Caterwauling

The balcony. Now with plants!

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Technology FAIL day. Also known as: Failure Pile in a Sadness Bowl.

*gnawing at restraints*

The thing about being self (or pseudo) employed is that there’s no end to it. You work in the morning. You work at night. You work during the day. And you do it all in hopes that it will pay off.

How, you have no idea. But you do it anyway.

I actually had fun today. But I’m exhausted. Doing those “talking promos” is a bitch. Wow. I just hope that my voice tests well. Hell, I just hope it holds up for the next five audio/video pieces in the marketing funnel.

Tonight I was supposed to join a wonderful friend at an exclusive club opening in town. But it was either a case of throwing myself together and sneaking out for a couple of hours, then staying up all night, or simply taking an hour to myself now and, well, staying up all night. 🙂

It’s fun. Not complaining at all. A “bad” day at home certainly beats a bad day at the office!

Ocean inlet

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

So, I have a question for the universe: What the FUCK qualifies people to be in the roles they are in?

I never said it was an EASY question. 🙂

I am had it up to my hoo-hah with know-nothing “know-it-alls.” It’s one thing when I’m collecting a nice paycheck; I can at least afford enough wine to wash down the bitterness. But shit, when you’re doing volunteer work, it makes you wonder how people get to (and STAY) at the top.

Yeah, I’m going after your job. Yes, YOU. If you’re so afraid of it, let’s have some fun with this. Rather, it’s time for ME to start having fun.

It’s funny. I was on the phone with an old colleague yesterday and I was delicately expressing my dislike for something he had done. He said, “Goddess, you would bust the balls of an elephant if it got in your way. Just spit it out, whatever you want to say.”

It made me laugh, how someone remembered my bluntness and inability to conceal what was on my mind/in my heart. My “yes, ma’am” attitude has been what is holding me back. I’ve needed the paycheck too much to jeopardize it with that crazy little thing called THE TRUTH, although we all see how THAT worked out.

For right this second, I’m just going to scream and type some non-passive-aggressive responses to some uber-passive-aggressive e-mails.

Damn it. Why does every female in this field have to be such a cunty, raging BITCH?!?!

I was up working late into the night, and now I don’t have a drop of motivation to spare. But I like that, though — the working when I want part. I swear I did more between 9 p.m. and midnight than I did the whole week prior.

Employee satisfaction is so underrated. I have a good friend who is a V.P. at one of the bigger competitors in my field, and she was asking today how other companies measure employee satisfaction. I got a good laugh out of that one. She is the ONLY one I know who gives a hoot about how the employees are feeling.

Well, I did, too. Too bad I ended up at all the wrong companies and didn’t just ask her for a job already. It *would* take me back to D.C., if so. Hmmm.

Nah. I like Florida too much to leave. Although I will take any and all offers to temporarily escape the sticky summer heat (which is already in full swing) and venture to any northern state. (Hint, hint…)

So, I mentioned I’m doing some work for a start-up. I love everyone but my main point of contact. Kind of makes me miss the crazy person at the job I left (that paid more). God, did I just type that?

And while I suck at corporate game-playing, a terse conversation circa 11:30 p.m. last night made me realize it’s time to sharpen my claws. I’m only going straight to the top from now on. I think somebunny’s feeling threatened that I was handpicked for my role. Which is so funny, really. I seem to get this all the time.

I don’t WANT your jobs, people. Me not agreeing with you is not a sign that I am going to take over. It’s me trying to make decisions that are best for the company without succumbing to the mind-numbing groupthink that people SAY they don’t want but, ultimately, DO … just as long as you think like the person who will reap the rewards.

That’s why I was picked for this. That I could go with the flow quite happily and then throw cold water on something when it’s going the wrong way. I can now say I’ve been in this business just as long as anybody else, and I’ve been with enough companies to know when things are working and when that landmine on the horizon will blow up if we don’t take a detour.

