I've come up with different topics to write about lately and so I start all of them but naturally I end up getting distracted/lose my inspiration. Sooo while I have 3 posts published, my account here says I have like 11. Perhaps I will just put them all together and display the immense spectrum of ideas my mind comes up with... or not.
But let's keep this entry based around my GETTING A JOB!
I've waited tables since I was 17 and frankly, I was looking to broaden my part-time job skills. So after having experienced a weird and scary situation with a side-job (let's just sum it up with- I was followed by a stranger while driving), I had a nice breakdown full of tears and self-pity. Things had to change and I had to feel like my life was starting to get a move-on because this blog can only do so much.
My older sister Kathleen and I drove around town looking for "Help Wanted" signs and found none. Rather than go find the closest restaurant and fall into a wonderful rut I decided to walk into places and flat-out ask if they were hiring (hooray for face-to-face conversations!) Well, both places told me to go online. So online I went and applied to Starbucks. Since that was the most I've had to do in awhile, I was spent and decided not to apply anywhere else right then.
Well a week later I got an unexpected call from the closest Starbucks and they asked me a few questions and then I had an interview the following Friday! I looked fancy enough with my straightened hair and I was even allowed to grab a drink for free while I was interviewed.
Most of it went smoothly. Sure enough though, I used the wrong gender pronoun in reference to one of the employees. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME!? Ironically, just the night before I was talking with my friend Sammy and she said how if she had a 50 % to get something right she'd get it wrong. Apparently the syndrome is contagious.
The interviewer was very sweet and ignored my error (which I didn't know was an error at first) then continued to mention the person's name so I'd realize my mistake. Thanks for not calling me an idiot and telling me to leave, Interviewer.
I was told I'd get a call the following Monday either way. Well, for what I'm sure is foreshadowing, Starbucks called me the very next day and interrupted a nap I was taking. Although, it was worth it because I was told I'd have a second interview on Monday.
I was running late of course because I decided there would be enough time to grab a breakfast sandwich in Millersville on my way home from Hershey before getting to my interview. Idiot, strike two. I then had to change in the car and pin my bed-head hair back (no fancy straightening this time) but I made it there right on time!
The person I had made the wrong assumption about before turned out to be awesome and was working the register when I got my second free drink. Person, I hope we become friends and you never find out about this situation because I am mortified... and also I'm horrible for such an assumption but you won't know that if we're friends!
This second interview was less embarrassing and I was told I'd get a call in a few days.
Welp, they called me a few hours later and told me I had the job and they agreed I'd make a great part of their team. A happy dance ensued and a moral lesson was learned: if you don't know for sure, stop talking Bridget.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Monday, September 17, 2012
Hungover Yoga in the Park
A word of advice my friends: do not do yoga for the first time while suffering from drinking too much alcohol the night before.
I should have realized this yesterday morning but I had told my brother's fiancee, Gina, and my sister, Jackie, that I would go along with them to a free yoga session. I even said "attending" on Facebook... or "join", I don't know which one it is now.
Now if you type in in "hungover yoga" on Google you will find links to people saying yoga is a good cure for a hangover. So I must reiterate, this is not true if you have never done yoga before or not in quite some time.
There were a few things inhibiting my ability to do a split in the air or whatever other moves the people around me seemed to be grasping quite easily.
1. I was using a folded blanket as my "yoga mat" and I didn't realize what an issue this would be because it was a beginner's lesson and I thought "hey, most people probably won't have a yoga mat!" Everyone else had a yoga mat.
2. I am not a usual wearer of high heels but had decided to wear them the day before and so I had blisters and cuts (please excuse the grotesqueness of this) on my toes and ankles. They aren't too noticeable or ugly actually, just the most pain ever for me. So I was awkwardly slipping on my folded blanket as my wounds repeatedly reminded me that I can't wear shoes that every other girl can wear beautifully.
3. I had a killer stomach ache. Trying to balance and fold your body while having a stomach ache is horrible. I could have walked away and been sick instantly but I had too much pride for that. Also, I'm pretty sure the yoga teacher was staring right at me, not that there was many places to look because it was a small group of 7 people. Yet at the moment I was giving up I heard her say "If you are starting to lose focus, just come back to your breathing." IT'S NOT THAT SIMPLE!
4. There were two boys making fart noises. These boys were not part of the group but decided ruining a calming experience for strangers would be an awesome way to spend the afternoon. They did this for about 15 minutes. How am I supposed to not throw up and stay calm in that situation!? So naturally, I made giving the finger part of my yoga moves; to which my sister whispered, "That's not very yoga-like." But really, it was a very graceful giving of the finger.
