I spent about 80 minutes talking to a few people at the organization for which I would be pleased to work.

None of them have a job for me, but they all had contacts or suggestions, and there was one comment I liked in particular.  One gentleman stood up from talking with me and said, "Well, that was very interesting!"  I'm not exactly sure what he meant but it sounded positive, inflection-wise.  I enjoy being interesting.

I was asked to describe from beginning to end how I would run an event.  I did a couple of minutes on how to start, glossed over the middle because hello, boring, and then did a couple of minutes on how the actual event would be run, and just a moment on wrap-up - got to balance the budget.  I thought that was a very good question, and from the grunts and nods, I think they liked my methods.

Also, I was asked how I prioritize.  I am quite good at that, and my answer seemed to satisfy them.  But then I was asked, if I had two truly conflicting priorities, what would I do?

I couldn't think of an answer.  I mean, I've certainly had conflicting priorities.  You just do both. 

So I said that.  Along with, well, hopefully you get overtime, but if not, you just deal.

I think "just deal" was the right answer for the two people with whom I was speaking.  There were little grins.

I know I interview well.  Too bad this wasn't exactly an interview.  But I enjoyed myself, and I feel much closer to something good, if only because now a few people in the organization know my face, my laugh, and my competence.

Today I have a meeting at an organization for which I would be pleased to work.  More than pleased.  It is not, per se, an interview.  It is a "get to know you" meeting, as far as I understand, with two managers.

I have lots of hope but no expectations.  I figure, if I go into it hoping that they will help me get work, but not expecting them to, I will have the eager and not over-confident vibe I like to see in people I interview.  Confidence is good but too much makes me think you don't really want the job.

I bought new shoes for it.  Closed toe, which is desired for this sort of thing, but slingback, which is more youthful and summery.

I overanalyze everything.  But I try not to let it show until you know me.

Joey is the name for a baby kangaroo.

Pbbbbbbbt.

The women in my book club - well, women who used to be in my book club and a couple who still are - must be severely annoyed by me.  I try not to show off, but book club happens to be a place where stuff I know is discussed.  I read a ton, and things just stick with me.

But a baby shower?

One of the games consisted of ten line drawings of animals.  One was to decide which animal each was and then write down the name of the baby version of that animal.  For example, one drawing was of a cow, so the answer was "calf."

I knew all of them.  I was the only one who knew all of them.

I was the only American in the room, everyone else was Canadian.  Perhaps more of an emphasis on baby animals is made in U.S. schools?  I have no idea.  I just have a good vocabulary.  Joey, who was born in Asia, has an even better English vocabulary than I do (sure, most people in the Philippines speak English, but still).  It's literally part of why I like him so much.  Words mean a lot to me.

I refuse to play dumb.  It would be insane.  But I don't want them to hate me because I know stuff.  I'm a good resource.  That's part of why I was so valuable to Berkman - I remember things, I can come up with the right word or the name someone forgot.  Or the reason we can't invite both those people to the same meeting.

I'm no smarter than they are.  I just have a talent for that kind of stuff.

At least I got a good prize.

And I think the Mom-to-be had a nice time, which is really the most important thing.

Joey has returned from Chicago.  I picked him up last night in a funny role-reversal; sure, I've picked him up from the airport probably twenty times, but they were all in Boston until now.

I am wrapping up my job - though I am clearly done, as they had a meeting this morning and didn't call me to listen in - and preparing our apartment for my parents' imminent visit.  Tonight I will attend a baby shower - a good sign that I do have a life in Toronto, even though baby showers make Jewgirl slightly tweaky.

I think it's more my dread of having to play weird games than actual superstition.  But I wouldn't miss it, because of the guest of honor.

I forgot to mention how incredible the meal I made with the homegrown Thai basil was.  Utterly brag-worthy.  Ground turkey with onions, bell peppers and mushrooms, flavored with fish sauce, lime juice, ginger, garlic, roasted red chili paste, and crushed red chilies, a dash of soy and a tiny squeeze of honey, with the basil wilted in last minute, served over rice.  Swoon.  So close to my beloved gaprow, without bothering to follow a recipe this time because they are never quite right.

but I still have to wish him a happy monthiversary.

Happy nine months, hubby!  Can't wait to see you tomorrow night.