I normally get Bambina to bed early, maybe around 8PM, read her a few stories and then pass out with her for the night. And then I wake up around 1AM and wonder why the hell I’m awake. Stay up for a few to read updates, check the feeds, and then lay back down and wonder where the time all went.

Soon enough it’s 7AM, and I’m struggling. I don’t drink coffee so my caffeine if you will is the radio. Yes I said radio. 88.5 is the joint for me. Soon enough Ms. Thang wakes up and I have to get her fed, get me fed, change her diaper and get her dressed for her day and then I go last. I feel bad as hell when I show up for work late. If I didn’t have a little someone to look after I’d be better at getting there. I’m not a morning person. I am not.

The drive to work has me bumpin something loud, usually some profanity laced hip hop tune. This reminds me now to remove some of that smooth stuff that just gets skipped every morning. Ugh, what a buzzkill. Tupac. Snoop. 50. Kanye. My students laugh at me, but that’s how I roll. Loud.

My birthday was yesterday, and there was the usual talking, singing, laughing…how I love these days. I am normally so uncomfortable with the sound of birthdays, particularly mine because I’m a summer baby, and I never had the fetes around birthdays like my classmates. My birthdays were always with family, and they were small and I hate being the center of attention that way, but in my old age, I have learned to appreciate it and just smile.

Now though, my house is filled with the sounds of gentle snoring of Husbandido and Bambina. I just finished putting two pans of banana bread in the oven for my pops. He loves his breakfast/coffee pastries, so I can’t hate on that. I turned off the TV because now, finally, the house is quiet. I love the sound of typing, and the click of my too-long nails on the keyboard makes me feel accomplished. I miss my writing. I miss my daily posts. Blogging now for over 10 years, it’s something I crave, but something that I need to wait until I have moments like this to myself, and those moments are rare.

So I’ve learned to seek out the quiet spaces in between the ones where I have to put on my work/mommy/wife/daughter/friend hat and take time for me. I hate to be selfish but if only for one hour, it’s all good for me.

Damn this house smells good. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going back to me time.

XO,

Char

Some of you may know that I’ve been out for a bit on the job search. Not that I’m unhappy. Not that I’ve found myself out of a job (but one never knows). It is a great opportunity that just came up, and it’s something that I would love to do, so I went for it.

Last week I had my interview, make that interviews. 9 interviews. 1 presentation. 1 campus tour. 1 lunch with faculty. 1 dinner with vice provosts and directors. This was a two-day interviewapalooza that had me running in high heels (more on that later).

Most of the interviews were with panels. From a small group of three to a larger group of six. There were some high powered individuals who were decision makers on the larger campus level, and there were administrative assistants who were, for all intents and purposes, on the lower end of the feeding chain, but still important. I hardly ate at any of the meals I was attending (and that was expected because it’s largely them peppering you with questions), and it was easy to get tired during the hot days in a suit.

There were highs, and there were lows. Some meetings were just fabulous. I left feeling good about my time and energy, and the group gave back a good vibe. Some meetings were rough enough that I felt like just hanging up my heels and saying this was fun, thanks. To be honest, there was only one meeting that was like that, and I was a little rattled by it.

I guess you can say that if you ever felt that a candidate just wasn’t what you expected, you would just ride it out and allow them to move through the interview. I got those quick microexpressions that felt like weights being added to my chest. I panicked at parts and then quickly just had to rise above it and hope that I could move through it. I was that candidate that was a waste of a lunch hour. *sigh*

Thankfully afterwards I had a meeting with another group of folks who left me feeling more buoyed. It helped to negotiate that bad feeling, but that feeling of aww crap just sat with me, and it changed how I felt about the position overall. What was interesting was that I sat down with the hiring manager and told her about my feelings and my experience, and she was kind enough to talk me through it when I didn’t expect her to do so. I really expected her to just take note of me as That Candidate and usher me to my next meeting, so it wasn’t that bad. It said a lot about her as a person and as a manager.

I had meetings with people two above my pay grade and those went really well, I feel. The presentation was easy and truthfully this was to my strength, and I got great feedback afterwards so that was nice.

Interestingly enough, a lot of the meetings had questions like, “What would you do if…” and it felt like they were wondering more about my ideas not because it would provide some insight into my suitablility, but because they needed an idea and I was the key. It was a weird feeling. Again, my idea hamster card got renewed a few times.