5. I have bad knees. They don't like it when I strain them and even make me ice them after every time I run. So basically my entire body was up in arms (and downward dog) every time I moved.
With all of these aspects working against me, I made it to the end! And I must admit, the corpse pose at the end of the session brought me to my happy place. For those of you who do not know, the corpse pose is lying on your back and in this case for me, basking in the sun. I fell asleep for a minute or two while we were allowed to let our mind wander. This was my favorite part.
Afterwards, Gina defined the result of Sunday afternoon yoga perfectly, "My body feels like jelly."
Random thought: I live in a neighborhood of single homes with nice yards. They are not huge plots of land but they are land. I fully appreciate this fact everyday. I also have studied a lot about the American Dream. I have always believed part of the American Dream for a family man is caring for a yard of his own, as it is a source of pride and sign of success. So my question is, why are most of the yards in my neighborhood mowed and cared for by immigrants?
And no, this is not regarding immigration issues but rather simply inquiring about the change in values that have seemingly occurred over the years. I suppose it is not some major issue but it is interesting that these homes in which strangers mow their lawns are all owned by younger families than my own.
My father just turned 60 and I am the youngest of my family at 22 years old. My father still mows our lawn and cares for it like a child (granted, my brother does help him.) We may poke fun at him for it but I know he gets a lot out of this. I understand the modern man has a different role in today's world than generations before, as does the modern woman. Perhaps I am a bit more traditional, but I'm proud of my dad and brother for caring for our land themselves.
Given this train of thought I decided to call my dad and ask him why he cares about his yard so much and this was his honorable response, "I'm very busy. I'll call you back." So there it is, the real American man doing his job while he is at his job. Right on, pop.
I should have realized this yesterday morning but I had told my brother's fiancee, Gina, and my sister, Jackie, that I would go along with them to a free yoga session. I even said "attending" on Facebook... or "join", I don't know which one it is now.
Now if you type in in "hungover yoga" on Google you will find links to people saying yoga is a good cure for a hangover. So I must reiterate, this is not true if you have never done yoga before or not in quite some time.
There were a few things inhibiting my ability to do a split in the air or whatever other moves the people around me seemed to be grasping quite easily.
1. I was using a folded blanket as my "yoga mat" and I didn't realize what an issue this would be because it was a beginner's lesson and I thought "hey, most people probably won't have a yoga mat!" Everyone else had a yoga mat.
2. I am not a usual wearer of high heels but had decided to wear them the day before and so I had blisters and cuts (please excuse the grotesqueness of this) on my toes and ankles. They aren't too noticeable or ugly actually, just the most pain ever for me. So I was awkwardly slipping on my folded blanket as my wounds repeatedly reminded me that I can't wear shoes that every other girl can wear beautifully.
3. I had a killer stomach ache. Trying to balance and fold your body while having a stomach ache is horrible. I could have walked away and been sick instantly but I had too much pride for that. Also, I'm pretty sure the yoga teacher was staring right at me, not that there was many places to look because it was a small group of 7 people. Yet at the moment I was giving up I heard her say "If you are starting to lose focus, just come back to your breathing." IT'S NOT THAT SIMPLE!
4. There were two boys making fart noises. These boys were not part of the group but decided ruining a calming experience for strangers would be an awesome way to spend the afternoon. They did this for about 15 minutes. How am I supposed to not throw up and stay calm in that situation!? So naturally, I made giving the finger part of my yoga moves; to which my sister whispered, "That's not very yoga-like." But really, it was a very graceful giving of the finger.
5. I have bad knees. They don't like it when I strain them and even make me ice them after every time I run. So basically my entire body was up in arms (and downward dog) every time I moved.
With all of these aspects working against me, I made it to the end! And I must admit, the corpse pose at the end of the session brought me to my happy place. For those of you who do not know, the corpse pose is lying on your back and in this case for me, basking in the sun. I fell asleep for a minute or two while we were allowed to let our mind wander. This was my favorite part.
Afterwards, Gina defined the result of Sunday afternoon yoga perfectly, "My body feels like jelly."
Random thought: I live in a neighborhood of single homes with nice yards. They are not huge plots of land but they are land. I fully appreciate this fact everyday. I also have studied a lot about the American Dream. I have always believed part of the American Dream for a family man is caring for a yard of his own, as it is a source of pride and sign of success. So my question is, why are most of the yards in my neighborhood mowed and cared for by immigrants?
And no, this is not regarding immigration issues but rather simply inquiring about the change in values that have seemingly occurred over the years. I suppose it is not some major issue but it is interesting that these homes in which strangers mow their lawns are all owned by younger families than my own.
