I felt like a snowflake last night. Suspended but in motion. Alone but a part of something bigger. Pretty. Happy. Still. Contentment is not an emotion I know intimately. But I think its a snowflake feeling.

Thanksgiving passed without a sound. We almost forgot, what with living in a place that the day is just like anyother, starting a new job, and going to the isle of skye this weekend. But it was a fun night. We went out with some friends who’ve just moved here from England. We saw the new Bond movie and had a pint. We ate marvelous sushi. I love living on an island; the fish is divine.

Sunday, December 3 we are having the International crew over for a rescheduled Thanksgiving diner. Friends from Afganastan, Iran, Indonesia, Iraq, Chile, and England will be joining us for some good old American gluttony. I’ll be trying to cook our meal via the Thanksgiving recipe from Eating Well. Aside from Thanksgiving last year when my mom came to Chicago to run the Turkey Trot 7 K race with me and Shaun and I made us turkey sandwiches and lots of side dishes, this will be my first attempt at organizing and cooking a holiday meal. Wish me luck!

Also, can I say: I love BUST magazine. New issue came yesterday. It makes me so happy every time. Girls rock. BUST knows it.

That is all.

Wednesday is day three of the new jobby job.

Although the title is the same as my last position in Chicago (save for the British spelling of “Marketing Coordinator,” which is “Marketing Co-ordinator.”), my new job in Glasgow is much different. Instead of party planning, copy writing, and routing drafts, I am archiving, organizing mailings, and managing online forums. I’ll be doing web copy writing in the future, which will be cool. I’m digging the slower pace of this position, I have time to give proper attention to each task. My last Chicago position had me managing a million projects simultaneously; this time around I get to focus on a few set tasks for one project, a design festival in May.

My new work place is structured very nicely; no one seems overly stressed or like they are living at work. No one has rings around their eyes. No one skips lunch to eat at his or her desk. No one forgoes their generous amount of vacation time (so far my favorite part of working in the UK) to “get things done in the office.” People are friendly to each other. Cubicles don’t exist–people just share rooms. Everyone knows your name and is eager to chat. It’s really nice.

Another excellent thing about my new workplace is the dress code. Its artsy/casual, meaning: don’t look too grubby, but don’t wear a suit to work either. Yesterday I wore my black pencil skirt/boots combo; today my “good jeans” and a black blouse. Pretty much anything besides sweats, spandex, and ripped pants goes. Tomorrow I have a hair appointment after work to get my locks in shape again. What good is getting to dress cute every day without pretty hair to accompany the ensemble? Plus, my hair is getting grubby. It’s hard to look like you mean business with bangs in your eyes.

Also tomorrow, I have an all-staff lunch to attend. These shindigs happen monthly. Everyone who works at the museum brings a dish and has a fun little potluck, no shoptalk allowed. I made oatmeal raisin cookies tonight and I’m looking forward to getting to know people (and hopefully make a lunch buddy) tomorrow. Although no one can replace my true lunch buddy in Chicago. (Hiya, Caitlin!)

What else? Fiona! It wasn’t until working in Scotland that I realized how many people have the name Fiona here. Two alone are in my department and the visitor services staff have at least 3, as far as I can tell. Doing data entry today, I think at least a quarter of the women I entered were named Fiona. I like that fun, quirky differences can make even data entry intersting to me here.

Overall (please forgive that wretched transitional phrase. I’m tired tonight, gentle readers.), I feel lucky to be working at all, let alone in a workplace that treats me like a human and pays me to advocate for something I beleive in. I can’t help but think how grateful I am to everyone who helped me to get to where I’m at. I nearly didn’t apply for this job because I figured it was such a shot in the dark. Warm encouragement from Shaun and my mom’s “what’s the worst that can happen?” philosophy is what got me to apply. I’m so thankful to have parents who taught me to be brave and a husband who values that bravery. I’m too young yet to be an expert or an authority. Most of what I do relies on moxie alone, and without it, I’d be stuck. And I’d probably not experience the world enough to learn what I need to know to ever be an authority or expert on anything when I’m older. So a big, blanket of thanks to everyone. I love you.
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What is your favorite part of your job? How did you get there?

I’m just back from the most loving little holiday. Shaun and I did some beautiful hiking around the Arrochar Alps this weekend. My head is clear, my smile is smily, and I am feeling fresh and calm and happy for my first day of work tomorrow. While I love the art and culture that city living gives me such easy access to, the open, sweet smelling wild is the place where my heart lives.

For the full story and pretty, pretty pictures, visit The Loch Ness Blog.
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Where does your heart live?

