Santa Lost a Ho

So I was listening to 93XRT here in Chicago the other day, when I heard this jug band playing a song called "Santa Lost a Ho". For illustrative purposes, you probably want to click here for a sample.

You see, Santa lost one of his Hos (of the three Ho Ho HOs we typcially hear). Thus, by my calculations, he's one third less Ho-ish this season. And Santa - being down one Ho? That's, like, one third less jolly - one third less bright. It got me thinking: is there a lesson to be learned when even Santa can be down a Ho?

The song says:

But good things in life, they come and go, where'd the other Ho go? Don't know! But old Santa...lost a Ho.

I can't help but think they have it right, The Christmas Jug Band. I mean, good things in life - they DO come and go. But when even Santa loses a Ho, he doesn't stop delivering presents and toys. He doesn't start tailgating traffic or cussing at the lights on the tree that won't light. (Not that anything like that ever happens in our families. Nope. Never.) He doesn't mock the food or complain about the quality of the hot cocoa. Nope, he just brings the other two Hos, and hopes that Two Is Enough.

So I'm going to channel, what I hope, is a little bit of Ruby this holiday season. I understand that Ruby was always a pragmatist - but that she also knew how to have fun. So I, for one, will do my part to bring the Ho this year. Though I'm stuck in Chicago an extra day due to weather, I'm going for a run, (because we all know endorphins are synonymous with Hos), and then I'm headed to the St. Paul's Christmas Eve candlelight service at 9, where I will sing with the other people manufacturing their own Hos.

In the meantime, do me a favor - don't lose your Ho this week, please?

Your families may be crazy, your wallets may be thin, you may be tired and cranky and mad that you didn't get quite the gift you wanted. But consider this: even without one of his three Hos, Santa is still lots of fun - and people are glad to see him! So let's all make like Santa this year - bring the Double Ho this year - or whatever you can manage - and make those around you glad you did...

Merry Christmas and Happy Ho-ing!

Why is Baby Jesus in the Manger?

Saturday, I almost wrecked my car driving past Loyola University in Chicago. Loyola is right up the street from my house, and I was driving a friend home when we passed the Nativity display.

"Why is baby Jesus in the manger?" I yelled, slowing to stare, indignant as we drove by.

"What do you mean? It's Christmas time. Of course he's in the manger!" she told me.

After debating the merits of the very large camels (which looked suspiciously like horses) next to the manger, we got into a pretty spirited debate.

I explained to her that baby Jesus doesn't go in the manger until Christmas morning. At which point, she looked at me like I had lost my mind. "Why would you wait?" she said. "They're not going to go out there and put him in the manger on Christmas morning. That's crazy."

Maybe she has a point. But I explained that where I come from, it's a big deal - baby Jesus doens't join the party until Christmas morning. You know, LIKE THE SCRIPTURE SAYS. Growing up, I remember some serious anticipation as to which of us would have the honors (it was even more special because my mom's dad had made the manger and the fences by hand that sat beneath our Christmas tree each year.) But then I wondered - if that's just a Catholic Cincinnati thing - what other "baby Jesus in the manger" things had Cincinnati given me?

Well, for one, there's my obsession with bakeries. This is probaby due partly to my dad - who can tell you the nearest bakery in any town within 10 minutes of arrival. But in Chicago, where the bakeries are spread across many, many neighborhoods, it's taken me years to develop the Bakery Inventory. For example, the best place to go for sugar cookies is Breadsmith on Wells in Old Town. Cupcakes? Sweet Mandy B's. Donuts? Hmm... That's hard. Nothing compares to Lawrence Bakery in Cincinnati - seriously, NOTHING is even close. But in a pinch, I'll have a Dunkin Donuts French Cruller (a Virginia Reel for those of you scoring in Ohio.) Chocolate Chip Cookies? Sue Van's on Lincoln south of Roscoe. Coffee Cakes? Dinkels. Only Dinkels.

And see, that little thing I just did? That's SCARY. But that's one of the things I loved about Cincinnati - and about mornings growing up. Dad would get up, drive to Lawrence Bakery (which was VERY far away from where we lived) and come home with donuts on Saturdays. Before we played soccer games. Hmmm. Maybe that's why those pounds add up now?

In addition to the Bakery Finder, I also picked up this other freakshow ability from my mother. From the time I was a kid, we'd go shopping. We'd wander through T.J. Maxx, or Marshall's, and skim the racks for good clothes that would be a true bargain. That's a West Side Catholic thing, partly. The knowing the best clothes thing - that's my mom. She's a rock star when it comes to finding the most expensive item on the rack - but not at the highest price. Trust me, you didn't need that tricky i-phone program if you had my mom on your side. She could tell you if it was a bargain - or not. And to this day, I can walk to a sale rack, and find the prettiest, most expensive item on markdown - by touch and feel. Now THAT is a useful skill.