My father just turned 60 and I am the youngest of my family at 22 years old. My father still mows our lawn and cares for it like a child (granted, my brother does help him.) We may poke fun at him for it but I know he gets a lot out of this. I understand the modern man has a different role in today's world than generations before, as does the modern woman. Perhaps I am a bit more traditional, but I'm proud of my dad and brother for caring for our land themselves.
Given this train of thought I decided to call my dad and ask him why he cares about his yard so much and this was his honorable response, "I'm very busy. I'll call you back." So there it is, the real American man doing his job while he is at his job. Right on, pop.
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Be the truck going down the hill. Be aware of boxes.
Passing the time while passing trucks:
Me: Do trucks feel like fat people when they go up hills and cars are passing them all over the place?
Brian: OR do they feel like weight lifters because of their raw power?
Me: I guess it changes depending on whether you're going up or down the hill.
Moral of the story: be the truck going down the hill... while going up the hill of life? oh well, there's a lesson in there somewhere.
On a different note related to cars:
"Goal of the day: decide whether you'd eat green eggs and ham with a fox in a box or in a house with a mouse."
That's what I woke up to find on a sticky note next to my bed. That's what I spent the rest of the day, well, most of the day thinking about while serving pancakes and eggs to hungry families, hungover college kids, and couples out for Sunday brunch.
The day was uneventful, the same as every other weekend at the cafe. There was unnecessary shouting from my boss, hundreds of coffee cups filled up and drank down, and about 20 of the same jokes said to me with a nice robotic laugh in response, that I think came from me.
After work, I went home to power in some homework. Actually, I don't remember but that probably wasn't what happened. I do know I showered and changed then drove out to the mall to meet my boyfriend. I was still debating my green eggs and ham companion and our setting, but Brian wasn't debating anything as he got off work. It was time to go to his house and have some home-cooked food with his family.
The route is short and direct, only a 40 minute drive from school but there was plenty of traffic this specific evening. Brian was driving pretty fast as we cruised westward in the left lane ("fast" being the speed limit, of course.) About 20 minutes into the drive the road got bumpy.
We saw a van a few cars up switch lanes followed rather quickly by another car and Brian started braking. However, when the car directly in front of us went immediately into the right lane without hesitation it was too late for us to do the same. As soon as the car moved out of our view the only thing that we could see was cardboard. Huh? Yes, a huge cardboard box, shaped like it held a refrigerator, covered the entire windshield's view and soon covered spots of the highway and surrounding grassy knolls.
It wasn't so much a flash of my life before my eyes as it was waiting for the hit of another car. It was slow motion and instantaneous as the same time. The hit didn't come. But the rain did. There were plastic pieces raining all around the car and highway. We ended up in the grass median between the east and west routes.
Quiet. We sat there waiting for our hearts to stop beating out our chests and waiting for the cars to stop buzzing by; the latter never happened. So I finally got out of the car to check out the damage; wrecked. Thousands of dollars in damage to Brian's 6-month-old (used but lovely) car. I called 9-1-1 and went through those motions.
A wonderful woman stopped on the side of the highway, crossed two lanes and made sure we were okay. People are good.
Another woman came out of the darkness having walked hundreds of yards from her truck down the road, the one with the driver still sitting in it, and she shouted towards us as she began gathering her belongings.
"You must have hit our box!" People aren't always good.
"Oh my goodness, it was your box!? Well, that is just fine. I'm sorry we blew it to pieces and inconvenienced you." Just kidding, I had no robotic laugh this time. "The cops are on their way," is what I really said as I bundled up to protect myself from the cold Winter air.
We called Brian's dad and told him we hit the box... he thought we said "buck." Then Brian's brother found out and thought we said it was a "fox." Apparently they had animals on the brain and probably green eggs and ham too.
Brian's dad came to get us and we ate dinner a bit later than we thought we would that night. The car was towed away and restored within about a month. The box ended up being a kid's bed frame and not a jungle gym like we had originally thought. It had fallen off their truck because of a flimsy bungee cord.
It was supposed to be snowing that night. We were running late. The accident happened about 100 yards before cement, metal, and huge ditches took over as medians. No other cars crashed. We were so close from missing that box and so close to losing something much more. We were lucky. I'm a much more cautious driver now.
And I'm definitely eating my green eggs and ham in a house with a mouse.
We saw a van a few cars up switch lanes followed rather quickly by another car and Brian started braking. However, when the car directly in front of us went immediately into the right lane without hesitation it was too late for us to do the same. As soon as the car moved out of our view the only thing that we could see was cardboard. Huh? Yes, a huge cardboard box, shaped like it held a refrigerator, covered the entire windshield's view and soon covered spots of the highway and surrounding grassy knolls.
