Jennifer Plesko

*Disclaimer: I started this post during the interview process, but opted not to post it until after the fact in case my potential employers read this blog. I didn’t want to fly the freak flag too soon.

As I’ve said before, I’m generally a pretty laid-back individual. That is why anal-retentive hubby and I are a good team; we balance each other out. But a couple of weeks ago, a company in Dallas contacted me about a position that couldn’t be more perfect for me. Then, all hell broke loose.

First, they wanted to have an initial phone conversation with me, presumably to make sure I possess a certain amount of social skills. So what did I do? I prepared by coming up with carefully-planned answers to every conceivable question I could think of. I called my husband about 50 times to run my answers by him and get his feedback. Then, I made sure I was in a place with absolutely no background noise to distract me. I even popped some Altoids to clear my throat. I mean, I wouldn’t want them to think I sound like Gargamel all the time.

The phone conversation went very well. I didn’t go off on some weird tangent (I think), and I didn’t give one of my notorious TMI answers where I launch into my life story. (Wait…maybe I did. Crap, I don’t remember!) If I did do something weird, they must’ve overlooked it because the next day, they emailed me and asked to meet with me in person the following week.

I read the entire thread of the email and saw that the co-owner of the company said I looked almost perfect on paper. Normal people Most people would think that’s a good thing, but I freaked out. In an attempt to uphold my illusion of perfection, I began to obsess over every detail of my appearance. Poor hubby. How would you like to be married to this woman? “I need a new suit! My suit is too 2001!” “Look at my skin! I seriously need a facial!” “Do I need a haircut? I think the back of my hair is looking shaggy.” “I can’t wear that dress; it’s sleeveless! They’ll think I’m a total ho-bag!”

The following Monday, I get an email from the company saying that they noticed my college completion date was Fall 2008 and would I be graduating early. Huh?! So I took a gander at my online resume, and lo and behold…I attended Texas A&M from Fall 2008 to Fall 2002. I don’t remember much after that, but I’m told I ran screaming from the room. A frantic call to hubby, some serious file conversion, and the mistake was fixed. I no longer attended college for six years….in reverse order. But in that short hour, the stress breakout that had been barely noticeable that morning was now red and angry-looking.

The day of my interview arrived at last - but not before I obsessed over what samples should go in my portfolio, how to present my portfolio, and which letters of recommendation to include in my portfolio. Fortunately, I quickly discovered that my interviewers were easy on me. They didn’t hound me or try to get me to mess up. They were nice, complimentary, and easy going. I was thrilled at the prospect of working somewhere with people like that.

I was happy with the way the interview went, but spent the weekend worrying about what I would do if I wasn’t offered the job. I think hubby was worried about that as well because he suspected it might involve some sort of injection or shock therapy. However, at that point, he might’ve been thinking those thoughts regardless. But lucky for the both of us, I was offered the job yesterday. Hopefully they won’t read this post and reconsider. (By the way, if my new employers are reading this, I’m totally kidding. This is a made-up story strictly for entertainment value. All of my brilliant answers were completely off-the-cuff and unprepared. I am always put together and never, ever neurotic).

I think what caused my OCD meltdown was the simple fact that I’ve never actually applied for a job that I really wanted - particularly one that fit me so well. Being in a town that has limited opportunities for someone like me only allowed me to interview for jobs that were “good enough” at the time. But God knew what He was doing because the cumulative experience I gained from all of those random jobs was precisely what made me the perfect fit for this job - right down to my knowledge of medroxyprogesterone acetate.

I’ve always tried not to be one of those people who talks about their pets all the time. Unfortunately, I have caught myself doing this lately since they are my only roommates at the moment. And, although I know it’s not considered proper etiquette, when people start bringing up their kids, it’s difficult not to bring up Scratch and Sniff. I have to contribute to the conversation somehow, and I don’t have kids of my own. Plus, the dogs pretty much do the same thing. They want your undivided attention, they have big personalities, they bicker, and they like to eat and poop. But before you think I’m completely lame, let me say that I don’t dress my dogs in sweaters and they’re too big to fit into a Louis Vuitton dog carrier.

Seriously, though. How could you not talk about these faces?

Sometimes I get the distinct impression that my mom is wondering when I decided to take a wrong turn at Albuquerque. Can’t say that I blame her. I grew up doing everything I was supposed to do. I got good grades, was heavily involved in extra-curricular activities, was on Youth Council for my youth group at church, went to the right college, got a degree, got married, got a job and even bought a house. Now, here I am, knocking at thirty’s door, still no babies and moving to a new town.