::Random Tangent::
Bassetbottom asks: “have you been to The Mackintosh House in Glasgow?”
Chicagoartgirl23 answers: I have! And I’m glad you have too. The Hunterian Art Gallery and the Mackintosh house were the first spot of culture I took in when we first moved here. It was a double dose of the Glasgow Style, too, because at the time, the Hunterian’s main exhibtion, entitled Doves and Dreams, highlighted work by Renee Mackintosh’s wife, Margaret Macdonald Mackintosh. Also, the one treat that came out of my weird job interview with City Council was that the interview was held in Martyrs’ School, a Mackintosh creation that is not usually open to the public. Fun stuff.

Today I ate in heaven.

In heaven, plump olives glisten in gorgeous bowls. Rosemary and goat cheese tarts nestle neatly between billowing, beautiful croissants. Plates are pilled high with bunches of spinach, drizzled with balsamic, brightened with sun dried tomatoes, finessed with pignoli. The air smells of figs and coffee and warm, loving, whole meal bread.

Is this heaven? Oh wait. No. It’s Kember and Jones on Byers Road. But I certainly wouldn’t mind spending an eternity there.

Shaun and I savored some fluffy coffee drinks, scones and the most delicious apple/blackberry pie I’ve ever eaten there as a reward for tying up some boring bank chores. It’s only been a few hours since we went, and already I want to go back. YUM.
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Have you eaten anywhere delicious recently?

::Random Tangent::
As mentioned in the insane edit to my last post, I got my dream job! So no more bitching out of me, I swear. (I apologize: I think this blog was getting gloomy.) Read all about it, as well as this past weekend spent with fellow Xanga author, Jenn, on The Loch Ness Blog. Seriously. My good post for the week is there. Go read it. You’ll laugh.

WARNING: This post contains a little good natured smut.

One of the funniest things I’ve ever seen in my entire life was when my beloved mother-in-law crammed a fistful of pencils in her mouth, mistaking them for pretzels. We were at a wine tasting in Saugatuck, MI during Shaun’s stepsister’s wedding weekend. Mother-in-law got a little tipsy, felt a little peckish, enthusiastically rooted her fist around in a cup of pencils the wine clerk had at his desk, and threw a fistful in her mouth. To her credit, the pencils were those small, eraserless pencils that you use to keep score of miniature gold games. But still: the image I have of her chomping down on wood and lead makes me laugh hysterically whenever I think of it. And her little face of “what?!” when she didn’t taste salt along with the crunch. Priceless.

The second funniest thing I’ve ever seen came my way yesterday while on assignment in a gay sex shop that I was reviewing for a travel publication. I tried to look nonchalant in my lipstick and hoop earrings as I walked into the shop, which I noted after a quick glance around, caters exclusively to gay men. Namely those interested in prosthetic phalluses the size of Arnold Swarchenegger’s forearm and butt-less leather chaps.

So here I am, poking innocently about the sex shop, wondering what I could possibly write about this store besides “penis, penis, penis, butt hole, penis, penis,” when I see it, the second funniest thing I’ve ever seen in my life, shelved neatly next to a painful-looking device called The Massive Crack Attack: a game called Anal Ring Toss.

The Anal Ring Toss package pictures a fresh-faced nineteen-year old boy. The boy’s mouth was shaped in a prim little circle of surprise, eyebrows lifted, eyes doe-like, and a dainty hand placed on his cheek. If it weren’t for the fact that the boy was stark naked with a pole jutting obscenely from his squeaky-clean bottom, you might just think he was imitating the Queen. And to add the final touch of hilarity to the scene, the photo was snapped as a plastic ring was caught mid-air, sailing towards the pole for a winning point.

I couldn’t help it. A laugh burst from my throat when I landed eyes on Anal Ring Toss. A loud laugh. A nice man in a spandex shirt came over and asked if I needed any help. I told him no, thank you. I was just browsing. I wanted to ask if The Anal Ring Toss was a top seller (I mean, with a package that great, how could it not be?), but the laughter started to bubble up in my throat again and I scurried out of the shop so as not to look too immature.

I got the information I needed and wrote up a hot little review last night. And as a little bonus, got another one of those absurd mental images that is sure to make me laugh for years to come.
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Do you have a moment or image that makes you laugh whenever you think of it?

EDIT 1:30 pm: Holy crap!!!!!!!! I just got a call from The Lighthouse! I’m the new markering coordinator for the Six Cities Design Festival! I start Monday, November 20 and I am so exicted that I just might pee my pants! The bird is gone! It’s gone!!!!

There is a little brown bird that lives in my chest. Sometimes I feel his scratchy, brittle claws hopping around the branches of my ribs. Sometimes he pecks at the grapes of my bronchial sacks, greedy and frenzied like birds are. In the worst of times, he puffs up and beats his wings against the hollows of my body, trying and unable to escape; I feel like I’m choking on his feathers.

My bank statement came today. I need to start work. Now.