It wasn't so much a flash of my life before my eyes as it was waiting for the hit of another car. It was slow motion and instantaneous as the same time. The hit didn't come. But the rain did. There were plastic pieces raining all around the car and highway. We ended up in the grass median between the east and west routes.
Quiet. We sat there waiting for our hearts to stop beating out our chests and waiting for the cars to stop buzzing by; the latter never happened. So I finally got out of the car to check out the damage; wrecked. Thousands of dollars in damage to Brian's 6-month-old (used but lovely) car. I called 9-1-1 and went through those motions.
A wonderful woman stopped on the side of the highway, crossed two lanes and made sure we were okay. People are good.
Another woman came out of the darkness having walked hundreds of yards from her truck down the road, the one with the driver still sitting in it, and she shouted towards us as she began gathering her belongings.
"You must have hit our box!" People aren't always good.
"Oh my goodness, it was your box!? Well, that is just fine. I'm sorry we blew it to pieces and inconvenienced you." Just kidding, I had no robotic laugh this time. "The cops are on their way," is what I really said as I bundled up to protect myself from the cold Winter air.
We called Brian's dad and told him we hit the box... he thought we said "buck." Then Brian's brother found out and thought we said it was a "fox." Apparently they had animals on the brain and probably green eggs and ham too.
Brian's dad came to get us and we ate dinner a bit later than we thought we would that night. The car was towed away and restored within about a month. The box ended up being a kid's bed frame and not a jungle gym like we had originally thought. It had fallen off their truck because of a flimsy bungee cord.
It was supposed to be snowing that night. We were running late. The accident happened about 100 yards before cement, metal, and huge ditches took over as medians. No other cars crashed. We were so close from missing that box and so close to losing something much more. We were lucky. I'm a much more cautious driver now.
And I'm definitely eating my green eggs and ham in a house with a mouse.
This was the result =/ but thank God we were not injured.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Leap & build your wings on the way down
I'm starting to take my first steps into a world outside of school. This blog is one of those steps. I plan on taking this era of my life by storm, so watch out for falling branches.
I have yet to have a job... or even a resume for that matter. HOWEVER, I think about having both ;] But I am trying to make little goals that I can actually accomplish. For example, writing a creative piece once a week and keeping up with running now that I actually have the time, energy, and abilities that God has graced me with.
The first step towards Actual Adult Land is finding an appropriate format for my resume --> putting that baby together --> concocting a slammin' cover letter --> putting my portfolio together --> and pressing send and hoping for the best. Also, this is for internships rather than jobs because unfortunately I have no experience but I cannot wait to get out there and starting soaking some up... because it seems as if everyone else already has been doing so...
The weird part is looking for a job now and realizing this is all I need. That is to say, I've always had school and a job for years now; my last semester at Millersville being the worst because of it. I took 6 classes and worked 6:45-3 p.m. Saturdays and Sundays waiting tables. I was exhausted and went months without a day off. Also, I may have been the most anger prone human being in the world; i.e. pulling up plants on campus and knocking over signs that you stick in the ground, whoops. So I also admit to being lackadaisical (phew tough word to spell!) these past Summer months. Anddd also I admit to slacking on my goals of relearning piano and Spanish. But a girl's gotta watch Grey's Anatomy and lay in the sun, right?!
I wanna go big... but here is to turning off the TV and starting small!
I have yet to have a job... or even a resume for that matter. HOWEVER, I think about having both ;] But I am trying to make little goals that I can actually accomplish. For example, writing a creative piece once a week and keeping up with running now that I actually have the time, energy, and abilities that God has graced me with.
The first step towards Actual Adult Land is finding an appropriate format for my resume --> putting that baby together --> concocting a slammin' cover letter --> putting my portfolio together --> and pressing send and hoping for the best. Also, this is for internships rather than jobs because unfortunately I have no experience but I cannot wait to get out there and starting soaking some up... because it seems as if everyone else already has been doing so...
The weird part is looking for a job now and realizing this is all I need. That is to say, I've always had school and a job for years now; my last semester at Millersville being the worst because of it. I took 6 classes and worked 6:45-3 p.m. Saturdays and Sundays waiting tables. I was exhausted and went months without a day off. Also, I may have been the most anger prone human being in the world; i.e. pulling up plants on campus and knocking over signs that you stick in the ground, whoops. So I also admit to being lackadaisical (phew tough word to spell!) these past Summer months. Anddd also I admit to slacking on my goals of relearning piano and Spanish. But a girl's gotta watch Grey's Anatomy and lay in the sun, right?!
I wanna go big... but here is to turning off the TV and starting small!
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