mind. Thanks, shaycaron!

Re-reading Althalus (*grin at Crystal*) and enjoying it much. I do love Leitha.

Listening to my villain songs collection. Thinking of expanding it--any recommendations, people?
( (Currently I have: )

ONE WEEK TO SHAKESPEARE FESTIVAL! WHOOOOO!

This randomness brought to you by a fairly good mood and the lunatic Lu.

Cheers!

ETA: P. S. Apparently LJ has taken the same prejudice to my e-mails that it has taken to several other peoples' so I may not have received all comments. I am not deliberately ignoring you, I promise!

Actual quote from my answering machine message for Amy yesterday:

"Hey, it's me, I just wanted to check, it is seven tonight, right? Just call my cell, leave me a message, I'm at work. Also, one other quick question: Why is it that I keep being asked out by men over thirty with a combover? Thanks, I love you, bye."

Apparently Amy's mother overheard this message and cracked up.

But yes, people, it's true. He was thirty-eight. He was half-bald with a combover. I told him I was eighteen. I told him I had a steady boyfriend. He still asked for my phone number. (After telling me he was supporting his live-in girlfriend and all about his problems with her.) And guess what? He also told me about his experiences picking up girls on the public transportation. Why can't normal men within seven years of my age be attracted to me???

While I was fending off flirtations, I was also lying my butt off to people in South Dakota. "Hi, we here in SD know that my candidate's opponent is an evil, awful woman. Vote for Larry!" And dangit, if I were South Dakotan I would probably be supporting this Herseth woman! I really, really wish I could afford to have ethics about this.

But then I went to Amy's to watch RotK. And it was cheering. It was all about the commentary, baby. Humor and "ohprettyboy" both. Amy and I have decided that we are very attracted to almost-dead people, except Merry and Frodo. But Pippin because, well...Pippin is always pretty. And Faramir...like the only time he is pretty is when he is being Pumbaa. Also my lovely Aragorn has a nice neck, but Frodo's neck is not pretty at the top. Each of us has her own special boytoy but we're sharing Sam because, we cannot deprive the others of him. *weeps for Sam some more*

I spent today surrounded by well-shaped men wielding sharp blades. My right arm muscles are sore and growing.











( Now that you've come to your own conclusions... )

Parental problems already in place (I've been home for what, three days?); the drive was long but fine; it's lovely seeing people again; homecomings are a lot quieter when there are more guys than girls there; arguing philosophy and religion with Chase is like arguing ship with a Pumpkin Pie Person.

I am going to die when I finally have time to catch up on the flist and updates--which probably won't be until I get the web on my own computer, as my parents have apparently decided that the web is the root of all evil and I should not be allowed near it. I was lucky enough to get approval to update my journal, so you would all know I wasn't dead, but...that was about it.

More later. I miss and love you all.

My sister's best friend, Elisabeth, is a nanny for a family. Two girls, plus a boy and a girl part-time. Occasionally, when she's been busy, I've babysat for them. Addie, the older one, likes me, and Meg (less than a year old, still) is an absolute doll. The best-behaved baby I've ever worked with, and very very sweet.

Apparently Elisabeth is being fired. And they want ME instead.

I don't know how to react to this. I mean...on the one hand, dream come true, I love those girls, I've always wanted to nanny, they pay very generously and the hours will be flexible.

On the other hand...I love Elisabeth. She's a good friend to me and one of the best things that's ever happened to Jen (my sister). And I'm benefiting from this...and she doesn't even know she's being fired yet. They told JENNY before they told her (how unprofessional is that?)...arrrgh.

I can't quite celebrate because I hate that this is happening because she's losing her job. And it's not like she wouldn't be fired if I didn't take the job, or that she wouldn't be happy for me...it's just hard for ME to be happy for me.