I was having a moment yesterday, amid a series of day-ruining occurrences, when I thought I missed going to a “real” job. And then I shook it off and realized I just missed the “stability,” as it were. (I know, what a joke, right?) But the knowing how much your next check will be, and on what day it will arrive. I don’t love the, “Oh hey, funding didn’t come through this month. Accept our love and gratitude for now, OK?”

What I need is something to look forward to. A trip to the Keys, a trip north to see friends, a juicy and forbidden tryst, a paycheck, a car that doesn’t stall out when you turn on the A/C that you’ve paid six times to have fixed, whatever. I need to move out of survival mode, a place where I admittedly used to thrive.

And I think I need employees. Or minions. Whichever. I tend to care more about them than myself, anyway. I can focus very well on helping people in their quest to help companies. Because while I remember the people in my path who made me crazy, I also remember the ones who gave me a helping hand or a much-needed psychological breakthrough when I needed it most.

I think I need to move to Europe and embrace the whole “Eat, Pray, Love” phenomenon. (I know that was Asia; I’d rather live in close proximity to Brie and Beaujolais.) I know nobody’s really happy over there right now, but at least they still make what little joy they have left a priority. Anyone wanna come?

Happy cat

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Florida? Is weird.

So, we all know it’s the recovery capital of America. I’d say the sobriety capital, but that doesn’t mean much, especially when you have people like me keeping Total Wine in business.

I broke my two whole days without a cigarette streak when I ducked into Walgreens today to enjoy the air conditioning and, oh what the hell, Marlboros are on sale for $5.21. Whee!

So, I was standing in line — and mind you, this place is next to a church where all those “Anonymous” meetings are held — and the guy in front of me said, “Guess what?”

Now, you can take the girl out of D.C. but you can’t quite take it out of her. I assumed he would want me to know that Congress passed the budget. And BOY am I ready to talk about THAT clusterfuck. 🙂

I asked what, and he said, “Jesus loves you!”

I laughed, said thank you, and told him that made my day. Because it did.

It just goes to show how different things are down here. Everyone’s loving Jesus and working their steps and perfecting their tan. If I still lived up there, I can guarantee I would have been at the office today. If I still had one, of course. 😉

I say all of this to report that I got the day off from babysitting today. Woo hoo! I drove all over creation and entertained myself with shopping, beach time and the eternal quest for the perfect Chicago hot dog.

The houseguest from outer space (I kind of like the combination of terms!) is always on the quest for the perfect BBQ, and I’ve driven all over hell’s half acre to hit every BBQ truck within a 50-mile radius. So on my way to hot dog land, I saw a truck in front of a market I’ve always wanted to stop at.

So, the “market” is really a dinky restaurant run by the nicest bunch of, well, idiots I’ve ever met.

The truck comes courtesy of one of the local sober houses, and employs people in recovery.

I should have run away. But I stayed. And ordered something I thought mom would like. And reiterated my order four times. She repeated it back each time and then asked what I ordered again. Oy.

Then they couldn’t get my credit card to work. That took four people and a half hour of my time. They forgot that someone cannot be using the phone while they run the number. Oof. How do these places stay in business?

Of course, the order was wrong. So, very, wrong. I want to support my local recovery community, but I’ll skip that place for the rest of my life.

Anyway, it kind of made me grateful for the problems I have. Or, at least, happy for the ones I DON’T have.

That’s where I kind of get into it with the houseguest sometimes. That every time she gets mad at me for not being Super Daughter, she could have done worse. I always tell her to go move in with Jenelle from “Teen Mom 2” and see how life is THEN. That usually ends it. For the time being. 😉

I’ve decided I want a puppy for my birthday. Kadie’s pretty happy as an only child, but she could stand to lose a few pounds and, frankly, so can I. A dog would get me out of the castle in the sky much more often. And as I learned today, being let off the leash makes for a happy Goddess, too.

Cream Cheese and Coconut French Toast at Benny’s

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I read a great quote recently, that it’s hard to live the life you want if it’s already killed you.

Hmmm.

Not much else to say after a statement like that, yes?

