I ranted recently that people who would eliminate a resume from consideration due to one typo were maybe a bit too harsh.
Was just going over my own resume….yeah, the one I recently sent out.
And found…
You guessed it.
Ah well. Live by the misspelled word, die by the misspelled word.
And the f$%^ing New York Post can’t help themselves.
“ESPN HOTTIE ERIN ANDREWS IN PEEP SHOCKER” screams the headline (I won’t link to that trash).
Gasps of shock that this could happen run through the story.
And YET…
That rag posts screen grabs from the video with a “modesty” black bar across her parts.
The video taken of her is both illegal and vastly offensive.
And in reporting the offense, one shouldn’t also include the video, links to the video or screen grabs.
The media is just perpetrating that what happened to her is ok. Spying via the peep hole in her hotel room door is ok, right? She’s just a woman, after all, and a really good looking one, too. Oh, and she’s in the public eye, so getting video of her naked is a-ok, right?
Oh, she can’t just be good at her job, nope, she’s gotta be a “hottie” too.
And that the media is taking this with a behind the hand ho-ho-ho takes me from miffed to furious.
The Baltimore Sun got it a bit more respectful (but still smirky with the air-finger quotes), so I’ll link to this article for reference:
ESPN: Erin Andrews ‘grievously wronged’ by video
Cranky!
Edit: Story is emerging. Good opinion piece here. Thanks to NewMexiKen for the link.
“Hey Karen, what are you going to do this weekend?”
“Nothing!”
True conversation held last Friday.
The last two and a half months have been nothing short of a rat race. Every weekend something was brewing.
Every. Weekend. Since May.
Most of the stuff was good. Traveling, dinner with friends and family, visiting newly born godbabies, etc.
Also, both The Good Man and I celebrated birthdays over that time span.
There was also some crap stuff, like moving out of our place for termite tenting.
Every weekend was a blur, non-stop, arriving back at work Monday more tired then when I’d left the previous Friday.
I’m a Taurus, and by nature, a bit of an at-home kind of girl. Bonding with the red couch is my sort of speed.
My Gemini love is more of a “let’s GOOOOO” sort of fellow.
So for us, it is about striking a balance.
Combine my natural tendency to lay about with a couple months of mistreatment at the hands of my employers, and you have Little Johnny Karen on the verge of something not pretty.
All work and no play makes Karen a very, very cranky girl.
And so, for the past two and a half months I have been plotting and planning a weekend that included zero plans with anyone other than me, the husband and the feline.
I had targeted this past weekend for some time and was a little bit cranky in defending it. We had no less than FOUR invitations to do something this weekend. All of which, we turned down.
Sure, that may make me a bad friend, but I have my sanity to consider.
So finally, the delicious weekend of July 18th arrived, and good for my word, I did nothing.
Ok, to be fair, I did a few things. Laundry. Landlord came to make some needed repairs. Ran a few errands.
But I also took a *nap* on both Saturday and Sunday. Oh delicious mouth watering naps.
I also made dinner for me and the cutest boy on Saturday night. Took the time and made a genuine homemade dinner! Imgaine that!
You know what else? I *read* a book. My god, it’s like vacation porn. I actually sat on my tush and READ A BOOK. Ay god. Makes me drool just remembering.
So as it will, Monday has returned to my life, but so far so good. I feel a bit rested, calmer, ready to take on the slings and arrows that will inevitably land my way.
Next weekend, it all begins again. Rev up the big machine and start running. Won’t see another break until September…*sigh*
My new motto: Do nothing. And do it *really* well!
P.S. and all those old fashioned “you must get up early and work hard!” because you think it makes you moral-and-just type of folks. To you, I say BAH!
P.P.S. And BAH! again!
Some webfame for our Fair New Mexico.
From the “Blog” of “Unnecessary” Quotation Marks
I’ve never been prouder to be a New Mexican.
Gotta love Grants.
I’m going to take a divergence from my usual frivolity and irreverence here on this blog.
Yup, a departure. I’m instead going to sink below all that and slip right over into immature and really, a bit petty.
But I’ll redeem myself by the end. I promise.
Watch me work.
So, last evening I was out and about. I had drinks with a former coworker. A lady who is a friend, a mentor, and someone I respect deeply. It was great to catch up, laugh a little, and have fun.
Later, after we’d parted ways, I wandered over to the ol’ stompin’ grounds located near my former employer. I was looking for a friend I knew would probably be there, having a drink. I was surprised to find not just my buddy, but also a whole group of my former crew from The Company.
These are the folks I worked with, side by side, walking through fire, hand-to-hand combat, and together we had major, major success.
These are some of the best folks, and it was great to see them!
Among those present was a gentleman (using that term loosely) that I worked with pretty closely back in the day. This was quite a few years ago, well before The Good Man.
For the sake of anonymity, let’s call him…Sporto.
Back then, I sorta had a little crush on the guy. Yes, I’ll admit it, I liked ol’ Sporto a lot and might have chased him a little bit. I think he might have liked me a little too, but just a little. He actually liked it better when I was chasing him around.
So of course, I never got any traction there, and eventually gave up.
Whatever.
So last night, there Sporto was, and seemed really happy to see me. He gave me a big hug, a “how *are* you?” and that ol’ charming smile…the one like a ferret about to devour the alligator egg.
After hugs all around the group, we all got a drink and settled around a table. We quickly fell back into our old ways, teasing each other mercilessly and laughing a lot.
At one point, I said to the group something like, “yeah, my husband told me blah blah blah.”
What I said doesn’t matter.
What *does* matter is that when I said the phrase “my husband”, ol’ Sporto’s ears perked up, and he gave me a look like someone had shot his dog.
He caught my eye across the table and mouthed, “You got married?”
I nodded eagerly and held up my ring hand.
And I grinned a Cheshire smile.
Later he caught me aside, “uh…when did you get married? I mean, last time I saw you…you were….”
He left that space empty to imply, “last time I saw you, you were into ME”
Whatever.
I laughed and said, “Yeah, I got married about a year ago, he’s great, we’re having a lot of fun.”
And here’s where I got petty.
I then said to him, concerned hand on his shoulder, “Why do you look so sad?”
He mumbled, “I don’t know…..I guess…..just another good one off the market.”
What I *should* have replied was “YOU HAD YOUR CHANCE, DILLWEED!!”
Here’s where I redeem myself.
What I did reply was, “thanks for saying that…”
He then shuffled off, shot-dog look and shoulder slumped, over to the bar, and ordered another beer.
I went back to my friends and picked up where we left off.
I also *might* have engaged in a small, yet subtle vindication dance.