Other Cincinnati-isms have left me over the years. For instance, I like food that has more than one flavor. (Was that mean?). And I drink beer produced by someone other than Coors, Miller, or Bud. I don't drive ten miles an hour when it snows or rains. (To be fair, they have more hills, but it's like a funeral procession sometimes when it snows there.)

But there are some parts of Cincinnati that will never leave me. I still want to spend my fun time with big groups of laughing, funny people, who remind me of my funny, crazy extended family. And I still want to stand in my mom's kitchen, smelling her great cooking. I want to catch up with my aunts and uncles and cousins and hear all about their incredible lives. And, yes, I still want to be the one who puts baby Jesus in the manger come Christmas morning.

My Kind of Workout Video

It's that time of year again. As December 31 quickly approaches, and I contemplate another year beginning, I'm already in resolutionland. You know, that place where all things are possible, with dedication, hard work, and no alcohol? Yep. It's baaaa-acck.

This year (as with many years past) I have a vague and fuzzy idea of what I'd like to look like come December 31, 2009. It involves a designer blue dress, platinum blonde hair and some nice new heels, and, of course, somewhere in the background is a tall, kind gentleman hanging around.... To get there (the dress part, not the man), I'll need to do that whole eat less and exercise more thing. Right?

Right. Well...no one said I had to start today, did they? Because I don't think tonight's feast will help get me to goal, but it does allow me to share one of my favorite recipes: Go here for the best stovetop mac and cheese on the planet - courtesy of Cooking Light. To make it even lighter, I skip the condensed milk, substitute whatever whole grain/muffin I have in the fridge, and use I Can't Believe It's Not Butter spray on the crumbs. (See, I know how to cut fat and calories!)

Anyway, apart from that digression, the key for me is always finding the motivation to get in a workout. Given my current "Leisure Tour" status, I've got lots of time on my hands, so that's no excuse.

I contemplated going back to the gym, and renewing my membership there. On the one hand, they have classes every night, and day, and I could easily spend four hours wandering around every day, getting buff.

On the other hand, the last time I tried a class, I found myself doing a Downward Dog while trying to hold onto my Upward Tank Top while my Expanding Girth demonstrated itself to all of Ashland Avenue during rush hour. Let's just say I wasn't exactly graceful. Nix that idea.

And I do run most weekends with my running group, training for one race or another. If I commit to doing my mid-week runs with them, I should actually be prepared for the next race I run....

But the question remains, how do I make fitness a 6 day a week commitment? Because that's what it takes to make a new habit, right? Well, today, I found found a secret weapon.

You've seen them on TV. You've watched them whip fattys into shape for 7 seasons. You've wondered if what they do is legal. Now, they're in my living room.

Yes, that's right. Bob, and Jillian - trainers from The Biggest Loser - have come to kick my ass. Tonight, while browswing at Target, my friend spotted the Biggest Loser Power Sculpt cardio torture DVD. And I bought it.

I came right home, whipped up a batch of heart attack Mac, and watched what Jillian did to the first group of trainees.

Bartender? Oh Bartender???

First, the video takes away any excuse I might have, by putting LOTS of overweight people in the room. Like, former Biggest-Loser contestants who are certainly not fattys anymore. (I know, I had to look them up after the one girl, who looked to be about my size in four months, caught my attention). And what's better - the backup chorus of workout fattys - they TOTALLY suck it up on this video! They hold their dumbells the wrong way, they do the exercises wrong half the time - all sorts of stuff that I would absolutely do in any class I attended. In short, they look like born again gym virgins - like they've sort of been through this before, but they need a little help with...well, you get the idea. Sure, there was a time when I was pretty faithful to my old friend the YMCA weight bench, but that's been about 5 years now, and I need some instruction without the harsh glare of new-years hardbodies with much cuter outfits than mine.

So the good news about the video: I felt right at home!!! These are my people!!! The only difference is that they DO seem to be able to jump from a plank position to a standing sun salutation, which I could not do unless threatened with a hot poker. But that will apparently come with time.

In support of my new obsession, I've taken the calendar that my friend gave me with the gorgeous pictures of her son E, and I'm marking down JAK days (short for Jillian Ass Kicking), interspersed with the run training I'll have leading up to the half marathon in January. My goal is to complete weeks 1-4 without throwing up or giving in. I'll report back out in 4 weeks and let you know how that's going...

But for now, I'll just be excited that I get to find a new way to workout - without the audience, the pressure, or, god forbid, the passing traffic of Ashland Avenue. Ruby might be proud of my modesty, but I suspect she'd be even more proud that I was tryin again....

Rule No. 4 - Use Your Lifelines

It's been a few seasons since "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire" was a big hit. But one of my favorite things about that game show was the "Lifeline" concept. Lucky souls reaching the limits of their own knowledge could phone a friend, ask the audience, or remove one of the multiple choice options. Each contestant could call on the three lifelines - but once called on, the contestant determined the Final Answer.

