Just to catch up on a few things…

Since July I’ve been in the application process for a new job here at The Hospital. A friend of mine in the marketing department clued me in to the fact that they were thinking of creating a position to coordinate The Hospital’s growing social media outreach projects, so I fired off an email to the director of the department before the job was even posted. I interviewed a few months ago and was asked back for a second interview, which finally took place in September because the creation of a new job role got tangled up in HR for weeks on end.

My first interview was with a panel of four people, and they really liked me. They liked my resume, liked my writing samples, liked my personality, and la la la. Of course I was really excited about the opportunity to get a foot in the door in the marketing department – without a degree in the field, that’s a tricky thing to do, but my experience in internal and external communications within my current department has helped me build a portfolio of sorts that’s at least halfway impressive to anyone within this organization. To an outside group, who knows – which is why finding this type of job at The Hospital was a plum chance for me.

But, after much hard work (and even a homework assignment!) preparing for the second interview, I found out (on moving day, natch) that despite nailing the second interview, I came in second place to someone from an outside agency who had more experience in the industry. The manager who called me was very apologetic and reiterated all the things about how they thought I was great and would be an asset to their department and if anything ever came open they would absolutely call me because they were all so impressed, just not the right fit for this job because of lack of experience, and so on and so forth.

But you know how it is. Hear that after a rejection and no matter how sincere the bearer of the bad news is, everything feels like lip service. And I was in the Hardee’s drive-thru line when I got the call, which didn’t help.

And of course this all took place on moving day, which you all know was SUCH a wonderful day to deal with – well, anything.

I drove to E’s house.

“I didn’t get it, baby.” He opened his arms and I snuggled into his chest and got all teary. “I’m giving myself ten minutes to mope,” I sniffed. “Then I have to deal with the rest of this crap and I can’t cry any more.” He said many comforting things and rubbed my shoulders and kissed my hair like the wonderful boyfriend he is. When my ten minutes were up, I forced myself to get back to the business of moving.

Maybe it was for the best that I got the news on a day that was already crappy. I had to suck it up and move on. Literally.

I understand their reasons, of course. I wouldn’t have wanted to go into a job for which I was ill-prepared and lacked the experience necessary to totally kick ass. I can’t ride on personality alone, and if I’m not qualified, then I’m not qualified. I can deal with that.

It’s a field I really want to be in. My boss knows that, and after I told her why I didn’t get the job, she said she was going to make an effort to help me get more experience within our department so I could build up my resume a bit more. She also offered to sign off on tuition reimbursement if I’d like to take a class or three in order to boost my academic credentials.

(Boss, I LOVE YOU. The only reason I want to go work for anyone else is because I know that if you won the lottery tomorrow, you would probably not take me to Bermuda with you and I’d be stuck here working for people not half as awesome as you are.)

That brings me to grad school.

I tried it once before and my first class in the Master’s in Project Management really made it quite clear that I did NOT want to work in Project Management after all. I do okay at it right now, but this is not where I want to be. This is not the kind of work that inspires me or even makes me a tiny bit happy. So I’ve been digging into info on graduate programs in the St. Louis area (online learning, not my thing) and found one school that has several Master’s programs in communications that all have the same core courses. So I could take one or two classes and then head into a program in Media Communications, Media Literacy, or Communications Management.

I was rolling this over in my brain when I got a call from the director of the Marketing Department last week. She called to apologize for not having been in touch since the interview (she was not the one who made that first call to me) and to reiterate how impressed she was with me and really wanted to have me in their department when something suitable became available.

I was truly touched. After a few weeks of mellowing out post-rejection, the same words didn’t feel like lip service anymore. They sounded more honest, more true – true enough to make me feel like even little inexperienced me could have a shot at moving into the field I really want to be in.

I seized the moment and asked her about the graduate programs I was considering. Would one of these be worthwhile, what do you think of the school, what do you think of a possible emphasis in this or that? She was so encouraging and seemed pretty pumped that I was seeking this out on my own.

