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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.

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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.

You is not so smrt

8 Nov

One of the women on my team is an absolute idiot.  Like stupid.  She was hired a few weeks before I was, and I’ve always wondered how the interviews went.  Not sure how she happened to get past some of the basic questions like: Tell me about a time you were able to count to 2.  Craziest part was they hired her to figure out our recruiting strategy.  Super senior level job.  She had 2 years of recruiting experience.  She still lives at home with mom and dad where mom does her laundry and makes her lunch for her everyday.  I’m not saying that a young person can’t do a big job, but if you still need instructions to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich perhaps you’re not cut out to lead strategic initiatives.

Let’s call her Smarty Pants.  Being in the same room with her makes my brain hurt when she talks.

She looks confused most of the time.  Probably because she is.  It’s kind of like we hired a 16 year old to do the job.  You know what I mean.  Think back to when you were 16 and you knew it all.  So much life experience at that age and you were the definitive expert on everything.  And sometimes you talked big about shit you legitimately knew nothing at all – pretended you practically wrote the book on it.  Smarty Pants is like that.  She thinks she’s the expert on all things hiring and recruiting and she can hardly figure out how to take the cap off her pen.

Last year we had a consulting firm do an analysis on our recruiting function.  The lead consultant had been in recruiting for 20 plus years, worked in a number of industries, frequently spoke at conferences, etc.  Smarty Pants was not impressed.  During a team meeting she made a point of saying that he didn’t really know what he was talking about and that she was “more smarter” than he was.

Right.

Okay.

Over the summer she spent some time with her fiance and his family at their house in Florida.  Of course it was the “coolest” vacation she’d ever been on.  She told us that one of the things that she loved most about being with his family is that they’re all such humanitarians.  I love people that take care of people.  They’re good people.  Smarty Pants has a different definition of what a humanitarian does.  Another coworker, the Complainer, and I asked her (because we like torturing ourselves) about what her fiance’s family did that made her think that.  Her eyes got all wide and lovey and she told us how one night on when they were on the beach the baby sea turtles started to hatch.  The family helped the baby sea turtles make it to the ocean safely.  And that’s why there were humanitarians.

Fuck me.

And this, my friends, is what it’s like to work in higher education.

What’s app with that?

7 Nov

Oh, 3D.  It’s been almost 10 years since we met, and 9 years (ish) since we last knocked boots.  I haven’t seen him since I was still in my 30’s (which feels like a hundred years ago).  I moved out of state, out of the country, then back home.  He moved away to be closer to his family.  I have grown into who I am meant to be.*  He has a new career and looks after horses or something like that.  I don’t know.

Anyway, it’s clear that I left quite an impression on him.  Vangelina Jolie rocked his world. How do I know?  Because after all these years he keeps reaching out.  Emails, text messages, and most recently, What’s App.  Oh, he’s special. Most of the time I don’t bother responding.  Sometimes in a moment of weakness I engage and then regret it a few minutes later.  Kind of like when I decided to sleep with him on the sly and then ended up feeling like absolute shit [you can read about that here].  Okay, maybe not quite that bad.

It’s been about a year since the last time I responded to his message.  Instead, I save what he sends to me so I can share the messages with my friends and we can giggle about his horse teeth and how much he loved turkey subs.

Please note the string of random messages.  Like the random request to see if I’d like to “communicate”.  By “communicate” pretty sure he’s asking if I want him to touch my cervix with his peen.  No.  On both counts.  Oh, or maybe you like the most recent dream he had about me?

Some of my friends have asked me why I don’t block him and wish him good riddance.  Well, fine readers, if I did, then I’d miss out on the gems that he sends and the opportunity to use his messages as conversation starters when I’m out drinking with my girlfriends.  And maybe, just maybe a little bit, the slightest bit, maybe not so slight, it feels good to still be wanted.  After years of being single, it’s nice to know that there’s someone out there who still thinks of me.  It’s not someone I want to be with, but at least I know that I mean something to someone in “that” way.