Not saying life has stolen my thunder. Not by far. I’m lucky that every day brings a new chance to get it right. But I wouldn’t mind going to sleep for three months and letting other people deal with everything I’m dealing with. Or, hell, dealing with what THEY should be dealing with THEMSELVES anyway.

I hear one of my distant cousins is threatening to call me this weekend for not taking proper care of my mother. I let everybody else go into voicemail; she’s going to be no exception.

My cousin takes care of everyone, so I guess she expects everyone will want to step out in front of moving buses just like she does. It’s only in TV and movies that people can say, “I give up,” and let people go off on their merry way. In real life, they either never move out or they continue to stalk you via the Internet. Lucky me. 😉

Even to those my cousin hates, like her crazy sister, she grudgingly sends loving care packages. I used to think my cousin was a saint. But we can’t all be saints, you know? I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, but under “occupation,” “saint” ain’t an option.

But there are genuinely good people out there who aren’t searching for bragging rights. My next-door neighbor moved back to New York today; he’s one of those “snowbirds” who lives in Florida during the winter. He’s a celebrity hairstylist who can afford two residences, apparently. Good on him. 😉

He brought over a dozen plants yesterday, and left three orchids on my doorstep this morning. Yesterday he called me over to benefit from the cleaning-of-the-fridge ritual. I have lots of Pellegrino and German beers and shrimp and hummus and all kinds of delightful gourmet goodies in my formerly empty fridge now. What a treat!

It was nice of him to pick me to be the beneficiary. He says I’ve been a delightful neighbor — quiet, polite, friendly — and wanted to say thanks.

I will never get the proper respect or treatment from the people who, frankly, owe or owed it to me. But it’s nice to be the beneficiary of a stranger’s kindness “just because.” Sad how we really have to depend on others just to keep going sometimes, especially when we can’t expect it from those to whom we’ve shown it. …

Facebook is reminding me how illiterate the general public is. These are the people voting for your “American Idol.” These are the idiots putting teabaggers — er, Tea Partiers — in office. And they can’t even read a newspaper.

I’ve been trying to enlighten some of the more-clueless among our sect, but it’s pretty hopeless. I’m just blocking the Obama-bashers for the foreseeable future.

Fact: Our commander-in-chief, whether you voted for him or not, is doing his job by barring budget passage because of conditional social riders. It sucks the military won’t get paid, that “non-essential” personnel (whatever that means) will be furloughed and our still-fragile economy is strapping in for a roundtrip back to the shitter. But that’s called playing hardball with assholes. (Boehner, I’m looking right at you. And Reid, I’m not a fan of yours, either.)

Anyway, I’m going to retreat to writing up a business plan for a friend and trying to figure out why I gave up a cushy (albeit slightly aggravating) freelance job to work for a West Coast startup where there’s, oh, no money in the kitty right now. Hahaha, I wasn’t thinking about getting PAID anytime soon, right? I agreed to five hours a week but that’s a pipe dream at this point. Oh well. It’s all good.

Sad to say, I’m having the time of my life. Why does money have to be so important? I love the “Game On” mode, where anything goes and everyone’s just happy that shit gets done. It’s icing on the cake when I update the Web site, someone happens to read it, and I get an all-team e-mail saying, “Hey, you really DO know your shit!”

And even when I break something on the Web site (I should really be a beta tester for content-management systems), it’s never a crisis. Well, it IS, but it’s more like, “OK, yeah, we’re not revoking your admin privileges. But don’t touch that ever again!”

I love it. It’s chaos and it’s crazy to get e-mails at 3:21 a.m. (which, for the record, I am NOT awake to answer). And right now my main role is “firefighter” but it’s fun. I’m hoping that, by hanging in there, it pays off. I think it will. It’s just refreshing to believe in a cause again.

I’m ready for this day. Bring it on, baybee.

And for my leadership read of the day, I’m liking the mis-named but still relevant “The fine art of managing ‘creatives’ and other tender egos.”

