Can't spell LO-ser without LO-L...

God. One of the greatest things about this job (Which sucks, despite the sweetness of the people) is that all I do all day is read stuff on the internet. And I'll be the first to admit that the only reason I'm not a gossip columnist is because I willingly fill my spare time so that I can't sit around and talk to people about other people. Also, I kind of hate gossip about real people. Luckily, Paris Hilton isn't a real person.

I can remember, not so long ago, dozing in Cos' bedroom, watching E!, and Cos turning to me to ask "Who's Paris Hilton?"

The television had described her as the most famous heiresse, and so on and so on, but this was lightyears ago. This was before Nick Carter, The Simple Life or (Go, girl!!) a cameo in The Cat In The Hat. This was even before the sex tape.

Now, of course, she's everywhere, and even my mother (Who says she hates gossip and means it much more than I do) knows who Paris is.

Which is fine.

So, of course, this being Thursday, and the news having broken Monday, I'm technically late talking about the whole Sidekick thing. And, really, I'm not even going to talk about it. More has been said about it than is strictly necessary, anyway.

I'm not even here to talk about Paris, 'cause really, I'm not that into her. Yeah, she has a similar car-crash flavour to Britney Spears, and everyone knows I love that. But she's not quite as much of a wreck. She's not even nearly as dumb, just ignorant of the way the rest of the world lives. But whatever.

Today I would like to discuss Carson Daley. Believe me, that's not a sentence I ever thought I'd use, but at least it's a lead up to a joke.

In this article, poor wee Carson expresses his hurt at not receiving prank calls after the leaking of Paris' little black book.

He says "I've given her my number thousands of times. She never puts it in her damn Sidekick!" I mean. Really. Poor Carson!! To be snubbed by one of the silliest, most farcical creatures on the planet. I can understand the hurt.

One day he may realize that he's not cool enough to be moving in the circles he moves in, and if this is any indication, his reaction will be pathetic. Or explosive. But I'm betting more on him curled in the fetal position, wondering "Why doesn't anyone like me?" rather than him sitting in a bell tower picking off skinny blond things with little white dogs.

Of course, the good news is that to Fox, either of these prospects means "Reality" televisionn gold. Best of luck, Carson!

A new addition...

Now, few of you know about my good friend, Punk Jen, which is a shame.

Punk Jen was in broadcast class with St Teresa and I, and she's just about one of the coolest people I've ever met who isn't part of the Square Table. She's so cool we don't even call her Punk Jen most of the time. Most of the time we just call her by her last name, but we all know the internet is for nicknames, so hers will be Punk Jen

Punk Jen has made me an auntie. His name is Julian and he's beautiful.

Punk Jen has told me that I should get my ass in gear and start producing little cherubs of my own. I told her no. She told me that it's a really wonderful experience. I told her no. She told me she'd rather have her asshole tattooed than go through it again. I told her I thought she should have her assholt tattooed for trying to recruit me against my will. She told me she couldn't wait to have another one.

Now, one of the reasons you have to love Punk Jen is because, well, she's awesome. When she asked me what I was doing for work these days, I told her "Oh, just some temp job."

She started laughing and called me "Temp!!"

For those of you who don't get Comedy Central and weren't cool enough to stay up till midnight on Thursdays during the early 90's, that's from Kids In The Hall. I used to think the late Thursdays during my formative years were the reason I'm so short. Punk Jen's 5'10", so that blew my theory. But she can still quote KITH with gusto.

How can you not make this person your friend, I ask?

Anyway, congratulations to Wonderful Punk Jen and her sweet Boy Toy Jesse. (Yes, that's right, they're Jen, Jesse and Julien. Mock her, I dare you. She's Punk Jen!)

Old update...

I should've come back ages ago and finished that blog where I talk about the recruiting agency trying to recruit me as a recruiter. Thank god, they seem to have given up on that.

Anyway, I went to a second agency the day after that, and they were so sweet. My rep actually nearly cried when she saw my test scores. Not because they're bad, which is what normally made me want to cry when I saw most of my candidate's test scores, but because yours truly is awesome. Awesomest awesomeness ever to awesome. That's me.

Anyway, they offered me a couple jobs, one was too far, one required me to actually know French, not just be able to hack it out in a semi-convincing way, and the other wanted to pay too little for too long. So I ended up taking something that pays even less, but only for two weeks. Which is good, 'cause then I'm not stuck taking too little money for a long time. Yay.

Except that I was told it was a reception position, and in a way it is. I answer the phones. That's all I do. And in an eight hour shift I answer it about thirty times. And that's all I do.

But it's not terrible. I've caught up on reading the internet. I think I'll hit the end any day now. So there's always hope.

In the meantime, this is one of the fascinating things I've found:


You are 'Latin'. Even among obsolete skills, the
tongue of the ancient Romans is a real
anachronism. With its profusion of different
cases and conjugations, Latin is more than a
language; it is a whole different way of
thinking about things.

