Here's the good news. Well, good for me; bad for any of you married people. After ingesting my healthy Jack in the Box breakfast this morning, I looked at the cup that my Diet Coke came in. "For Single Use Only," it read. I don't know what the Jack in the Box corporation has against you married people, but I just thought you should know. Set the soda down gently and no one will get hurt.
More for me, that way.
The problem with starting an entry off with a statement of good news implies that there is some bad news coming. There's not; don't worry. Unless you getting to laugh at my state of singleness and some of my recent forays into the world of internet dating [shudder] is bad news, that is. Hopefully you'll laugh. Maybe even sympathize a bit. If you have any advice, that'd be nice too. I can't guarantee I'll take it, but I'm definitely open to hearing what you think.
Here goes.
As a 36 year old straight woman who's never been married, I am a bit of a statistical oddball. (Take "statistical" out of that sentence, and that works too.) Before you ask, no, there's nothing wrong with me. I do tend to be a bit choosy, but that's not necessarily a character flaw. I have had my fair share of dates and boyfriends. The older I get, though, and the more I develop my life around me and my goals, the less important marriage has become in my life. No, that's not exactly true. The pursuit of marriage has become less of a priority, is probably better stated. Also, the chances of me finding a straight, normal (e.g. not a homicidal maniac. Obviously, my standards and expectations have dropped somewhat in the past decade) unattached (divorced, single, widowed), willing male who, preferably is a member of my church are about as good as me winning the lottery. Which is to say, nil. (I don't buy lottery tickets.) Parenthetical standards aside, some would say that even hoping for that much is a bit, well, much.
Still others look at me aghast, in disbelief that I can be happy as a single person. Don't even get me started on that annoying opinion. Needless to say, there is a certain social, cultural and personal pressure to regard life as not fully complete, regardless of my personal state of happiness and fulfillment, until I have entered into vows of holy matrimony.
Thus begins the pursuit. Not chase, just. . . pursuit. Experience has taught me that Prince Charming, or even Mr. Almost will not come to my front door. I'm not listed, for one thing, so how can he even know where the girl of his dreams lives? This means that I must make a concerted effort to get out of my comfort zone. I am of the general opinion that I should go to places that I like or that interest me to meet people with similar interests. Sadly, I have yet to be approached by any potential bachelors in the libraries of book stores I frequent. Movie theaters -- too dark, not really the correct venue to meet new people, and are the playgrounds for those who already have significant others.
This leaves very few options. The two obvious ones are internet dating services or church-sponsored dances (I'm not a bar fly either).
Don't get me wrong -- I don't mind dancing; in fact, I quite enjoy it. What I don't enjoy is the meat market aspect of going to a dance obstensibly to meet single men in my age range, but is really no more than putting oneself on parade to be dismissed immediately on the grounds that I am not a fashion model. Neither is 98% of the rest of the population, but this doesn't seem to stop men (fickle creatures) from making those unfair comparisons.
No matter how much fun I have dancing, I generally do not come away having enjoyed myself, because expectations are never met. It's a complex mental game, made even more difficult by the mental gymnastics before even leaving the house. I must first pick a hip outfit that will somehow convey the message, "I'm cool and have a great wardrobe and am sexy but not so sexy that I'm easy." Right. Try this. Go to your closet and pick an outfit that sends those conflicting messages.
Can't do it, right? Yet the female mind intuits that this is the correct way to begin. I'm not even up to bat yet, and I have one strike against me.
Once at the dance, the mindset must be one of "I'm only here to have a good time. I will dance, enjoy the music and not have any expectations of meeting that perfect someone. This is about just meeting new people." Meanwhile, the REAL internal dialogue is more along these lines: "I didn't get all gussied up for nuttin', so there better be someone there worth my time and effort. Oh, who am I kidding? There's only going to be a bunch of mindless guys who think that if I'm not Christina Aguilera than I'm not good enough. Who do I think I am even coming here? The wall and I will be best friends, the music will suck, and only losers will ask me to dance."
Again with the conflicting messages. I don't know how we as a gender function under constant co-existing opposite trains of thoughts. You men think we are wily and mysterious, when really our thoughts are trains hurtling towards each other on the same track. A wreck waiting to happen.
The stage is set. A dramedy waiting to happen. But wait! In true reality tv show style, let's add the additional layer of conflicted girl going to the dance who has signed up for an internet dating service. The same internet dating service that many of these people who will be at the dance also use. Nothing has come of it, other than reconnecting with an old friend from high school who now lives in Idaho and is engaged, so this is not in the forefront of the girl's mind.
Ready? Action!
The last dance I went to, a guy asked Linda to dance. As they were going through the painful initial introductions all while trying to make a good first impression while sizing the other person up, Linda got the distinct impression that there was something a bit off about this one. It was hard to tell if he had a really dry sense of humor or if he was serious. Her woman's intuition is telling her something's wrong, but her female ego is flattered that she's dancing with someone who's not ugly. I won't go into all the details about why alarms were going off in her head -- you'll just have to trust me. And maybe later you'll see why.
Branden, for that is the man's name, eventually asks her if the friend she's with (me) belongs to the [datingservice].com, and if so, is her name EllJayPea? Linda answers in the affirmative to both questions. Then he wants to know why I never wrote him back.
They weave their way through the dance floor to come talk to me. Linda's bemused because he wants to talk to me after asking HER to dance, and he just looks bugged. He gets in my face and wants to know why I never wrote him back. I give him the blank look of non-comprehension, because I've never seen this guy before tonight. Come to find out, he had written me through one of the services that I hadn't paid the pirate fees for, so I hadn't ever been able to retrieve any emails. I am finally able to communicate to him through all of his bluster that I didn't actually belong to THAT dating service, but another one, and I'm deeply sorry, but seriously. Dude? Don't you think you're being a little too intense and taking this all a little bit personally? This is not a personal affront, and you're kind of beginning to scare me.
But I am woman, hear me roar. Rather, here my ego say, "Pick me! Pick me! Shut UP, instinct." I go with it. I promise to write him back on the service that have actually subscribed to. That very night. Oy. Am I pathetic, or what?
So begins the saga of Branden the psycho. Wait -- I shouldn't label him yet -- I should let you decide for yourselves. Don't let that skew your opinion of him.
Pscyhopsychopsychopsychopsychopsychopsychopsychopsychopsychopsychopsychopsychopsychopsychopsychopsychopsychopsycho.
---To be continued ...
Friday, October 3, 2003
Thursday, September 25, 2003
Random Part Whatever
I regularly read a couple of other on-line journals because I've stumbled across them as I find out more about the people who contribute articles for televisionwithoutpity.com (TWoP for short, my favorite web site). I like their writing styles, and many of them are professional writers of varying degrees, so as I read recaps of my favorite shows, it's fun to find out more about these people who make me think about the mindless entertainment that TV can be, but isn't with these guys, so I follow the links to their own sites, lurk and learn.
They're cool. I mean that in the Fonzie way. Really. They know things about pop culture, they write really well, they reference things that have only a vague meaning to me because I'm so out of it. Whenever I read their sites, I'm painfully reminded of how very un-cool I am. Then I think, what's the point, really, of me even trying to come close to what they do on their on-line journals? I can't compete, so I might as well not even try. (I believe I've referenced this issue of mine in the past.)
