Unemployment Retraining....

There are more whack birds in my yard than I've ever seen. Things I can't identify. I need a guide... there is this gorgeous little thing with a burgundy underbelly and black back, and he is gleamy and shiny and so sweet. He looks sleek and fast... and his mate is just like him, only instead of dark burgundy she's a pale yellow... not as shiny, but she's lovely too. The orioles were in the tree at 9 singing, and bluejays were all over the place. And we've a herd (yeah, a herd... I did that on purpose to paint a picture of cow like masses of birds hopping along) of chickadees pecking the grass. Eat all the fucking grubs you want boys and girls! They're killin' my yard.

That's why I think the yard is so full of birds, we're a feeding station. Bugs o plenty.

My unemployment saga that I mentioned Wednesday is ready to be told. Here is the short version of why bureaucracy sucks.

I get this letter in the mail informing me that I am required to go to this employment retraining seminar. I've been randomly selected to be a participant. So I'm like a piece of paper out of a hat... randomly chosen. The kicker is that I am required to attend this thing, or lose my unemployment benefits outright.

How fair is that? You randomly pick me and then penalize me for not going by taking away my benefits. What kind of shit is that? It makes NO sense. I should randomly decide if I want to randomly participate. Jeesh.

Anyway, I call them up, make an appointment to go to the seminar. I arrange for Jen to watch Geoff. I go to the office in Haverhill, not too big a drive but the closest one to my house. I get there, and they have me fill out this ridiculous "Application" to become a "Member" of the Retraining Office.

???

Application for something that you people DEMAND I attend, and then calling me a "Member" as if I've willingly joined and want to participate? What is wrong with this picture? It would have been like the Concentration Camp director handing out applications to be members of the work camps. Whatever.

I filled out my "Application" and thank you for extending an invitation to me to get joined up y'all, and on the application it says "What services did you hope to get out of the Center?"

I didn't hope to get out of the center. I didn't WANT TO COME TO THE CENTER so asking me what I want out of it is the biggest bullshit question in the history of humankind.

I want my unemployment benefits to continue.

That's what I put. Only nicer. "Seeing as I was required to come here, I don't have any preconceived expectations from the center. The only thing I'd like is a resume critique."

I really wanted to put: "I want to continue to stay home, not shower until 10am, eat ring dings and play with my son. I want money to do nothing for the first time in my life and if "joining" and "becoming a member" of the center is the only way I can get that then baby, that's what I want out of the center."

Asking me what I want out of the center. HA! I started laughing.

I finished filling the application out, hurrah! I'm a member now! And the girl leading the seminar says "Is anyone here working part time at all?"

I raise my hand and say that I'm designing some websites and working for catering man...

"Well, you don't have to be here," she says, looking at me like I am some sort of dingus for showing up.

"What do you mean by 'you don't have to be here?' " I ask, stunned, and looking at her with the equal dingus accusation gaze.

"How many hours a week are you working?" she asks.

"Maybe five to ten. Not sure. But each week that's about what I'm doing."

"And you are being paid?"

"Yes."

"And you fill out your time card each week saying that you are being paid."

"Yes."

Well she explains that the state of Mass says that working 2 hours a week is part time employment. 2 hours a week? Perhaps she means 2 hours a day. But anyway, she tells me I'm off the hook. I can leave.

Another guy across the table says to me, "uh, I'm working too! About 10 hours a week."

Bullshit. You are concocting a ruse. The lady let him go too. The thing that chaffs my britches is she didn't even ask the name and phone of the company/ies he/I were working for. How can they verify this?

Losers. Incompetent losers.

So I got home as Jen and Geoffrey were leaving to go run errands that Jen needed to do. He insisted on going with her... she accepted without grudge, and they went off into the morning.

I was at the unemployment office for 20 minutes. It was unreal.

Well, I got the woman's email so I could get that resume critique. I need to email it to her and see what she says.

Aaron and Michelle are here for the food drive help. I'm psyched. They got here at about 9 last night. We all were pretty pooped. Tonight I'm going to the college to work with the professor I used to work with designing an online course. She started putting it together in 1999, with me, and the college kept denying her request to teach it. This fall, they gave her the go ahead, so she's pressed for time. She has 3 months to polish what we did. And I'm disenchanted with what we did. I think it sucks. I want to redo the whole damn thing... I've learned so much more about layout and design, and don't think that it's a good course to teach online anyway. I'm reticent to go down to the college... Doug is going to flip when I remind him. I am unsure how late A&M are staying... so he's going to give me shit about abandoning my friends. Like he can't be the person in charge or something.

So it should be a very long and very tiring day. I'll let you know, obviously. I feel good about doing the food drive thing, but wish I had someone to hand Geoff off to so I could be at full involvement. I'm not sure how crowded/insane it will be there today, so one of us will probably stay somewhere with Geoff at all times. When we get the stuff back to the church, it will be okay for him to run around and play and whatnot, but while we are at the distribution center, it will be best if he's tethered to a human.

Alright. It's 8:45am. I wrote most of this yesterday, but this is my entry for the day. More later, and very happy mother's day to all the moms out there who have come across this journal and read it. We're "good eggs," to steal from P.G. Wodehouse.