Nero goes on a diet

Nero Kitty, all of a beefy two-year old tuxedo cat, following in his namesake’s steps, weighed in at almost 16 pounds at his recent vet visit. The vet compounded the indignity of  the rectal thermometer by simultaneously declaring “Nero is fat!” The vet looked at my own girth and did little to conceal his mental note “Oh, wow, how could that possibly happen when Nero has such a toned and svelte mommy person?” He then pointed to a display of “prescription” cat food — “this is what you should feed Nero until he loses 2 pounds.” It was a small bag — I figured it would last about three weeks. “How much for a bag,” I asked. “$17.50″

I am very good at quick math as long as it does not involve more than one digit so I did a comparison check with Nero’s current food regime: three weeks = 21 days x 1 large can of cat food a day at $.59 = $12.39 plus one bag of dry cat food at $3.99 = $16.38. Content that the new diet food is not a complete rip off I pick up a bag with every intention that I will be a responsible pet owner and help my hulking he cat slim down. Nero watched me with suspicion while the good doctor checked out the places where kitty’s testicles used to be. The doc left to go get the distemper and rabies shots. Nero bee-lined for the farthest corner under the chair where I was sitting and bit my ankle. Such a playful boy!

The doctor came back with his assistant, Olga, who looked like she was a member of the Russian weight-lifting team. “Neeroh, jist wat art to doink under theyer? Kome out and be a man. Sich as kowartly pussykat.” She lowered herself onto the floor eye to eye with the now hissing patient and gave him the stare. Nero sidled a bit then came out pretending he had every intention of coming out just then and was in no way intimidated into doing so. The doctor explained to Nero, “I am going to give you two shots, one here  (no reaction) and one there (Nero sheds vast amounts of hair while levitating for a good three seconds).

At home I set out a controlled portion of the new food. The next morning it is still there, except for one chunk which is on my chair in the living room. Nero wildly strops my legs and hovers at the feeding station. I explain to him that he has to eat his new food. I leave the kitchen to take my coffee back to bed. I am tackled on the stairs. Nero has a death grip around my ankle and clonks up the steps. It is not until we reach the landing that he lets go and screams into the bedroom to my pillow. He then proceeds to hack — the hack that precedes the delivery of a hair ball. I dive onto the bed, scooping him up in my arms, both of us collapsing on my husband’s side of the bed just as the delivery is made. Phew, that was close. As I wipe the remaining traces of hair wretch off hubby’s pillow Nero settles grumpily into his favorite spot.

By lunch time the food is still untouched and Nero is beginning to look wan. I break and set out a half a can of Friskies Cajun Chicken Fried Steak. Nero, still sleeping in the bedroom obviously had his cat food-detector on full volume since I heard the unmistakable noise of fifty stampeding buffalo – and there he was up to his whiskers in marvelous, yummy, sinfully delicious wet cat food. We will try the battle of wills again today although I already know the outcome.

Networking

Yesterday I attended a women’s networking practice session sponsored by my “career transitions” service  provider. It did not bear much resemblance to “real” networking situations. In the practice session we were divided into groups of five and each person had five minutes to tell the others about herself and her career goals. Things broke down right away since each of us was so eager to hand out our newly Averyied business cards that we practically flung them at each other. There were the Vista print ladies and the home printed ladies and one lady who had not thought about business cards at all. She was shunned.

All I could think about was the scene in American Psycho in which the Psycho is one-upped in the business card arena and sees blood (literally). But I was cool, confident in knowing my card was the best of the lot — it even had an elegant graphic of somewhat Asian-looking goldfish. One of the ladies ooohed and awed over it  and volunteered “I thought you were a project manager — what does a fish have to do with  project management?” She was shunned.

The first up to bat was in the customer service field. She announced that she would only take a job that was less than two miles from her house. I ventured that her requirement might severely narrow down the opportunities. She agreed but said it was a matter of taking care of her dogs — they needed to be walked twice a day and she did not like the way doggie day care walked the dogs so she had to do it herself. Fifteen minutes later she was still talking about her dogs. All I learned about her was that she had had one interview that did not go well and she did not understand why which was too bad because she was perfectly qualified even though her previous employer had a policy of not giving out references and it did not matter that she did not get a call back because the place was too far away anyway.  I tapped my watch to indicate that she was over her time allotment.

