i am literally crying, i’m laughing so hard
I was going to blog about something completely different, possibly some more about why the Supernatural fandom is awesome, but then THIS showed up on Facebook.
WE HAVE SHIPPERS!
The sad thing is, as one of those Americans who would be poking the already poked hornets nest, I totally get it. It’s hard to fall in love with something outside of your ‘world’. Doctor Who, Sherlock, Cabin Pressure - all British things loved by Americans, all seeming to require fan fiction written by Americans who are trying their hardest to nail something completely foreign to us. (Wow. That came out weird. Fuck it. I’m leaving it as is.) A lot of what’s out there is not brit-picked and as my most recent experience proves, finding brit-pickers is hard work. Finding beta readers are just as hard… So we try.
I’ve googled, Mapquested, and otherwise used every avenue available to ensure that I get as much right as I can, but it is hard work. I’m starting to wonder if the other side has it easy. Throw some nonsense words together. Talk about New York, maybe Boston, possibly something on the west coast like LA. Lather, rinse, repeat.
OK. Enough about that…
Tuesday ended up getting kicked in the nuts after all.
We were doing so well, Tuesday and I. Brilliantly, in fact. (Too much Cabin Pressure. See?!?)
And then it went and fucked it all up.
1) Still no word about the industry job.
2) The cost job has gone *poof* - they stopped talking to the recruiter. (WTH?)
3) And the oddest bit of all:
I applied for a full time job at this company I found on my own. Three things happened with this company:
a) I applied for the job because I found it on Monster. It was close to home. Skill set was in my wheelhouse (Fuck me. I hate business speak.), and it paid what I need it to.
b) Jimmy the Pimp calls to tell me they’re hiring a temp, possibly temp to perm, because they’re desperate right now, and would I be interested. I say, why not. Then it dawns on me that he can’t help me out because I’ve applied outside of his company. (He wouldn’t get a commission because they could argue that he didn’t place me. His company doesn’t play that game. I can’t say I’d argue with them…)
c) Tony the Pimp calls me with the SAME EXACT position. Temp to perm, etc. I tell him that I sent them my resume on 6/6. He tells me he doesn’t care. He’s the owner. He’s OK with waiving the placement fee if they take me on.
So, I applied for a job, and haven’t heard squat from the company. Now I have a recruiter pushing me on them. It’s odd, happy news, and frustrating all at the same time. Plus, I have to tell Jimmy the Pimp that he got screwed by the other headhunter… *sigh* FML.
And in other, other news…
I have been FREAKING OUT about the GORUCK Challenge. I’m not sure I’m strong enough. I’m not sure I’m in good enough shape. I’m frightened that I’m going to be the weak link and responsible for any extra “good livin’” our team may require. It’s not a good feeling.
It’s mostly mental - if you can shut up the voices in your head and become a team, the PT is supposedly not that bad. SUPPOSEDLY. Guess who is not in a healthy enough place to get the voices to shut up?
Yep.
July will be hot, too. I don’t do hot. My father enjoyed sweating like a pig… I don’t. I’m assuming I got that from my mother, because my father would wait until he sweat off a thousand pounds before going in the pool. During the summer, when my mother got overheated, the first thing she did was run to the pool. (Not one of her worse traits, so I guess I’m OK with it. But still…)
I’m going to try to grab J and head to the beach early one morning. EARLY. Like pre-tourist early so I can get used to being submerged with the ruck on. And get used to the cold water. And get used to being soaking wet. And find out how long it takes for my moisture wicking clothing to wick away the moisture. I suppose I can go to the boat launch around the corner… but again, that silly fear of something happening to me while I’m alone is pretty powerful.
That may be the worst thing about growing up an only child. Not having a built in buddy makes life hard when you’re little. My mother was infamous for not letting me go anywhere alone. I mean ANYWHERE. I was driven to different neighborhoods if she had to leave before the bus so I could wait for the bus with other people. And this happened well into the pre-teen years. We moved out when I was 14/15, so probably I was 12 or 13 when she finally stopped.
Then again, it’s not completely her fault. My father had one child and that child was a female. The cop in him always wanted to make sure I was safe. He gave me a lot more freedom, but I also got a lot of lectures on “Stranger Danger”... always be aware of your surroundings, try not to go anywhere alone if you can help it, really try not to walk anywhere at night unless you’re in a group.
It’s funny. My first birthday after he died, I took off for London. I stayed there a week, completely alone, and had life worked out, I would have spent some time with a guy I met over the internet. Yep. Alone in a strange city, in a strange country, with an even stranger MAN. Dad would have shit. Repeatedly. As it was, I’m surprised he didn’t return from the dead just to kick my ass for going on this trip.
I was almost pick pocketed while heading back to the hotel, but I saw the guy in the reflection of a window and was able to stay safe. I walked alone through the Piccadilly area one night and this guy grabbed me out of nowhere. He worked for the HRC (got a business card to prove it) and wanted a picture of me in my hat. He was with a group of people, but it was painfully obvious that they were all gay and therefore not a threat.
I can walk around a strange city, by myself and not feel one bit of fear, but leave me alone in my very safe neighborhood and I’m afraid to leave the house by myself. Age? Bipolar? I don’t know, but whatever it is, it’s a bit not good. (And there’s a Sherlock reference.)
OK… since I worked out this morning, today’s gone off the rails and I need to get back on track and start looking for a job.
*sigh*
