Archive | November, 2017

An Open Letter to Matt Lauer

30 Nov

Dear Matt Lauer,

Remember when you were in the news about a decade ago for wearing “mom jeans”?  Man, do I remember how people mocked you for those high waisted, faded, frumpy jeans.  As I recall you were also rocking a red sweater.  You kind of reminded me of an SNL skit, or a sad cat lady.  Yet you were still kind of okay.  That’s when you were still cool.  When families all over America would tune in to “The Today Show” to hear what you had to say.

You were the good guy.  Kind of handsome – aside from those awful jeans, a family guy, the boy next door.  The type of guy that girls like me found dreamy.  Charming, really.

How disappointing for us all to find out what an absolute douche bag you are.  How many hearts you’ve broken, worlds you’ve shaken, lives you’ve made miserable.  What an awful person you are, and poor choices you’ve made.

I’m glad those women came forward and told the truth about you.

Read your “apology” statement that you came out with.  I don’t think you’re sorry.  Scratch that, you are sorry, but you’re only sorry that you got caught.  You’re also a sorry bastard.  You know what you did wrong.  You know that you were being a fuck wad when you were you gifted your coworker a sex toy and told her how you wanted to use it on her.  What is wrong with you??  Don’t you know that you’re not supposed to do that unless the other person is clearly into you?

Guess what, Matt Lauer?  You can take your mom jeans and fuck yourself in your left eye.

You’re dead to me.

Insincerely yours, Catherinette

Pretty sure that’s not what “Black Friday” means

21 Nov

Oh, Target.  You’re so cute with the way you lure us in to your stores with a plan to buy one thing and then we end up buying a shopping cart full of stuff we didn’t know we didn’t need.  Adorable.

Not so cute are your racist Black Friday deals.  Did a search to see if they were running specials on Nespresso machines.  Search term was “Nespresso Black Friday 2017”.  You tell me your thoughts on the search results…

As my friends on “Sesame Street” would say, “one of these things is not like the other, one of these things does not belong.”

Well, that sucked

19 Nov

It’s been 2 days and I’m still licking my wounds a bit.  Given the chance to do it all over again, I would definitely pass. I’ve been in this line for nearly 20 years, and this was easily one of the most stressful classes I’d ever led.

The morning started off well enough – plenty of coffee, considering I was up and out of the house and hour before I’m typically hitting the snooze button.  Breakfast.  Sunshine.  Plenty of smiles.

Can’t quite determine when exactly everything went off the rails.  Seems like there was a moment where all of a sudden half the class started revolting.  I’m surprised they didn’t stage a coup.  They hated the concepts, questioned the research (and I didn’t know how to answer), and demanded answers that I didn’t have.  So I did what any good actress does, I made some shit up, attempted to distract them with some soft shoe, pulled myself together and moved the along.

There was one point in the morning when I was being peppered with questions that I just wanted to cry.  Like break down and sob.  Heap on the floor.  Guttural cries.  It was not awesome.  Not a bit.

Still, managed to make it through the day.  Some people came by at the end to tell me how awesome I am (which is true), and how much they enjoyed the session (absolute lie).

In the 2 days since I’ve found solace in carbs and wine, they help heal my pride.  Maybe I should have some cookies too.

11th hour reprieve (kind of)

16 Nov

YOU GUYS!!

I snuck out of training to give you an update on what’s happening.

So my training got pushed until tomorrow – I have another day to prep.

Pray for me. I’m going to need it.

Also, there are zero hot dudes in the class. That sucks.  On the bright side when I bomb I won’t do it in front of the sexy dude I want to nail.  Because he’s not in this class.

Stay tuned!

How do you say, “I’m fucked” in French?

14 Nov

I am fucked.

In the ass.

Royally.

Fucked.  Like legitimately fucked.

The University of Broken Dreams and 2 other schools co-sponsor a program for senior leaders at our respective institutions. It’s pretty much a bullshit program that gives us the opportunity to travel around the country, talk to leaders about how to lead, and then get bombed at the after hours events. We meet 5 times per year and the different institutions take turns hosting. Tomorrow we host here for a 3 day event. 30 leaders will be joining us.

I’ve tagged along to the last sessions since I’m still considered the newbie. The most tenured team member is a bit of a shrew and control freak. She pretends like she’s open to ideas and will ask your opinion. As soon as you give it to her she will immediately shut you down and tell you while you’re wrong. She also likes to do awesome things like remind everyone why they shouldn’t use their phones during the leadership training, and then sits in the back playing on her phone. Role model. To add insult to injury, she wears patchouli.

My role has been to observe, get asked my opinion, have it shot down, and to be hungover on day 2. Relatively light lifting.

Until now.

This Thursday the Shrew is slated to facilitate a pretty intense all day course. Or, at least, she was slated to do it. Last night I got a call from her wife. Unfortunately, the Shrew had a terrible fall, and will not be able to travel. Broken leg. 3 places. What? You can’t fly with that?

48 hours. That’s how much time I have to figure out what the fuck I’m doing.

Have I mentioned that I’ve never led the program? Or that I don’t have access to the materials? Or that there will be 30 fucking leaders staring at me trying to figure out why I’m the one leading the session? And know how I’ve been spending my time today since I’m in an absolute panic? Online shopping for Christmas presents and a new duvet cover for my room. Because, you know, new bedding fixes everything when you’re in crisis.