 

*HAHA!  JK. I’m still an asshole and hate being an adult.  LOLS (and you have to say “lols” not “el oh el”)

I have the perfect guy for you!

6 Nov

We singletons have heard that phrase a lot. We know that what it really means is: “you’re single, he’s single, and I’m sick of hearing about how single you both are so can’t you start dating so I can hear about how miserable you are about being in a relationship?”

It’s amazing how many people believe that they are certified match makers.  True match makers have a unique gift – they know each person well enough to identify who would and would not make a good partner.  They look beyond relationship status and sexual orientation. It’s about their core values, beliefs, interests, etc. What you want for your life, what you want in a partner.

And then there are the self professed match makers.  The ones who just happen to know  2 single people and decide to slap them both together.  Add an awkward happy hour which is the ruse to have you both meet one another.  The happy hour where every single person at the bar knows it’s a set up and you and the other person feel like your every move is being watched.  Probably because that’s what’s happening.  In fact, it could be less awkward if the 2 of you were on stage and you set up seats around you so everyone could watch while they nibbled on some bar snacks. VOILA!! Instant couple!

Last week one of my staff members mentioned that her boyfriend’s friend is single and that we’d both make the best couple!  We’re both single, we own our own homes, and we each have a pet!

Um…is this all at takes to build a relationship on, nowadays? Because maybe my standards have been pretty high.  I mean, maybe you don’t need to have any common interests or be attracted to each other.  And, fuck it, who cares if the other person is 20 years outside the top of your dating range.  I could date your grandpa!!  Don’t ever call me nana though.  I want a fancy name like Gigi.  None of that shit that makes me sound like I’m a real grandmother.  Because I’m too god damned young to be a grandmother.

Anyway, after telling me about what an amazing guy this is.  She goes on to tell me how he’s great with animals, and he’s traveled all over the US on the back of his Harley, and how he used to drive a hot air balloon.  (Wait.  Is that’s what you call it?  Driving a hot air balloon?  What do you call that?)  She then proceeds to mention there’s one thing I should know before we meet.  He’s 3 months sober and can’t be around any alcohol at all.  None.

So, yeah. That happened.

Maybe it’s me but I think it’s kind of not really smart to try to set up a recovering alcoholic with someone who takes a lot of pride in keeping her wine fridge stocked.  Am I right?

Besides, I’m coming to terms with being in a long term relationship with my sweatpants and remote control. Guess for now my perfect guy is going to continue to be Chris Hemsworth.

Dishing it Out

31 Oct

Let me ask you a question here, and give me your honest response.  Like your real response, what you really think.

So, if you worked in a place that had signs that said things like, I don’t know, something along the lines of:

Please wash your dishes.

This sink does not have a garbage disposal.

If there are dirty dishes in the sink, the sink will not be cleaned by cleaning staff.

Would you be an asshole and leave your dirty dish in the sink?  Would you expect someone like the dish washing fairy to appear, wave her wand, and magically wash your dishes?  Are you that person that hates their job so much that you think, “fuck this place and everyone here, I’m going to leave the container with yesterdays half eaten oatmeal in the sink.”  Is that you?

I don’t know why it continues to surprise me that people can be so disrespectful that they ignore the signs.  Everyone here reads, everyone speaks the English, and yet not everyone can be bothered to clean up after themselves.  Me not know why.

This afternoon I found the sink half filled with someone’s leftover salad.  Why? There’s flipping sign that says there’s no garbage disposal.  We have a composting bin immediately behind the sink, and yet this turn dumped their salad and dirty plate and walked away.  And now, again, the sink is clogged.  Shocking.  I know.  Last week when I encountered a similar encounter I took pity on my other work makes and scooped out all the limp lettuce that some douche bag had left behind.  Pretty sure that I have some kind of awful skin condition that will never be cured.

I dream about finding out who the dirty dish bandit is.  I dream about going to their house and leaving dirty dishes in their house.  Granted, lord knows what I’d be walking into.  Perhaps their sink is just as disgusting as the one here.  Maybe I’d take their dishes and put them on their pillow so they’d have to take notice.

Oh to dream…