So you just have to know that I'm not cool. Read this, learn about my life and how boring it can be, and the little things that bring me joy and happiness, but know that I'm not cool.
What? You're wondering why I'm just now figuring this out about myself? That you knew all along? Well, thanks. A lot.
Just for that, you now have to put up with the drudgery of:
Random Things On My Mind
I have found the perfect 7-11. They have caffeine-free Diet Coke in the fountain. I love getting soft drinks from the fountain -- they're generally the perfect mixture of fizz and taste, and I love it poured over ice. It can almost be duplicated by pouring it out of a can onto ice, but not quite. It's too carbonated and tickly and metallic tasting immediately out of the can. Sure, you can let it sit for a bit, but then it goes flat way too easily. And I love drinking it from a straw, ice cold, which I won't/don't do at home. It freezes my throat just the perfect amount, especially when it's been sitting on the ice for awhile. Here's the coup d' grace with this 7-11 -- you can put flavor squirts in the Big Gulp -- vanilla, lemon or cherry. I don't even feel the need to wrap this paragraph up; it's sufficient to just lean back, take a sip and say, "Ahhhhhh."
********************
The girls at work (that's how I think of them -- they're the gaggle of girls whose cubicles are on the other side of my wall) are now obsessed with diets. More so than usual. Mind you, none of them are over 30, or maybe even 26, they're all fit, youthful, fashionable, healthy looking girls, and they constantly obsess about food. This week's topic -- the "fasting" diet. The ringleader, Kelley, (you just knew she had to have a cutesy name. There's also a Tiffany. I don't have anything against these names, but they go a long way towards describing them, don't you think? Like Pinky Tuscadero. Oh! That's it! They're the Pinkettes! Is that copyrighted? How about the Gagglettes? Gaggettes, more like it.) is advocating drinking water with lemon in it for 10 days. This is supposed to help her not only lose weight, (I'll say. Plate of Ghandi, anyone?) but cleanse her bowels (yuck. Her words, not mine), and help her to stop smoking. Yes, she won't be doing any smoking while she's passed out from hunger. So far, I haven't heard about any actual FOOD intake. They're forgetting the truism of Calories = Energy.
Lemon water * 10 days = Less productivity than usual.
***********************
My boss informed me this morning that 90% of my job is social. This came at the tail end of him telling me that he wants me to start taking people out to lunch. He hasn't seen any expense reports come across his desk yet, and he will approve a lunch a week. That should be my goal.
My thought as he's saying this to me: " ."
Seriously. My job requirement is to now take people to lunch, to schmooze, ask about their kids, make small talk -- all in an effort to build relationships of trust so I can figure out how to save costs.
This is the most backwards place I've ever worked in.
***********************
But I'm not complaining. I have a job, and I'm good at it. I don't know what I do, but I'm good at it.
***********************
I happened across a news story today about a guy in the UK who calls himself Angle-Grinder Man, the U.K.’s first wheel-clamp and speed camera vigilante cum subversive superhero philanthropist entertainer type personage. In a nutshell, he's a self-proclaimed super hero who saws through parking boots that have been placed on illegally parked cars. Check out his website: http://anglegrinderman.co.uk/
***********************
I told my two best friends the other day that I just want to be told I'm funny. "If you tell me I'm funny, then I'm happy," I believe were my exact words.
What a mistake that was. I didn't live it down for the next two days. Everytime I said something, they said, "Laura, you're so funny."
Me: There's a hairball on the carpet.
Two Best Friends: Laura, you're so funny.
Me: Stop! Red Light!
TBF: You're so funny.
Me: Let me tell you about the funniest thing I saw today. I was driving along and blah blah proceed to tell funny story-cakes here.
TBF: " " accompanied by blank stares.
Is it me? Am I really not funny? I know that I think funny things, but I guess I'm not so good at translating those into actual words. That, or I have the world's most unique sense of humor.
********************
I don't know why I'm saving the thing that matters the most to me til last. Probably because I'm not sure that it's of general interest (read "Cheaper by the Dozen" to get that reference), but then I remind myself that I'm not cool so it doesn't matter.
Seminary started last week. For those of you not familiar with this, I teach an early morning scripture-study class for high school-aged students before they go to their "regular" classes. We start at 5:55 and end at 6:45. Did I mention a.m.? This is my fifth year of doing it here in Burbank; I did it for two years previously in northern California a lifetime ago.
I love it.
This is the thing that makes my day, that I plan for, that I look forward to, that I dread, that I spend all my time on. There is nothing so envigorating as teaching gospel truths to teenagers, seeing them grasp the concepts and principles and apply those truths in their own lives. It's my way of trying to improve my own corner of the world. By helping these kids recognize and accept truth, I know (hope) they will become responsible, law-abiding, fight-for-truth adults.
I have 35 enrolled students right now, and one who comes sporadically because he doesn't have any parental support. I got twelve new freshman, plus a couple of kids who have recently movede here, and only lost eight seniors, so my class is that much bigger than last year.
After the first day jitters of meeting everyone, memorizing names, doing expectations, and the 2nd day uneasiness of just wanting to find a rhythm and settle down, things are going really well. I hope it continues to be a good year. I feel more relaxed and like I've developed a lot of good teaching skills that I'm able to utilize without having to think about everything I say.
It makes me a better person too. Yes, I'm selfish.
I'm also sleep deprived, but so far, have resisted the urge to go on any postal worker-type violent benders.
I'm sure this will be something that I write about more as the year goes on, as it is simultaneously my greatest source of joy and frustration on any given day.
*********************
Excited about: Going to the Hollywood Bowl for the first time ever on Saturday. Indigo Girls concert on the 26th. A friend from my high school days using a free ticket to come see me next week. KZLA's Country Bash on October 11th. My life. I may not be cool, but it is.
They're cool. I mean that in the Fonzie way. Really. They know things about pop culture, they write really well, they reference things that have only a vague meaning to me because I'm so out of it. Whenever I read their sites, I'm painfully reminded of how very un-cool I am. Then I think, what's the point, really, of me even trying to come close to what they do on their on-line journals? I can't compete, so I might as well not even try. (I believe I've referenced this issue of mine in the past.)
So you just have to know that I'm not cool. Read this, learn about my life and how boring it can be, and the little things that bring me joy and happiness, but know that I'm not cool.
What? You're wondering why I'm just now figuring this out about myself? That you knew all along? Well, thanks. A lot.
Just for that, you now have to put up with the drudgery of:
Random Things On My Mind
I have found the perfect 7-11. They have caffeine-free Diet Coke in the fountain. I love getting soft drinks from the fountain -- they're generally the perfect mixture of fizz and taste, and I love it poured over ice. It can almost be duplicated by pouring it out of a can onto ice, but not quite. It's too carbonated and tickly and metallic tasting immediately out of the can. Sure, you can let it sit for a bit, but then it goes flat way too easily. And I love drinking it from a straw, ice cold, which I won't/don't do at home. It freezes my throat just the perfect amount, especially when it's been sitting on the ice for awhile. Here's the coup d' grace with this 7-11 -- you can put flavor squirts in the Big Gulp -- vanilla, lemon or cherry. I don't even feel the need to wrap this paragraph up; it's sufficient to just lean back, take a sip and say, "Ahhhhhh."
