Monday, July 26, 2010

it's all about "ME" right now...

I thought that it was common sense.

When one of your employees comes to you, visibly upset, in crisis mode, beyond words to express how angry she is at the "way things are"... it's really NOT the time to tell her the following things:

  • Things are only going to get worse, because there are some CHANGES coming; changes that she has fought against because it will make our job more difficult than EVER.
  • There are no plans to hire ANYONE else, even though our workload has doubled in the last year.
  • "YOU take things too personally.  Let it roll off your back."
I am tired.  If I didn't need the health care, and well... a JOB... I would drive far away and stay there.

Friday, July 23, 2010

dark places

I know you.

We've met before. I didn't like you then. I don't like you now.

I wish you would go away and leave me alone.

I don't have time to play in your dark garden; nor do I want to spend time with your friends, Sad and Lonely.

I don't want to allow you close enough that you grab hold of me with your cold hard hands. Around you there is no light, no happy, no goodness. Around you is only darkness.

Associating with you makes me angry. Allowing you into my life causes me pain, and bitterness.

Please go away.

I don't like who I am when you are around.

Leave me alone.

Go away.

Just.  GO.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010


Looking back, I sensed it was coming. His calls were hours late. He almost completely blew off my birthday. He'd made lame excuses for not coming by. For a man who spent all of his free time at my apartment, these new developments were telling.

His telephone call "I think we should see other people." took all of the air from my lungs. I was... there is no word for how it made me feel. I choked out, "Why?" and he coldly said he would call me, and we would get together soon, to discuss it.

A roommate found me crumpled on the floor in the kitchen, still clinging to the telephone receiver, sobbing silently. He'd hung up after my first sob.

For days I would call in sick to work - moving from my bedroom to eat, only to remember how he no longer wanted me. I'd rush to the bathroom to throw up any food that might have made it's way into my poor body.

I sat on my bed and stared out the window.

The only energy I spent was to run and answer the phone. But that was a waste of energy.

I heard a roommate in the other room, "She needs to know why. You need to help her move on with her life." She was so worried about me, she'd called him herself. Still, he didn't give me an explanation, no promised meeting, no closure.

After a few weeks, when my feet were back underneath me, albeit shakily at best, the roommates took me out to a friends house for a party. I may have actually been having a good time. But after a while, and some whispering amongst the other guests, he walked in. He walked in with a woman on his arm. A friend of mine. Someone I had introduced him to. On his arm. In his arms. Where I was not.

To act like nothing was wrong, when all eyes were on me, was nearly impossible. But I did it. Probably not well, but I did it. The friends, they rallied around me, whispering encouragement and trying to make me smile.

Over the coming months, I told myself, over and over, that it would be OK.  And eventually it was. 

Many months later,when we eventually DID talk about the break up (the whys and all of the other things that went with it) I learned so much about this man that I thought I knew so well. The pain was still there, of course, but it was mixed with a sense of wonder.  How could I have fallen so deeply in love with someone I knew so little about?

When I look back on our time together; when I take those memories out and examine them - I feel a change come over me. My rough edges become softened with tender thoughts of that man. There is a warm glow that envelopes my heart.  I have to honestly say that I am glad for all of it; the good times and the bad. 

I am grateful that he recognized that we were NOT right for each other; that he knew it was best to break my heart.

Monday, July 12, 2010

tap tap... anyone there?

The young gentleman sitting near me (not the work boyfriend - that's another story for another day) has an interesting habit of tapping. As he walks to the printer (just outside of my cubicle) he taps the metal casing around my cubicle entrance. On the way back to his desk, he taps it again.

It's not just *tap*. It's *tap TAP*; with gusto!

A few months have gone by since I was first moved to this cubicle, and I thought (silly me - thinking again!) I might get used to it. Sadly, it's just becoming more and more annoying. And kind of nerve racking.

When I asked him about it... he feigned ignorance. "Do you REALLY not know that you tap?" I asked incredulously.

"I tap?" he said sarcastically.

"Yep." I answered firmly. And just five minutes later I pointed it out when he did it. "See?!?!?!! You TAP!"

"I'll try to watch out for that... and stop." he said with laughter in his voice.

*tap TAP* *tap TAP* *tap TAP* *tap TAP* *tap TAP* *tap TAP* *tap TAP* *tap TAP* *tap TAP* *tap TAP* *tap TAP* *tap TAP* *tap TAP* *tap TAP* *tap TAP* *tap TAP*

Apparently stopping is not going to happen.

Sunday, July 11, 2010

town hall meeting

About once a quarter, there is a Town Hall Meeting at work. This is where management goes over the results of employee surveys. It is where they go over initiatives to make things better for all of us; where they reward us for jobs well done. There is an agenda, and the usual power point presentations to go along with it.

At the beginning of the meeting, as the emcee was giving us the agenda, he told us we would be viewing a video from YouTube. There would probably be some trouble with the audio... but he was going to try to make it so we could watch it.

Yadda, yadda, yadda, meeting meeting meeting.

It came time to show the video. Again, it was announced that it MIGHT be hard to hear. He apologized for this, but assured us, if we were really quiet and listened, it was worth it.

He started the video. And said again, that we would need to be quiet... as the volume was up all the way. He proceeded to sit down... and almost immediately, someone from right behind me, said, "Can you turn up the volume please?"


Other than this... the meeting was informative and interesting.

And they gave us some good shit stuff. (I got a gift certificate to In and Out Burgers, and a logo branded water sippy bottle.)

Monday, July 5, 2010


I have been blessed with a wonderful mix of genes (oh, can you hear the sarcasm in that statement?). From my father, I received the blonde eyebrow gene. Never mind that the rest of my hair, while blonde (almost white) when young, has turned to a dull shade of medium brown. My eyebrows stayed the same blonde color.

If you add in that from my mother I got wispy little wings of eyebrows... ugh. You really have to get up close and LOOK, to see my actual eyebrows. I have thought of dying them... but ... HELLO! there is not much hair there to dye.

A year or so ago, I was at Ulta to buy an eyebrow pencil. (I at least TRY to make them visible.) A make-up artist (a gentleman) approached me. We had a conversation about my eyebrows. He asked if I had ever thought of getting them tattooed on.

"Never!" I answered. [which is not exactly true. I have considered it. Briefly. But tattoos HURT... or so I've been told. And plus, there is that fact that...] "At some point I may want to have a face lift. Can you imagine? I would have a perpetually surprised look on my face!"

Well... you would have thought that I had said the funniest thing on this planet. The make-up guy laughed and laughed and laughed some more. Then he hooted and laughed, and snorted and guffawed. I started to feel uncomfortable.

Fast forward to a conversation on morning break; just two months ago. The girls and I were discussing tattoos, and IF we would ever consider getting them. Sally said, "I want to get my eyebrows done." I told my story (see above). Edna and Sally (my morning break mates) laughed and laughed and laughed some more. They had never thought of this. They thanked me for telling them.

Imagine my surprise when just five days later, Edna comes in to the office with her eyebrows tattooed on.



And such. A. Bad. Color.



So I guess the story-telling thing...? It's not taken very seriously. I people just think of my funny stories as, well... funny stories. And not words of wisdom.

[btw... the INK faded a bit.. which helps the fact that one of Edna's eyebrows is higher than the other; and that one of them is further to the left than the other.]

[if it were me, i would sue that tattoo artist (artist? butcher is more like it!).]