The fun part is on Monday I plan on telling my supervisor that I need a reference.

In short, how did it go? It went well, but that one blip doesn’t sit with me well. The whole two-day affair was like buttah, really. Am I going to get it? There are two more candidates to be interviewed (I anticipated that I was going to be one of two, maybe three. FOUR? dang). I should know by the end of July.

That being said, the thing about heels…I went on a campus tour. It was HOT as shit, and wearing heels on hot day is never a good idea, but you know what, I LOOKED CUTE.

How I suffer for my art.

Wish me luck.

Char

I was walking back from a particularly good meeting with a colleague when I was met by two students. They asked, “Are you a student?”

I love this question. I smiled broadly. At almost 40 years old, this is a welcome inquiry and assumption. “No, I’m not. I work here.”

“Did you graduate recently?”

My day just got 1000% better.

-Charlene

The cabs of Times Square

I joke about this all the time, but the thing that I would love the most is lost time. I could lose a necklace, a shirt, whatever, but nothing smites more than lost time. So that time I spent watching crap movies? Gimme that back. Those endless meetings where all I needed to do was update the group with two sentences? I want that time back too. Two times! ;-)

I live at the end of a cul-de-sac. But when I was growing up, we just called it a Dead End. So that’s what we’ll call it. A Dead End. In order for me to get out of my driveway, I need to do a three point turn backwards, often at an angle. It’s quite a sight to behold, actually.

Anyway, when I was backing out, I peered into my rearview to see what was going on behind me. I noticed that one of the cars that belongs to my neighbor had a green something on her windshield. This family, by the way, has a shit ton of cars at their house. 1 X5. 2 Lexus (Lexi?). When the boyfriend comes over, 1 Honda Prelude (riced out). 1 Mercedes. 1 Porsche Cayenne. Sometimes all at once. Sometimes they’re all gone for a week. Whatever. 

Anyways, I pull out and manage to wedge myself into their driveway and pull up next to the Lexus and see it’s a rose. Looks like it’s been there all night. I flashed back to those dorky days when you would get into a fight with a significant other and you’d find mementos or notes left for you in some kawawa state as a lame way to beg forgiveness or to get back in your good graces.

I could only imagine what kind of fight would merit a rose on a windshield, and how brazen an act for everyone to see (it was parked at a 90 degree angle). Ya gotta have nuts and be seriously in love with someone to put your “I’m a Schmuck” badge out there for everyone to see.

As I drove away, I glanced back and had to laugh about how wack those days were when you wake up (or open a door, whatever) to find someone’s apology that wasn’t really an apology -  more like a bait and switch. Ooh lookie pretty flower, please overlook the fact that I macked on your best friend. Flooooowwwweer.

I got home later that day and the rose was gone, but the car back in the same place. Good luck, Prelude boy. I would have probably gone with a “I’m sorry.” those tend to last longer than floooooowwwwwers.

char

I went to Border’s with Bambina the other day, and while watching her play with Thomas and the Tank engine table at the back of the kids section by herself, I mused over her singletoness. As an only child, she plays quietly by herself and yells only in the company of the familiar. It was a bittersweet moment because I would love to see her throw down with a sibling, to chatter with another little voice, but those things all come in time, I hope.

I saw earlier a woman in a niqab around the store. She and I made eye contact and said hello to each other. I saw her with her husband soon after, and then came rushing to the table their three daughters. They reached around and grabbed the trains and started playing with them as kids are apt to do. Bambina stepped back and watched them take the train she was playing with. She made do with a sign and Mr. Toppenhat. The mom waved hello at Bambina and kid that she is waved back. The mom walked up to Bambina and handed her something, and I watched them interact. I wasn’t being nervous, but I was happy enough that she offered something to my child.

Meanwhile, the three girls were runnin’ thangs at the table, and Bambina contented herself to eating chips I bought earlier as she sat next to me. The mom chided her girls to share with Bambina. She’s so quiet, I thought to myself, I hope she doesn’t raise a fuss. She didn’t. God bless that child. I walked up to the table and found a train that wasn’t used and passed it to her. She went to the table and played quietly with her train.

Soon, moms takes her girls away. I took the gum from Bambina so she wouldn’t presumably lose it or try to eat it with the paper on. Later I looked at it over dinner, and it was from Saudi Arabia. Not opening it, I smelled it and it was so heavily perfumed, sweet and heavy. From the moms or the gum, I have no idea.