She's electric

Meanwhile, in Minneapolis...

I went to "Jump start your job search!" on Thursday, a seminar teaching me about the wonders of internships and networking. Sobbing over thick, cream-colored sheets of resume paper, the only comfort I can gather comes from sabotaging Kate's blog (see this post).

Little did Kate know when she e-mailed me this journal's username and password (smooth move, by the way), I intend to use this information for posting entries. Ha! My cunning knows no bounds.

In other news, I sent a kate(insert Kate's last name)@fmmail.com an extremely silly e-mail describing an unsuccessful directory search. Sadly, mailerdemon never sent it back... which means a person at that address really did get that e-mail. Depending on how many times I screw up Kate's e-mail address, by the end of the year I might know five different women with the same name. What a hoot!

Back to researching the use of Oasis lyrics in cover letters...

p.s. Some of us aren't 5' 3" — some of us are just 5' 2 3/4" and we're fine with that.

Home again

On this site we commemorate the great Prince Precise, lord of green pens (micro and fine) and hero of two chicks' first collaborative effort. Celebrating all unusual and good things, these two Dairyland girls will vent and chat, obviously with heavy import.

For example, on the Metro yesterday, I heard one of a crowd of out-of-town businessmen swearing profoundly at a man pushing past him on his way to the door. This was, believe it or not, the first time I've heard cursing on the trains in my four months here in the District of Columbia. And it came from an indignant man (blocking the doors, incidentally) who exclaimed proudly after the guilty man shuffled away, "I'm from Idaho!" For the first time in my life, I've been able to legitimately be annoyed by tourists. Or illegitimately. Usually I love the Metro - sleek, underground, plagued by the same delays and repairs I myself cause and need in my daily life. But there's something about hanging by one arm from the top pole (I'm 5'3", so literally just about hanging) and listening to self-amused suits crack wise and mouth off that made me want to bolt. I wanted to sternly say something to that florid-faced man about Metrettiquette, but I just managed a small scowl as I departed the car. Lord, I'm a pansy. Ah well.

More bitching wisdom to come. Adios.