I'm Not Angry Anymore

Today's topic, boyz and gurlz, is anger management. Now, anger can really get the best of one, can't it? Reading over my last couple of posts, I understand what this blog writing thing is all about. For me, anyway. It's about the venting and bitching and spewing our opinions to anyone who will read them. And even [as in my case] if almost no one reads them.

And isn't that a much healthier way to release the anger than, say, punching a wall and breaking your hand, not that we know anyone who has ever done that (love you, sweetie).

And then I cannot help but to think of my mother. A stay at home mom who also helped my dad run a business for 40 years while raising eleven 11 eleven 11 children who were born approximately every 1.5 to 2 years from 1949 to 1970. Jesus. What did she do with all of those feelings, frustrations, and worries about whether she was doing it right?

What did she do with the anger? Can you imagine how pissed off at us kids she was--daily? She didn't really yell--not like I would, were I in her shoes. She didn't even drink! How did she deal? She had Mary (the mother of our lord) and she had Mass (every day of her life). She had a few friends she could sneak a phone call to when the house was quiet enough to talk for the three or four minutes between someone being pushed down the stairs or screaming bloody murder because their doll had been decapitated.

She didn't have a blog, or a diary, or the time to write anything. Ever.

And I think about how lucky I am. If I couldn't write every day, I would be much less, well. . . pleasant than I am. This cathartic practice is all I need to purge the shitty stuff from my core. This, I can manage.

I'm So Glad The Bitch Is Gone

And the drama continued. . . for a little while. After not-so-loyal employee M. declared her acceptance of a job offer "she couldn't turn down," I was pissed. I vented and bitched to anyone who would listen. What the hell? How could someone use people (me and the hub for instance) so easily and then, KNOWING that leaving their employ puts them in difficult spot (like they don't get to take a vacation this year because now that you were trained properly you fucking QUIT) leave anyway?

I know I'm from another generation. Well, baby boomers, I'm here to tell you that we completely rock. Thank god we got a semblance of work ethic from our parents because the exes and whys are little self-absorbed brats with no idea how they should act in the world. NO idea whatsoever.

I think D. is an X-er. In fact, a lot of my friends (all younger than me, isn't everyone?) are X-ers. They have very good work habits and ethics, so let me rephrase: it's the twenty-somethings, who IN MY PERSONAL EXPERIENCE are completely at a loss when it comes to comprehending how to conduct oneself in the workplace. Overheard recently by one who works about 35 hours per week: We work way too much.

Continuing my saga: the day after Miss Thang announced her departure, I was ready to show her the door. She lied to us, after all. I do not deserve that. No one does. I don't care how you interview for your next job, but try to avoid the lying to the person who is currently making the whole Food, Shelter, Clothing thing possible for you, n'kay? Do not insult my intelligence.

Then I noticed that her computer monitor was currently occupied by a game of Solitaire. Very nice. Are you playing SOLITAIRE? I asked incredulously. Get this: her answer was well, I was until HE (CUSTOMER) came in. Wrong answer, honey. D. and I invited her into our office, told her either work your two weeks or don't be here, thanks for the disrespect by the way, and what do you plan to do? "I'm sorry, I want to be here. I'm really sorry." Fine, go along now.

M. went to lunch shortly thereafter.

She never came back.

She didn't come back! No calls, no emails, no nothin'.

A couple of hours after she left, she texted a co-worker "I'm not coming back. Come and get my key." Yes, we trust losers like this with keys to our business.

D. called her cell. Not surprisingly, no answer. Bring your key back TODAY and by the way, I'm SHOCKED at your behavior.

A little while later her MOTHER shows up with the key.

I can only imagine the look on MY mom's face if I asked her, "Oh, I quit my job and today they made me angry, so I'm not going back EVER, and oh, will you please please please take this key back to the mean people who have paid me very well and paid my health insurance and all kinds of bonuses and helped me move a few weeks back? Please mom?"

Mmmmm hmmmmmm. My mom would have kick my butt all the way down the street and grounded me for life before she'd have done that.

Spoiled. Coddled. Spineless. Unappreciative. Insipid.

I'm so glad she's gone. And now, I'm done bitching about it.

Loyalty? What Loyalty?

You know it's going to be a bad Monday when a key employee walks into your office first thing in the morning.

"I need to talk to you guys."

I heard the rest of your announcement about taking another job, but what's going through my mind is "Oh how shocking. Do you really think that we didn't know you were interviewing on Friday when you actually dressed decently for a change and took an extra-long lunch to take your mom out for lunch to cheer her up?" Nice lying, by the way. You almost convinced us that you were really doing just that.

Now, we realize that new opportunities come up. And we want only the best for the people who work here. And when it's time to move on, we expect that all will eventually do that. But guess what? Quitting after six months is shitty! People with decent upbringings and who possess a moral or two might consider doing the right thing and staying with good, fair employers who pay more than a living wage PLUS 100% of your health, dental and vision insurance, PLUS regular bonuses for doing a good job and who GAVE UP A SATURDAY IN JULY TO HELP YOU MOVE TO YOUR THIRD FLOOR APARTMENT. Hello? That alone is worth another six months!

You know the apartment about which I speak. It's the one where you got to take your against-the-rules dog whom you got to keep because we know the apartement manager and he loves us. It's the one where you didn't have to pay another pet deposit because we know the manager and he loves us.

When someone leaves after only six months, we might as well take thousands of dollars out of the pockets of all of us and throw it out the window. Don't you get that?

Effin' employees.

WTF?

Um, why is my post so squished together today? I tried to figure out what I did, but if anyone has any clues, let me know, 'kay?

Let's Talk About Weight--It's Fun!

