I got the greatest news today!!!! Apparently the letter I sent to the Bar resigning my license was never processed. So I'm just "ineligible to practice" which can be fixed as soon as I finish my Continuing Legal Education (that I'm doing online right now) and pay the overdue dues and penalty fees (which I paid today and should be processed tomorrow). Woohooo!!!!! All this time my license was in reach. Well, I really couldn't face working much before now anyway, so I'm not kicking myself. I'm just glad I found this out now, before I filed for something I didn't need to file for.
The thing is, if I can get my license reinstated by next week (which sounds ridiculous, but I think it's possible), I can take a full-time temporary position doing Document Review (normally a mind-numbing process, but this will be in Spanish, so less so), which pays quite well and should last through March. Woohoo!!! The cool thing is, even if I can't get this one, there are several other temp possibilities like this and now I am registered with two legal recruiting agencies who can find them for me. Yay!! It was the right thing to do to decline that offer. We celebrated by eating out (burritos) today. :-)
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Thursday, December 20, 2007
argh! a dilemma...
Well, I got the job. I have to tell them in the morning. But. I don't think it's the right job for me. Heh. After all. I REALLY like the owner of the company, who I met today. I think the job itself would be fun. He prizes integrity and honesty, which makes me want to work for him. (For instance, he said he does not tolerate so-called "white lies" -- as in, having reps put customers on hold and pretend to go talk to someone and come back and say, "No, sorry, they said I can't do it.") And, along the honesty and integrity line, he grilled me about my real intentions, where I was really going, and what I was really planning. Is this a stepping stone, and once I get my license back, am I gone? In my heart of hearts, I have to admit that the answer to that is "maybe." I told him I didn't know for sure and that I needed to think about it.
As a side note, I had to take a grammar test in which I had to explain the difference between "imply" and "infer," among other things that no one seems to know. (Quiet, Bryan.) This alone made me want to work there.
Sigh, all of which makes me not at all want to use him and the job and their training time and money as a stepping stone while I plan the next phase of my career.
So. I think I'm gonna tell them no. I make sense of it this way: since the time I applied (late at night while cruising craigslist) and the time I got the offer, I got the other part-time tutoring job. So I could add a part-time legal assistant job to that (assuming I can get one) and make enough money and get the experience I need. And, since I'm being honest with them, I don't think it matters if somehow somebody there reads this post. Which was fascinating.
As a side note, I had to take a grammar test in which I had to explain the difference between "imply" and "infer," among other things that no one seems to know. (Quiet, Bryan.) This alone made me want to work there.
Sigh, all of which makes me not at all want to use him and the job and their training time and money as a stepping stone while I plan the next phase of my career.
So. I think I'm gonna tell them no. I make sense of it this way: since the time I applied (late at night while cruising craigslist) and the time I got the offer, I got the other part-time tutoring job. So I could add a part-time legal assistant job to that (assuming I can get one) and make enough money and get the experience I need. And, since I'm being honest with them, I don't think it matters if somehow somebody there reads this post. Which was fascinating.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
I am soon to join the working class....
No, I don't know yet if I got the job where I showcased my keen mathematical instincts. But today I did get a part-time job doing in-house tutoring for kids K-12. They will be kids from Spanish-speaking families in the San Diego area. It sounds like fun to me and they give you the materials, so it's not like I have to make up a bunch of stuff. Also, I can probably keep this job as well as the full-time job I'm sure to get any day now. Might be good to make up for my extended vacation, heh.
One of my main goals, really, is to make enough money to buy as much diet Coke as I want to drink. That may seem like a small thing to some of you. Actually, if you know how much diet Coke that I am capable of drinking, maybe not. But anyway, point being, when I'm not working, I feel really guilty indulging in such an expensive, and unnecessary, habit. So these days it's the occasional 2-liter (ugh, I'm pre-humously turning over in my grave right now), and the occasional 1-liter (drunk in one sitting, of course, because otherwise it will be flat, and it's only like 30 or 40 cents more than a 20-ounce). Can you believe it? Me either. But brighter days are ahead, my friends. I'll keep you posted.
One of my main goals, really, is to make enough money to buy as much diet Coke as I want to drink. That may seem like a small thing to some of you. Actually, if you know how much diet Coke that I am capable of drinking, maybe not. But anyway, point being, when I'm not working, I feel really guilty indulging in such an expensive, and unnecessary, habit. So these days it's the occasional 2-liter (ugh, I'm pre-humously turning over in my grave right now), and the occasional 1-liter (drunk in one sitting, of course, because otherwise it will be flat, and it's only like 30 or 40 cents more than a 20-ounce). Can you believe it? Me either. But brighter days are ahead, my friends. I'll keep you posted.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
I'm hoping my winning personality will make the difference
So today I had an interview. I wasn't that nervous, I guess because: 1) I am way overqualified for the job (which actually may mean I won't get it); 2) I have been through lots of interviews -- panel interviews, and bilingual interviews, and half-day interviews, and this was just a one-person interview; and 3) I only very recently started really looking for a job (like Monday), and right away I have had one interview and I have one recruiter interview coming up so I'm feeling all confident. Anyway, I think it went well. Mostly. At least, I sort of thought I did until I was recounting it to Bryan, and I remembered the "math" questions.