You are very classy, meaning that you value the
classics. You value old things, good things
which have stood the test of time. You value
things which have been proven worthy and
valuable, even if no one else these days sees
them that way. Your life is touched by a
certain 'pietas', or piety; perhaps you are
even a Stoic. Nonetheless, you have a certain
fascination with the grotesque and the profane.
Also, the modern world rejects you like a bad
transplant. Your problem is that Latin has
been obsolete for a long time.


What obsolete skill are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

I've been reduced to doing quizes. But at least I'm classy. Go me.

Things I wish I'd written...

Yup. So, I've been thinking about books and stories and songs and movies that I wish I'd written. Most of them, really, it's not my fault that I didn't write them. I'm too young, basically (Alice in Wonderland is one of these). Others, I thought up, imagined, drew and designed, but forgot to write and submit, therefore missing out on becoming richer than the Queen of England (Harry Potter is the biggest in this case).

So here, my dear reader, are things I wish I'd written, and why:

American Gods by Neil Gaiman. Okay, I pretty much wish I'd written anything that this man has produced. This one in particular, though, because it's one of the most wonderful, dark, creepy and hopeful stories I've ever read. Plus, it deals with what happened to the gods our grandparents and great-grandparents brought over from the old world. I can't help myself, I love these old gods and wish we were more into multi-theism ourselves. It would be neat to pray to the gods of media (Which technically speaking most people do every day anyway) or offer sacrifices (Of fruit, not small children - All that crying makes my head hurt) to the god of imagination. In short, I think I'd like many small shrines around my bedroom and backyard, just to make me feel more grounded.

Harry Potter, in particular The Prisoner of Azkaban. Jokes about wanting to be richer than the Queen of England aside (And, I mean, who doesn't?) I just wish I could've written something that almost everyone on the planet has read. Cosmo actually went out and bought the whole series and he didn't used to be much of a reader. I've seen hundreds of adults on the subway reading these kid books without any shame. The movies are great and star three of the most beautiful children in history. What's not to love?

The Other Boleyn Girl by Phillipa Gregory. Now, the rest of her books are decent and mostly interesting, but a little too creepy by half. (Too much incest in the British Isles? Bull hockey!) but this is one of my favourite books of all time. It's historical fiction, which here translated means "thinking person's trashy romance with a bit of history thrown in so no one knows what you're really reading." It's about Mary Boleyn, Anne's sister who definately slept with King Henry first, and probably had two children by him while he was still married to Katherine of Aragon. And also about what a bitch Anne Boleyn could be and what a monster Henry VIII really was. Good stuff, good stuff...

Buffy the Vampire Slayer. The whole series, single-handedly reads like something that me, Cosmo and our friends wrote over brunch. Too bad it came out before we knew eachother. It's just one of those things. A new goal in my life is to write for Joss Whedon's new show, if he ever decides to create one. Since I can't even get myself a programming job in radio or television when I'm fully qualified, I don't know that this could happen. But we'll see. No use in not dreaming while I'm alive.

Garden State and Saved! Two of the greatest movies I saw last year. Both deal with confusion and the ridiculousness of the rules set down in particular brackets of society. Garden State probably does it for me because of the absolute lack of familiarity Andrew feels with his world. "You know that point in your life when you realize that the house that you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? All of the sudden even though you have some place where you can put your stuff that idea of home is gone." Luckily, for me, I only have that problem occasionally. Doesn't mean it doesn't happen, I'm just grateful that I don't walk around with that feeling all the time. But it's something that it's really easy for me to relate to.

Saved! deals more with religious uncertainty, another thing I've experienced really strongly in my life. What happens when you're brought up with one set of ideals and enter the real world to find that maybe they're just a little skewered? I mean, I went to Catholic school for 10 years. I was taught that God and Jesus love anyone and everyone, especially if they need love, or ask for forgiveness. Unless you're gay or have an abortion, and in some cases if you marry someone of a different race, religion or caste than you. I was taught that suicide is the only unforgiveable sin and that all life is precious, unless it's the doctor who performs abortions for women who are too sick or scared or know they're too selfish to raise a child. And so I entered the real world and met people who were so in love it didn't matter if the other person was of the same sex or a different belief system, and they were so beautiful together you could cry to watch them together. I've met people who were wonderful and strong and for whatever reason had had to end pregnancies or marriages. I get that I don't get it, and that God or whoever will forgive in the name of love. Or not, and it's not my business, and what kind of heaven is that, anyway?

