Dont Mince Words

As the cranky old lady of the internet, social networking can be annoying.  Probably because I’ve done BBS.  I’ve played in chat rooms.  I’ve created avatars and connected with people in communities with full voice duplexing and text.  I’ve built web pages without a CMS.  But as I’ve said before, I’ve gotta stay hip with the kids.  And I’ll do anything if it gets me laid or gets me a job.

Hence my love of LinkedIn.  I no longer have to send a mass email to my network that says “does anyone know the CMO at X Corporation?  There’s a great job there.”  LinkedIn has produced screaming efficiencies in my business networking.  It makes me feel like a whore in sensible shoes at a convention.  That is, until you see an old john.

The dark side of social networking is the algorithm used to connect you with others.  Schools, employers, outbox scrapes, and friend-of-a-friend connections are some of the ways social nets continually find people to keep you engaged.  LinkedIn was doing a pretty good job at helping me build my network until it decided my ex-husband was someone I should know.  I uttered a backwards scream and a GTFO and immediately clicked on the link, because you know I had to.  I had not seen him since 1994 and the last time we chatted, it was hilariously tragic.  He didn’t remember my name.  In this instance, this was what we call in the business a “happy” click.  His thumbnail image showed thinning hair (probably the result of 90’s hair product abuse) and puffy cheeks.

With a smile on my face, I X-ed him off my list.  He wouldn’t be able to get me a job, but at least I know I now have better hair.

I’ve said it before.  Interviewing for a job is just like dating.  Do you have the same interests?  Do you like women?  Is there long-term potential?  The downside to interviewing is you can’t give a fake name or sneak out the back door when you see you’ve made a bad decision.

I had a funny feeling about this interview, but I went.  Let’s start with first impressions:  underweight emo in black skinny jeans with trying-to-be-hip sideburns.  He was old enough to be my child (if I were a whore in high school) and he had issues maintaining eye contact.  These things combined made it hard to believe he was an entrepreneur, which was how this kid was pitched to me.

The mutual “I’m just not that into you” interview was over in about the same amount of time it takes to drink a latte on a bad first date; however,  the experience made me realize I like my leaders like I like my men:  old and educated.

Once in a while I venture out of my zip code.  Tonight was one part music – The Untouchables – and one part men, because when you leave West Hollywood it is like a field trip into straight-man territory.  That means lipstick and heels for me.

My girlfriend and I made it past the bouncer and discovered there were two opening bands, not one.  Thankfully, we found a booth we could sit in.  You know you are getting old when you panic that you won’t be able to stand for the headliner.  With a waitress and a comfortable seat, I was ready for a fun night of music and people watching.

There were couples and dressed-down, beachy singles, but most noticeable were age-appropriate men (+/- 10 years).  We watched one man help his very drunk date up the stairs beside us.  About five minutes later, she staggered out and he walked her to the door.  As he walked back up the stairs, he looked at me and came back down and leaned over the table to talk to me.  I assumed he wanted to know if the seat beside me was open.  After saying “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you” three times, I realized he was actually saying, “would you like to dance?”

I was stunned and automatically said no thank you mainly because I didn’t have the right shoes on.  It also gave me time to reflect and come to the conclusion I’ve never been asked to dance while I’ve lived in Los Angeles.  Never.  I realize there are obvious mitigating factors (my height, my age, the venue, etc..)  But it is sort of sad, right?

Once I came-to, I was thankful I said no.  The guy looked like the type that had a window-less white kiddy snatcher van and only got girls to go home with him by using roofies.  As my girlfriend said, “You have to be more careful now that you have the blonde highlights.”

As long as I continue to wear the wrong shoes, I think I’ll be safe.