Lady number two started to cry. We all turned to her in alarm  as she unleased pent up anger, frustration, fear, and more anger. She had just moved here and was homesick. She got laid off two days after moving. She did not know anyone. She was in a speciality field and there were no jobs. We gave her tissues and water and hugs. Networking was off to a bad start. Lady number three told us she was in marketing but felt totally outclassed by the other marketing people she had met at the outplacement service and wondered how she was ever going to get a job when she was clearly so inferior. I spent the whole time she was talking debating with myself whether I should point out a typo on her business card. I decided to save it for another time.

It was my turn next and I had just begun giving my “thirty second comercial” (which I had been practicing at home) when the facilitator told us time was up. She reminded us to fill out our pink event assessment forms — I circled “less than satisfactory” but felt bad because it way not the facilitator’s fault that networking practice turned out to be more like sitting in the lunchroom with the girls than rubbing shoulders with women who could help further your already-breathtaking career.

I went home and sent out Linkedin connection invitations to all the ladies whose cards I had acquired. Maybe one of their connections will be a literary agent looking for the world’s next best-selling mystery novelist.

The hard times budget

Hubby and I ordered up our venti caramel machiatos and, because we are ever mindful of our budget, one chocolate donut to share, and after forking over our $11.00 we went to sit down in a quiet corner of Starbucks to review our financial situation. We are, after all, responsible adults who know when it is time to pull up our wellingtons. We began with a review of our income: $0.00. I was pleased — I had feared that this exercise would be long and painful. But I had not even cracked open the lid to my steaming drink and we were half-way through! We were about to start the expenses when Jacqui, the barrista, dropped by on her way out. We were happy to be diverted from an unpleasant task and so we chatted happily about nothing for ten minutes. Jacqui was on her way to her second job. Hubby and I looked at each other, both visualizing the other one heading off to his/her second job.

We returned our attention to the expenses. After a  half-hour discussion we had agreed on which items were essential and which could be given up  if it came down to that. On the list of essentials there were the real estate taxes of course, and the utilities, car maintenance and gas, medical insurance, food, and the cable package. “Dear,” I said, having a moment of doubt, “I think maybe we could run only one car and save some money that way.” Dear would not hear of it — “And what if I want to meet Richard for lunch at the same time you want to meet with the girls?” I had no good argument to counter with and so both cars remained. “Sweetie, what exactly is included in utilities?” “Well, heat, electricity, water.” “Well there you go, we can save a lot on utilities. It is spring so we don’t need heat and we can buy bottled water.” I was quite pleased with myself. My husband, who has a PhD and is much smarter than I am, looked at me with admiration and patted my hand.

Rachel, the Starbucks owner, dropped by for a chat. “And how are the Shaolins?” We bantered a bit and asked how the shop was doing during the recession and discovered that the last thing people give up when hit by hard times is their coffee drink. Rachel pointed to a handmade sign next to the cash — “Keep your priorities straight!”  We asked her to warm up a couple of scones and started to refocus on our budgeting. We were at the list of things that could be sacrificed: car wash, haircuts, lunches out, pedicures, and imported Stilton. “Honey,” I protested, “pedicures are not optional — imagine what people would say if I had really long toenails!” The husband was quite annoying when he muttered something about my losing weight and being able to see my feet. . .

We agreed we would get our hair cut at the upcoming cut-a-thon fundraiser at the barber shop. The suggested donation was only $15 — we could get two haircuts for the price of one done at the stylists. I fished the cut-a-thon flier out of my handbag keeping my thumb over the section that said men had a choice of bowl cut or buzz cut. The car wash line item was a no-brainer — we would park in front of our neighbor’s house and take advantage of their automatic sprinkler system. Lunches out was a bit more of a contentious subject. “Lin, you don’t need to meet your friends for lunch every week.” I sputtered “Oh, nice of you to think so! And what about your Thursday lunch with the boys, huh?” We had a heated debate which I won by reminding my spouse that networking was the key to finding a new job and it was imperative that I actually see people in order to network. My spouse was not quite as gracious in defeat as I had hoped and I thought I heard him mutter about how his lunches only cost $9 and mine cost $19 but I chose to be nobel and let it slide.

Imported Stilton may not be on your family’s significant expense list but it is on ours. All three of us are cheese-aholics with a preference for pungent cheese. Runny and pungent is even better. I reminded my husband of our wedding vows — “We will cross that bridge when we get to it.” (I am getting teary…) and we readily agreed to keep the Stilton even if it meant digging into our savings just a little bit.