Now, I don't really mind math -- it was sort of fun in school -- and I figured, interview math, piece of cake. Which it was. Ahem. So........first she says, "What's 17 times 3?" OK, that was easy. "51," I say after I think for a second and, you know, take the extra moment to be sure. "That's right," she says. "OK, now, the customer's service costs $29.99 per month, and it's going to be pro-rated from the day he starts until the end of the month. His service starts on the morning of the 27th and it's a 30-day month. How much, approximately, will his bill be?" Next brilliant thing I do is count on my fingers, "27, 28, 29, 30." Mom, that's the reason we should never do it. Interviews. I smile sheepishly at her after I realize I've done this. She smiles indulgently. OK, moving on, I think. Don't get caught up with $29.99, she said approximately, so it's $30 -- that's easy, $30 times 4, $120. "One hundred twenty dollars," I say confidently. She looks at me uncertainly. "Um...his service is $29.99 per month," she says. "Oh! Yeah, yeah, sorry. Oh, I was thinking $29.99 per DAY," I explain. Whew, I guess that would be some really good service. OK...now I'm a little more nervous...so quickly I do the calculations in my head, so as to still be able to impress her. OK, 30 days in the month, 4 days left in the month, divide 30 by 4, you get 7 - well you get somewhere between 7 and 8. Whew, done. "Between 7 and 8," I say. She cocks her head at me. "How did you come up with that?" she says, sounding genuinely interested. Oh, she wants me to show my work, as it were, I think. No problem. "Well, because there are 30 days in the month, and 30 divided by 4is between seven and....." and down she breaks, as the saying goes.
I realize that my proration calculation is faulty in that it's missing a vital element -- the cost per day element. I was pretty much muddling about dividing the days by themselves, adding the days together, and you know, calculating the days. Hello, duh, FOUR is the answer, what could be easier? And why could I not have come up with that at first? Embarrassed now (finally), I say, "Oh!! Right. I'm sorry. Four days." And I smile at her, relieved that I have at long last come up with the correct answer and my smile is somewhat conspiratorial because now that I have provided it, she and I can be done with this silly little segment and get back to REAL questions. She smiles at me again. "Right. Four dollars," she says.
So.... like I say, I'm hoping my scores on other sections will pull me through.
Now, I don't really mind math -- it was sort of fun in school -- and I figured, interview math, piece of cake. Which it was. Ahem. So........first she says, "What's 17 times 3?" OK, that was easy. "51," I say after I think for a second and, you know, take the extra moment to be sure. "That's right," she says. "OK, now, the customer's service costs $29.99 per month, and it's going to be pro-rated from the day he starts until the end of the month. His service starts on the morning of the 27th and it's a 30-day month. How much, approximately, will his bill be?" Next brilliant thing I do is count on my fingers, "27, 28, 29, 30." Mom, that's the reason we should never do it. Interviews. I smile sheepishly at her after I realize I've done this. She smiles indulgently. OK, moving on, I think. Don't get caught up with $29.99, she said approximately, so it's $30 -- that's easy, $30 times 4, $120. "One hundred twenty dollars," I say confidently. She looks at me uncertainly. "Um...his service is $29.99 per month," she says. "Oh! Yeah, yeah, sorry. Oh, I was thinking $29.99 per DAY," I explain. Whew, I guess that would be some really good service. OK...now I'm a little more nervous...so quickly I do the calculations in my head, so as to still be able to impress her. OK, 30 days in the month, 4 days left in the month, divide 30 by 4, you get 7 - well you get somewhere between 7 and 8. Whew, done. "Between 7 and 8," I say. She cocks her head at me. "How did you come up with that?" she says, sounding genuinely interested. Oh, she wants me to show my work, as it were, I think. No problem. "Well, because there are 30 days in the month, and 30 divided by 4is between seven and....." and down she breaks, as the saying goes.
I realize that my proration calculation is faulty in that it's missing a vital element -- the cost per day element. I was pretty much muddling about dividing the days by themselves, adding the days together, and you know, calculating the days. Hello, duh, FOUR is the answer, what could be easier? And why could I not have come up with that at first? Embarrassed now (finally), I say, "Oh!! Right. I'm sorry. Four days." And I smile at her, relieved that I have at long last come up with the correct answer and my smile is somewhat conspiratorial because now that I have provided it, she and I can be done with this silly little segment and get back to REAL questions. She smiles at me again. "Right. Four dollars," she says.