Little Miss Initiative, that’s me. But seriously, who wants to get thisclose and get shot down again? The resume isn’t going to improve itself, you know.

“And I hope you don’t mind,” she continued, “but I took the liberty of sending your resume and application information over to the VP of [department]. I was speaking to her the other day and they’re thinking about creating a similar position to support their new [redacted] campaign, so I told her about you.”

YOU. HOPE. I. DON’T. MIND?!

Guuuuhhh.

It may become something, it may not. At the moment, the job in the other department doesn’t really exist yet, it’s just an idea they’re tossing around. But my name is in there. Yowza.

And graduate school starts in January.

I must look like the angry, pregnant wife standing over here in this babydoll dress that makes me look second-trimester fat and a pair of ratty Playboy flip-flops, intermittently scowling at him and rolling my eyes.

I’d just walked in five minutes ago and I was already ready to go home and go to bed again. When she saw me across the room, Erica the bartender waved and reached under the bar for a bottle of Bud Select, my usual here. I was too late to stop her before she popped the cap.

“Oops,” she said. “I thought you…”

“Nope. I came to get THAT,” I say, pointing down the bar to where Tim is seated with two girls I don’t recognize.

Erica frowned. “He said Mike was going to take him home.”

“Mike left.”

She looked around. “Oh.” She pushed the open beer across the bar to me. “Take it, on me.”

I don’t drink it but instead head in Tim’s direction. He looks up and sees me before I can speak, and one of the girls glares at me when she sees his eyes light up.

“Hey babe!” he says, a little too loudly. “Thanksh for coming!”

“Are you ready?” I ask. No preliminaries. It’s one o’clock in the morning, I’m wearing a dress I found on the floor and put on in the dark, and I want to go home.

“Lemme finish this beer.” He waves an almost-full bottle at me.

I sigh and pull up a barstool. Tim wraps his arms around me. “I’m so glad you’re here. You’re the best.” He turns to the girl I don’t know. “This girl is great,” he says to her, shaking me by the shoulders and smiling his dopey-drunk smile. “She’s such a great friend.” Then he looks back at me, turns my face toward his with a hand on my chin and looks right in my eyes. “I owe you. Big time.”

“Yes,” I say, pulling away.This is how he looks at me when he wants to kiss me. “Yes you do.”

So I wait it out. He finishes his beer and doesn’t want to leave until I have him by the arm and am tugging him past the pool tables and out the door. He has to get something from his truck. He forgot to say goodbye to someone. He wants to have a cigarette.

“Smoke in the car,” I say, getting in and slamming the door. “Please. Just get in.”

He blows the smoke out the window while I drive. “I’m really sorry,” he says drowsily as he flicks the half-spent cigarette out onto Lansdowne. “I came with Ben. He left to go do something with his girlfriend.” He practically spits out the last word. “He totally ditched me for her.”

“Um.”

“Then Mike said he’d take me home but he left early and I don’t know. You’re like my only real friend.”

I turn onto River Des Peres Road and roll down the window, letting the wind blow on my face to wake me up a bit.

“Twice in a week, though. You can’t keep doing this to me, you have to make sure someone less than twenty minutes away can drive you.”

“I’m sorry. I tried, but Mike–”

“Then leave with Mike next time.” I sigh and stare at the road. “E would not like it if he knew I was out with you in the middle of the night. I don’t want you to drive when you’re drunk but you can’t keep putting me in this position.”

“But we’re friends now. He’s secure, he doesn’t mind me.” He reaches across the console and rubs my arm. I try to shake him off.

“He would mind this. Stop rubbing me like that.”

“You’re just such a great girl, babe,” he says. My lecture has obviously had no effect. “Remember when we…” And he’s off.By the time I pull up to his house, drunken nostalgia has gotten the best of him. “Come in.” He tugs at my hand.

“No.”

