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Interviewing Tips

3/22/2019

 
I’ve been on a few job interviews lately, and I’d like to share some insights. If you’re new to the job search world, you’ll get lots of advice on what you should or should not do. In my state, if you’re on unemployment, you might have to attend some mandatory classes, like Interview Strategy Techniques. Here’s what I’ve learned:
 
Do not trim your bangs right before an interview. If you’re like me, you let your hair go too long between haircuts, and you don’t realize how shaggy and ridiculous you look until you step out of the shower and start prepping your appearance for that big interview. Some important things to remember: this is not the time to try and fix your shaggy hair. Also, if you have curly hair, it looks longer when it’s wet, and you don’t know which way the curls are going to bounce up that day. The result? One chunk of too-short bangs amid an otherwise even hairline across my forehead.

 
I did not get the job.
 
Do not try something new with your makeup right before a job interview.  In the aforementioned mandatory class, the instructor said, “Remember powder? If you powder your face and put on a little rouge, this is a classic look, and will make you look younger.” I did not look younger. I looked like a clown corpse laid out for viewing.
 
I did not get the job.
 
Do your research. If you get contacted for an interview, go on the company’s website and take a crash course on their history, their mission statement, and recent news and events they’re highlighting. I went on a job interview for a content writer position, and did not do the ever-important Google search on them prior to interviewing. The third question they asked was, “Have you ever sued an employer?” Yikes. Turns out they had four lawsuits pending.
 
I did not want the job.
 
Expect the unexpected. I applied for a position as a communications writer with one company, except during the phone interview, it turned out they were actually looking for an event coordinator. I do not coordinate events. I’ve done it in the past in a volunteer capacity, though, and spoke to that experience while thinking, Yes, I planned this event, and hated every moment of it. It’s possible that lack of enthusiasm came through in my interview.

 
I did not get the job.
 
Don’t let the negative voices in your head have the final say. I’m a big believer that everything happens for a reason. I was not meant for that event coordinator job. I knew it. They knew it. And that’s okay. There are many other jobs out there, and some of them are things you would absolutely love to do. That enthusiasm will come out in your interview. And hopefully, the people interviewing you will ignore your poorly trimmed bangs and see what a great fit you are. If they don’t, well, then your perfect job is still out there.
 
You’ll get the job.
 

Picture
Classic look, my fanny.

Silly Cat

3/15/2019

 
I have no blog ideas today. Instead, I give you a video of our cat, Wednesday (and yes, her brother is named Pugsley) protecting the kitchen from a deadly enemy: the sun, reflecting off the refrigerator door.

Enjoy!

Gardening in New England

3/8/2019

 
It's March, and snowy, and thus the perfect time to contemplate whether or not to do a garden this year. I'd like to pretend I have free will, but unfortunately, growing plants is buried deep in my genes.

My family tree on my father’s side is blooming with green thumbs. Naturally gifted with the superhuman ability to spot stinging nettle at a hundred paces, and also born with the knowledge that said stinging nettle is terrific for treating arthritis, gout, stomach upset, and anemia in cows (and probably humans, too, Dad says), the Longos were destined to make their living off the land from the moment they got on the boat in Italy, setting sail for America. 

What the Longos do not have is a decent sense of direction. Hopelessly geographically challenged, the Longo fate was forever sealed when my great-great- grandfather, Giuseppe Longo, got on that boat bound for Ellis Island thinking it was a charter to Oahu. When he stepped onto the pier in New York in the middle of December, his dreams of becoming a successful pineapple farmer should have withered and died right then, carried away by an icy blast of negative-six-degree wind. But no: Giuseppe was not a quitter. Instead of trying to find another boat to take him somewhere warmer, old can’t-find-his-way-out-of-a-paper-bag Giuseppe had the bright idea to walk south. He and his wife Josephine hit the road, immediately heading northeast. 