As a newlywed, I used to have baby fever. But something cured that. What was it? Oh yeah…babies. My friends started having them, and suddenly they weren’t quite so laid back. They were all stressed out and vomit-covered and going to bed at nine. Considering how un-laid back my life already was, throwing a baby into the mix didn’t seem like such a swell idea anymore. I used to worry about when I would jump on the baby train because a) I didn’t want to have nothing in common with my friends and b) I didn’t want my kids and I to be gumming our food and wearing diapers at the same time. But thanks to my friend Brandy’s immaculate conception, I’ve realized: if God wants me to have a baby, I will have one. In the meantime, I’m not going to sweat it.

Then there’s the whole moving thing. Now I know that, as a member of my family, I am expected to stay in this county until I am buried beneath it. After all, our family has been here since before the Civil War. But at least I’m staying in Texas. I mean, one of my great-grandfathers was one of Austin’s Old Three Hundred, so I gotta draw the line somewhere. But mom really shouldn’t be so surprised at my little detour from the plan. I come from a long line of slightly rebellious women.

Take her for instance. Not only did she go to college for a bachelor’s degree instead of an MRS degree (a rare thing at the time), she went to a traditionally all-male military college that had just started admitting women. Anyone in a skirt was a scandal. A few years later, she became one of the only female health inspectors in the county. And when I came along, she went back to work just three weeks later.

Then there’s my mom’s mom. Step one for Mee-Maw was to cut off all her hair and become a flapper. Then she left the family farm and moved to the city. She lived in a boarding house, got herself a job, and made her own way. This was in  small town Texas in the 1930s and 40s, people; she was the original Mary Tyler-Moore. She met my grandfather during World War II as a single woman in her thirties. When he proposed to her, she asked that her engagement ring look like a dinner ring so that, while he was overseas, it wouldn’t hamper her dating life. She got married in her late thirties and had my mom at forty-two. She was so Hollywood.

So, as you can see, I come by it honest. In fact, I may be lame tame by comparison. However, both my mom and my grandmother got a lot milder with age, so I see a lot of normalcy in my future. I just cut off all my hair, so I guess I’m still in flapper mode.

You may have to be a designer to appreciate this, but trust me…it’s hilarious. It’s like they read my mind! I think this company must be making a killing in this town! They must be stopped!

http://www.makemylogobiggercream.com/

They did forget one very important product though…Gradient Powder. From the makers of Make My Logo Bigger, Whitespace Eliminator, and Starburst Dust…it’s Gradient Powder! Does your ad lack depth and visual interest? Does you stubborn designer insist on being subtle? Well, say good bye to that designer and hello to Gradient Powder! Just sprinkle some on your tired ad, and suddenly, you’ve got an impressive array of gradients that will let your customer know you mean business!

Behold…..

Dear Proactiv,
You and I have been friends for the better part of a decade now. When my hormones shot through the roof and my skin became a raging den of whiteheads, you were there to clean up the mess. When my dermatologist kept giving me overpriced topical ointments that turned me into an arid, flaky wreck, you were the only thing that brought peace and tranquility to my appearance. I would gladly sign a multimillion-dollar deal appear on your commercial looking fresh-faced and youthful singing your praises next to a sad, old, zitty picture of my former self.

But there is still one thing I simply cannot understand. How can a multimillion dollar corporation such as yourself take weeks to deliver your product, and a 61-year-old potato farmer from Australia managed to run over 500 miles in five days?

My order was apparently shipped almost two weeks ago, and I am still reduced to drilling holes in the bottom of my old bottles to eke out the last remnants of acne-fighting goodness because I refuse to buy more at the fricking mall kiosk when I should be getting more any gosh darn day now! In fact, that’s probably your ploy. Get us hooked on your extremely effective product, then wait until we’re desperate, zit-covered freaks to finally deliver the product in the hopes that we will have already sprung for another three-piece kit at regular price instead of the reduced club price. It’s all making sense now.

You just wait. I won’t have acne forever. Just another twenty years or so. Then I won’t use your product anymore, and then you’ll be sorry.

Love and kisses,

The Introvert

The spring is when Texas is at its best. The weather is pleasant, everything is green, and the wildflowers are in bloom. Maybe that’s why Texas decided to have its birthday in March (there could be some other Alamo-related factors thrown in there).

And every year, you’ll see cars parked along the highways for the ultimate Texas rite of passage: the bluebonnet picture. I have no idea how long this has been going on. At least since 1982, as you can see.