What it really should have been called is “You really CAN’T fire everyone.” (*raises eyebrows to about 15 miles southeast of here*) Case in point:

Don’t ignore the middling performers: “As much as you would probably like to, you can’t have a staff completely filled with stars….Your stars don’t want to wash windows, and you don’t want your stars to wash windows either.”

I could comment, but I have better things to do. So do you. It’s 85 degrees and humidity is *only* in the high-60s. Go enjoy it!

Rally for Libya, Orlando

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I’m beginning to think I’m more politically active here in God’s waiting room than I was when I lived in the heart of our nation. Weird.

Today it was joining my representative’s opposing camp. Unseat that freak. It’s past time.

It’s been such a non-productive week. Aren’t they all, though. I like to remind myself that I used to spend 30 hours a week in meetings, so it’s only natural to do 15 to 20 hours’ worth of real work. But, still. What I wouldn’t give for an office to escape to during the day.

I was just looking at Facebook and saw another peer just had a baby. Hmm. I am still not on the “I want one!” bandwagon, but my eyes were a little greener than even nature originally intended today.

I think the gal got married about a year ago (giving me hope that, at 36, I’m not over the hill just yet). And just had a baby last night. (Again, since we’re born a few days apart ourselves, it gives me hope that being near-37 isn’t “old as the hills” either.)

Sure, I wouldn’t have chosen to name my child after a pot-smoking country singer, but whatever. That’s why I have book characters, to get that “naming” urge out of me before I would want to go and create a whole new person to be the recipient.

Anyway, I bought a “Princess Di” ring (silver and simulated sapphire) and it arrived about two weeks ago but I finally got it from the landlady yesterday. (Den of iniquity, ahoy.) I’m just surprised my ring size is down to a 6; it’s been a 7 since as long as I can remember. Yay?

But it put me back in princess mode, which I hadn’t been in since, oh, about 1981 when I watched my first royal wedding. And it’s gotten me wanting, well, more.

The lone half-time freelance assignment I still have is going fine. But yesterday we decided to scrap the project that’s been consuming us. Um, yeah, I didn’t count on that. But my contact person has very keen business sense, so I know it’s the right thing to do. But it also means either finding something else to do for them or, well, panicking.

This? Sucks.

I’m opting for the “not panicking” route. But it made me feel very old here at nearly 37 and my home life, work life and love life are all bearable but not exactly the stuff dreams are made of. One wonders whether this is the way it’s going to be forever. And I guess that’s OK, but stop me before I buy a tiara and *really* start immersing myself in my royal fantasies of yesterday and, God willing, tomorrow.

All right, world. It’s time for the Candid Camera guy to jump out of the bushes. Or, preferably, for the handsome knight to sweep me away like Calgon never really could.

I’m beginning to stop looking down my nose at people who marry for money, what with the Queen Mother dependent on me and all. It’s hard to support the royal pain in the ass. That’s why I just reduced my workload — why should there be five jobs being worked in the house, and all of them by me?

I know, I’m all over the place today. I’m sure Shawn is sitting around somewhere gleefully exclaiming that I’m “unraveling” when I’m merely pontificating like normal people do. It’s easy to comment on other people when you’re in the same job/apartment and the same destructive relationship patterns. It’s not so easy to examine your life on a regular basis and, oh I dunno, FIX what may need a-changin’.

That goes for a lot of people here. Not the true friends who actually care and are entertained or, at least, updated here. But I’d be happy if I had zero blog readers — it would mean everyone else is out living their lives and enjoying the offline world a little more.

I just wish I knew what to do, you know? I was scheduled to volunteer today but I have to give it up. And I don’t want to work at my volunteer job, because that would beat the passion straight out of me. I know it. I can feel it. Which is why I haven’t shopped around for any book deals yet — God forbid I cringe when I “have” to write instead of using my non-pot-smoking-country-singer characters as my own form of escape.

I guess everything comes back to fantasies and escape. I just really wish it would also come back to dreams precede reality, more piles of money than even God can conceive, and pure, honest-intentioned wishes magically materialize simply because the people wishing for them deserve as much luck and sunshine as they can possibly handle.

