My dog is in love.

My dog has met a new girl. She's a full sized golden retriever and her name is Dizzy. He lets her play with his orange squeaky ball and rarely barks when she runs off with it.

In the past, if he's liked someone, he's usually more apt to drop the squeaky at my feet. A sort of, "Here, keep this safe..." before he darts after his latest love. But Dizzy could play with the ball, which is a massive deal. It's his most precious thing, his binky to get through all things.

And today he let another touch and run and rub on it. This is huge.

Ten things I like about England, so far.

So I thought today I would spend a bit of time talking about the things in England I really enjoy:

1. Despite all the gray of winter, you have really, really green grass.
2. That the old pubs all have flower baskets.
3. For that matter, that the English people love their gardens. You've got the home gardener with his or her fragrant front yard all the way up to botanical and pleasure gardens.
4. Maltesers and Curlywurly Bars. Thank you both for teaching me what 'gaining a stone' means.
5. That it's cold enough to run all year. (In my hometown in August you can't. You could die of heat exhaustion.)
6. That watching cars drive down residential streets is like watching the world's longest game of chicken.
7. That you have way better tea and coffee, because you appreciate it.
8. Not that I'm a mum yet, but thank you for letting mums have the chance to be mums for a bit before returning to work.
9. You may think this part is mental - Public Transportation. I am ever so grateful you have actual, fairly reliable, public transportation. Before here none - absolutely none - of the places I lived in had public transport as reliable as here.
10. Sandwhiches, pastys, and crisps. You may not really be known for your cooking but you do a damn good quick lunch.

I'm sure I'll add more to this, but I just wanted to say thanks for a few things. Hope you decide to keep me on for a bit.

Lingo.

Point of pride: I am getting down on the marketing lingo.

I didn't know I did SEO or PPC, but I had been for years. My CRM and CMS knowledge is much more refined, and I can B2B and B2C without having to change channels.

I can track back, collaborate, and have excellent knowledge base. I have traditional and social skills. I am particularly good at optimization, and have end-over-end ROI. My KPI is set by competitive standards of sale, and my quaterly analysis is top notch.

I am a manual and automated lead generation machine. I can scale.

As a person from a self-taught standard of marketing I just didn't know how much I was doing that apparently you can learn in schools. It is one of those moments of pride, I feel like a natural. Someone organically driven into the role over choosing it as a major. Granted, I organically ended up in Classical Archaeology, but hey. It made me happy.

And in the end it's all about finding work that makes you happy. Or content, really. Content is better than happy any day.

You know it's getting bad, when...

Alright, it's been over a month and no job offers yet. I've rolled into interviews, and for some I am waiting for answers. For others, the cold silence of the telephone tells me they've decided not to call me to my first serious date. I'm living the moment, despite this. I've got other things on the horizon. I even had a bit of good financial news today. So in effect, my job of getting a job has moved to more permanent contract then temporary assignment. Hopefully, the contract won't be long.

I am considering, however, the notion of calling some of these firms who post advertisements for work. I wish to do this for simply the following: Many of these advertisements are flat out terrible or misleading. Examples:

1. Direct Quote: "Candidates must have extreme attention to detail. Applications accepted immediately. Posting date: February 25, 2009. Closing date: February 24, 2009."

2. From countless posts: Candidates must be good at generalizations. If you do not meet specific criteria, you will not be contacted.

3. And my personal favorite (I swear on a stack of Bibles this is a JOB posting on a JOB posting sites where JOBS are advertised):

Thank you for your interest in Company X. We regret to inform you that we do not have any positions at this time. However, you may wish to register on our company site: www.itdoesntmatterwedonthavejobs.com.

There are also the job postings that list so many levels of exactness, followed by a long paragraph stating that they are swimming in applications as we speak, that you wonder if there is a person out there who would even closely hit the mark of their desires. Nonetheless every day thousands of people apply to the post, where extremely detailed skills in the use of an HB pencil on tissue paper whilst standing on a rubber beach ball has it's own certification.

Another thing: Certification. I am guessing it is much easier to get here than in the US. In the US a certification takes a huge amount of money, some companies don't recognize it because it's not relevant to their track, and in the end it's pointless - sort of like a Masters Degree or MBA. It sounds really awesome, but in the end you might only make $5,000 more than the rest while owing $150,000 back to the institution that gave it to you. In truth I think those who came up with and sold a Masters or MBA programs were some of the smartest marketers in the universe.