Currently, what am I working on? I have an imaginary book titled "Jesus Was Circumcised" floating around my dusty brain. It would deal with the fact that Jesus was Jewish, and possibly the fact that he was more than a bit of a hippie, and generally tear into Rightests who complain about the Jews and the Liberals who accept people who were different. I mean, that's what Jesus did, isn't it? Accept people who were different and make them feel like they belonged? Meh, maybe my catechism's all messed up. Also planned: A chapter on how Hitler was Jewish on his mother's side, which considering Judaism is passed on maternally means he was also a Jew. But that might be getting into waters too inflamatory for my blood. I'm putting it here for posterity, though, 'cause I may never get around to it, but it's a great idea and someone should write it. Whilst giving me a good chunk of the royalties, of course.

And thus ends a new chapter in "Things I Wish I'd Written," by Wanda. Sweet dreams, kiddies...

It could happen to you...

I hope.

So. I have managed to find three actually cool jobs that I'm qualified for in the last few weeks. One closed this Friday, two closed yesterday. I still haven't heard from any of them, but I understand that I'm really expecting a lot. But I want a job - Now. All you cool job people: I'm looking at you!

Anyway, I had an interview at a recruiters today. A bilingual recruiter. You know, kind of like where I used to work, but a different office.

I get there, and one of the recruiters hands me a package of papers to fill out, then asks "How's your French writing?"

Now, gentle viewers, I have never lied about this - I've made it by these past 25 years because I'm a good mimic. Always have been. My uncle used to call me "The Daily Report," 'cause at three years old I'd repeat entire commercials, songs and stories verbatim. So this is how I made it through so many years of French school and classes. Writing. Not my forte. And I told her so, but in a more, shall we say, covert way. "Writing? Not so much."

She told me not to worry about it, to just do the best I could, yaddah yaddah. I start looking through the papers, and the English tests (Yes, English tests) are easy. Match words to their meanings, fix their spelling, use them in sentences. It's like blogging, but with smarter words.

I get to the French sheets. And after two seconds I'm seriously contemplating getting on the elevator, running to the car and telling Cosmo to cheese it. But I motor through.

Then I get to the computer tests. The receptionist sets me up on the tests. "Can you use Windows?" And I'm thinking "Dear god..." Well, there was more, but it was mostly incoherent due to the frying of my French sectors. The she asks if I can do Excel, which I'm sad to say I only started to learn at my last job because I was the resident "computer expert," and it was needed. And I tell her as much, but she says "Excel. Vood yoo lahk to do Excel?" So I say "D'accord." Loosely, yes.

Get those done, not too shabby (Okay, only %54 on the Excel, but since I don't know squat about it, that's pretty good.)

Now The Interview.

I'm meeting with the manager of the office, and she's asking me why I left the bank, why I left the recruiting office, what I liked about those jobs, what I didn't like... What kind of questions I asked while interviewing candidates, what kinds of placements I was making, if I thought I was good at the job.

Yeah, so a light goes off in my head. I point out to the recruiting lady that, well, I was only at that position for three months, I was still in training and I don't know how suited I was to the job despite loving it. She said "Hey, why don't you meet one of the other recruiters? She used to work for your ex boss, too."

So I sit down with the other recruiter and she starts probing me about recruiting, too. "Did you like it? What did you like about it? Do you think you were good at it? What about it do you think you were exceptionally good at? Would you like to do it again?" And I tell her again, I loved the job, but since I was still in training and took my boss' advice and left, I don't know how suited I was to it. And she says "Hey, why don't you talk to my boss some more?"

The boss mentioned to me that they liked me, and were looking to hire someone really quickly. She also mentioned that despite the fact that they were a full cycle office (Meaning that everyone's responsible for sales and recruiting, she thought she'd be willing to take on extra sales if I'd be interested in recruiting for her office. These women weren't getting it. So now I'm thinking instead of my super cool jobs that I've recently applied to, I'm probably looking at another recruiting job with people who seem less patient than my old boss. Yikes.

It's alright, Cosmo treated me to Amato's after the interview, which is always decent incentive to going downtown.

Wonder what he's going to give me after my interview tomorrow when I'm offered (Double Yikes) yet another job at yet another recruiting office. We won't be downtown, and I don't really remember what kind of eating places there are near Mel Lastman Square.

I really need to learn to put my foot down. Cool job people, I'm looking at you, here...

Happiness and Joy...

Oh, loyal reader. I have been doing nothing with my time, and yet somehow still ignoring you. Isn't that lovely and funny? I'm full of lovely and funny things. Also lovely and disturbing.

For instance, imagine a world created and run by Neil Gaiman and Dave McKean. No, really imagine it. Because, I have it on very good authority that if you're smart, it's not beyond your grasp.

Now really, is it very wrong that I'm all tingly with anticipation at the thought of this movie? I mean, it's Labyrinth without David Bowie, but with Neil Gaiman and Dave McKean. Or something like that. Either way, I'm thinking it's a pretty good, nigh on equal trade.

Another joyful tingly item. And it features Johnny Depp. As does this.

Now, I prefer real-life Johnny Depp, but just about anything by Tim Burton with the added benefit of featuring Johhny Depp is all right by me.

Anyhow, children, enjoy...