********************
The girls at work (that's how I think of them -- they're the gaggle of girls whose cubicles are on the other side of my wall) are now obsessed with diets. More so than usual. Mind you, none of them are over 30, or maybe even 26, they're all fit, youthful, fashionable, healthy looking girls, and they constantly obsess about food. This week's topic -- the "fasting" diet. The ringleader, Kelley, (you just knew she had to have a cutesy name. There's also a Tiffany. I don't have anything against these names, but they go a long way towards describing them, don't you think? Like Pinky Tuscadero. Oh! That's it! They're the Pinkettes! Is that copyrighted? How about the Gagglettes? Gaggettes, more like it.) is advocating drinking water with lemon in it for 10 days. This is supposed to help her not only lose weight, (I'll say. Plate of Ghandi, anyone?) but cleanse her bowels (yuck. Her words, not mine), and help her to stop smoking. Yes, she won't be doing any smoking while she's passed out from hunger. So far, I haven't heard about any actual FOOD intake. They're forgetting the truism of Calories = Energy.
Lemon water * 10 days = Less productivity than usual.
***********************
My boss informed me this morning that 90% of my job is social. This came at the tail end of him telling me that he wants me to start taking people out to lunch. He hasn't seen any expense reports come across his desk yet, and he will approve a lunch a week. That should be my goal.
My thought as he's saying this to me: " ."
Seriously. My job requirement is to now take people to lunch, to schmooze, ask about their kids, make small talk -- all in an effort to build relationships of trust so I can figure out how to save costs.
This is the most backwards place I've ever worked in.
***********************
But I'm not complaining. I have a job, and I'm good at it. I don't know what I do, but I'm good at it.
***********************
I happened across a news story today about a guy in the UK who calls himself Angle-Grinder Man, the U.K.’s first wheel-clamp and speed camera vigilante cum subversive superhero philanthropist entertainer type personage. In a nutshell, he's a self-proclaimed super hero who saws through parking boots that have been placed on illegally parked cars. Check out his website: http://anglegrinderman.co.uk/
***********************
I told my two best friends the other day that I just want to be told I'm funny. "If you tell me I'm funny, then I'm happy," I believe were my exact words.
What a mistake that was. I didn't live it down for the next two days. Everytime I said something, they said, "Laura, you're so funny."
Me: There's a hairball on the carpet.
Two Best Friends: Laura, you're so funny.
Me: Stop! Red Light!
TBF: You're so funny.
Me: Let me tell you about the funniest thing I saw today. I was driving along and blah blah proceed to tell funny story-cakes here.
TBF: " " accompanied by blank stares.
Is it me? Am I really not funny? I know that I think funny things, but I guess I'm not so good at translating those into actual words. That, or I have the world's most unique sense of humor.
********************
I don't know why I'm saving the thing that matters the most to me til last. Probably because I'm not sure that it's of general interest (read "Cheaper by the Dozen" to get that reference), but then I remind myself that I'm not cool so it doesn't matter.
Seminary started last week. For those of you not familiar with this, I teach an early morning scripture-study class for high school-aged students before they go to their "regular" classes. We start at 5:55 and end at 6:45. Did I mention a.m.? This is my fifth year of doing it here in Burbank; I did it for two years previously in northern California a lifetime ago.
I love it.
This is the thing that makes my day, that I plan for, that I look forward to, that I dread, that I spend all my time on. There is nothing so envigorating as teaching gospel truths to teenagers, seeing them grasp the concepts and principles and apply those truths in their own lives. It's my way of trying to improve my own corner of the world. By helping these kids recognize and accept truth, I know (hope) they will become responsible, law-abiding, fight-for-truth adults.
I have 35 enrolled students right now, and one who comes sporadically because he doesn't have any parental support. I got twelve new freshman, plus a couple of kids who have recently movede here, and only lost eight seniors, so my class is that much bigger than last year.
After the first day jitters of meeting everyone, memorizing names, doing expectations, and the 2nd day uneasiness of just wanting to find a rhythm and settle down, things are going really well. I hope it continues to be a good year. I feel more relaxed and like I've developed a lot of good teaching skills that I'm able to utilize without having to think about everything I say.
It makes me a better person too. Yes, I'm selfish.
I'm also sleep deprived, but so far, have resisted the urge to go on any postal worker-type violent benders.
I'm sure this will be something that I write about more as the year goes on, as it is simultaneously my greatest source of joy and frustration on any given day.
*********************
Excited about: Going to the Hollywood Bowl for the first time ever on Saturday. Indigo Girls concert on the 26th. A friend from my high school days using a free ticket to come see me next week. KZLA's Country Bash on October 11th. My life. I may not be cool, but it is.
Friday, September 5, 2003
Golf And How It's Not Cheating When You Cheat
I went golfing on Wednesday night with my golf buddy, Nancy. Two years ago, she invited me to take group lessons with some of her work cohorts. There were five of us when we started out; now it's just Nancy and me. I'm grateful she deigned to invite an outsider to join in on the fun; she's grateful she invited an outsider because I've been the only consistent one.
Golf was always something I wanted to try -- not because it looked fun but because I thought I might be good at it. I seem to have an affinity to not wanting to fail at things, so I choose activities at which I think I can succeed. I'm too much of a perfectionist for my own good. It seemed like a natural transition for me to make from the world of hitting a ball, plucking it out of the air while it's hurling towards me at 40 mph vs. hitting a stationary ball. Size would be different, yes, yes, but the smaller target wasn't moving, so how big of a challenge could it be, really? Angle of the swing you say? Big deal. Just adjust the club vs. bat downswing a teench, and I'd soon be hollering "FORE!" with the best of them.
Piece. Of. Cake. Or so I thought.
After some initial misgivings because I wasn't perfect right off the bat, er, I mean club, I am an addict. I still can't really watch it on TV, because seriously, this is the world's most boring sport, folks. As for it being an actual sport? I'm on the fence on that one. In fact, at the first lesson when the instructor was demonstrating the proper stance, he said, "Golf requires athleticism." I laughed in his face. There are no aerobics required for this! Workout? Pshaw. Elevated heart rate? Hardly.
But there is something about playing it that makes me want to inject it directly into my veins. Especially for those of us who think we really can be perfect. There is nothing more challenging than hitting a two-inch ball around hundreds of acres of green grass. And nothing more satisfying than the sound it makes when it plunks into the cup. Nirvana.
The key to all of this, though, is to have fun. For someone who takes herself way too seriously in life, even I realize the futility and senslessness of approaching golf in the same way. This is why I make sure to go with a good friend who also doesn't care how well she does, enjoy the great outdoors, and laugh at myself a lot.
It helps that I cheat.
Don't judge me!
Anyways, it's really not cheating. I don't actually write a different score on the card than what I got. I simply improve my score. It's quite simple, really, and I recommend it to anyone who has ever been frustrated at not being able to break 100 or get a good handicap or whatever the terminology is. (See what I mean? I don't even know all the real golf vocabulary yet. You just can't take this stuff too seriously and still have fun.)
Here are a few tips I recommend:
1) If you don't like the drive off the tee, hit it again. There is no stroke penalty to add to your score card -- this is called, "Oof. I-topped-it-and-know-I-can-do-better-so-I'm-hitting-another-one-don't-judge-me-okay?" Some people actually call this a mulligan, but that makes it sound like you know what you're doing. The key to creative scoring is to maintain your innocence to rules so that it's not actually cheating.