Unemployment Lifelines are very similar to the ones Regis gave Sheila from Topeka when she couldn't remember the capital of India. Faced with real-life limits - where to apply, which job to highlight on the resume, what to wear to the next interview - friends can be the lifeline you need.

My Lifelines cross a few different areas in my life. First, there's Runners World - those friends who call and make sure I'm showing up to our Saturday runs, or make sure that I'm running during the week. Then there are the Powerbrokers, who connect me with their headhunters, open jobs, friends who know friends who know people who are hiring, etc. There are also the GossipGirls - my friends who keep me going with tales of fun, gossip, intrigue and entertainment from old jobs. And there's Unemployees Anonymous - the group of those at home who band together to make the most of our wide open calendar. There's also my family - immediate and extended, who check in regularly and are never afraid to share a few laughs.

In one week, I might call on a Lifeline every day - or multiple times a day. Today, for example, the LipGloss Jungle (the slightly less high-powered version of Brooke Shield's group of girlfriends) all agreed to sign up for the Biggest Loser Pound For Pound Challenge. We commited to losing a certain amount of weight by next April - to not only look better for ourselves, but to raise money for Feeding America, (where one of the LipGloss Girls is a guru, and raises money to feed those who don't have enough to feed themselves). Talk about a Lifeline - when you're home all day, that weight...well..let's just say this butt could use the motivation....and the thought that by losing weight, I'll be feeding someone else... well..that's just too good to be true.

And that's not all for the Lifeline activity today - two PowerBrokers shared leads on new jobs that I called. Now the lead - it may go somewhere - or nowhere at all. But using those contacts is priceless, and something I couldn't have done on my own.

Of course, doing something with the Lifelines that are thrown my way is still MY obligation. Just like the game show, at the end of the day, Sheila from Topeka had to determine whether the capital of India was Mumbai or New Delhi. (It's New Delhi for those who are curious). It's still up to you [me] to find a new job, interview well, lose fourty pounds, and all that good stuff....but, when all those things happen, your friends feel just a little better too that they helped you out.

So don't be afraid to call the Lifeline....or to be one. We all need one, every once in awhile.

Just When You Thought...

I really hoped that yesterday's post would be the end of the crazy profiles in my Match.com inbox - but today, there's more! Like a Ginzu knife commercial that just never ends, today we present, THE ENCORE!

This post will be brief - it pretty much speaks for itself :) It began with another wink...and let me say, that while he says he's a 38 year old who meets my height requirements, he still looks like he's 50....sorry dude....

I would love to meet a person who enjoys living a green lifestyle, eats organics, [OKAY, SO HE'S GREEN, I CAN LIVE WITH THAT]

enjoys good movies, nonviolent, [DOES DRIVING AGGRESSIVELY QUALIFY?]

friendly, caring of all people, [IS NOT CONCERNED WITH PROPER GRAMMAR...AGAIN]

likes to volunteer, supports breastfeeding, [WHA??]

and loves listening to good music. [AND DOESN'T MIND MEETING MY THERAPIST BEFORE WE START DATING].

Willing to go to Lolly, [DUDE, THE COOL KIDS CALL IT LOLLA..]

dance at Neo, [RECOMMENDED AGE TOPS OUT AROUND 28, BUT SEE HOW HIP I AM?]

go to a street festival, go hiking in MI/WI, skiing downhill [UPHILL SKIING IS FUN, BUT WAIT...],

cross-country skiing [BECAUSE JUST SAYING "SKIING" WOULDN'T WORK?],

playing board games with friends over a glass of wine or beer, cuddling, holding hands, [NEEDY]

watch a movie in Grant Park, [SUMMER!]

carve pumpkins, [FALL!]

swim in Lake Michigan [SUMMER!],

have a sandwich in the woods,[FALL!]

taste wines at a local winery or tasting wearing T-shirts, [SUMMER!]

eat at Swedish breakfast places [WINTER! BUT ONLY FOR THE SWEDISH],

check out the volcanos of Iceland, [OTHER VOLCANOS PALE IN COMPARISON]

have a salmon fished out of a Norweign Fjord [AND SHIPPED TO ME VIA FEDEX]

skip through Jerusalem, [WTF? WHO SKIPS THROUGH JERUSALEM?]

have a beer in Edinborough [BECAUSE SCOTLAND IS THE HOME OF GREAT BEER]

and debate politics in France [YOU FORGOT SWIMMING NAKED IN A CANAL IN VENICE]

His Headline: Looking for Caring, Kind, Fun Granola.

I'm sure she's out there. The question is, why did he wink at me? I am clearly not caring, kind or fun, and while I camp and hike, I'm not exactly granola....

