Jerked Around

I've been fairly quiet for awhile. I haven't felt much like writing, basically, because I've been in a holding pattern. After my great interview at the university, I knew I'd have to wait about a month for the other two candidates to fly in and have their turn. Well, it's been about 8 weeks since then, and I STILL haven't heard anything. I emailed the director. Nothing. Finally today, my heart pounding, I called up to ask them point blank -- I'm assuming I'm not hired, could you at least tell me so?

Apparently, not so. After leaving my message on their voicemail, the admin assistant called me back. I had really enjoyed talking to her when I was there, and knew (hoped) she wouldn't jerk me around. She just called me back, all apologies, falling over herself to try and explain.

THEY HAVEN'T MADE A DECISION YET! Wtf??? Keep in mind that I interviewed for this job on March 14th. And even if you allow an additional two weeks for each of the other finalists, that still leaves a good 7-8 weeks to mull it over. This isn't like a high-powered, high-paying job. It's a DECENT job, doing something I'd LOVE to do, but it's hardly the presidency.

Now, to complicate things.... Beau had a phone interview for a teaching job in Missouri earlier this week and they offered him the job on the spot! (because he's awesome). It's a place that is probably a good 190 miles away from the university I interviewed at. A bit of a commute! The high school wants Beau to give him their final decision -- by TOMORROW. Oh hell.

And I think it's very important that he says "yes," because it's not like Biology teaching jobs are falling out of the sky and this is a guaranteed ticket back to Missouri for us (and a fairly decent teacher's salary as well). Knowing my continuous bought of crappy luck, he'll say "yes," and a month from now (the admin assistant said it could be as long as the end of June before they know for sure. Pfff), they'll call up and say, "Congratulations, you got the job!"

*sob*

I tell you, moving..... again. Stab me now. But, this is it. READ. MY. LIPS. This is it! No more moving ever ever ever again. Missouri is where I will be buried!

Well, unless we get the chance to go back to New Zealand. *cough*

Beau is in a complete tizzy. He worries like an old woman, and stresses! He just cannot conceive how we can possibly move -- financially. All we own is the little Honda, but now we have furniture and you know, stuff. It's not like renting a UHaul is as easy or cheap as it used to be, and let's not forget $4/gallon gas. He almost doesn't want to take the job just because he doesn't know how we'll manage to get there.

But hey, it's me! I always find a way. Sure, I'm always broke, but I always get to where I need to be.

And lastly, the thought of diving back into that job market again is a monstrously terrifying thought for me. Selfishly, I had really hoped that THIS time that -I- would be the one who got the great job and Beau would be following me, because every time I move to a new place, it gets harder and harder to get that good job. One bright spot -- Beau's job is just 20 miles from Columbia, a nice, mid-sized city (with a good Thai restaurant!) that is home to the biggest university in the state (and a few smaller ones). Yes, I'm already looking for jobs now.

Here we go again.

Pow Wow

In my endless attempt to do something other than play on the computer, watch yet another episode of Charmed or Law & Order, gain weight, or read a Harry Potter book for the second time, I was pretty excited when the annual pow wow was coming up here at the university. There is a fairly significant Native American population here on campus (as well as the state), and I have always liked that they are so much more prominent and integrated than what I experienced growing up in Arizona. Despite the fact I lived most of my childhood directly across from the Pima Indian reservation (separated by a two-lane highway), and every school in the city had a Native American name (Navajo, Mohave, Pima, Yavapi, Hopi, etc.), and you know, it's ARIZONA and all, I rarely interacted at all with another Native American, let alone even SAW them.

The reservation was a vast wasteland, a remote world, where as teenagers we went to "safely" learn how to drive, as we kicked up clouds of dust in Alishia's ginormous green tank (a 1970-something cadillac with a trunk that could comfortably hold four bodies) over the empty, gravely roads. The scenery was a sad one of dilapidated shacks, starving stray dogs, broken down cars, and stumbling tumbleweeds. Things changed dramatically years later as the mega casinos were built, and beautiful homes and new cars started to dot the reservation, but it didn't change integration at all, except for the fact that my grandparents knew the name of every floorwalker in the bingo hall. I never knew of any Native Americans in my school, which now I find strange, and a bit sad.

I love going to cultural stuff, and really miss the dozen or so cultural festivals held in Milwaukee every summer. I love eating the food, listening to (most of) the bands -- Irish music is a bit more fun to listen to than German -- and of course, shopping for cultural "fare." As a child, my grandmother had taken me to a few pow wows, but I wasn't interested. Just like the locally-held rodeos, they always seemed to be on the hottest days and drag on and on and on. If I was very lucky, my gram would buy me a roach clip (*cough* for my hair), decorated with fluffy feathers, leather, and beads.

So, we went. Well actually, I went first since Beau had some work on campus to do. It was held in the indoor center, and as soon as you entered you could hear, and feel the fast and steady thump thump thump of drums and loud songs being sung. Walking into the mail hall, the floor was a mass of beautiful dancers - who were a whir of bright colors, flapping feathers, and jingling bells. It was quite a sight and I really enjoyed watching it.

I have to admit to a couple of disappointments though. I mean, it wouldn't be a blog if I didn't. First of all, besides a smattering of tents selling jewelery and paintings (some GORGEOUS paintings), there wasn't much in the ways of cultural wares. In addition, there were no demonstrations, no booths of information, interactive kid stuff, and I couldn't find the raffle I held a pre-bought ticket for. I was super excited to have some Indian fry bread, one of my favorite foods ever, but they must make it differently here in Montana. Instead of the wide, deep-fried, smooshy, deep-dish-pizza-sized dough that covers your entire plate, I was given a squat, dark, dense piece of breadish-dough that did not have the waist-expanding goodness. Le sigh.