1a) Apply the same principle to chipping and putting. Simply change "topped it" to the applicable situation.
2) If you're actually brave enough to brave a "big-girls'" course with [gasp!] sand traps, give the sand wedge the ol' college try a maximum of two times. Any more and the frustration level rises. After that, it's time to break out the "hand wedge." With practice, this move can be perfected to look like you really are hitting it out of the trap with a club, not using your hand to toss it out.
3) Hit two balls on the same hole. Take the lower score.
4) Nancy and I came up with a new term the other night while she was applying suggestion #3. She got par on both of her balls. I got twice par on one of mine. She called hers double par; so did I. Woo! That's some good golfin'.
5) Round down. Always.
6) Fore! is more than a warning. It's a number, baby. Use it wisely.
7) Be creative. I am still working on more ways to "improve" my score, but I believe there are no limits to what you can do -- both as a golfer and a scorer.
Golf was always something I wanted to try -- not because it looked fun but because I thought I might be good at it. I seem to have an affinity to not wanting to fail at things, so I choose activities at which I think I can succeed. I'm too much of a perfectionist for my own good. It seemed like a natural transition for me to make from the world of hitting a ball, plucking it out of the air while it's hurling towards me at 40 mph vs. hitting a stationary ball. Size would be different, yes, yes, but the smaller target wasn't moving, so how big of a challenge could it be, really? Angle of the swing you say? Big deal. Just adjust the club vs. bat downswing a teench, and I'd soon be hollering "FORE!" with the best of them.
Piece. Of. Cake. Or so I thought.
After some initial misgivings because I wasn't perfect right off the bat, er, I mean club, I am an addict. I still can't really watch it on TV, because seriously, this is the world's most boring sport, folks. As for it being an actual sport? I'm on the fence on that one. In fact, at the first lesson when the instructor was demonstrating the proper stance, he said, "Golf requires athleticism." I laughed in his face. There are no aerobics required for this! Workout? Pshaw. Elevated heart rate? Hardly.
But there is something about playing it that makes me want to inject it directly into my veins. Especially for those of us who think we really can be perfect. There is nothing more challenging than hitting a two-inch ball around hundreds of acres of green grass. And nothing more satisfying than the sound it makes when it plunks into the cup. Nirvana.
The key to all of this, though, is to have fun. For someone who takes herself way too seriously in life, even I realize the futility and senslessness of approaching golf in the same way. This is why I make sure to go with a good friend who also doesn't care how well she does, enjoy the great outdoors, and laugh at myself a lot.
It helps that I cheat.
Don't judge me!
Anyways, it's really not cheating. I don't actually write a different score on the card than what I got. I simply improve my score. It's quite simple, really, and I recommend it to anyone who has ever been frustrated at not being able to break 100 or get a good handicap or whatever the terminology is. (See what I mean? I don't even know all the real golf vocabulary yet. You just can't take this stuff too seriously and still have fun.)
Here are a few tips I recommend:
1) If you don't like the drive off the tee, hit it again. There is no stroke penalty to add to your score card -- this is called, "Oof. I-topped-it-and-know-I-can-do-better-so-I'm-hitting-another-one-don't-judge-me-okay?" Some people actually call this a mulligan, but that makes it sound like you know what you're doing. The key to creative scoring is to maintain your innocence to rules so that it's not actually cheating.
1a) Apply the same principle to chipping and putting. Simply change "topped it" to the applicable situation.
2) If you're actually brave enough to brave a "big-girls'" course with [gasp!] sand traps, give the sand wedge the ol' college try a maximum of two times. Any more and the frustration level rises. After that, it's time to break out the "hand wedge." With practice, this move can be perfected to look like you really are hitting it out of the trap with a club, not using your hand to toss it out.
3) Hit two balls on the same hole. Take the lower score.
4) Nancy and I came up with a new term the other night while she was applying suggestion #3. She got par on both of her balls. I got twice par on one of mine. She called hers double par; so did I. Woo! That's some good golfin'.
5) Round down. Always.
6) Fore! is more than a warning. It's a number, baby. Use it wisely.
7) Be creative. I am still working on more ways to "improve" my score, but I believe there are no limits to what you can do -- both as a golfer and a scorer.
Wednesday, September 3, 2003
Not So New Job
In no particular order and because I feel slightly guilty that it's been so long since I've posted anything, here are some random thoughts about the new job (not so new anymore), life and a brief it's back-to-school-time essay on how-I-spent-my-summer-vacation. Also, maybe more randomness on my life as an LDS singleton in her mid-to-late 30s. Oh no! More "late" than "mid-to", really. On second thought, that entry may actually require a two-fer. It deserves its own plus a sequel. Actually, what really will get its own + part two is one of my latest forays into the world of internet dating. Sort of.
Enough procrastinating.
The job. All things considered, it is not bad. It's just so very different from what I've just come from that I believe I'm suffering from a bit of culture shock. My 8 to 5 life before was dictated by angry, selfish and basically stupid people who were driven by deadlines and their own insecurities which left them no alternative (to their small way of thinking) but to make me miserable also. They did this best by never acknowledging promptness, accuracy and intelligence; instead, hanging over my shoulder, criticizing and never trusting. I had daily headaches, neckaches and just you're-a-pain-in-my-butt aches.
My position now is newly created. Just for me. So new, in fact, that no one really knows what I'm supposed to be doing. There are no expectations. I have swung from one end of the pendulum to the other, and teetering on this new edge, am a bit unsure of myself. Is the pace here so much slower because that's just how things are? or is it because I really have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing? Let me be more accurate -- I have plenty of ideas as to what I'm supposed to be doing and how to succeed here, but this slower pace makes me feel very uncertain. It's a huge adjustment to just sssssllllllooooooooooowww dooooooowwwwwwwwwn.
Is this normal? Is this right? I don't know. From what I can tell from my new home here in cubicle-ville (that just means I get to eavesdrop on everyone's conversations; not because I want to but because I'd have to be deaf not to), everyone works at a different pace than what I'm used to. It's enough to make me feel a bit like I'm floundering -- not because I have too much to do, but because I don't have enough to do based on my old measuring standards.
Putting some serious thought into it all, I think the reason that the volume of work that is expected here is so much less than what I've been used to is because -- you just cannot get any work done. It's so DAMN NOISY in this cubicle farm. Even if I wanted to, even if I did have something to do, I wouldn't be able to because of everything going on constantly. Conversations, phone calls, people talking talking talking -- and this time I know they're not the voices in my head.
I mentioned something to my boss the other day about how I can hear everyone's conversations and that I'm not used to it. It's not actually impeding me or anything. Because there's nothing to impede me from.
There was an afternoon last week where all of us little cublicle gophers were ALL having a rowdy moment -- I was on a conference call trying to deal with an insurance company non-helpful lady, the next aisle over a there was a football betting discussion in progress, a guy from across the other aisle was on a conference call with my cubicle wall neighbor with one of the interns who just went back to school, stuff was going on in the aisle behind me, and it was just crazy, man.
Oh, and lots of "Man." "Okay, man." "Cool, man." "Dude, man." "Man, man."