“Then gimme a hug.” He leans awkwardly across the console and wraps his arms around me. I sort of pat him on the shoulder. “You really are the best,” he whispers. “I owe you for this.”

He repeats this several times before I can convince him to get out of the car. Yes, he owes me. Again.

I drive to E’s house instead of my own, because I know it’s the only way I’ll feel alright about tonight.

I haven’t had a party for years. Forgive me if I squee and get a little “!!!” happy.

Thursday was my Girlfriends’ Guide to Gaming party, sponsored by Brand About Town and Nintendo! And on Thursday night, the first thing I saw when driving up to the St. Louis Contemporary Art Museum on Washington Ave. was this sign:

The ladies of Brand About Town had reserved a gorgeous space inside the museum. We were there to promote the new Nintendo DSi, the newest in the DS family of handhelds. It was launched in April of this year.

I’ve never even held a DS or DS Lite before so I can’t make a comparison to those earlier models, but I CAN say that the DSi is pretty darn awesome. I’ve spent hours already just playing with all of the features on the one I got a few weeks ago. Seriously – it has wireless and an Opera browser! The marketers did the right thing in targeting us tech nerds for Girlfriends’ Guide to Gaming.

It was such a great night, getting to know the games and especially getting to know the girls. I was more than a little nervous when I was first asked to host the party and realized that I don’t have a lot of girl friends who live in St. Louis. Now I think the party was a great success because I invited people I knew – or mostly-sort-of-blog-land-knew – and invited them to each bring a friend. That method proved to be a lot of fun because we all got to know new people.

The party room was a huge space in the St. Louis Contemporary Art Museum.

Melissa and Erin's husbands love gaming, so I invited the girls so they could give the boys a taste of their own medicine.

Amelia promised not to give birth at the party - she and Jen had to finish CrossworDS first.

Rachael almost couldn't come, but she managed to swing by for a little bit, Baby James in tow, and try her hand at Brain Age.

New friends, Angie and Liz IRL!

Liz blogs at Will There be Cake? and this was the first time I’d met her.

Even my little sister was able to come. This is my last chance to upstage her - I'm going to be her bridesmaid in August!

My friend Becky brought her old Gameboy case as a purse! That was a definite conversation-starter. Oh, Nintendo, you've come a long way.

The Rhythm Heaven group pauses for a snack. The food was fantastic! Black bean cakes with cilantro, chicken satay, chocolatey desserts, and of course we could has teh mini cheezburgers.

When the girls finished gaming at all four stations, they got a little surprise gift! Kelly and Nora show off their new toys.

I met Nora for the first time that night – she blogs at Walking Through the Rain.

And a good time was had by all

I think it’s safe to say that our new DSIs won’t be gathering dust. Brain Age was probably the most popular game at the party. We all wanted to have the lowest score! (I’m 33.) I got Brain Age with my starter set a few weeks ago, and I’m an addict. I smelled addiction in some of my fellow partygoers… you can tell. You just can. And since the DSi can connect wirelessly to other players in the room, you can play against each other on BrainAge, MarioKart, and others.

Rhythm Heaven was crazy because it LOOKS so simple, but once you get into it you realize that there is no messing around. It was tricky to get used to the stylus, but I think it made everyone more determined to beat the thing.

You can learn more about the DSi on the official website, http://www.nintendodsi.com. One of the coolest things about it – an upgrade from the previous models – is the DSiWare Shop. You can connect wirelessly from your DSi and download apps and new games – some for free, and some using DSiWare points. You can get points by registering your DSi and your software on the website, and use those points to get more! Since all of the girls took home a DSi and a game, we’ve all got points to shop with. Jenny from The Reckless Chef got me started on a downloaded game called Boxlife and I think we may have a habit on our hands.

AND… you can use your DS and DS Lite games in the DSi!

Big thanks to the ladies of Brand About Town and the folks at Nintendo, who for some reason chose me to hostess this fantastic Girlfriends’ Guide to Gaming party. And a big pink puffy heart to all of my friends – new and old – who came out to join me for this awesome evening. Game on!