We had done a good day’s work and had reduced our expenses to the point that we felt justified in splurging on dinner out to congratulate ourselves.

Linshaolin exits Big Corp and enters “career transition”

You, my loyal reader, will recall that I got the sack from Big Corp — apparently somewhere there was a miscommunication and it was just discovered that I was a “surplus” employee, along with 4999 others. And there is certainly no room for excess baggage these days. So out the door went 5000 of us, leaving behind our half-finished projects, our nested code cruelly unnested, our robotic arms left unattended so that they swing crazily over the assembly line like Lucy packing chocolates. But we were not allowed out the door without one last corporate experience to seal the deal — the exit interview.

Since I worked from home in the Boston area and since my manager resides in Boulder, a stand-in manager was appointed to play the part during this event. I am kinda unhappy about that — I think it is only fair that I should be allowed to send a stand-in too. It would have been a toss-up between sending Nero Kitty or my friend Wanda who has both nostrils pierced and who wears a stud through her tongue so that when she speaks she sounds like Elmer Fud. “Thay, isth that my stheparation check?” But, alas, it was I who showed up in person, suitably attired in my gym togs (including a sweat  band) — I was actually planning on going to the gym . . .

As I entered the conference room I passed by the waiting pool of surplus employees. We bravely saluted each other. I noticed that I was perhaps a bit overdressed. Hilary, the ex-security guard from Building One, was wearing her Kiss Me Yo Chingy tee-shirt and brown leggings and that’s it. The two fellows both wore tee-shirts that marketing gave away during the launch of the Commador 64. Despite my concern over my appearance, I walked in to the room with confidence. “Lin, thanks for coming in to meet with me today . . . I’ve got a bit of paperwork for you to sign, if you don’t mind. Let’s start with this…” I get handed a three-page form filled with check boxes all neatly checked off by my manager. “Please sign each page. It is our assurance that you agree that you do not owe the company any money.” “Ah, I have to sign a three-page document that says I do not owe anything?”  “Yes, that’s right. So, while you are signing that one tell me about you plans….are you going to take some time off?”

“I was thinking that it would be good for my family to extend the spam rations out a bit, so yes, we plan to spend the first couple of weeks of my being  jobless by piling up some debt — maybe in Florida or Hawaii better yet.”  Once I rolled my eyeballs back down from inside my head I was handed another form to sign. “By signing this form you are not releasing your nonforfeitable rights unless you have not not signed the addendum labelled Forfeiting versus Relinquishing Your Pension in its Entirety.” I asked the stand-in “What does it mean to not release nonforfeitable rights?” She gave the paper a hard stare and passed her pencil over it like a wand. “I don’t know.” I decided to sign it anyway. Hilary opened the door and peeked in . . . “ah, I have to be at mass in half an hour.”

Now we were feeling intense presssure to get me exited. I was handed my severence check and packed my stuff up to leave.  “Thanks again Linshaolin. Talk with you soon!”  “Wait” I called out, “what about the interview part of the exit interview?”  I was seriously disappointed that I was being denied  an opportunity to burn some bridges. “Damn!” Well, on to phase two: the outplacement service.

Now the “career transition” consulting services that were part of my severance package turned out to be an excellent thing, so I will give them a hearty endorsement here: Right Management provided top-notch workshops and resources for those of us ex-workers. I immersed myself in full days of resume development, interviewing practice, a session on how to get the most out of  Linkedin. I used their resource library and photocopier and computers — I dived in.  Interviewing practice was my favorite part — we sat in groups of four with one person being the interviewee. One gentleman cinched the job when asked “Why should we hire you?” His reply began “Well, I am available.” This is why we need practice.

Apart from going to Right Management for training, I spend a considerable amount of time networking and using job listings  aggregators (indeed.com). I apply to at least four jobs a day  and try to add at least three people to my Linkedin network.. I have unearthed quite a few old chums in doing so. Unfortunately most are unemployed and going after the same jobs I am. “Sure I’ll keep an eye out for you  (so I can trip you on the stairs…”) It is a cruel, cruel world.

But I am not too worried. I have Lama Sonam saying prayers for me along with my message board friends all of whom are evangelical church ladies. And, of course,  my pal Beth who is Catholic, so I am pretty covered.  Even Wanda is religious and is talking directly to God on my behalf. “Yeth, I have thinned Fawther, but I am asthking for my frwiend Linthowlin. Pleath find her a new posithin.”