All of these interns are so YOUNG and I'm so (apparently) OLD, it cracks me up listening to all their non-sequitirs and general immaturity. And I think, "I was never like that." Okay, I was, but not that I'd admit to anyone.
Mixed metaphors aside, everything is just fine, really. After I had been here for three weeks and still having no idea what the girl looks like who sits on the other side of my cube wall, I finally walked around the aisle to introduce myself to her. I figured it was about time, since I knew her social security number, home phone and address.
She went on vacation the next week.
I went on vacation the week after that.
Not a lot of opportunity for bonding there.
I think I may have also messed up further bonding moments when she was walking around the other morning offering candy bars to people. I called her "evil," "wicked" and "bad." I don't really see her as the devil incarnate, but really. Chocolate at ten in the morning? I don't need that kind of temptation that early in the day.
I might add that she's also as skinny as Ally McBeal. Sure, go ahead and offer us fat girls the chocolate. Nervy.
Other life news --
Yes, I took a vacation. Or a trip, if you want to qualify it that way. I drove up to Vancouver-ish, Washington, to go visit my sister and family in her new home. It was a lot of driving to get there (16 hours!), but well worth the trip.
I got to see parts of California that I've heard of but never seen. Driving through Shasta national forest and seeing the lake (ocean? it's huge!) and the actual mountain brought back memories from my childhood of church acquaintances saying they were going to Lake Shasta. I had no idea at the time what that really entailed. A boat was required, which I deduced from the word "lake," and that was a world I was never privvy to since my family didn't own a boat and never planned to (we were the "poor" family of our peers). What a drive! Beautiful, and long.
And now, having written this much, I remember that I actually did make a rather lame attempt at chronicling my vacation on my Palm, so will post the details separately.
It has taken me 1 hour and 20 minutes to write this much. How pathetic is that? Of course, I've been alternating the writing with playing solitaire (Three Shuffles and a Draw -- truly addictive and definitely not for the borderline OCD personalities, which I may be) and pretending to be working.
What a morning. Wow. So much accomplished. Very little of it having to do with the actualy weekly paycheck I draw. Ach, well. . .
Enough procrastinating.
The job. All things considered, it is not bad. It's just so very different from what I've just come from that I believe I'm suffering from a bit of culture shock. My 8 to 5 life before was dictated by angry, selfish and basically stupid people who were driven by deadlines and their own insecurities which left them no alternative (to their small way of thinking) but to make me miserable also. They did this best by never acknowledging promptness, accuracy and intelligence; instead, hanging over my shoulder, criticizing and never trusting. I had daily headaches, neckaches and just you're-a-pain-in-my-butt aches.
My position now is newly created. Just for me. So new, in fact, that no one really knows what I'm supposed to be doing. There are no expectations. I have swung from one end of the pendulum to the other, and teetering on this new edge, am a bit unsure of myself. Is the pace here so much slower because that's just how things are? or is it because I really have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing? Let me be more accurate -- I have plenty of ideas as to what I'm supposed to be doing and how to succeed here, but this slower pace makes me feel very uncertain. It's a huge adjustment to just sssssllllllooooooooooowww dooooooowwwwwwwwwn.
Is this normal? Is this right? I don't know. From what I can tell from my new home here in cubicle-ville (that just means I get to eavesdrop on everyone's conversations; not because I want to but because I'd have to be deaf not to), everyone works at a different pace than what I'm used to. It's enough to make me feel a bit like I'm floundering -- not because I have too much to do, but because I don't have enough to do based on my old measuring standards.
Putting some serious thought into it all, I think the reason that the volume of work that is expected here is so much less than what I've been used to is because -- you just cannot get any work done. It's so DAMN NOISY in this cubicle farm. Even if I wanted to, even if I did have something to do, I wouldn't be able to because of everything going on constantly. Conversations, phone calls, people talking talking talking -- and this time I know they're not the voices in my head.
I mentioned something to my boss the other day about how I can hear everyone's conversations and that I'm not used to it. It's not actually impeding me or anything. Because there's nothing to impede me from.
There was an afternoon last week where all of us little cublicle gophers were ALL having a rowdy moment -- I was on a conference call trying to deal with an insurance company non-helpful lady, the next aisle over a there was a football betting discussion in progress, a guy from across the other aisle was on a conference call with my cubicle wall neighbor with one of the interns who just went back to school, stuff was going on in the aisle behind me, and it was just crazy, man.
Oh, and lots of "Man." "Okay, man." "Cool, man." "Dude, man." "Man, man."
All of these interns are so YOUNG and I'm so (apparently) OLD, it cracks me up listening to all their non-sequitirs and general immaturity. And I think, "I was never like that." Okay, I was, but not that I'd admit to anyone.
Mixed metaphors aside, everything is just fine, really. After I had been here for three weeks and still having no idea what the girl looks like who sits on the other side of my cube wall, I finally walked around the aisle to introduce myself to her. I figured it was about time, since I knew her social security number, home phone and address.
She went on vacation the next week.
I went on vacation the week after that.
Not a lot of opportunity for bonding there.
I think I may have also messed up further bonding moments when she was walking around the other morning offering candy bars to people. I called her "evil," "wicked" and "bad." I don't really see her as the devil incarnate, but really. Chocolate at ten in the morning? I don't need that kind of temptation that early in the day.
I might add that she's also as skinny as Ally McBeal. Sure, go ahead and offer us fat girls the chocolate. Nervy.
Other life news --
Yes, I took a vacation. Or a trip, if you want to qualify it that way. I drove up to Vancouver-ish, Washington, to go visit my sister and family in her new home. It was a lot of driving to get there (16 hours!), but well worth the trip.
I got to see parts of California that I've heard of but never seen. Driving through Shasta national forest and seeing the lake (ocean? it's huge!) and the actual mountain brought back memories from my childhood of church acquaintances saying they were going to Lake Shasta. I had no idea at the time what that really entailed. A boat was required, which I deduced from the word "lake," and that was a world I was never privvy to since my family didn't own a boat and never planned to (we were the "poor" family of our peers). What a drive! Beautiful, and long.
And now, having written this much, I remember that I actually did make a rather lame attempt at chronicling my vacation on my Palm, so will post the details separately.
It has taken me 1 hour and 20 minutes to write this much. How pathetic is that? Of course, I've been alternating the writing with playing solitaire (Three Shuffles and a Draw -- truly addictive and definitely not for the borderline OCD personalities, which I may be) and pretending to be working.
What a morning. Wow. So much accomplished. Very little of it having to do with the actualy weekly paycheck I draw. Ach, well. . .
Friday, July 25, 2003
A Day On the New Job
7:45 a.m. Arrive at work. Boss not in yet, or at least his door is closed. Not that it matters anyway – he is willing to leave me to my own devices. I’m not entirely sure yet if this is a good or a bad thing. Coming from an environment recently where I had to ask permission to blow my nose, I feel like a bit of seaweed – afloat yes, but also drifting rather aimlessly. My own devices up to this point have included trying to figure out what my day to day tasks should be. I have eliminated daily web shopping and bidding as an option since spending more online in the past 7 days than I have in several months via that venue. At any rate, it’s probably a bad habit to get into – that of checking boss’ office door for arrival times. It’s a leftover neurotic tendency from the old job where my only goal was to get in before my psychotic manager did, with the reasoning of creating the illusion of getting in before her so that I could leave before her and she would think that I had put in a full day’s work. This was complete foolishness on my behalf, though, because it never mattered what time I got in – she always left before me anyway. She was pretty strictly a 9 to 4, out the door kind of gal. With a two hour lunch thrown in for good measure.