Here's a comment I posted on one of my favorite blogs,
Oh The Joys

Claire B. said...
Wow. I've been reading you for a little while now, and have been impressed by your wit and honesty, your talent and yes, your gorgeousness. I was *a little* jealous of how awesome you look after two kids. Me? I have somehow allowed myself to gain nearly every pound WW helped me take off in the late 80's. 20 effin years ago. I was at my own ideal weight (for about 6 hours), after being Porky Porkina my whole life. (I loved your turkey breast reference; I think of my excess pounds in terms of 5-lb bags of sugar, as in "I'm carrying SEVEN.BAGS.OF.SUGAR.ALL.THE.TIME.OMG!!!")

Following my six hours of Incredible Lightness of Being, I managed to look good for quite a long time. But did I feel ok about myself? NO! I still bitched unceasingly about being fat. And over the last few years, when my hub and I started a business together, I really let it go. Suddenly (?) I am within five pounds of my all-time high.

And do I think I need a program like WW? The one where I lost forty ugly pounds? Until I read this post, no I did not think that I did.

So thanks for the inspiration and for helping me remember that hot sexy women don't always just happen (like I used to think you did). Mostly they have to work very hard to pull it off.

Oh boy. This is, like, the first time I've ever written about my weight. I think about my weight all the effin time, however. Seriously. I am obsessed about weight: mine, yours, complete strangers', my sisters', every body's.

The other night, at the outdoor movie (The Goonies, and yes, I nearly wept just looking at Chunk because I felt so sorry for him) there was a super-skinny girl sitting nearby (ok, there were lots of them, but this particular one was SO thin and SO showing it off as well her twenty-one-year-old self should have been) and I said to D. "wow that girl is so skinny" and because he is the most adorable man ever, D. said "that is SO unattractive." Yay for me! Later, I saw a NOT thin girl preparing to sit on the ground (not an easy feat for a big girl) and she was adjusting her shirt so that her low rider jeans wouldn't expose her backside, while balancing her weight so she wouldn't fall over or land too hard, while keeping her pint of beer from spilling (and just because she's a big girl doesn't mean she can't have the beer), and none of this is as easy as being the thin girl and just placing your ass on the ground as your thin legs bend easily and freely--I know, I've been both of these girls. So I look at the larger girl's assets and ask D. "Is that how I look in my jeans?" and D., because he is the most adorable man ever, says, "No, honey! Do you actually think you look like that?" Yay for me!

Oh, really? What is so wonderful about comparing myself to every woman I see, and thinking how does it feel to be that thin or thank god I'm not that fat?

When will this obsession end? When I am no longer dissatisfied with myself and my body? As if that day will ever come? Or when I finally accept my body as it is, accept my weight as it is, and convince myself that this weight is where my body is at rest? After all, I am incredibly healthy, with the lowest blood pressure known to womankind, along with a very low vegetarian cholesterol count. My doctor says I need to take off a few pounds, but I figure she's so happy to have a patient with very few issues that she doesn't want to jinx anything so she leaves my fat, healthy ass alone. And I am thankful for my health. Every single day. I tell myself that years from now when I'm having my chemo or radiation or some life-saving surgery (I think about these things) I'll look back on my fat, healthy ass and wish that I were even MORE thankful for it. I tell myself that a) many people wish they looked like me (the girls that are even fatter than me); or b) I am among the lucky ones who happened to be born in this time and place and of the privileged race while so many women around the world are poor, oppressed, abused and have none of the opportunities I have so why in the hell am I so freakin shallow and worried about something of inconsequence like my stupid weight? Why am I not out there saving the world instead of obsessing about my weight?? AAARRRGGGHH!

But it makes me miserable. And so I drone on, driving myself and everyone around me to the tenth circle of hell. However, I'm apparently not miserable enough to do anything real about my weight. I have increased my level of exercise. I've been riding my bike and walking the two miles each way to work. I take my dog on long walks. D. and I stopped drinking the alcohol Monday through Thursday for awhile (yes, I felt better) but then summer rolled around and we needed to "celebrate" so I've had teensy bits a glass or two of some lovely summer wines and a few after-work-on-the-outdoor-deck pints with visiting family and friends. And I wonder where this comes from?





Yes, I saw Dr. Oz on Oprah and bought his book and was grossed out about my omentum. Again, not a lifestyle-changing event. Besides, Dr. Oz is naturally thin, while I am more Oprah-esque. That girl must exercise constantly to stay ahead of the weight gain. With my metabolism, I could eat a lettuce leaf and run a marathon and still gain a half pound.

I used to run. I ran a marathon. One. In 1996. I was never so proud of myself. I would like to run again. I would like to be thin again. I would like to love clothes on my body again. Actually I would love all of these things. But mostly I would love to stop obsessing over my weight. So I can stop hating myself every time I look in the mirror or catch myself in a storefront window.

It's not good, the hating. So I'm back on that track again, serious again, as I was at my first WW weigh-in when I almost passed out after the nice lady told me my weight. Will it be WW? Why not? Will it be Dr. Oz's plan? We'll see. Stay tuned, and if you'd like, stay in touch.

Yikes! No Bikes!

Where have I been? Nowhere. Did the bike trip happen? Nope. Why not? Nowhere to stay.

You see, the place that I live is beautiful and everyone wants to be here in the summer. Not so much in the winter, however, unless they want ski/snowboard heaven. So, for a few locals to think that they could find a fairly reasonable cabin or campsite on the San Juan Islands in July was, well, ludicrous. There was no room at the inn, or the campground, or the cheap motel on the island we wished to explore by bike.

And so we tried to reschedule for the next week, but there was the company coming from out of town, the work thing (blast!) and the scheduling conflicts among us and it just didn't happen.

Maybe in September. Sigh. Something to look forward to. More time to be on my bike, "training."

More on the goings on in between later.