In this information age of overloaded internets, we have this new way of doing something that’s always been done. Job Searching. The Job Hunt has always been from the beginning of civilization when those in need of a trade would barter their time with a master as an apprentice. Now we get hired as an employee of an employer of a company that specializes in our chosen field. (Regardless of what field the job is in, you ARE in fact CHOOSING to at least try that particular company’s worker hat on for size. Whether that hat truly fits is another thing entirely.)
This employer seeking employee or employee seeking employer match making system has moved from brick and mortar, hoofing it around town to a virtual sleuthing through postings upon postings upon postings, on job board after job board after… job board.
One such site for this purpose is GlassDoor.Com. Now, I have heard of it before but never used it until quite recently. Reason being that I didn’t know that it was more than just a Employer review site with useful 411 on companies including salary averages. When I realized it was more than that, I jumped at the chance to try it out.
So you start out by uploading your resume (from your computer system or from Linked In). Because apparently you can send your profile as an application to postings that opt in to that kind of method. (Similar to Indeed.Com’s main way of doing things.)
So I started out posting about Glassdoor, but I stopped using it after one job interview (PIZZA HUT). IN which I felt like I was lied to about the position in question (ASSISTANT MANAGER). BECAUSE when They offered me the job it changed to shift lead.
Now mind you, I have no experience as a manager, but the regional manager seemed very open and eager to work with me and my drive.
Basically, I am just judging and grudging Glassdoor based on one awkwardly negative experience.
But this is just what happened. And I never used the site since.
I’m happy with my boyfriend and four cats and one dog. But we are not meant to be in an apartment paying rent and working for the bills and not a better health-life centered purpose. My dream and current self-sustainable/off-grid lifestyle research self-inflicted project is getting me through each day. I’m not debt free. I have so-so credit. I’m living to work not working to live. I’m ready and willing and watching out for a land owner somewhere who is into living off the land and wants land-dwellers to love and live, cultivate and appreciate his/her land.
I reside in NJ. But am not attached to the area emotionally or mentally. We have families but are the scapegoat and outcast of them so nothing is really keeping us here.
I am looking to get an arrangement with a land owner to start building a mobile tiny house that I will live in during and after the build is completely done.
I wish to travel with the tiny house once it is self-sustainable and modified completely to my little families needs.
This is where I am and what I am searching for.
If you are like me, avid to extraordinary web-surfer, you most likely have suffered (at least a little) to the horrors of accidentally closing browser tabs.
I know what you’re thinking… with heavy breathing and eye rolls… just pull up your browser history. But there’s a quicker, easier way to reversing that accident than you might think.
Web-surfer meet Shift+T+Ctrl … or as I like to refer to it as Shifty Control of Browsing. If you know anything about me, I’m all about the shortcuts; or anything that saves me time. And this, my friend, saves me oodles of time.
So do me a favor and the next time you accidentally, or intentionally, close a tab press Shift+T+Ctrl (or for Mac lovers, Shift+T+Command)! I’m damn sure you’ll love it as much as me.
“Your skin looks beautiful again.” Jameson wore his robes. Emelia assumed he was blushing, but his hood was covering his face. She could see his undershirt hanging out of the side of her knapsack on his back.
She smiled. “It feels much better. Thank you, Jameson.”
“May I question why you’re running from the Palace, Emelia?” He adjusted the hood, his hands rough looking and cracked.
Emelia gave in and told him. It’s not like he could go anywhere, he’s sworn his life to her.
“But, you would make a fine queen.”
“Flattery will not buy you your freedom, Jameson.” She shoved him with side the hood, thus causing it to start to drift back off his face.
Emelia looked back at him as she walked. He had already repositioned it over his forehead, leaving half his face in darkness. “Chides will not make it less true.”
She looked forward once more. “That might be so. But what kind of a princess am I that I haven’t seen the world outside my father’s gates?” Her eyes absorbed the world around her.
Jameson remained silent.
She laughed. “See, even you see that it’s odd.
[He mumbled an incantation, a red glow surfaced out of the dirt path leading ahead of them. He looked at her. “Hungry?”]
He mumbled an incantation, a red glow surfaced out of the path ahead of them. He looked at her as rooted vegetables sprang out of the ground and into the small pack at his hip. “Hungry?”
This is part of the cluster f*** of stories and plot bunnies that I had seven to eight years ago. They are creeping up on me again, and thus why I am again at this blog.
Tell me what you think.
So I want to write for me, and everyone else.
It’s soooo much better than reading this story from Ana’s point of view.
I’m now on Chapter 3 “Twisted Love” of The Girl I Used To Be by April Henry. After reading far too much of the other book (cough cough), I sort of just fell into this one at the speed of a penny flying toward earth, and hopefully not killing anyone in the way!
All my life, I’ve known what I am. The daughter of a victim and a killer. When I looked in the mirror, sometimes I thought I could see them both—the cowering and the rage.
Part of my dad was in me, and that meant I could grow up to be like him. Every time I lost my temper, I felt it pulse deep inside. The knowledge that I could do something as crazy as he did, stab someone I was supposed to love and leave them with only the cold stars as witnesses.
But now what am I? What was my father?
And there’s something else.
If my dad didn’t kill my mom, if his body has always been in the forest—then who drove me to the Walmart three hours away?
I imagine the three-year-old me. I’ve thought about that girl so much, what she might have seen…. I don’t remember ever being that girl. Not what happened that day or before. Is not remembering a gift or a curse?
And now everything has been turned on it’s head.
When everyone thought my dad had killed my mom, it made sense that he hadn’t killed me. I was his daughter, his own blood.
“But why not?” I manage to ask. “If the killer had already murdered my parents, why didn’t he kill me?”
Much better than that other book. Much.
Ok, so here’s my thoughts so far. Woah! Imagine being stuck at Walmart until authorities arrived at the tender age of 3 years old. Something I probably would never have forgotten because Walmart is a CRAZY place in these parts, but nonetheless… Stuck at a Walmart and then you are told the rest of your life that your mother was killed by your father and he then skipped town. We are changing your name and your life and you are emansipated at lets say 16 or 17. You are seventeen now and your case managers (aka cops) show up and over turn your whole life. Again.fourteen years later.
[To be continued…]