7:46 Log onto email. Yay! Four new emails. Let’s see – one from the “word a day” daily mailer I subscribe to; one from my old job that I don’t need anymore, but open and read anyway to feel some sort of connectedness to people, because I certainly don’t here with the ice-water-in-veins group of people I work with; one from yesterday from a friend with updated web page info; and one from the VP of the entire division I work in with an invitation to a Town Hall meeting that I won’t be here for anyway.
7:47 Email checking complete, trek to kitchen to fill water bottle.
7:48 Return to desk. Check email again.
7:49 Nothing new on the email front, so open my web browser and settle in for a long day of on-line window shopping, TWoP reading and news updates.
7:54 In an effort to prolong each activity so that I can endure to the 4:45 mark (quittin’ time), begin interlacing web reading activities with giving myself a manicure. Inspect cuticles. File nails. Snip leftover bits of skin from cuticles not already removed from yesterday’s web browsing manicure activities.
8:10 Office mates begin arriving. I use the term “mate” very loosely – that would imply that I actually know and speak to these people. I don’t. There are two people who sit on the other side of my cubicle wall in the next aisle who I have not yet met. I know what one of them looks like, only because I’ve met her before, but haven’t been officially introduced to her since arriving at this location. It’s really unnecessary, at this point, to meet either one of them, as I know them already through their conversations with each other and on the phone. I also know what their office responsibilities are and who they interact with.
As sad as it is that I haven’t really had any serious interaction yet with these people who are part of my group, the eavesdropping on their lives reassures me that they’re just as not-busy at work as I am not. The majority of their time is spent on dealing with medical insurance issues, garage door opening issues, paying bills on the phone, and making vacation plans. It really is a good thing that I am not a malicious person by nature (only in my mind), because I now know their addresses, home phone numbers and social security numbers.
They really do need to do something about sound-proofing these cubicle walls. Or putting me back into solitary confinement. The bonus that solitary confinement offers is the ability to play internet games without feeling like my every move is being watched by the girl who sits kitty-corner behind me across the aisle, or anyone who walks down the aisle who can peer in and see my monitor. The way these cubes are configured, there is no good way to position my workstation to avoid prying eyes.
10:30 Begin to notice that I am ravenously hungry. Decide to finally do some real work to try and speed the time up until I can acceptably go to lunch.
10:35 Get sidetracked from doing real work by the ragged cuticle on my middle finger, left hand. Dutifully inspect other fingers for cuticles that need trimming.
10:40 Stomach growls. I notice the beginnings of a dim yet dull headache. Decide to take some ibuprofen, but wonder if that’s wise on what appears to be an empty stomach. Weigh options of headache vs. mild stomach upset, and opt for mild stomach upset. It can be remedied soon enough as I will leave for lunch as soon as possible.
10:58 Berate self for not doing any real work yet.
11:00 Bathroom break. Notice that while the heat-activated lightener I’ve put in my hair for the past three days has, indeed done a swell job of making my hair a lovely golden blonde, it has not done so much for the few gray hairs scattered throughout my pate. If anything, it has emphasized them. Or is it just me?
11:03 Really. I have got to settle down and get some work done. This is just getting ridiculous.
11:08 I have successfully written half of an outline for a proposed document layout change. Ah! This feels good! After a morning of unstimulating activity and zero brain waves being generated, I am now ready to dive in and finish this puppy. I have been unable to ignore the growling of my stomach, so will reward myself with lunch when I am done with this outline.
11:12 It’s amazing how the incentive of food fuels my energy level and typing speed. I am almost done with the outline and it’s even an almost decent time to be able to respectably go to lunch!
11:18 As excited as I am to finally be working, I must get something to eat. I must remember to evenly space out my work, and I’m sure that I’ll be able to do something productive with the next 20 minutes of work I have left to do – after lunch.
7:46 Log onto email. Yay! Four new emails. Let’s see – one from the “word a day” daily mailer I subscribe to; one from my old job that I don’t need anymore, but open and read anyway to feel some sort of connectedness to people, because I certainly don’t here with the ice-water-in-veins group of people I work with; one from yesterday from a friend with updated web page info; and one from the VP of the entire division I work in with an invitation to a Town Hall meeting that I won’t be here for anyway.
7:47 Email checking complete, trek to kitchen to fill water bottle.
7:48 Return to desk. Check email again.
7:49 Nothing new on the email front, so open my web browser and settle in for a long day of on-line window shopping, TWoP reading and news updates.
7:54 In an effort to prolong each activity so that I can endure to the 4:45 mark (quittin’ time), begin interlacing web reading activities with giving myself a manicure. Inspect cuticles. File nails. Snip leftover bits of skin from cuticles not already removed from yesterday’s web browsing manicure activities.
8:10 Office mates begin arriving. I use the term “mate” very loosely – that would imply that I actually know and speak to these people. I don’t. There are two people who sit on the other side of my cubicle wall in the next aisle who I have not yet met. I know what one of them looks like, only because I’ve met her before, but haven’t been officially introduced to her since arriving at this location. It’s really unnecessary, at this point, to meet either one of them, as I know them already through their conversations with each other and on the phone. I also know what their office responsibilities are and who they interact with.
As sad as it is that I haven’t really had any serious interaction yet with these people who are part of my group, the eavesdropping on their lives reassures me that they’re just as not-busy at work as I am not. The majority of their time is spent on dealing with medical insurance issues, garage door opening issues, paying bills on the phone, and making vacation plans. It really is a good thing that I am not a malicious person by nature (only in my mind), because I now know their addresses, home phone numbers and social security numbers.
They really do need to do something about sound-proofing these cubicle walls. Or putting me back into solitary confinement. The bonus that solitary confinement offers is the ability to play internet games without feeling like my every move is being watched by the girl who sits kitty-corner behind me across the aisle, or anyone who walks down the aisle who can peer in and see my monitor. The way these cubes are configured, there is no good way to position my workstation to avoid prying eyes.
10:30 Begin to notice that I am ravenously hungry. Decide to finally do some real work to try and speed the time up until I can acceptably go to lunch.
10:35 Get sidetracked from doing real work by the ragged cuticle on my middle finger, left hand. Dutifully inspect other fingers for cuticles that need trimming.
10:40 Stomach growls. I notice the beginnings of a dim yet dull headache. Decide to take some ibuprofen, but wonder if that’s wise on what appears to be an empty stomach. Weigh options of headache vs. mild stomach upset, and opt for mild stomach upset. It can be remedied soon enough as I will leave for lunch as soon as possible.
10:58 Berate self for not doing any real work yet.
11:00 Bathroom break. Notice that while the heat-activated lightener I’ve put in my hair for the past three days has, indeed done a swell job of making my hair a lovely golden blonde, it has not done so much for the few gray hairs scattered throughout my pate. If anything, it has emphasized them. Or is it just me?
11:03 Really. I have got to settle down and get some work done. This is just getting ridiculous.
