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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.

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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.

 

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.

Catching Up

4 Apr

Oh hey!  It’s been a while.  What’s new with you?  How’s life treating you?

Yeah, I’m pretty good.  New job.  New city.  Have a cat.  Still single.  Hate my job.  Still fat.  Did I mention I’m still single?

So tell me everything that’s going on in your life!

Cinco de Mayo

5 May

Psst…I’ll let you in on a little secret: Mexicans don’t celebrate Cinco de Mayo. Mind blown. I know. Totally try, google it. 

Now, since I am Mexican and I live in the US and I love margaritas I’m gonna go ahead and drink as many as I can without wanting to die. So join me! Let’s vow to swap out all our beverages for the day with margaritas, and to fill our bellies with tacos. Sombreros are optional. 

Who’s with me??

Oh, and more secret. God forbid Trump wins, Mexico isn’t going to help him build that wall. 

You need to let it go

4 May

My name is “No.” My sign is “No.” My number is “No.”  You need to let it go. You need to let it go, need to let it go.

That’s not even good writing!  And yet, I can’t stop wandering around singing it to myself.  You can imagine how cool I must have seemed wandering through the local Wawa singing that out loud when I was reaching in the cooler for a can of Diet Coke.  Somehow doing that doesn’t seem quite as sexy and charming as if some pop star was doing it.  Doesn’t translate into real life.

Damn you, Meghan Trainor, for sticking this damn song in my head!!

I need Taylor Swift to give me something better to sing.  Like “Blank Space” or “Wildest Dreams.”

Help me.