So.... like I say, I'm hoping my scores on other sections will pull me through.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
a tragic, and terminal, case of hipness
I love this city where I live. As a former Northern Californian (and still really one at heart), I think I used to silently but snidely dismiss this whole place as artificial, plastic, too manicured, suburban sprawlish and annoying, a place I would never deign to live if I had the choice. When I actually spent some time here and realized that there are lots of really neat people in my faith who live here, plus really cute neighborhoods, restaurants, cute little streets with thrift shops full of clothes cooler than my firsthand ones, cafes, an extremely generous dose of funkiness, and a lot of immigrants from various continents, I dramatically revised my view.
One of the things this fair place suffers from, though, is a tragic, and terminal, case of hipness. It's not true of everyone - in fact, there are sections of the population that are so far deliciously unscathed -- but oh my stars, would it be possible for some of these big glasses/tight jeansy/pointy-gelly hair people to be any more convinced of their devastating, catastrophic, excruciatingly lethal coolness? It seems unlikely.
The other night we witnessed some fairly advanced manifestations of the disease (I'll describe only one of them here, but there were others) at a cool, funky tapas place that actually has some really good food for pretty good prices. The atmosphere is pretty cool. It’s like luxury island décor, all sort of reddishly glowing in a good way, and when you dine outside, if you are lucky you sit in these little cabana-like semi-private booth areas with curtains that are permanently tied back but make you feel like you’re in some sort of tropical VIP room, and the table is low, like a circular coffee table, so you feel like you're hanging out in someone cool's living room. There is track lighting with black light and heat lamps for chilly nights.
It was one such night and there we were, minding our own business and reading our menus, in the dimness, when one of us reached up and pulled the string on the ceiling fan light to illuminate the situation a little bit. About 38 seconds later, the hipster host/important guy who glides around trying to looking indispensable, in Versace that you wonder how he can possibly afford while working in a restaurant,* comes right into our booth. He says, “Hey, can I turn off the light here, it’s messing up our ambiance,” with the inflection that would have been appropriate had we decided to stick our fingers in our noses and leave them there, and then he does so, not waiting for an answer, before sashaying away, exuding “I am superior and you are embarrassing to yourselves” vibes.
At first we were taken in, and actually felt bad, and stupid that we had dared to do something so unforgivable as to turn on a light, at night, when it was dark, when we were trying to read our menus. But then we realized that 1) when, exactly, would it be appropriate to use the provided lights on a provided ceiling fan, if not at night? and 2) it was just the disease. Nothing is more sacred than sophistication, nothing more essential to an evening dining experience than collective, communistic ambiance, and nothing so satisfying as proving one’s own magnificence, general flawlessness, and overall superiority to others, and most especially, to YOU. I don’t think there will ever be a cure.
*like I know how to tell if he’s in Versace
One of the things this fair place suffers from, though, is a tragic, and terminal, case of hipness. It's not true of everyone - in fact, there are sections of the population that are so far deliciously unscathed -- but oh my stars, would it be possible for some of these big glasses/tight jeansy/pointy-gelly hair people to be any more convinced of their devastating, catastrophic, excruciatingly lethal coolness? It seems unlikely.
The other night we witnessed some fairly advanced manifestations of the disease (I'll describe only one of them here, but there were others) at a cool, funky tapas place that actually has some really good food for pretty good prices. The atmosphere is pretty cool. It’s like luxury island décor, all sort of reddishly glowing in a good way, and when you dine outside, if you are lucky you sit in these little cabana-like semi-private booth areas with curtains that are permanently tied back but make you feel like you’re in some sort of tropical VIP room, and the table is low, like a circular coffee table, so you feel like you're hanging out in someone cool's living room. There is track lighting with black light and heat lamps for chilly nights.
It was one such night and there we were, minding our own business and reading our menus, in the dimness, when one of us reached up and pulled the string on the ceiling fan light to illuminate the situation a little bit. About 38 seconds later, the hipster host/important guy who glides around trying to looking indispensable, in Versace that you wonder how he can possibly afford while working in a restaurant,* comes right into our booth. He says, “Hey, can I turn off the light here, it’s messing up our ambiance,” with the inflection that would have been appropriate had we decided to stick our fingers in our noses and leave them there, and then he does so, not waiting for an answer, before sashaying away, exuding “I am superior and you are embarrassing to yourselves” vibes.
At first we were taken in, and actually felt bad, and stupid that we had dared to do something so unforgivable as to turn on a light, at night, when it was dark, when we were trying to read our menus. But then we realized that 1) when, exactly, would it be appropriate to use the provided lights on a provided ceiling fan, if not at night? and 2) it was just the disease. Nothing is more sacred than sophistication, nothing more essential to an evening dining experience than collective, communistic ambiance, and nothing so satisfying as proving one’s own magnificence, general flawlessness, and overall superiority to others, and most especially, to YOU. I don’t think there will ever be a cure.
*like I know how to tell if he’s in Versace
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