The Job Hunt: Stage 1

I am one semester away from graduating college.  In less than 5 months, I will don an unflattering but very celebratory black cap and gown.  I will walk the wooden floor of the Grace Chapel stage and grab a simple piece of paper, one that cost me thousands of dollars and four years of blood, sweat, and tears. 

I've been thinking that with the day coming so soon, I need to get serious about finding a place where I can put my education to use.  While I'm in school, the last thing in the world I have time to do is apply for positions, fill out resumes, and all that jazz.  So I decided that I need to make that a priority over Christmas break.

What I'm finding out is that applying for jobs is a bit intimidating.  Scary.  Frieky.  Threatening.  Terrorizing.  Well, maybe not that bad, but it's not a little cake-walk job for Maria. 

My straw-hat inhibitions make it hard for me to brag myself up on a resume.  I end up making myself out to be a dumbo who would try her hardest to do the job right.  I feel like I'm reduced to a few words on a paper that I have to use to sell myself to potential employers.  Don't like.

And then Christian schools add the zingers with their doctrinal position questions.  I imagine a school board of middle-aged men with pot-bellies and reading glasses pouring over my every word to make sure that not a single preposition is misplaced that may turn me into a heretic. 

But slowly, timidly, I am approaching the process.  I hope to have a few manila envelopes stuffed and sent by the end of the week.  So if you run into me and I appear to be in a far-off land, I am probably working out the wording for a resume, or how to handle the doctrinal investigation. 

On Blackberries and Inheritance

The tradition of blackberry picking runs strong in the Mullet family.  I have many memories of heading to the back forty on what always felt like the hottest day of summer, bundled in denim from head to toe in an effort to establish some sort of feeble protection from the flesh-eating bushes.  Somehow, Mom always managed to win the fashion show, although I do remember Aunts Ida and Mary Jane coming around in some doozys themselves.  

I'd whine and complain about the heat and the prickers, or tattle on Annie, claiming that she made me reach for that big bush that was too far away and in my lunge I spilled my bucket of berries.  I'd beg to be allowed to go back to the house.  One time, I tried the "I have to go to the bathroom" excuse.  Never again.  Mom escorted me to a nearby secluded spot, and I was paranoid that a pricker bush would find my bare skin.

  

But I mostly remember loving it.  Rambling deeper into the briars to find another section of blackberry heaven.  There was something almost magical about finding such morsals of happiness (as Gruffy Bear might say) in the wild.  

My dad still comes home late most nights while the berries are in season.  Along with his nearly antique lunch pail and Stanley coffee thermos, he carries containers filled with berries in from the van.  He knows all the hot spots in the wealthy enlotments where he works.  It's a wonder no one has called the cops on him yet.  :)

Today is arguably the hottest day of Summer 2010.  But guess what I just did?  Yup.  The berries back in the woods were calling my name.  I donned the thickest pair of pants that I own, and found mom's xxl long-sleeved denim shirt.  I was sweating before I left the house.  But I didn't mind.

O the blackberries.  They were beauties.  A thunderstorm threatened overhead, but I ignored it.  I had to get a bit farther in the bushes.  I kept seeing another cluster of berries that I needed.  When the rain was coming down in sheets, I decided that I probably should call it quits. I ran to the house, dripping wet, oversided shirt flapping in the wind behind me, half-filled bucket of berries swinging beside me, and I felt happy.  And young.  

And very much like a Mullet. 

IRL over URL

Last week when Clair of mummydeals was here, she made an interesting comment.  She was talking about some experiences she has had since starting her website, some of which involved free sightseeing trips given to her in hopes that she would blog about them and therefore, give the company free advertisment.  Most of these trips involve traveling with a busload of other local bloggers.  I immediately thought (and verbalized it, because that's what I seem to do best) what an interesting group that must be.  You see, I have this thing with writers.  No one intrigues me more than someone who has a way with the printed word. 

But Clair was not so quick to join the fanfare.  She said that she was one of the few who preferred her IRL over her URL.  I had to ask her to explain.  I know what a URL is, but an IRL?

IRL= In Real Life.

I like that.  Of course I want to value my IRL over my URL  But sometimes the URL is a quick, easy escape.  It's the easiest place in the world to be superficial, or to create the persona you so want to be.  It's what makes me not want to blog.  I just want to enjoy my IRL.  Forget the URL.

But I'm hoping that my URL can enhance my IRL, not the other way around.  That's my hope for this blog, that what is written on here can enhance my literal world, and not just my virtual one. 

Hello blogosphere, here comes another greenhorn.

Yesterday I turned 28.  To celebrate the monumental occasion, I gave myself a blog. 

I've been thinking about joining the blogging world for awhile now, but always quickly talked myself out of it.  I don't have the time.  Nor the energy.  Nor do I the creativity to keep anything worthwhile.  And besides, why would I want to publish my crazy thoughts in a place as public as the web where Vladamir Putin, Nancy Pelosi, or even Jack Bauer (if he were real) could read?  The excuses are plentiful, but the idea has been tucked in the back of my mind for awhile.  So now at the onset of a new year, I have decided to give it a shot.  I used to be known as www.xanga.com/forty_watt_bulb, but I decided to start something brand new.


I probably won't be posting many pictures of my kids (beings as I have none) or any great photos for that matter.  I don't have a host of creative ideas for you to glean from, so if that's what you're looking for, I believe you might be lost.  But I do find that writing something in my head is one of the best ways for me to think, so here on Marmalade, you'll be hearing a lot of whats buzzing through my head. 

I don't know what all this will become.  Maybe I'll post once and then run away and hide.  Perhaps I'll post every single day from now until the day I die.  I don't know.  But I'm plunging in.  Headfirst.  Into the deep end.

Ready or not, here I come.