What’s the likelihood that I could come down with something like food poisoning or a touch of Ebola between now and Thursday morning?

Fuck.

I’m so fucked.

 

You’re not getting any younger

13 Nov

Years ago my mom would take the time out, at least once a week, to remind me that perhaps I should lower my standards so that I could find a man.

  • Mom: You’re not going to be young forever, you know?
  • Me: Yeah.  I know.
  • Mom: Maybe it’s time to consider that you date someone that you wouldn’t have dated before?
  • Me: Nope.  I’m good.
  • Mom: But I don’t want you to end up alone!
  • Me: So you’d rather I end up with someone who doesn’t make me happy so that I’m not alone?
  • Mom: Then you could have a child.
  • Me: That’s why you want me to find a man?  So I can have a baby?
  • Mom: You’re not getting any younger.

Call me crazy, but I think standards are kind of important to have.  I’m not talking being in that Bridget Fonda space in “Singles” (how about that for a throwback?).  She wanted a crazy long list of nonsense, and then was willing to settle for someone who would say “bless you” when she sneezed.  I deserve better than that.  We all deserve more than that.  Shouldn’t we have someone who is gainfully employed, loving, caring, ambitious, smart, kind, warm, etc?  I want someone who brings out the best in me.  Who challenges me.  Who makes me want to be a better person.  Not some douche bag who has a pulse, never makes the bed, and leaves crumbs in his wake.  Fuck that for a joke.  I still believe I can find him.  He’s out there.

I was pleased to see her let go of that line of questioning.

Until it turned into something worse:

  • Mom: You know, if you’re going to have a child, now’s the time to do it.
  • Me: Um.  What?
  • Mom: You’re not getting any younger.
  • Me: I’m well aware of that.
  • Mom: You should just have a baby.
  • Me: Nah, I’m good.
  • Mom: But I don’t want you to end up alone!

We played that game for a few years.  She went as fair as to hand me pamphlets on fertility treatments and freezing my eggs.  At 43, that ship has pretty much sailed.  Not sure whether or not my uterus could handle growing and cultivating another human being for 9 months.  That whole part of my body has been a dry wasteland for as long as I remember.  More than likely if anything could survive up in there it’s some kind of prehistoric creature that should never see the light of day.

  • You can imagine my “delight” when 3 weeks before my 44th birthday we started a new conversation:
  • Mom: You know, you could always adopt.
  • Me: Mom!  Come on!
  • Mom: You’d make an excellent mother.
  • Me: Seriously?
  • Mom: You’re not getting any younger.
  • Me: For the love.
  • Mom: Or you could be a foster mom?

Guessing this year I can expect pamphlets on fostering or adoption.  Yay!

I love our little chats.

As purr our discussion

10 Nov

People with pet cams are such losers. Seriously. Who the fuck spends their time logging into a damn account to watch their baby cat jump on the window sill? So lame.

Guess what? I’m a loser.  Cuz you know? Because I have a cat.

And I have a cat cam.

Okay so really it’s a security cam that I bought for a valid reason. The house alarm has been set off several times – scaring the shizzle sticks out of me. So I bought a security cam to monitor what the hell was going on. Set it up, and it happens to overlook the room where my cat, Mr. Bojangles, likes to spend the time.

There is nothing like a grown woman receiving a notification on her phone that the Kitty Cam has been set off, clappity clapping her hands, and calling all her coworkers in her office to watch the latest Mr. Bojangles shenanigans.

How did this happen to me?

I’m an inspiration to the people

9 Nov

Okay, maybe not to the people.  I am, however, a true inspiration to myself.  And probably to my cat.

Had an incredibly powerful leadership moment in my office yesterday.  End of the day.  Everyone had gone home. And I was left to deal with some of the typical bullshit that we deal with here at the University of Broken Dreams.

For those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of working in higher education, it’s an experience.  An awful experience in which you’re supposed to play nice and make sure you ask every single person at the university their opinion on a decision. If there’s a single person – no matter their level or experience – who doesn’t agree or who has concerns, then you immediately throw out your idea and start all over again.

Why on earth would we take the time to identify the key decision makers? Or explain to people that not everyone gets a vote?  Probably because someone’s feelings would get hurt, and dealing with feelings is difficult and kind of uncomfortable.  Instead we think it’s better to slow everything w  a  y down and extend too much effort and entirely too much time on the most menial projects.  Great.  Good call.  Awesome for innovation.

Won’t bore you with the details of my most recent project.  The twitter version is a junior staff member was chosen by the VP to lead a project.

I got a call from her manager’s manager’s manager (that’s right, he’s 3 levels up from her and reports into the VP) who wasn’t too thrilled with the decision that had been made.  Even though he had blessed her nomination as a candidate.  He wanted to talk to his direct reports before something was communicated to the junior staff member.  He wasn’t sure if the staffer’s leader would support said decision or not.  And blah blah prolong everything and let’s call a meeting with all the senior leaders to discuss.

As soon as I got off the phone I got an email from the staff member’s leader stating how thrilled he was about that choice.

My reaction? I flipped off my screen and said the following out loud: “Doesn’t look like HE’S got any concerns.  Suck on that dick.”

I’m a fucking professional.