Oh well. At least it was entertaining :)

Momma Said There'd Be Days Like This...

Long ago I realized that mothers can't teach you everything you need to get through life. But lately, I've had quite a few moments where my mental manual came up short. I'd find myself sorting through my repertoire of witty comebacks, solutions, and get out of jail free cards, only to find myself still standing, confused at whatever was happening, scratching my head like "what the he-all was that?"

Case in point. Just now, I was perusing the fine selection of young to middle aged men on Match.com. The way Match.com works, either party can email the other - or, if you're chicken, you can "wink" at the other person. The Wink is used to express your interest without drafting an email laced with misspellings and punctuation errors. The Wink is supposed to be the virtual equivalent of - of course - a wink - but more accurately for today's age: a guy holding The Look for a moment too long in a crowded bar. Riiiight.

The metaphorical Wink breaks down slightly in the virtual world. Why? Because unlike that crowded bar, you've got to figure out whether to Wink back...and the only way to do that is to read their "profile" to see whether he's short, bald and fat (virtually speaking). To illustrate, I've copied one of the profiles for a guy who winked at me today (with my editorial included in caps.) As you'll see from the profile, it can easily result in some head-scratching.

Profile Name: BombontheHead. (SERIOUSLY? THAT'S YOUR PROFILE NAME?)
Just joined match.com and this is all new to me. (NO, REALLY?)
Its cold outside and im looking for a cuddle partner. (TRANSLATION: HOOKUP)
Im into honest open minded woman. (GRAMMAR AND PUNCTUATION NOT IMPORTANT)
Im ready to give match.com a try and see where it goes. So lets become friends and take it from there. (BUT NOT REALLY...KEEP READING)
I am only looking to talk to those who are looking to meet in person. Its doesnt take 2 weeks to meet in person. (BECAUSE WHAT MATTERS HERE IS WHETHER I FIND YOU HOT - NOT WHETHER YOU ARE GAINFULLY EMPLOYED AND HAVE A LIFE WHICH MIGHT KEEP YOU FROM MEETING MY HOT SELF)
If we meet walking down the street we would exchange numbers and more than likely hangout that night. (UNLESS OF COURSE YOU ENJOY LITERATE ADULTS)
Its like what would you do if a guy said lets send emails for a month and maybe we might, life is too short for maybe this maybe that. (WHY AM I CHANNELING TONY SOPRANO ALL OF THE SUDDEN?)
If you don't like to have sex at least once a week than we are not a match. (WHICH IS WHY WE'RE NOT WAITING TWO WEEKS TO MEET. I HAVE NEEDS, BABE)
Im not into 1 night stands i want a steady friend, pal, lover, and hanging out partner. (BECAUSE THIS SHIT TAKES WAY TOO MUCH TIME TO DEAL WITH - YOU NEED TO STICK AROUND ONCE I DEEMS YOU APPROPRIATORY).
Please give me a reason to cancel my match.com membership. (YOU BETCHA)

Uh, okay.

Growing up, not sure mom gave me the tools to handle that one. In person, she might have said "oh hell, just walk away. If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." Which is good advice. But this time, I've just mocked him here...and put a big "X" on him in the inbox. Hopefully that will keep the verbal assault to a minimum.

The good news is that such interesting men show up in real life, too. I met one last weekend in a parking lot in Evanston. I was on my way to see James Bond (the scrumptious Daniel Craig, of course) when one vertically challenged, angry young man exited his teeny tiny Audi to shake his fist at me and scream "what the f*ck!".

You see, I had made the mistake of flipping my lights at him, imploring him to go more than 2 miles per hour in the parking lot. When it happened, I was amazed that this little jerk thought that by jumping out of his puny car (which I could crush with my big SUV) that I would be intimidated. Apparently this gentlemanly tactic has worked before - but not this time. Channeling my innermost snotty, ass-kicking self, I rolled down my window and told him to get the bleep back in his car and drive - that there were twenty cars behind him looking for parking spaces, and his circling the lower deck wasn't helping anyone.

Surprisingly - he did! Perhaps he thought I was packing heat. Or maybe he thought I'd run him over. Either way, I was amazed that he even got out of the car to yell at me in person! Who DOES that? Ah, yes - small men driving cars DEFINITELY not made for Chicago winters.

I am, as always, amused by the ridiculousness of these guys. The upside is that when a non-crazy, literate, professional man appears in my inbox - it's like CHRISTMAS!!!!

And, since a nice-looking, professional man has just made one such appearance, I guess that means Santa's in the building! I'm off to buy presents.....

The Soundtrack of Your Life

Generally speaking, I'm not a fan of bubblegum pop music. I'll admit it - I like the harder stuff sometimes - The Killers, Pearl Jam, Great Big Sea, and even an occasional Neil Diamond song - but rarely do I throw down with something as distatestful as Fergie.