After the monsoon

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

So yesterday, we had this mother of a thunderstorm. In fact, everything *but* my mother blew off the balcony. It was great fun trying to rescue my plastic adirondack chairs and one of the screens from my floor-to-ceiling windows as they hung precariously over the balcony in 65-mph winds. GOOD TIMES!

Needless to say that the fire alarm went off for a good eight solid hours. Just in my apartment, go figure. Or maybe it was all the corner units above and below me. I don’t know. I was losing my shit after hour four.

This working from home crap is such an epic fail right now. Between ears melting from faulty smoke detectors and power outages from Mother Nature-induced events, I’m at a loss. I really am.

So anyway, I am keeping busy with reading blogs on my iPad, since there’s not much else to do when the cable’s out. I found a new blog and, thus, a new article I want to talk about: “5 Ways to Lead With Trust.”

My big takeaway from it is that you hire people to do a damn job already. You don’t follow them or shadow them into perpetuity. You ask them to run a department, then let them run the goddamned thing. Get the updates at a later date.

Yep, I’m on fire about this one.

On my way out of my final full-time gig, apparently they didn’t shut off my e-mail access till after the all-staff note went out to tell them I was shitcanned. I was already too hurt by the situation to be any more hurt by the letter. But it insinuated that there were too many cooks in the kitchen and we were getting rid of the one who had studied at other places.

Which, I’d rather have the one with the impressive resume. But, you know, fuck me. Keep the school lunchlady as the curator of fine cuisine. Mystery-meat day, every day!

They were right about too many cooks. Because you couldn’t have a meeting without the whole staff. And I mean the WHOLE staff. We rescheduled meetings around other meetings to make sure everyone could be there.

And then when they were trying to document me out the door, it was for lack of meeting with them on non-meeting time. I was so meeting’d out by the end, I truly didn’t know whether I was coming or going.

Anyway, the article I’m posting today is one I really recommend everyone read, particularly this part:

“For example, a seemingly innocuous email that says, “I’d like to take a look at that before it goes to the client,” lacks context from you, and can be over-read as, “I don’t trust your judgment when it comes to a final product going out to a client.”

If you intend to give the person that feedback, then maybe you need to have a direct conversation about it.”

I know I didn’t shine there. I tried. Oh, how I wanted to. But what made me shine elsewhere was being trusted, which they informed me I had to earn. But how, when nothing was good enough toward the end?

I had more freedom during my 90-day probationary period — it was really a mindfuck to keep smiling even though I saw the chalk outline of my independence and creativity on the floor next to me every single day thereafter.

I mean, it doesn’t matter anymore. But to this day, I still wonder how I could have saved it when it all started going so very wrong. I mean, I’m on fabulous terms with nearly all my exes, relationship- and work-wise, and it pains me that it ended so unsatisfyingly.

It’s not that there needed to be so many cooks in the kitchen. I really tried to run a department and let everyone else do whatever their jobs were. I remember calling a planning session with my full staff and that meeting being “crashed” by those who weren’t “invited.” My. God. Grow up, people. I didn’t give a shit who showed up to the fucking pow-wow. I’d already outlined what I wanted to share — plus, I’d sent that list to the top of the organization three days earlier.

There were no goddamned surprises. No planned mutiny. No NOTHING other than, hey people, in order to move forward, we HAVE to back-and-fill the following identified potholes.

In fact, one of the “crashers” FELL ASLEEP in the planning session. Which I found rather endearing, truth be told, as proof-positive that I was right to not expand the guest list to anyone above my rank and station.

Oh well. Live and learn. I know everyone at the top is paranoid. I don’t WANT to be at the top, if that’s what it causes. I just wanted to do good work right where I was, with a team I felt was more than capable of doing that good work.

But I would bet dollars to doughnuts (mmm, donuts…) that everything is the same way I found it a year ago. Sure, they did hire some duds. And got rid of them. Hell, I fired one of them myself. But the stigma carried over to the rest of us who were searching so hard for a way to shine without pissing anyone off in the process.

