Take job. Learn, leave, then love the next.
Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful; there’s really no cause-effect relationship there.
Instead, hate me because I love my work and really, can’t shut up about it.
Haven’t even had time to blog: it’s that good. I’d rather be working.
Seriously. How screwed up is that?
I bill 20-25 hours a week, but am OBSESSED and work, dream, and brain dump about this crazy cool opportunity to anyone who will listen, which is mostly just my rather attractive husband.
In reality: I work for a small, local-yocal car dealer selling cars I grew up laughing at.
In reality: I work for an innovative woman successfully breaking stereotypes in man’s industry; committed to changing the image of car buying from sleazy to transparent; a believer of inbound marketing, relying on me to make her on-line presence more personal, building relationships with customers, community members, and colleagues via social media and community outreach. Giving back to the community she serves is high priority: “because that is really the most important thing we can do.”
I thought it was a shell game. But it’s not.
She’s for real.
Car seats. Pediatric cancer research. Distracted driving. Education. Arts. Teen driving laws. Mentoring. Seriously environmentally green.
And damnit, she’s nice too. I used to fucking hate women like her, before they started paying me to work for them and valuing my opinion.
I can do this job. I want to do this job.
The boss is great: smart, brave, ethical, flexible, and a mom of little kids. So she gets it. As much as any mom of little kids gets a mom of teenagers. She definitely thinks I’m a freak, but that’s okay. I’m her not-so-distant future and she’ll apologize later. They all do.
This job has been a long time coming. And in fact, I still haven’t officially quit the other teeny tiny gigs, because I’m still afraid this will all be over with a single tweet of 140 characters:
@returntoworkmom: Skills obsolete, u got a foul mouth & twitter not rite for biz. Lose nose-ring. Go back 2 school. W8d 2 long to get back in the ring. Fight over. Nice try.
So far, no offer.
I’ve been at this three months now, and I feel like I’m in junior high celebrating each anniversary: 2 weeks! 4 weeks! A month and a half! Let’s make out! 3 months already! It’s love!
Face it: in this job market, the honeymoon period ended when that first paycheck cleared. Jobs are few and far between, and while I’m still hesitant, I’m breathing easier every day.