And yet, she sings the song that makes me strut down ice-filled streets, tossing my soccer mom hair and swinging my expensive purse over my shoulder. That song? Yes, you know it -G-L-A-M...O-R-OUS....

"I'm flyin first class, up in the sky, sipping champagne, living the life...in the fast lane...I'm Glamorous...Glamorous (flossy, flossy? what is flossy, flossy, anyhow????)"

Setting aside the horrific grammar, and the fact that I have no clue what "flossy, flossy" means, it's mostly the beat that I love. Because, let's be real - I have flown first class occasionally, but it was ONLY on a points upgrade OR where the seat cost me $20. Oh, and there was that one trip home from Paris (thanks, Liz and Mom for losing your clothes for the whole trip!!!) So it's not the "living the life" part that I enjoy about the song. In fact, it's what the song does for me, courtesy of Tim Gunn, that I enjoy.

You see, Tim Gunn is a Guru (Capital G). An early fan of "What Not To Wear" - the British Version - I caught Tim's show last year (check it out here: http://www.bravotv.com/Tim_Gunn/season/2/index.php). In addition to remaking a woman's wardrobe, in 60 minutes, he also re-engineers self-esteem for the makeover victim - and had a great little tip I still carry.

Oh stop laughing over there. Yes, even I occasionally need a little bump in this department (somewhere, my sister is reading this and rolling her eyes.) In any case, Tim recommends that every woman have their own personal soundtrack to rock to as you roll through life.

Note that The Soundtrack differs from the Theme Song, the Power Song, or the Power Ballad. (Personally, those would be Shut Up and Sing, Beautiful Day, and - oh hell, what's my Power Ballad? Doesn't that require a relationship in this decade?)

Anyway, The Soundtrack is meant to do one thing, and one thing only: provide the music inside your head when you're streetwalkin. (Not THAT kind of streetwalkin.) For example, when you're on your way to that meeting you don't want to go to, or the train you don't want to catch, or the date you cannot BELIEVE you are on time for - you need a little motivation, you cue up The Soundtrack. You don't think it works? Get up, walk out of that cube, and put the most butt-kicking song in your head. Now go to the door of the person in your office you just can't stand. Tell me that's not easier with The Soundtrack in the background. I swear, it's better than the Harry Potter Invisibility Cloak. In one moment, you become unimpeachable (unless you're Rod Blagoyovich).

Everyone needs their own soundtrack. Me, I'm a Glamorous girl. It works for me. I can't say what will work for you, but you should give it a shot. And while I don't know what Ruby's Soundtrack might have been, I do know that my mother's begins and ends with some Aretha Franklin. My bet would be on R-E-S-P-E-C-T...Find out what it means to me....!

Bulk Purchases and the Single Girl

Okay, just a few notes here to update the world on the non-unemployment related aspects of life.

First, I'd like to admit that I'm using my Stability Ball as an ottoman. Probably not what Pottery Barn had in mind when they made this wingbacked chair.

Second, I might be turning into a carrot. Or an apple. In an attempt to watch my coinage, I purchased ten pounds of carrots (not baby, the real thing) and 12 Jonagold apples this week, from Dominick's and Costco, respectively. I needed fruits and veggies which were relatively cheap, and I scoured the per pound pricing like a woman with ten children. I felt pretty good about those purchases (better, say, than the Baked Lays Cracker Crisps - also known as CRACK for their finger-licking spice concoction which I can't seem to quit.)

Now, the carrots are pretty versatile. Stirfry, carrot sticks, shavings for veggie wraps - they really do the trick quite nicely. But the apples? All I really want to do with them is make muffins, and that's just WRONG. Sure, I can add them to oatmeal and slice them up with lunch, but really - I'm just not that into them.

So next week, we bulk purchase only vegatables. Who needs fruits, anyway?

Rule No. 3 - Have a Plan

It might seem odd that the first Unemployment Rule related to actually finding a job is Rule No. 3. Somewhere, Ruby is clucking, thinking that her smart granddaughter must be pretty dumb to have forgotten about actually FINDING a job. But then again, she knew something her peers didn't when she opened those two (TWO!) bars in Cincinnati in the 50s and 60s. She knew that to be successful, you have to have a plan. I'm pretty sure she didn't purchase every single wine, spirit and brew on the market when she opened her doors. But sometimes, that's what job searching feels like - if you just place an order for every job you MIGHT be qualified for, you'll be successful. But just like wasted alcohol, wasted time searching for a job is a sin. So thinking about your plan - and how you're going to make the most of your skills and experiences - matters.

As a two time survivor of "The Break" I can say that finding that next job requires preparation - and hard work. You must know the kind of job - or job(s) you want. You must be able to explain the skills, strengths, and attitudes you will bring to the job. You also need to explain what you learned from the last job (and no, I've found "Don't work for crazy bitches" doesn't go far.) And perhaps, most important, you need to understand whether this job is what you AND the employer both need.