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The Brand About Town ladies took all of these pictures. Click here for their Flickr photostream of the whole shindig.

Disclaimer: I am always carrying champagne in these photos because I was mingling and didn’t set it down at any one station. And it was free.

My former pastor was shot and killed last Sunday during church.

Fred Winters was the pastor of First Baptist Church of Maryville (IL), where I went to youth group in high school. And he was gunned down by one of my high school classmates.

I haven’t been to FBC Maryville for years now, but the first text message from my sister last Sunday morning hit way too close to home – literally, about 5 miles from the house where I lived. The shooter was in the hospital (not mine) this week about 5 miles from where I live right now. And now he’s in jail, about 5 miles from our old high school.

It’s freaking SICK.

My sister was in the church she attends with my parents when the news broke. The mayor of the town is a member of her church and the head of the volunteer fire/EMS crew that was first to respond, so he was keeping all of the churches in town updated as they prayed in their Sunday services. We were texting back and forth all morning – her with news from the town and me with whatever I could find on CNN and other news sites. At first the news was just that there had been a shooting and people were hurt. Then it was that one person had died, but they got the bad guy. Then it was all over CNN that Pastor Fred was shot in the chest and killed in his own sanctuary while finishing up a sermon about finding happiness in the workplace.

Two members of the congregation attacked the shooter, who had stabbed himself with a knife after his gun jammed only four bullets into his 30 rounds. They were wounded by the knife but are both all right now.

I only knew him for a little while, but Pastor Fred made a big impression on me in the short time I went to his church. He told our youth group that it was okay to have questions about God. That it was okay to not have answers to those questions. Pastor Fred was always firm in his own convictions but they weren’t closed convictions. He had an open mind and an open heart. He didn’t just want to share his knowledge, he wanted to take in what other people knew and thought and felt. He was young and energetic and got excited about everything. I bet that even the most convinced atheist out there couldn’t know Fred as a man – not as a pastor – and not think he was a wonderful human being.

Why why why WHY?

Now that he’s out of the coma, out of the hospital and in jail, everyone wants Terry Joe Sedlacek, the shooter, to start talking. When I first heard what happened, I thought I just wanted that scumbag to die on the spot. But now I want to know why he targeted Fred Winters, of all people. I want to know what drove him to plan this crime so callously that he marked last Sunday as “Death Day” in his planner.

Not that it’s going to make any difference though. A good man is dead and he left behind a wonderful wife and two beautiful daughters. But we all want to know, as if it will make sense from the senseless.

Cindy Winters, Fred’s widow, gave her husband’s eulogy (click for link to video) yesterday and said “I’m not going to hate.” Can you even imagine saying that about the person who killed the father of your children? Can you imagine what it took for her to stand up there less than a week after her husband of over twenty years died so close to where she was standing yesterday?

I wish I had that sort of strength and faith. I believe in God and in being good and living a good life, but I don’t know if I could ever have what Cindy Winters has in her heart. Maybe that would make a difference, more than any story Terry Joe Sedlacek can tell us. Because no matter what he says, we won’t say “Oh, well THAT explains it perfectly.”

I work at a hospital and people die there all the time. Two of my favorite early blog posts (“Thoughts on a Sheeted Stretcher” and “Um, There’s a Body by the Elevator”) are about death and dying in the hospital. It happens in ambulances, in the ER, on our operating room tables, in the inpatient ICUs, on the regular units. It’s not just sick or old people. Some come in as victims of traumas and they die senseless deaths, like Pastor Fred with a bullet right through his heart. And in a professional way, we get used to it. We have to.

But it doesn’t make it any easier.

I use my cell phone when I’m driving. I do that a LOT. I don’t always plug it into my headset. I can make a 90-degree turn with one hand and back the car into my garage with my head cocked to clamp my Sidekick to my left shoulder.