Again, oh well. I truly am sorry if I did piss people off, or not perform to their expectations. But my heart got broken, too. And I don’t know how to make that hole heal because there is nothing left to do to even try to make it right.

No, dear readers who continue to torture yourself by reading about my lack of failure, I’m not throwing myself to my death. Go find another blog to read. Or a ledge from which to catapult yourself. 🙂

For the rest of you, I did a very grown-up thing today. After a weekend of soul-searching about what I’m doing with my life, I decided to part ways with the highest-paying freelance job in my roster.

It’s 97% a capacity issue — i.e., I said yes to too many projects — and 3% a personality conflict with someone who provides nothing but nonsense and hysteria.

It was decided that I am not to have personal contact with the crazy person. Which is fine. But that also means I have to rely on an intermediary when it comes to getting feedback (er, never-ending criticism).

And look, I know criticism is hard to take. I urge you to read this great article in Forbes about “Owners vs. Renters: Which is Your Workforce?”. The gist is that the leadership acts as owners, and the rest of the workforce *should* take ownership. That’s your dream team.

All too often, in my experience, the “owners” at the top are more like landlords with a property management company. They talk the talk and walk the walk, but at the end of the day they are less committed than many in the lower ranks. They run the building but they don’t own it. But it’s the tenants who live there who are spending their own money to patch up leaky roofs and calling in competent repairmen so that their little space is livable.

Bringing this back around, there was a line in the article that hit me hard: “Feedback is a gift, especially when it’s something we’d rather not hear.”

That was my problem with the job I gave up. My immediate supervisor thought I farted sunshine and told me that every day. I even ran my copy by other, more established publishers, and they thought it was the bee’s proverbial knees, too. But then there was the one idiot who flies in for an hour a week, saying that I suck so bad she can’t even quantify it.

And you know what? That did it for me.

Now, I didn’t go down in a blaze of glory. Quite the contrary, I am wrapping up outstanding projects this week and finding not only my replacement, but another replacement for someone she unceremoniously recommended shitcanning.

I think that my time was coming, as shit was just getting personal. And some people “prove” their effectiveness by just driving people out and patting themselves on the back that they thinned the herd. But the people left standing often find their knees wobbling.

It was very important to me that my first project be lauded for the masterpiece I busted my ass to ensure it was. The problem was, her opinion weighed a little more heavily than it needed to on the company owner, whom I haven’t met. And I’ll tap-dance for the best of them, but I can’t fight ghosts.

And when I was denied access to said crazy person, under the honest intention of figuring out what WOULD make her not cuss a blue streak in my direction, I was partially grateful and yet partially defeated.

But getting poisonous e-mails from her was still part of the project. And I don’t need heartburn when I open my e-mail. I really don’t.

So, I came to an agreement with my contact there to terminate my “on-call” status and shift to a project-by-project status. Everybody wins. I think even the crazy person will have to agree that this is the best way to proceed. And, frankly, it re-establishes my intention for doing what’s best for the business as well as for the productivity of the workers (in this case, me).

Anyway, yeah I needed that fat paycheck and will miss it. But my reputation is worth more than a couple of zeroes on a check, and my sanity is worth 10 times that. I don’t want to be a renter. I want an ownership stake, metaphorically anyway, in everything I do. And frankly, I believe breaking that “lease” was the smartest thing I have done in my career.

Where mah treats go!?!?!

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Because this place is heavily mirrored, if you look closely, you can see my pudgy pork roast butt crouching to get this photo. Yay. 🙂

I took a long psychological journey last night thanks to some Argentinean cabernet and some Oregon pinot gris and a very attentive audience of one. (Thank you!)

I know we recently jumped into the wayback machine (circa 1991-’92) to look at how high school fucked me up. But let’s cruise back one more time to about 1988-’90 and run the bastard out of gas once and for all.

So, yeah, I would never say I was popular. I don’t know that I wanted to be. I stayed far away from Student Council and preferred my newspaper crew and my Honor Society peeps. (I was president, which still baffles me to this day.)