Those are very hard things to figure out when you're on your couch surfing the web. Hence, The Plan. When you first go on The Break, you might be tempted to apply for any job with the word "Salary" in the description. Probably not the best idea. And yet, being the guy who refuses to look at jobs that have slightly lower qualifications might be a mistake too.

So somewhere, you're going to need a plan to find a company, who has a job, where you can be of help.

Your plan can take several forms. My plan has three approaches.
1. Find a Headhunter.
First, I make a list of the skills and subject matter areas that I've become good at. I look at them, and decide which ones I think I might want to continue doing. Then, I call a few headhunters. I like to use people who've worked with friends before, because I know they're successful and have good networks. I set up a few meetings, and walk through the different skills and experiences - and I let them go to work.

2. Find the companies you want to work for.
Next, keeping in mind the types of positions I want, I research the lists of companies I'd want to work for. Crain's Chicago Business publishes a list each week - Private Companies, Public Companies, Law Firms, Places You Can Wear Crocs To Work and Not Get Mocked, etc. Then I identify the person responsible for the department I'd like to work in (law, corporate responsibility, compliance, internal audit, etc.), do some research on the work THEY have done, and write them an letter. Yes, a letter. I include my resume with it, explain what I'm looking for, and send it via that big blue box at the end of the street. This approach was completely lifted from "What Color Is Your Parachute" - a guide which I swear by now. (If you need a detailed Excel chart to analyze the excercises, contact me - I'll send you mine.) I recommend a double-dip with this approach - visit the company's website and apply to any open positions. This approach has gotten me in the door before - and I've ended up with final interviews because of it - but it does take work.

3. Surf the job site that works for you.
Monster, LawCrossing, The Ladders, NPO.net, Idealist.org are all job sites that offer a wide range of positions. Again, I look for jobs that match my skill and experience. I set some detailed search criteria, have the results mailed to me daily. Then, I probably spend two hours a day drafting cover letters and tweaking resumes for the new position. (Hint: you MUST include the job description posted in the "Objective" section of your resume to get through the HR filters at the company.) While the success rates for these applications are low, I cross-refernece each application with my connections on LinkedIn - (if you're not on the professional networking site, get on it, stat!) and forward resumes to contacts at the same company, asking them to send along to the hiring manager.

Eventually, you'll get some hits. You'll start interviewing; and you'll find a job that fits your background. As Ruby might have said, (and hell, I'm just making this part up) what's important here is finding a job, yes - but it's also about surviving the experience - and emerging, if anything, stronger than when you went in.

Rule No. 2 - Do Something New. Every Day.

The second rule for unemployment is critical to maintaining your sanity.

Once you're on a "Break" you find that days can dissolve into marathon John and Kate Plus Eight (best.show.ever.) or West Wing sessions. Or, maybe, you just can't put down that Graham Greene novel that you were supposed to read two years ago.

For me, I like creating a few small hurdles to overcome in a day. Keeps me focused on something (other than staring at Monster, setting up phone screens, or constantly tweaking the resume). Seriously. Have you ever tried to make International Tax Consulting sound interesting? My success rate there rivals my marathon completion rate - zero.

Anyway, Rule No. Two creates small, but meaningful challenges - which have a marketable result. The rule is simple: do something new every day.

Disarmingly simple, the rule gives you two benefits: 1) it likely gets you out of the house - which, as mentioned yesterday, is a good thing. Myopia gets you nowhere - in fact, I'd argue it makes you more likely to feel desperate and willing to jump at the first (not necessarily best) job offer. Second, doing something new gives you something to talk about with family, friends, networking contacts - relieving conversational pressure (for them and you).

Yesterday, I did something I've not done before: visited the Conrad Sulzer Regional Library in Chicago. It's in Lincoln Square, it's huge, and yes, the first floor on the North end smells like feet. Or people who don't necessarily follow Rule #1 (showering before noon). On the other hand, there are many, many more books there than at the branch on my block; parking is plentiful; and there is an amazing video and audio collection. I checked out four new books, and ordered up two for delivery to my local library, all in all, not a bad day.

Today, the new thing was not so much fun. I hit up the unemployment office on Lawrence Ave. for my dole money. Turns out, I'm not the only one there. The rumpled man who lead 6 of us through our session told us that he's seen 400 claims a day for the past few months. Of the people in the room with me, only one was told they didn't have a legitimate claim. I wonder what they did that was new today.

Looks like there is a growing market for the rules.

Rules for Unemployment: 1. Shower Before Noon

I've never seen a list of Rules for Unemployment. Which is odd, because here in America, we have rules for everything.