Now, I don't want to end all weird and ranting about things like useless certifications. (There are great certifications out there - thank you automotive programs, carpenters, and salons!) All I want to say is, in the time when HR has such rich talents to draw from - could they please present themselves as amazing and upstanding companies? Ones who put forward the best posts possible? If they could do that, it would help us - the little job searchers. Until then I will be general, but if I don't meet specific requirements please let me know.

Your life is what your mind makes.

So I don't get any comments here. I don't know if I have any readers, either. Yet I write anyway. It's good for me to write, as it's continued practice. In my former life I tried to write interesting and informative blogs for my company. Now I try to write interesting and informative blogs for me and maybe a few other people. I was reading that maybe by 2,500 I might get a subscription.

Yesterday I spent quite a bit of time being rejected. It was as if all the people who were wandering around with the decisions all called each other and said something to the effect of, "Let's go after that American girl and decline her application ALL AT ONCE!" It was a humbling experience. One declined me an hour after I put my application in. I tried unpacking boxes, cleaning dishes, and poorly constructing, taking apart, and reconstructing an Ikea bookshelf. Finally, I gave up and took the dog out.

It was then that the phone rang. Both phones, actually. In my irritation I decided not to drag along the mobile as it hadn't rung in days. I come back to blinking messages, neither of which I can fully understand save for, "We'd like to invite you to interview!" After attempting to dial the number three different ways I reached the person who called, and ended my day scheduling an interview (pending any offers of course) for next week.

It's at this point that I wonder why, even though I should be happy that I've short listed again, I'm so mad about the rejections still. I have good Twitter friends, which is odd but there is society for you, who drop all sorts of wonderful advice now and again. One told me, indirectly, a Buddist quote, "Your like is what your mind makes."

I had heard that quote before, actually read it, a long time ago when I worked in a book store. The joy of a post-college, post-move job is that you don't go for the spectacular ones, and I'd always wanted to work in a book store. So I lied saying I was staying for months upon months, and before I knew it I had an apron and all the books I could sneak to the back to read.

There were two managers - a lady and a guy. The lady was a long time employee who really enjoyed her work, the guy a cast off of some wealthy middle eastern man who decided to go back to his country and abandon his family. Every day there was a new story about how he had to sell his things so his mother and sister could eat, to which I wanted to reply, "Why, then, don't you apply to better paying jobs?" But I never did. He was in mourning for his old life and he had to go through it. All I did was listen.

At the time I was going through my religions phase. I had been raised Catholic, but my major was all about the Pagans (something about the Romans not really converting to Christianity straight away), and I had never taken the time with Eastern religions. So I grabbed "The Complete Idiots Guide to Buddhism" and went to the back with my sandwich at lunch time. One of the sections started off with the quote, "Your life is what your mind makes," to which I attempted for the rest of the half hour to make the back store room into a beach. This all was destroyed, of course, when the guy manager came bursting in letting me know my break ended 15 minutes ago and he had to sell his car stereo because his mom was dying of cancer.

I never finished the book, as I moved before then, but it's funny how things come back to you. In the middle of all this lost control I get a tweet reminding me that how I see the world is how the world will see me. My life is what my mind makes. If I embrace the rejection then it opens me more to rejection, rather than the acceptance that those jobs were not the right jobs for me. So I'm working on it. Yes, there will be days I get smacked around a bit, but then it's not the right time nor place for me within those worlds. All I need to do is say thanks and move on. There is a place for me, and that place is a positive one.

Memory.

A while ago, on my first trip to the United Arab Emirates, I sat in a night club. It was huge, red, dark, and very very loud. It was pointless to be there, except for the people that surrounded me at the gigantic round table. Provided you could yell loud enough, and hold your liquor (after awhile I was pouring the drinks that would magically appear in front of me slowly on the floor) you were amongst some of the top minds. To my right was a gentleman who, upon engaging him, would say one of two things, "You are a natural beauty." or "Do you consider yourself happy in this moment?" To which I would reply "Thank you." or "Yes." To my left was a gentleman who thought people in marketing would be, "Pleasant, plump, unmarried women who wore smock dresses." Beyond him were two very joyfully drunk Germans, my colleague who I wanted to slaughter for thinking this was a good idea, and probably several others in between who were most likely also important, but why fails me.

With all this going on, I witnessed a power game. It was literally a competition of who could out impress, out talk, out drink, and basically out do the next person. Because of my lightweight status I sat, mute, watching this group churning around me - daring each other and calling to buy rounds of drinks that totaled hundreds of dollars.