Lastly, where the fuck were all the white people??? (And I say this since Montana is like 99.99% white). To me, cultural festivals have always been a chance not just for that particular culture or ethnicity to join together, but also for everyone else to come check them out, discover their traditions, dance to the quirky music, sample their food, etc. Within minutes of entering, I began to feel like I was in that Sesame Street skit, "One of these kids is doing his own thing...." I started to feel slightly self-conscious, and then feeling ashamed for being so racially-aware, tried to NOT think of such a thing, which doesn't always work so well. The only other white people I saw the entire time I was there was Beau who showed up later, and a friend of mine from work who had stopped over. Oh yeah, and the teeny-boppers running the refreshment stand. I thought a festival of this sort, where Native American culture seems so prominent, would have been well-attended by many people in the community. I guess not.

Of course, all was not a loss. The dancing was fun to watch, and Beau and I went far up into the stands for a nice view. And I got a cute-as-a-speckled-pup photograph of this little sweety above. I asked her politely if I could take her picture. At first, she looked alarmed, and I felt a moment of panic (are her parents going to think I'm a creep?), but just a few seconds later she completely relaxed and hammed it up for me as you see above. Awww. :)

Maybe, Probably Not

So, this past Wednesday was the day the last candidate was going to interview for that university job I've been dying dying DYING for. Although I'm glad I was the first one interviewed, it's tough having to wait 'til everyone's done!

Now that a couple of days have gone by, I'm a little nervous. Going off my own experiences at THIS university, what usually happens after a lengthy search is that they contact the person they really want IMMEDIATELY, and kinda let all the other finalists hang until their #1 pick actually signs on the dotted line (which can take a couple weeks) or eventually says, "No, thanks" after negotiations fail or there's a better offer elsewhere. I know I felt really great about this interview and all, and was secretly hoping that like Wednesday NIGHT they would be calling me, but now that that's not happened, I'm concerned. I at least hope I get my "You're a loser" letter via email rather than having to wait for it to come unexpectedly through the mail one day.

Although Beau and I have tried REALLY hard not to put too much hope in this potential job, and have only talked in quiet whispers of "well, IF we end up leaving Montana...," I know that privately, we've both really had our hearts on this, especially after the interview(s) seemed to go so well. And since this is the only job I've applied for, because I don't want to make the BIG move (*puke* again) to Missouri until either he or I get a job we really really want (and that will be a career, not some JOB job), it's not like there are any other prospects out there. I even stopped my daily "peruse the Missouri universities' job sites" habit. I visited them again for the first time this week, and even found a job at another university I think I'd enjoy. But there's a difference between "This might be a neat job" and "This is the type of job I really really want -- for life."

I hope I have some good news for y'all by at least the end of next week. This waiting sucks!

Drama Dog!

In another chapter of "J doesn't look for Drama, but Drama looks for her!" we find ourselves in the university union, or as everyone else on campus calls it, "The University Center" or "The UC." It's finals time, and there are always lots of nice free things for students: fresh fruit, 5-minute massages, and my personal favorite - the dogs! They bring in these therapy dogs which basic function is to sit there while you pet them and chat with their owners, since petting a dog or cat is supposed to lower your blood pressure, calm you down, etc.

This is always something I enjoy doing, and this day was going to be no different.

Going to be.

As I walked up to the three dogs: a golden retriever, a hunting dog, and a border collie. I headed for the middle one, some type of hound dog with big floppy ears. The old woman began to talk about her dog, as they always do, and then said, "Hey, would you like to give her a treat?"

"Sure!" I said.

The woman then reached a hand into her pocket and began to pull out a plastic sandwich bag filled with tiny bits of kibble. Shaking slightly as she struggled to get it out, it suddenly jumped free and bits of kibble exploded all around.

I quickly picked up a few, as did the woman, as both the hunting dog, and the border collie next to it experienced buggy cartoon a-OOOO-ga eyes. The hunting dog began snuffling up the fallen treats with a startling gusto. The bordering border collie, realizing a fantasy-come-true moment, dived down to grab a few himself. That's when chaos ensued.

Just a couple inches from my face, the "therapy (hunting) dog" lunged forward at the border collie, with jaws a-snappin and a ferocious RAWR-RAWR-RAWR. The latter's owner jerked the collie back, stunned, and pretty pissed off. The old woman pulled her hunting dog back, apologizing profusely. The hunting dog continued to growl and snap, though more quietly, despite the woman's continued yanks on his leash. The border collie, who had just been fucked over for treats, just looked bummed. I sort of remained motionless in my squatting position, feeling awkward and somehow responsible.

I then emptied the couple of pieces of kibble still in my hand at the foot of the collie, saying soothingly, "Here baby, let me give you a few." It eagerly swallowed them while the owner glared at me and said, "I DON'T GIVE MY DOG TREATS."

Oops.

I pet the collie's head for a short bit, then self-consciously stood up and slinked off to the bookstore. A few minutes later while inside the store, I could hear that hunting dog's attack bark again. Uh oh. That can't be good. Again, a small whoosh of guilt shot through me.

Later that day, my colleague Jeff went to the union for his break. "Hey, did you see the dogs?" he said excitedly. "Um, yeah," I replied, "Uhh, how many dogs were there?"

"Two," he said.

*sigh* Oh well.