On my bookshelf, right now, there are a myriad of books which tell me how to behave in any given situation. There's "First, Break All the Rules", a book about getting ahead in corporate America. There's "Men are From Mars, Women are from Venus", telling men and women how to interact with one another for maximum effectiveness. There's "Nice Girls Don't Get The Corner Office" which teaches new rules for women's empowerment in the office (and clearly, I either missed a few of those or they just don't work.) And there's even "Walk Softly in the Wilderness", explaining how to behave when you hike, camp, and otherwise disturb nature as nature was intended.

So it would make sense that there are rules for how to behave when you're unemployed. Right?

Well, if they exist, they have most certainly not ever been given to me - either by the kind but firm HR professionals who've coordinated my exit; by the pleasant but overwhelmed retirees manning the desk at the Unemployment Office; or by friends, colleagues, or parents who've been through it before. So somewhere along the line, I came up with my own rules (shocking, I know) and truly, I believe they've worked well.

I originally developed this list during my last "break" in continuous employment. It's important to note that said "break" occurred during the balmy summer months in Chicago, which may be why they're so optimistic. But as I got up this morning (my first day off payroll) I realized they're probably a good idea to resurrect. Now, in deference to Ruby, I'm sure that she never had to use any of these rules. Her rules were more in the vein of "make hair look perfect" or "ensure no dirty dishes in the sink" kind of thing. Mine - not so much. For the next few days, I'll share one or two a day - and you can let me know what you think.

Rule No. 1. Shower before noon.
Okay, from where you sit, this probably seems decadent. "Shower before noon! What is she, European? Of course, you shower before noon! There is work to be done! Resumes to send! Things to do!"

But alas, you forget one critical point: without an alarm, this body decides when it will rise. Today, that time was 10:00 a.m. Without even trying, I had slept away 2 hours of productive time. (And for those of you with unemployed friends at home, get used to the late rising. This is usually due to an inability to fall asleep at night, as one counts the ways in which one got themselves into, and can get themselves out of, "The Break".)

Today, I made up for the late rising by creating a new Excel spreadsheet to track employment opportunities, contacts, networking events, and the current status of all open applications. Then I sent off three letters/resumes, left a message for a new contact, reached out to a new headhunter and sent her a follow-up note, and polished up another resume. Then I sent thank you notes to the two contacts who had referred me to the people just mentioned. And, not surprisingly, when I looked up, it was 12:30. (And I, of course, was still in my Oklahoma tee shirt and lounging pants, my hair resembling a science experiment in oil and grease management.)

So you see, it's easy to break the "shower before noon" rule. Now, to be fair, no one but me has to know. But it's a standard I hold myself to in these times. Why? Because there's something about feeling like you're prepared to face the world that's important when you don't have a job to do each day. It's incredibly, alarmingly easy to fall into the trap of feeling like you must spend your day searching the Internet for new jobs and opportunities, and looking up at 5:00 p.m. to find you haven't left the couch. And let's be honest, the worst thing an unemployed girl needs is a new wardrobe because of correlative ass expansion due to inability to shower. Really.

So, now, at 12:57, I'm off to make up for the fact that I slept in like a drunkard this morning. I will run for 40 minutes. I will return those Netflix videos. I will Fedex the the package back to The Evil Company. I will meet those friends for dinner (networking, we call that.)

And then I'll contemplate Rule No. 2. Tune in tomorrow for that nugget of wisdom.

Ruby's Colored Glasses

To the best of my recollection, I was about ten years old when someone figured out that I couldn't see very well. I have a memory of squinting quite a bit at the chalkboards at Our Lady of Visitation; of trying to pick out friends on the playground by the color of their coat; but mostly, I remember just wanting it to be easy to see clearly.

I remember my mom taking me to meet the eye doctor, and purchasing my first pair of contact lenses. Of course, there was some hideous eyewear purchased at that time. For years, I only wore my contacts because I was too embarrassed to wear frames. In fact, it was only about 10 years ago that I learned to use glasses as an accessory. Now, my second favorite place to shop is the eyeglass boutique on Lincoln. (And yes, there's probably a direct correlation between the fact that I can't fit into DKNY but I CAN purchase designer frames.)

The inventory keeps growing, but now, I love new glasses. I have a beautiful pair of French purple metallic frames with free-floating, cat-eye, asymetrical lenses. Then there's the pair of 2.5 gram plastic frames that, in my slightly blinded moments, make me believe I look like Nicole Kidman in The Interpreter (the frames, not the face, of course.) There are my current favorites: a brown tortoiseshell, square-framed set with a pink inlay that I'm never without. And then, there's the SUV of my glasses: the Smith Sliders - a black, lightweight athletic frame with interchangeable lenses. They've been on every athletic excursion with me in the past 5 years, and I wouldn't trade them for an entry into the Boston Marathon (with a permitted 10 hour finish, of course.) Because the coolest thing about them is that the interchangeable lenses come in three colors: dark (for sunny days); rose (for dawn and dusk); and yellow (for night, or low-light days).