The man leaned forward, "Do you consider yourself happy in this moment?"

No, I wanted to say. No. Because around me sits the reason why I enjoy the trenches. I'm not an ego maniac who has to drop names and buy designer shirts. I'm from a hard working stock who would look at all this and immediately launch into 'starving children in Africa' speeches.

"Oh yes. Yes, this is great." I lied.

"You're lying." He said. He leaned forward to me, cigar and colored alcohol in hand. "You've been lying to me all night."

I was taken aback. I had been sitting there for maybe 4 hours miserably counting down the moment they would have to kick us out. Listening as the gentleman to my left bashed women (in hindsight I think he was a recent divorcee) glowering at my colleague, and pouring drinks which may have totalled $20/each on the carpet under the table.

"You are meant for somewhere else. This world is not your world. I have a feeling you will do better than us because you will do things differently." and with that he sat back, appraising my shock and then lapsing - as if through memory loss - back to his previous two statements.

About an hour later the lights flicked on. I took that as my queue to flee the building, bemused colleague in tow and knowing full well I had just witnessed the dropping of $2,500 on alcohol for at least 8 people. And in the middle of it, some weird little light came out through a channel unsolicited saying that I wasn't meant to do things this way. There was a better way. I suppose we all have doubting moments, and surely that was one of them, yet in the middle of it be told I am potentially the better of all those people - and those people were powerful people.

Stuff like that stays with me, because it was so unexpected that I wonder if I had to sit there all night so the universe could tell me something. I just had to wait long enough. Ever since then I've jumped at opportunities, even if they make me feel uncomfortable. Who knows, maybe the universe will have another message for me. Hopefully, it will be a positive one.

The Joy of Rejection.

I'm not a girl who loses much. I'm not. I'm a "winner." So to be put out often, told "no dice," it's tough. It's humbling, but it's tough.

I need to be grateful that I've made a few short lists. It's a word that wraps around my brain everyday, the short list. Through this experience I've made in my head three lists - short, medium, and long. (I toyed with being all Starbucksian and calling them venti, grade, and Steve but I keep forgetting which size is which.) From there, I've given each a definition:

1. Long - As in 'Long Shot.' It's a job that I have relation to, but most likely not. However, you never really know, so I apply. I've punted for maybe 5 of these.

2. Medium - As in psychic. No, not really. But a job I've got a 50/50 chance of hitting the short list for. These are the majority of applications.

3. Short - As in, interview time! And so far, so good. But as I said, "I'm a winner." I'll admit straight up that I wish I was on more of these. I am a person who writes contingency plans for contingency plans.

So far nothing on the short has come back, though I'm actually still in the hold period. It's awful, putting fate in others hands. At the same time, it's been a chance to embrace that bit of Buddha I carry with me - I cannot judge the universe.

It doesn't mean, however, that I don't cry like a baby when the call or email doesn't come. I may not have the power to judge the universe, but on occasion I feel it's perfectly legitimate to wave my fist around at it and yell for a few. Suddenly those crazy homeless you see wandering around the streets screaming away at nobody begins to make sense. Everybody gets angry with the universe, some just have more public ways of showing it.

Every time I've been rejected this month I go and I put a line through the job that passed me over. Then I go and rewrite all the list of jobs still out in the ether, short lists first. It reminds me I need to keep looking, keep applying, and filling the page with opportunity. My own little life cycle of potential jobs, playing out on a sheet of paper. Fill it up, let it go, keep going, and don't look back.

There is a bit of joy in rejection. That feeling that even though I might be standing still I'm progressing forward. And one day the right thing will come, all I have to do is keep engaging. Every application an opportunity, every interview a chance to grow. I will figure it out, figure myself out.

Keep applying.

Influenced today by: Zen@Work

Hi England, I'm America...

I have learned a great many things from the UK. It has come to my attention that, damn, I so am an American.

In America we like to make up a lot of words. So do the English. Yet they, without shame, mispronounce everything. I'm still wrapping my head around Reading, which is their Redding, or the fact that Leicester is pronounced Lester. Where did all the other vowels run off to?

My current fascination is the word 'jumper.' Now for us in America, that's a person on a ledge about to commit suicide. Here, it's an article of clothing. And it can be any of the following: hoodie, pullover, sweater, cardigan, jacket, or fleece. Though at any moment they can spring one of the other terms on you while denying any of the other words exist.