11:08 I have successfully written half of an outline for a proposed document layout change. Ah! This feels good! After a morning of unstimulating activity and zero brain waves being generated, I am now ready to dive in and finish this puppy. I have been unable to ignore the growling of my stomach, so will reward myself with lunch when I am done with this outline.
11:12 It’s amazing how the incentive of food fuels my energy level and typing speed. I am almost done with the outline and it’s even an almost decent time to be able to respectably go to lunch!
11:18 As excited as I am to finally be working, I must get something to eat. I must remember to evenly space out my work, and I’m sure that I’ll be able to do something productive with the next 20 minutes of work I have left to do – after lunch.
Tuesday, July 15, 2003
New Job
Yesterday was the start of my new job. It's been a long haul in the other one -- 7 1/2 years, to be exact, so I was feeling a bit trepidatious alongside the excitement of getting out of the somewhat toxic environment I've been in. It's a luxury to be in the same job for that long -- I really learned all the limits of how much I can get away with, how to give myself administrative privileges on my computer, how many hours per day of internet games I can play while still producing above acceptable volumes of work.
It was with some misgivings that I accepted the new position, but the complacency in the old one was the only reason why. Every other sign in the Magic 8 ball of life pointed to, "YES! Take this job, you dolt! Run, get out while you can!"
Yesterday was the typical slow start to a new job, as they, well, we -- start to figure out exactly what my responsiblities will be. There's nothing concrete or set in stone, as it's a new position. They have a general idea, but as far as the specifics, those will evolve over time.
I spent the morning getting settled in -- carting boxes from my car and moving stuff into my new cube. I didn't have a new ID badge for parking and access to the building, which I needed. There's a lobby on my floor, and in order to get into the work area, you need an ID badge that this security system recognizes. That's all fine and good, but the bathrooms are outside of the locked area! Whenever I had to go, I had to call the admin assistant to buzz me back in. I felt like a fourth grader getting a bathroom pass.
My cube, though tastefully beige and taupe, as opposed to the dingy purple / gray that I've been in, is in the middle of a bunch of other cubes. My old one was rather isolated and off by itself, with a really loud air blower (not "conditioner," just "blower." That's all it did. Kind of. Well, not really. But it acted like it wanted to fulfill the measure if its creation!) above it that sounded like airplanes taking off and landing. It did a good job of tricking me into thinking that no one else could hear any of my conversations, it was so volumous. Being in the middle of an aisle, in the middle of a row of cubes, in the middle of the floor, I'm aware of every cough, sniffle and slurp that people make. I'm very self-conscious now of the noises I make, and am hyper-aware that my every word on the phone, etc., can be heard. I have to be very careful in my internet usage these days, as my trying-to-stifle-the-giggles giggle can sometimes come out sounding like a combination snore, amputated sneeze and a bad head cold all at once.
My new chair is very different than what I'm used to -- I have one of those meshy ones with a tall back. My old one was set such that I could lean over the back of it and crack my back, but with this one, I fear I will never be able to crack my back over the back of my chair again! And I can't figure out how to get my chair from leaning ALL the way back. I feel like I'm going to fall over! I see the levers, but they don't really do anything when I move them. As I tried to adjust them yesterday, I kept leaning back to see if the adjustment was doing anything. This chair leans so far back, that I felt as though it was going to pitch me out and into a back flip.
While amusing, the Russian judge did not think I was the epitome of grace and balance in my newfound sport of office gymnastics, and I only got a 7.54 from him. Tightwad. Probably helped the French ice skating judge in last year's winter olympics.
When I got in and found my cube, the first thing I noticed was the new chair. "Oh, goody!" I thought, as I tried it out. It wasn't two minutes later that my new boss walked by to make sure I had found my new digs. I felt a little foolish bouncing around as opposed to earnestly doing important things. "Oh, hi! Just bouncing around in my new chair! Look at me! I'm cool! I have a new job and bouncy chair!"
What a dork. But my life wouldn't be my life without a large degree of dorkiness thrown into the mix.
It was with some misgivings that I accepted the new position, but the complacency in the old one was the only reason why. Every other sign in the Magic 8 ball of life pointed to, "YES! Take this job, you dolt! Run, get out while you can!"
Yesterday was the typical slow start to a new job, as they, well, we -- start to figure out exactly what my responsiblities will be. There's nothing concrete or set in stone, as it's a new position. They have a general idea, but as far as the specifics, those will evolve over time.
I spent the morning getting settled in -- carting boxes from my car and moving stuff into my new cube. I didn't have a new ID badge for parking and access to the building, which I needed. There's a lobby on my floor, and in order to get into the work area, you need an ID badge that this security system recognizes. That's all fine and good, but the bathrooms are outside of the locked area! Whenever I had to go, I had to call the admin assistant to buzz me back in. I felt like a fourth grader getting a bathroom pass.
My cube, though tastefully beige and taupe, as opposed to the dingy purple / gray that I've been in, is in the middle of a bunch of other cubes. My old one was rather isolated and off by itself, with a really loud air blower (not "conditioner," just "blower." That's all it did. Kind of. Well, not really. But it acted like it wanted to fulfill the measure if its creation!) above it that sounded like airplanes taking off and landing. It did a good job of tricking me into thinking that no one else could hear any of my conversations, it was so volumous. Being in the middle of an aisle, in the middle of a row of cubes, in the middle of the floor, I'm aware of every cough, sniffle and slurp that people make. I'm very self-conscious now of the noises I make, and am hyper-aware that my every word on the phone, etc., can be heard. I have to be very careful in my internet usage these days, as my trying-to-stifle-the-giggles giggle can sometimes come out sounding like a combination snore, amputated sneeze and a bad head cold all at once.
My new chair is very different than what I'm used to -- I have one of those meshy ones with a tall back. My old one was set such that I could lean over the back of it and crack my back, but with this one, I fear I will never be able to crack my back over the back of my chair again! And I can't figure out how to get my chair from leaning ALL the way back. I feel like I'm going to fall over! I see the levers, but they don't really do anything when I move them. As I tried to adjust them yesterday, I kept leaning back to see if the adjustment was doing anything. This chair leans so far back, that I felt as though it was going to pitch me out and into a back flip.
While amusing, the Russian judge did not think I was the epitome of grace and balance in my newfound sport of office gymnastics, and I only got a 7.54 from him. Tightwad. Probably helped the French ice skating judge in last year's winter olympics.
When I got in and found my cube, the first thing I noticed was the new chair. "Oh, goody!" I thought, as I tried it out. It wasn't two minutes later that my new boss walked by to make sure I had found my new digs. I felt a little foolish bouncing around as opposed to earnestly doing important things. "Oh, hi! Just bouncing around in my new chair! Look at me! I'm cool! I have a new job and bouncy chair!"
What a dork. But my life wouldn't be my life without a large degree of dorkiness thrown into the mix.
Thursday, June 5, 2003
June Gloom
Today's a bit odd.
Southern California is experiencing its autumnal weather that it gets in June, called June gloom. This basically means that it's foggy in the mornings and kind of hazily clears up in the afternoon. It's nice that we don't have full-blown summer heat yet. But today is a little more dark and dank than other June mornings. It was actually raining this morning, for one thing.
Okay, it was actually drizzling.