I've always believed there are are positives and negatives to seeing clearly. Yesterday, I remembered the benefit of choosing the right color through which to view the world, too. I donned the low-light yellow lens Smiths for yesterday's 7:30 a.m. run along the lakefront, and two things struck me: first, it's amazing what manufacturing your own sunshine can do for a mood. It was, by all accounts, a tough day for a run. There were three fresh inches of snow on the ground, the wind was gusting at 25 MPH off the lake, and I hadn't run all week. But pulling those yellow lenses over my eyes, my world went from grey to sunny - in an instant.

Of course, they didn't quiet the heavy sounds of my feet, or the uh, slightly labored sound of my breathing (no, that's not a German shepard approaching, just me). Given my lack of recent training, nothing was going to make the run feel effortless. But the lighter feeling affordedby the sunny tint was - well - illuminating. It made Chicago feel more inviting; less grey. And that's damn nice on a day like yesterday.

As I headed North along the lagoon, I realized something else. I was struggling a bit, trying to get in a rhythm, and I found myself looking down at the path in front of me a lot. I do that sometimes, especially when I run alone and am feeling a bit - well, crappy. When I catch myself doing it, I try to remember some tried and true coaching advice. The advice is always the same: focus on a runner about 100 feet ahead; or a tree; or the skyline. In short: look up. Look ahead. Look someone in the eye. Don't put your head down. Don't hide. Tilt your chin up, put your shoulders back, and focus on something other than yourself.

For me that advice always, always works. Yesterday, three days away from leaving my dream job, one day away from a tense severance negotiation, I needed to focus on something else. So I looked up, and once again, the world opened. At first, it was routine. I said hello to some runners, and smiled - and they smiled back. (That always helps me out). I saw a group of people hitting the Saturday morning farmer's market at the Noteabart campus - and thought how brave they were to be out on a day like yesterday. And then came the really nice stuff.

In Lincoln Park, the leaves are all stripped from the trees; and the branches, in dark relief against the pale Chicago sky, are like a local Ansel Adams picture. And the Lincoln Park Zoo has an intricate sculpture that forms an archway, leading into the zoo, full of carvings that would entrance anyone not concerned with falling in the snow. I've run by that entrance hundreds of times - and until yesterday, I'd never noticed that sculpture.

And then there's General Grant. His bronze statue sits atop a small rise in the park, gazing down at the thousands, if not millions of people who come to visit Chicago each year. As I detoured from my route, running up along next to Grant, I found myself alone, staring at the skyline just South of me. I looked up at Grant, and smiled at the statue, where he sits with a straight back, and a chin tilted up, challenging someone to knock him off that horse. It was me and Grant there for a few minutes, and I'd be wrong if I didn't admit I was standing straighter when I left him.

I ran for sixty good minutes yesterday, and everything I saw, I saw clearly. And most of it got me thinking of something else other than me, and my life, and what I was feeling like at that very moment. Call it escapism, call it denial, call it rose-colored glasses. But when I find myself remembering all the good parts of that run, well, I think we could all use glasses like that sometimes.

Welcome to Ruby's View!

When I was growing up, there was always this picture of my mom’s parents that I loved. Black and white, it pictured my grandmother, seated in a pretty black suit, and my grandfather, standing behind her, just to the side. I think it was their wedding photo – but I’m not sure. She had 1940s hair that looked like she was meant to be kissing some boy just home from the war, and lips that said “notice me”. My grandfather stood behind her, in a perfectly pressed suit, young, with an open, proud, grown-up face. Her name was Ruby, and she looked like she knew exactly where she came from, and where she was headed. His name was Robert, and he looked damn proud to be standing behind her.

Later in life, they had two daughters, who went on to raise their own kids. I’ve never really sat down and talked to them about their mom – but Ruby’s daughters and granddaughters have always had an opinion – that if it had style, class, and humour, Ruby would have liked it. And if people around her had something to say about it, well, they were probably just misinformed.

It’s with Ruby in mind that I’m starting this blog.

This is what I know about Ruby: she always had my mom and aunt in great hats. She taught my mother that a good wool coat is priceless. She also ran a bar. Yep, actually, she owned it. (Owned a bar! This wasn’t 1990 – it was the 50s? 60s? Women didn’t do that!). She raised two daughters who supported themselves (and their families) their whole lives, and who, to this day, work.

More than that, she raised girls who weren’t afraid to figure things out for themselves; to make mistakes and start over; to be human; and to laugh at yourself (and others when merited).

So in that spirit, this place will be my (mostly) humorous view of the world around me. Sometimes you’ll get sappy, but mostly you’ll get what I got from Ruby, and my mom – and my aunt, cousin, and sister...an ability to view the world through a prism that says “Don’t you wish you saw things the way I do?”.

Welcome to Ruby’s View.