I had two job interviews this week. On Tuesday, I thought I was interviewing to be a Clerical Assistant to the city’s Marketing Department; Glasgow City Council seriously needs to work on accurately advertising vacancies. As it turned out, the position I was inexplicably a candidate for was that of Purchasing Associate to the museum shops. While I’m sure I could handle the task of confirming prices with vendors and ordering shipments, the only retail experience I have was a very part-time job at Hallmark during high school. If I got the position, I would have been contacted yesterday by 5 pm. My phone was very quiet all night. I was not surprised.

Yesterday I also interviewed for a very desirable position as a Marketing Coordinator for Scotland’s Six City Design Festival in May 2007. I aced the interview and even if I don’t get the job (which is very likely, since I’m new to Scotland and have never set foot in three of the six cities), I know in my heart that I did my very best. This makes the bird hush a bit. I’ll know Friday by 5 pm if I got the job.

After the interview yesterday, I enjoyed a calming ham toastie, a cold Stella, and the end chapters of the Kate Atkinson book I was reading at a friendly place called Cafe JJ before heading over to the Job Center to get my National Insurance number. Remember, I waited 2 1/2 weeks to get this appointment. I was told by the temp agency that hired me (my back-up plan if the two interviews came to nothing) that I needed my number before I could start work.

At the Job Center, my advisor told me that what the temp agency said was illegal; I was only required to apply for the number once hired, but they should have let me start work in the meantime. Not only that, but the appointment did not conclude with me getting my number. To my dismay, I have to wait another 2-3 weeks before it should arrive via mail.

I was given a number for my temp agency to call to get them to start me right away. But so far it hasn’t made a difference. It may just agitate them further and make me a temp that they don’t want to deal with and will not call to give assignments to.

Maybe this wouldn’t bother me so much if finding a job weren’t such a bloody nightmare. I don’t understand. I’ve put in heaps of applications to a wide range of jobs: retail, food service, office jobs, janitorial jobs, marketing jobs, and museum jobs. I can’t apply to work in schools or tutor, as the Brits have certain certifications you need that American me doesn’t have.

Before registering with the temp agency, I was hired as a temp to Royal Mail for three weeks during the holiday season. But once I got the office temp job, I figured I wouldn’t do the mail thing. Now I’m not so sure. The Royal Mail gig is only for 3 weeks and doesn’t start until December, by which time I will probably have gotten the national insurance number anyway, thus eligible to start work with the temp agency. But can I trust the temp agency? They’ve acted illegally, to my great disadvantage, after all.

The bird is riled.

Perhaps I’ll get the dream job with the design festival and all of this silliness will float away. I will laugh easily again and my skin will finally clear up and the bird will soar out of my throat with ease.

In better news, Itchy City liked my sample reviews and assigned me to review Glasgow gay bars for next years guide. The job is unpaid, but its good exposure, fun to do, and shit, it’s not like I’m doing anything else at the moment. Plus, I get a media card, which will likely get me in for free and may help in getting me free drinks. So this weekend I’m scheduled to review 7 gay bars, 1 gay sex shop and 1 gay community center by Sunday at noon.

I’m a little nervous, as I’ve yet to make any Glasgow friends who are gay, meaning I have to hit the clubs alone or with a straight friend. Which is fine with me, I’ve had fun in plenty of gay bars, albeit accompanied by gay friends. I just hope it will be okay with the patrons. I don’t want the patrons to feel like they are an anthropological exhibition or anything, you know? All I can do is my best. I can also pray that the smell of latex and rubber in the sex shop isn’t so strong that I pass out. Although that would provide some really hilarious writing material, now wouldn’t it? Ha!

Also, I passed my Teaching English as a Foreign Language course last weekend. Hurrah! It was completely exhausting (20 hours in two days!), but totally worth it. Everyone said that I am a very convincing, encouraging teacher. Weirdly enough, I felt like more of a foreigner in the course than I have in any of the time spent abroad so far.

In mock teaching presentations, I unintentionally wrote examples with American phrases. “You need a ticket to ride the train” made everyone laugh. Brits don’t ride trains. They just get on them. Punctuation style is different, which I knew about. But grammatical terms are also different, which I did not know about. Lucky for me, outside of the course in a teaching position, they will hire me to teach American style everything. Unless I work in the UK, of course, which seems unlikely. Also, I was told that I am very American in my presentational style. When my students got something right, I gave them two thumbs up, applauded, smiled and said, “Good job!” or “Awesome!” The Brits tended more towards a stiff nod and a “well done, then.”

So now I’m looking around for some short-term positions teaching English abroad, to get me a bit of experience before we move back to the states. I’m looking for a position that is no longer than 4-6 weeks, sometime before September of 2007. I’m also looking to join a Spanish immersion course, as I am now qualified to teach immersion courses and after learning more about them, think its a great way to learn a language.

Taking these positive actions do a lot towards making the bird simmer. But you know what would make him chill out for real? A job. A shift. A paycheck.

