There just isn't much going on here. I had sort of an informal interview for a job because my headhunter called in a favor. Since my resume has some holes for the last three years, most firms will just sort of ignore me, thinking I'm a big flake or too lame to hold down a real job. So she called her buddy to meet me and, if he didn't think I was a huge dolt, pitch me to the muckety mucks who are actually doing the hiring. I guess it went ok. It was a fairly short meeting, but things are moving along and now I have to submit some writing samples and references and an explanation of my strange work history (left job when dad was dying and mom was sick, took a temp gig that I held until they closed the SF site, took a brief job in Santa Rosa until they chose someone else, then took another temp gig until it was time to have Bug). Since I don't have any more parents, the firm can rest assured that I won't be leaving a job for that reason.
Did I mention that I adore my new headhunter? She's an incredibly cool chick. Hopefully, she will be able to find my sorry ass (and the rest of me) a job I don't hate.
Oh and in honor of Uncle Jeff, I will now share a true story of poetic justice. We (G, Bug, Uncle Jeff, and I) were driving to a friend's house in the city for dinner. As we were heading up the hill toward the Golden Gate Bridge, this crazy person started speeding and weaving and generally playing Pole Position (yay, Atari 2600). After that person cut us off, we all pretty much agreed that there's never a cop around when you need one. Well, son of a gun, we heard a siren. We got a bit nervous because, like everyone else on the road, we were not going under the speed limit. But the cop wasn't interested in us. Instead, he pulled over Mr. Pole Position. Sometimes the little things can restore order to my universe.