But it’s one of the things that makes me appreciate this state, and yet another reason I wish I was outside right now.

We moved hubby to his new apartment in Dallas this weekend. It was sad/weird. We’ve lived under the same roof for almost five years, and now it’s like we’re in a long distance relationship again.

We made the first of two trips to Dallas on Friday to sign papers and move a few things. As we were leaving town, his cell phone rings and shows an unfamiliar number. After a brief conversation, he hangs up and says, “Unbelievable!” I asked what the problem was. Apparently, another web development company out of Houston was asking if he was still on the market for a job. Why is this unusual? When he started his job hunt about two months ago, Houston was the first town to come to mind seeing as how he is quite the mover and shaker in the tech community there. But no one seemed to be in the market for a cyberstud. However, the company in Dallas for which he now works contacted him immediately and stroked his ego three ways from Sunday. Naturally, he took the job, and now three times in the last week, Houston tech companies are suddenly beating down his door. And here we are…moving to Dallas. Awesome.

So, after this call, he got real quiet. I could tell the wheels were turning because hubby is rarely quiet.

Hubby: Dang it! Why did they have to call?

Me: I knew you were still thinking about that.

Hubby: I should call back. I just took the first job that I got offered! I don’t have any basis for comparison.

Me: We’re moving! Like…right now!

Hubby: We’re technically still closer to Houston than Dallas! We can turn around and start driving in that direction!

I sigh and give him “the look”.

(He changes the subject, we sing along to a few songs on the radio, he gets quiet again.)

Hubby: Where were they a month ago? I wonder what they would’ve offered. All my contacts are in Houston.

Me: So then it’s a good thing we’re moving to Dallas so that you can make new contacts.

Hubby: Yeah. I guess.

(A few more subjects, a few more songs, and another break in the conversation.)

Hubby: I’m gonna call back!

Me: I knew it! I knew you were still thinking about that!

Hubby: How did you know??

Me: I know you very well. You need to stop this. I mean, if you call them, what exactly are you going to say?

Hubby: I just want to know why it took them so long to get back with me! Why didn’t they call me right away? I know they would’ve offered me the job.

Me: So basically, you’re going to ask them why they didn’t come running when you applied for the position? Because surely you were the only qualified candidate. Maybe they were so intimidated by your awesomeness that they were trying to save up the money to afford you.

(He stops, looks at me, and suddenly cracks up.)

Hubby: Right! What’s wrong with them?! Because it couldn’t possibly be me!

(We both crack up.)

Hubby: Wow. Maybe not such a good idea after all. Glad I thought that through. I was about to be an ass and not even know it! I mean, I knew I was arrogant, but I am even more arrogant than I thought!

Me: You have definitely brought it to a new level. Congratulations.

The move was completed without any sudden detours to Houston.

Sorry I’ve been MIA the last few days. This week has been kicking my butt. Our house is knee-deep in sheet rock dust and power tools, Boss 1 is riding me like Zorro to get the next four months of advertising and marketing planned before I leave, and we’re moving hubby to the Big D tomorrow. I had forgotten just how much remodeling screws up your house. I was reminded by my father yesterday when he was working on my house. This is the call I got at work.

Dad: Hi, sweetie.

Me: Hey, dad.

Dad: Well, I just got done sanding the wall, and I patched those holes in the kitchen and master bath.

Me: Great! Thanks for doing that.

Dad: Not a problem. I’ll probably be able to come back tomorrow and slap some mud on there.

Me: Cool.

(pause)

Dad: Oh, and uh, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but your house is…a disaster. Do you want to stay with us for awhile?

Me: Yeahhhh. I know. But it’s cool. I’ve got a path from the couch to the bathroom and bedroom.

Dad: Okay, just thought I’d offer. See you later, sweetie.

Me: Okay. (groan)

When I got home last night, I dusted. I had to get high on Benadryl first, and it took three Swiffer dusters for the living room alone, but I did it nevertheless. It was a bit like putting lipstick on a pig. Several hours later, hubby comes home.

Me: Look! I dusted!

Him: Oh yeah, look at that! (snicker) Why?

Me: I just had to, okay??

Nevermind that my dad is probably creating more dust as we speak…but it made me feel better.

Welcome to the new home of The Introvert. I am still getting everything transfered over, so if my blog roll isn’t updated yet, don’t worry; I’ll get to it soon.

I can’t believe I have my own domain. I’m so legit now.