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Have you ever worked (or tried to work) abroad? What was your experience like?

For the last two and a half weeks I’ve been lazing about, guilt free. After firing off countless CVs to various jobs in Glasgow (and spending one hot, fetid, prawn-reeking first and last day employed in a sandwich shop), I was hired by a temporary agency called Kelly Services on October 19. While both my employer and I were eager to start me on my first office assignment straight away, Kelly Services requires all their employees to have a National Insurance Number before they begin employment.

In the UK, the National Insurance number is what the government uses to make sure you pay taxes. It is how you can receive whatever benefits your employer offers. Trying to live without one is a bit like trying to live without a social security number in the states. And trying to get one is a lengthy process.

Once you have a job (or evidence via a rejection letter that you’ve been looking for employment), you make an appointment to apply for your number. To the appointment, you have to bring a plethora of evidence that you are who you are: passport, visa, birth certificate, marriage certificate, drivers license, blood samples, baby teeth, your crusty, petrified umbilical cord stub, ect. It’s quite complicated, really.

I made my appointment to get my number after getting a rejection letter on October 17. And the fastest appointment I could get for my number is 23 days later on November 8.

While it has been nice to have 23 days to enjoy the city without the stress of looking for a job weighing on me, I certainly wasn’t expecting it. When you are granted a work visa, no one tells you: “oh yeah, you won’t be able to actually work until you apply for this other thing.” (Although some employers, like Shaun’s, will let you start before you have a number, knowing how long it takes to get one.)

This number thing is nothing that I’m upset over, but just something that I thought might be worth tossing out on the ‘net, should anyone else be planning to live abroad and might find this info useful in their budgeting; my credit cards are getting clingy.

Anyhow, so I am content thinking of working as an office temp this year. The hours and flexibility are ideal. The thought of popping into someone’s day-to-day work has a voyeuristic quality that appeals to me and should benefit my writing. Then yesterday, I began to visualize a different route this year could take for me: I received two letters inviting me to interview for two very appealing jobs.

The first job interview is for Glasgow City Council. I applied to act as the assistant to the city’s marketing office, which would be fun and relatively low stress. I’ve always wanted to be a city employee and I held a similar position at the Museum of Contemporary Art (MCA) in Chicago before my promotion. Plus, I truly like this city. I could assist in the marketing of it in good conscious.

The second job interview is for The Lighthouse: Scotland’s Centre for Architecture, Design, and The City. The position I’m a candidate for is to be the Marketing Coordinator for the Six City Design Festival in early summer, 2007. I know I would throw myself into this job; I love The Lighthouse (it’s one of Glasgow’s coolest museums and the cafe is luscious). Plus, I was a Marketing Coordinator at the MCA so I know the logistics of the job, and the idea of working intensely on one project appeals to me. I think that the festival sounds incredible.

I’m certainly not an architecture expert (or an expert much at anything yet, really. I’m only 24 for gods sake!), but I’ve been brushing up on my Scottish art/architecture history lately (what can I say, I’ve had a lot of time on my hands), so even if I don’t get the job I will have all this fun knowledge floating about my head. Plus, I sincerely value what the festival offers, and I am confident in my ability to communicate that value to the public.

Architecture and design are fun to celebrate. When people are given a chance to revel in the objects and spaces that they utilize everyday, it’s interesting to realize that utilitarianism does not equate to mundane. Strong aesthetic principals are not frivolous; they can influence a community subtly, guide us, help us navigate, influence our moods and our ability to think, create, and engage.

I’m going to take the train into Sterling on Monday to checkout the architecture there (Sterling is one of the Six Cities in the festival), so that should be a fun trip. There is a castle there, too, so I expect that I’ll frolic about it for a while.

Anyhow, if I don’t get either job (it is likely that a local might be more desirable for either position, understandably so), it’s good to keep in the habit of interviewing. Plus, the worst thing that can happen is that I don’t get either of these jobs and I get to flit about the offices of Glasgow as a temp, discovering all the types of paper shuffling there is in the world. I can take vacations or new assignments whenever things get stale. Like I said, the temp job is appealing to me too. I guess I just have to wait and see.

In the meantime, this weekend I’m taking a condensed course to get my Teaching English as a Foreign Language certification. This might help me land a job at a writing center or a school when we move back to the states. Also, with this certification, you can do month-long trips teaching English in places like Peru, which might be an interesting way for me to get used to large, terrifying bugs. Oh yeah, and help me transition into an English teaching career before I’m thirty.

After the course is finished on Sunday, I’m joining Shaun and the rest of the International crew at the Glasgow Green for a chilly night of fireworks and bonfires in celebration of Guy Fawkes Night.

Remember, remember the 5th of November!
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Have you ever visualized taking your working-life in a different direction? What did it look like?