Who says I exaggerate? Okay, okay. It was damp. There. Are you happy now?
With the physical environment being anything but cheerful, the work environment here feels the need to rise to the occasion and match it. A little less than two weeks ago, the announcment was made to us that our parent company wants to sell us. In order to do so, we must appear to be profitable, or at least lean and mean. So they're closing a bunch of our stores and laying 25 - 30% of us off for cost reductions blah blah blah unemployment cakes.
Long story short, today's the day. It's been two weeks of suspense, and in my case, of walking around looking at people imagining them with their heads on chopping blocks, or seeing a big red X through their faces, or even mostly decapitated in some cases (depending on the depth of my dislike for them).
It's nice that we've had this much notice so we can adjust to the idea that we may not be employed after August, but do it already! Bring it on! Let's go!
Don't get me wrong -- I'm not eagerly anticipating not having a job, but I wish we could just find out already. We've suggested to the VP of our department that she should just call us all together for a meeting and point to people to let us know who's in and who's out.
She wasn't too keen on that idea. Something about HR and legal rights and blah blah blah lawsuits cakes. Whatever.
Failing that, I'm getting creative. Since we're a branch of Disney and synergy is such a big thing around here, I suggested that we do "The Bachelor: Special Layoffs Edition." Layoffs can be one big rose ceremony.
"Laura, you've been chosen to stay. Will you accept this rose?"
[announcer's voice]: "There are only 5 roses left and 15 employees. Who stays? Who's going? Don't miss The. Most. Dramatic. Rose Ceremony. Yet."
You get the idea.
This morning I ran into my vice president in the restroom. Poor thing. I know she can't run away fast enough, mentally or physically, when she sees me coming. I seem to have gained a reputation for asking questions everyone else is afraid to, which of course can be a little intimidating when you're the one who has to answer them -- her. Oh well. She's the one making the big bucks and driving a company car. Her blessing is her bane. Or something like that.
ANYway. I asked her if she thought I was dressed appropriately for a layoff. "I just never know what to wear to these things." She chuckled -- either because she's humoring me or downright afraid that I'll start a riot. Who knows? Maybe she even thinks I'm funny.
Or not.
She went with it. She's nothing if not game. (Two hunters are in the woods and they come across a naked lady. They looked at each other with raised eyebrows, looked at her, and said, "Are you game?" She shrugged. "I'm game if you're game." So they shot her.)
Laura: "I decided to take the more cheerful approach" (pointing to my brightly striped shirt) "as opposed to the 'black for mourning' route."
Diane: "Oh yes. Black is too depressing. You can see that I'm wearing beige," pointing to her outfit that was, indeed, beige.
Laura: "Yes. Very neutral tones to encourage us that you mean us no harm."
Laura & Diane. Laugh uncomfortably.
Laura: "Hey, so, if I'm on the list, will you please just call me down first so I can get it over with? Thanks." (I believe at this point I actually had my hands clasped together, kind of shaking them at her, to show my sincerity in an annoying pleading sort of way.)
Diane: Can't say anything because she can neither confirm nor deny anything. Laughs REALLY uncomfortably now and leaves.
So, this is my day today. Wondering if/when the call will come. Wondering who of my friends and co-workers will start working on their resumes in earnest today.
The good news is that I've already started interviewing for a job in another division. Early reviews are in and positive. Unofficially, I believe we're just waiting for HR to make the phone call with an offer. Darkness and despair do not yet reign. Gallows humor does, but you gotta do what you gotta do to deal, ya know?
See you at the guillotines!
Southern California is experiencing its autumnal weather that it gets in June, called June gloom. This basically means that it's foggy in the mornings and kind of hazily clears up in the afternoon. It's nice that we don't have full-blown summer heat yet. But today is a little more dark and dank than other June mornings. It was actually raining this morning, for one thing.
Okay, it was actually drizzling.
Who says I exaggerate? Okay, okay. It was damp. There. Are you happy now?
With the physical environment being anything but cheerful, the work environment here feels the need to rise to the occasion and match it. A little less than two weeks ago, the announcment was made to us that our parent company wants to sell us. In order to do so, we must appear to be profitable, or at least lean and mean. So they're closing a bunch of our stores and laying 25 - 30% of us off for cost reductions blah blah blah unemployment cakes.
Long story short, today's the day. It's been two weeks of suspense, and in my case, of walking around looking at people imagining them with their heads on chopping blocks, or seeing a big red X through their faces, or even mostly decapitated in some cases (depending on the depth of my dislike for them).
It's nice that we've had this much notice so we can adjust to the idea that we may not be employed after August, but do it already! Bring it on! Let's go!
Don't get me wrong -- I'm not eagerly anticipating not having a job, but I wish we could just find out already. We've suggested to the VP of our department that she should just call us all together for a meeting and point to people to let us know who's in and who's out.
She wasn't too keen on that idea. Something about HR and legal rights and blah blah blah lawsuits cakes. Whatever.
Failing that, I'm getting creative. Since we're a branch of Disney and synergy is such a big thing around here, I suggested that we do "The Bachelor: Special Layoffs Edition." Layoffs can be one big rose ceremony.
"Laura, you've been chosen to stay. Will you accept this rose?"
[announcer's voice]: "There are only 5 roses left and 15 employees. Who stays? Who's going? Don't miss The. Most. Dramatic. Rose Ceremony. Yet."
You get the idea.
This morning I ran into my vice president in the restroom. Poor thing. I know she can't run away fast enough, mentally or physically, when she sees me coming. I seem to have gained a reputation for asking questions everyone else is afraid to, which of course can be a little intimidating when you're the one who has to answer them -- her. Oh well. She's the one making the big bucks and driving a company car. Her blessing is her bane. Or something like that.
ANYway. I asked her if she thought I was dressed appropriately for a layoff. "I just never know what to wear to these things." She chuckled -- either because she's humoring me or downright afraid that I'll start a riot. Who knows? Maybe she even thinks I'm funny.
Or not.
She went with it. She's nothing if not game. (Two hunters are in the woods and they come across a naked lady. They looked at each other with raised eyebrows, looked at her, and said, "Are you game?" She shrugged. "I'm game if you're game." So they shot her.)
Laura: "I decided to take the more cheerful approach" (pointing to my brightly striped shirt) "as opposed to the 'black for mourning' route."
Diane: "Oh yes. Black is too depressing. You can see that I'm wearing beige," pointing to her outfit that was, indeed, beige.
Laura: "Yes. Very neutral tones to encourage us that you mean us no harm."
Laura & Diane. Laugh uncomfortably.
Laura: "Hey, so, if I'm on the list, will you please just call me down first so I can get it over with? Thanks." (I believe at this point I actually had my hands clasped together, kind of shaking them at her, to show my sincerity in an annoying pleading sort of way.)
Diane: Can't say anything because she can neither confirm nor deny anything. Laughs REALLY uncomfortably now and leaves.
So, this is my day today. Wondering if/when the call will come. Wondering who of my friends and co-workers will start working on their resumes in earnest today.
The good news is that I've already started interviewing for a job in another division. Early reviews are in and positive. Unofficially, I believe we're just waiting for HR to make the phone call with an offer. Darkness and despair do not yet reign. Gallows humor does, but you gotta do what you gotta do to deal, ya know?
See you at the guillotines!
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