I'm also really getting to know UK business. There is this strange disconnect I'm getting, but at the same time, it's another fascination on my part. So far I've been graciously asked to a few interviews. All of them are unique, but with some underlying similarities. I'm usually interviewed by two or more people, often meeting several in different groups over a time period, and I HAVE to come prepared. There is a higher expectation here, which really, I think is good. But there is also that feeling of, "How should I be?" Should I joke? Be serious? In the end I try to remain as true to self as possible, though in return I just don't know what lines I need to cross, if there are any.

I also notice my American accent comes on THICK. I'm aware of how I say my words, how the tongue rolls around in my mouth. I adopt accents. I can, if placed around anyone for extensive periods, mimic them. In these cases I'm making conscious efforts NOT to sound like them. Not to pull something in and start talking like them. My favorite example of me not doing as such was when I took an English colleague to Disney. I would speak to the Disney people with my southern accent, and to him with an English accent. Eventually, he stopped me in the middle of Downtown Disney and said, "Stop it. Stop it right now. You're neither southern nor British! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!"

I think he's just jealous I can utilize a mimic talent.

It is very odd, though, this feeling of being a bit more of an outsider than normal. Of wondering where I will fit, if I will fit. Here I thought with all my travels that I was so incredibly cultured, but I still have a lot to learn. I suppose that's why I'm here, really. To learn.

Next, I will explore the meaning of the word 'shattered.' In America, it usually means somebody died. In the UK, you're just tired. Sigh.

Be yourself.

Competition sucks, but it's necessary. Of course life would be easier if everyone knew their exact purpose and impact without having to flounder around in that 'period of discovery.' (What they don't tell you is there will be several of these periods - some that you may not even want.)

Life changes, goals change, markets shift. And it's not always survival of the fittest. It is usually the survival of the people most willing to embrace the change. The trick is to embrace while still being yourself.

Don't think you can revolutionize yourself over night. Don't assume that if you put in one good weekend or send one great email, the customers will be at your doorstep tomorrow. Like some women I know who starve themselves for a week for a few hours in an evening gown, it's going to be over quick and you won't enjoy it because you put yourself in pain to get there.

Not that I'm saying there aren't times you need to push, but in order to really embrace change you have to make movements both large and small. For me, I just went through my Twitter and randomly subscribed to people's blogs. I figure if I get a chance to start reading more about these already fascinating folk perhaps they will feed me further ideas. Will it mean I trounce the competition? Win the job? Win the deal? Get the happily ever after? Perhaps it will. I'm embracing that as a possibility.

But I won't charge in on radical, because I won't know if I can sustain it. I've always wanted to dye my hair blonde, for kicks really, but I know myself well enough I wouldn't maintain it. Not to say maybe a streak here or there wouldn't be fun, but bleach bombshell would become bomb in four weeks flat. Guaranteed.

So as I look to progressing forward I will do so through engagement. Through authenticity. And I will let people's opinions in, and perhaps some will shape me. I will be myself, that is the best I can be. But I will be connected.

Influenced today by: Seth Godin

Simple Things.

I am impressed by the lives of my animals. I often tell others, "If I do really well in this life, I get to come back as a pampered house pet." That is heaven, though sometimes I'm sure my animals will tell you it's hell. Especially when you are 5 minutes late feeding them or you don't have a lap free to try and cram cuddle yourself into.

No matter.

I've been thinking pretty hard about what I want to do. For those who know me, I spent a couple of years completely associated with a brand. I did so because of the emotional attachment that can be made. It's not rocket science, by humanizing things it makes them easier to sell. When you believe in them, it's not hard to be the face. But times change, things change, and you have to disassociate. (I often wonder what Jared, the Subway Guy is up to. There is a brand association that went on for donkeys.)

So as I've been looking I've been spending quite a bit of time with the pets, and I noticed how simple things make them happy. My dog, Finley, loves orange squeaky. Only one particular kind, which I have a massive bag of sitting upstairs. I don't know why he has particular brand loyalty to this one ball, but he does. It has little nobs on it, and actually comes in several colors. He, however, likes the orange ones. Sort of like a favorite color or food that you just can't get enough of.

Whenever things are going great with him, a good tummy rub, a pretty lady comes to visit (he also loves women) he runs to get orange squeaky. When he seems excited, I ask him, "Can it get any better?" and like a rocket he's off and back with orange squeaky. It's the happy place for my dog. That one thing in life that just makes it all worthwhile.

So I decided to name my blog after this, my dog's favorite toy in the universe. Better than chew bone, longer lasting then rope bone, it's the orange squeaky. That happy place.

We all deserve that happy place.