There was this really motley crew of people who, I don’t know if I’d call them popular, but I would say they were downright toxic. People tried to befriend them so that they wouldn’t get picked on. They had some loud-ass mouths on them but nothing in the way of brains to back it up.

I, of course, have no interest in loudmouths now and I sure as hell didn’t back then, either.

Now, they tried to befriend ME. That’s the funny part. Not because I was beautiful or popular or overly snarky, but because I was smart. They would notice when teachers gave us back our tests and their glaring red Fs paled in comparison to my glittery and gorgeous A-plus-plus-pluses that rolled in again and again.

Well, at first they tried to befriend me under the guise of helping to improve their grades. I wasn’t interested in tutoring anybody, but I said I could help them study.

But that’s not what they wanted. They simply wanted to copy my homework and tests.

I wasn’t an idiot here. I knew that I was being offered a rare chance of not being a target, in exchange for looking the other way when it came to sharing answers.

But I knew my family was poor and the only way I was getting to college was on a scholarship. And there was no way I was letting these dumbasses raise their GPAs unfairly at my expense.

So I said, “No thanks.”

Test time came around and the bitch next to me basically commanded that I quit shielding my paper. I shook my head. So then she asked the answer to question 3. I ignored her. Then 5, then 10, and so on. I glared at her; you weren’t going to catch me talking during a test!

What a goody-goody I was. 😉

That moment in the early throes of ninth grade was the end of peace of mind as we know it.

It started with gum in the hair. Proceeded with relentless taunts when the teachers were out of the room. Always comments on the clothes, the pudgy pork roast butt, the hair, whatever.

This didn’t happen in my A.P. classes, of course. But you can’t take all A.P. classes in a day. There are study halls and gym classes and electives where you cannot hide.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I talked to my teachers. I got seated in the backs of classes, where possible. Or in the front where I was in the teachers’ eyeline. I realized my only true friends were the ones at the chalkboard.

And it made even my friends with higher IQs mad that I was so “in” with the instructors. But I worked my ass off for my grades. There was no favoritism when it came to academics. But I will not apologize for being a favorite or, at least, a protected entity. I asked for help and I got it; I even got some mentorship and, dare I say, friendship out of it.

I win, bitches.

Anyway, I could go into further depth, although the bullshit ended when I took summer gym classes with the other smart kids who wanted out of the traditional class. I also did it to make way for more advanced classes — give me five A.P. classes and a free period to work on the newspaper, please. The idiocy abated and my junior year was the best year ever.

I say all of this to say that Facebook has made me start to like some of the people I avoided. Not all of them, mind you. Stacy M. can still go die in a fucking ditch that’s caught fire. 🙂

But there were people who I know sold their souls to be part of her group. And while I don’t have any evidence of them being cruel to me (and I recall the occasional friendly moment or two with some of the others), I disliked them simply by association.

One of those “didn’t hate/didn’t love” people has a child with developmental disabilities. And while I would never, ever wish that on anyone, nor would I take anything resembling joy at anyone’s hardships, it gives me pause for a moment.

She talks openly of her struggles to provide a typical life for her child, often at the expense of her other child who doesn’t get as much attention. She notices the stares and whispers and taunts of other children. Her heart breaks that anyone else would look at her child with anything less than love and respect and amazement.

My, what a difference 20 years makes.

I wonder whether she or her former posse — or anyone like them who got their kicks by verbal assault and physical kicks and tricks — ever stops to think, “Wow, I was a real asshole to people!”

That’s all I want, really. For them to look at me and think, hey, she has a pretty cool life and turned out well, and hey, maybe I was a dick to her in school and I’m kind of ashamed of myself.

I don’t want an apology or an acknowledgment. Frankly, I’d be disappointed if I talked to any of them and found out they were still the scared sheeple following the loudmouth’s lead.

I will say a prayer for her and her son, that they stay strong and show the world what he can do. And I will be grateful to God that one of the “bad ones” turned out all right, after all.

Unfortunately, not everyone can change. But it does my heart good to be able to witness and celebrate it when it does happen. Mazel tov, friends.