They ultimately collapsed on the side of a meandering dirt path somewhere in central Connecticut. “I hate it here!” Josephine declared. “The soil’s rocky, it’s so cold I can’t feel my face, and the pineapple will not grow here, my darling.” (Josephine was a loving, yet sensible, old bird.)
“Then we shall raise Holsteins!” Giuseppe announced. “Holsteins love cold weather and rocky ground. Look over there, Josephine: a whole field full of stinging nettles covered in snow! Welcome to our new home.”

Unfortunately for Josephine, divorce was not widely acceptable back in the eighteen hundreds, and she was stuck. She helped tend the farm, and bore Giuseppe many, many farmhands—er, children—who were forced to join him in his passion of having a successful dairy farm. 

Was it successful? Eh.

What it did have was a lovely garden, thanks to Josephine. She watched the weather and tested different seeds in the soil, and soon intuited what plants would thrive, and which would die horrible deaths in their new homeland. She had some false starts, mind you (rest in peace, bougainvillea brought all the way across the Atlantic in Josephine’s loving arms, only to turn black and disintegrate less than a week in the new world), but soon, she had a lovely mix of flowers and vegetables surrounding their shack, from petunias and peonies to bell peppers and radishes. Josephine toiled every day in her beloved garden, coaxing buds to bloom, weeding away the stupid stinging nettles that threatened to take over the peony beds by the hour, lovingly flicking away the green worms that dared to place a single horned foot on her blushing tomatoes.

Then a freak frost hit in early August, killing everything except the nettles.

Should you even bother trying to grow a garden in New England? 
​

Eh.
Picture
Can you spot the tomato plants in this picture?

Snow Day

3/1/2019

 
​Living in New England is, quite frankly, no fun. Winters are tough; I’ve got three different friends online right now talking about their seasonal depression. All live in Connecticut. This depression comes about due to lack of sunlight in the winter season, and from living in Connecticut. 
 
This winter arguably hasn’t been bad in terms of snowfall. I think the local school system has had maybe one snow day, which is probably a new record. What we have had, however, is more typical of New England, and significantly more dangerous: sequences of days in which it’ll snow on Monday, heat up to fifty degrees on Tuesday, then drop to negative temperatures Tuesday night so all that melted snow will turn into a sheet of ice.
 
I’m not making that scenario up. It happened two weeks ago. On Wednesday of this aforementioned week, I stepped onto my front stoop and immediately slipped. My first thought was to protect my back, so I cleverly broke my fall with my face. Now I had a fat lip and a cut chin. I’m in the middle of a job hunt right now, so of course, as soon as I stepped back inside, I got three phone calls requesting I come in for an interview that day. I landed none of these jobs.
 
I won’t make that mistake again, I decided, but winter had other plans. Two days ago, it snowed again. Then temperatures rose, snow started to melt, and things were looking good. Not so fast, winter said. Temperatures plummeted, turned the yard into a hockey rink, and then winter put the final touches on its devious plan: it dropped another half inch or so of snow, hiding the ice beneath.
 
When I stepped outside this morning, I was feeling optimistic. The sun was shining, there was plenty of coffee in the pot, and a new month meant spring was just around the corner. Two steps out of the house, I realized my error: all was not well; in fact, things were very, verybad. It was freezing, I was out of coffee creamer, Connecticut’s new governor was proposing a new tax on air, and I was going to face-plant yet again.
 
In the three seconds during which I pinwheeled my arms to try and regain my balance, I had two thoughts: protect my back! But not with my face!
 
This time, I broke my fall with my belly and knees. My belly worked as sort of a bumper, as I’ve put on a few pounds as of late, and I only took one scratch to the gut. My knees, however, fared worse: now I had scrapes and bruises on both, and walking or driving was going to be a challenge over the next few days. As soon as I stepped inside, I got two phone calls for interviews. Face-to-face, of course. I sighed, pushed my kneecaps back into position, and hoped for the best.
 
Seasonal depression in Connecticut: Can you blame us?
Picture
Pictured: my backyard.

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