I know that I am statistically more likely to cause a crash than someone who does not engage in these renegade behaviors. If you can read (and I am assuming you can, since you are reading this), you’ve seen the news about states attempting to legislate drivers’ use of cell phones. It started in New York in 2001 and is slowly seeping across the country. Use headsets, some say. No cell phones at all, demand others.

But cell phones don’t cause crashes. PEOPLE cause crashes. People cause crashes because they are distracted by things. Cell phones can be distracting when they require a hand off the wheel to dial or hold the phone. Conversations on cell phones can distract the driver’s mind from the road. (So can conversations with passengers, especially children, who can poke you and throw things at your head.) Even the fancy-pants built-in Bluetooth cell phone stuff requires your attention for a moment. And so do your air conditioner, your stereo, your sunroof, your new talking GPS device and the thing that connects your iPod to the stereo with wires that always need rearranging.

But you know what else distracts drivers? Food. Glorious, glorious food.

I wonder how many accident scenes are littered with fries and spilled sodas. How many airbags are red with ketchup? How many accident victims have to have their throats cleared by medics in order to keep them from choking on the bite of Half-Pound Beef and Potato Burrito that distracted them for one crucial moment?

Here again, I’m guilty. I do love the drive-thru. Eating on the road is the start of my morning multi-tasking, balancing an Egg McMuffin on my left thigh and holding the wheel with one hand still greasy from a Hash Brown as I slog through the traffic to work. I pick up food on the way home and can’t wait the two minutes it takes to get to my house before reaching into the bag for a nibble. It smells GOOD.
I can watch the road while I talk. If I’m driving and talking on a cell phone, I can drop the phone and grab the wheel and engage in evasive maneuvers in a split-second if necessary. But think about it – would you be so quick to drop your meatball sandwich on your wool pants? Have you ever tried to get barbeque sauce out of suede? Mustard out of corduroy?

It’s a heck of a lot harder than getting dust off a cell phone.

Yet EVERYONE eats on the road. Watch the cars coming off the drive-thru line sometime, especially those with just one person inside. Straw wrappers flying, napkins flopping, hot sauce packets squirting everywhere… The clever driver parks and arranges his picnic before pulling onto the road, but even he is not safe from the sudden stop. One hand grips the wheel, the other reaches instinctively to protect the chili-cheese Super Cholesterol Burger. Or he fails to see another car pull out in front of him because he has turned his head to see if there might be one more onion ring in the bag. Maybe he struggles to make a tight turn because his hand, damp from the condensation on the cheap paper cup, slips on the steering wheel.

A driver with food is just as distracted as a driver with a cell phone. Perhaps more distracted, especially now that drive-thru restaurants are coming up with messier and messier things for us to order. Tomatoes are slippery and ranch dressing is a fine lubricant.

Sometimes you have to slap laws around something just because some people are stupid. Guns, drugs, booze… all legislated because some people are dumb and can’t handle themselves. Missouri can go ahead and outlaw handheld cell phones for drivers. I’ll dig up the headset that hurts my ear, and my fellow drivers and I will be safer because of it.* It’s probably a smart thing, but it’s not a catch-all.

But just like there will always be idiots who drive drunk, there will always be idiots who drive sober and distracted. I honestly don’t believe that outlawing handheld cell phones will make a huge difference. Drive-thru food was just an example really, an example to make the point that we can’t scapegoat any one thing and blame it for an ever-increasing number of car accidents.

Everything distracting is increasing. Roadsides are cluttered with visual diversions. Until we can get rid of funny billboards and sign-wavers, we’ll still be distracted. Our cars are full of buttons and buzzers and fun new toys. Until we refuse to let someone drive his new car off the lot unless he can operate all of its functions blindfolded, we’ll still be distracted. The population is booming. Until we make all babies and small children stay at home until they know how to behave in a vehicle, we’ll still be distracted.

Stupid people will still find something stupid to do in the car because let’s face it: driving is pretty boring sometimes. And stupid always prevails.

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* But don’t take my McMuffin, or I am moving to Canada.