Caterwauling

I’d put a disclaimer that there’s no real point to this post. But, really, is there ever one?

I need to delete some e-mails from past jobs. I don’t know why I hang on to some of them. Mostly to light my fire, I guess, although they sometimes get inside my head and make me question myself.

I mean, really, can I be a screw-up at everything I touch? And whose rules are they playing by, anyway? Who ordained them as the proprietors of the right way of going about things?

It’s time for a career switch. It really is. I might just be the best widget-maker in the world (I’d be willing to go up against the “best” any day of the week). But if nobody cares to value it as a skill worth paying for, how do I parlay that into a rent payment?

And why would anyone make me feel “bad” about being good at something that they don’t know HOW to value?

I really don’t know what to do next. But I can be pretty sure that I don’t want to run into the ghosts of assclowns past for the rest of my life. And if that means changing fields, so be it. Because my talents are translatable across the universe. And I’ve been letting my field beat me up over being good at what I do for far, FAR too long.

Battle of the Bulge Memorial, Orlando

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

It was by chance that I stayed in a hotel a couple of months ago in Orlando that was right across the street from a memorial dedicated to those who fought in the Battle of the Bulge in World War II.

My grandfather fought in that battle. Got wounded for life as one of the fine brave paratroopers there, but I’m so proud of him that he was part of the world’s history, and not just mine.

It’s a shame that being in the army wasn’t what did him in, but that the Veterans Hospital in Pittsburgh killed him with their neglect and shoddy care and his twunty doctor “Trang” (First name? Last name? Doctor Twat to me) took an otherwise happy and mostly healthy 80-year-old and stripped him of all dignity and sent him to an early grave.

Anyway, it’s not like y’all haven’t heard that song and dance around these parts before. But Memorial Day has been nothing but full of hurt and anger and sadness since we lost him. We used to celebrate our family and our soldiers. Now we just go to Five Guys for a cheeseburger (no grills allowed here) and wish my grandfather were still with us.

I’m preparing to go into my own battle of sorts. I need a job. I don’t WANT one, and I’ve enjoyed the past six months of not HAVING one. But alas, I am feeling too calm and too good about myself. It’s time to find the next employer to ruin all that.

But I also have a side project that doesn’t pay (yet) lined up to keep my brain in gear. Thank God. You will all know my real name one of these days (not like most of you don’t know it already!).

You know, I got so sick of the ex-employer claiming I was “Gucci” or “a splurge” or “overpaid.” (To deal with that kind of name-calling? Was not compensation enough.) And others with whom I interviewed, I was told I was “expensive.”

Well, now that my savings is depleted and my heart is equally empty, I’m glad you all have reduced me to poverty. Thanks for deciding not to pay me AT ALL because you couldn’t afford what I am WORTH. Fuck every single last one of you. Now that I’m broke again — ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?

That’s it. I’m going to the mattresses. And not the one that’s calling me from the next room. Not this time, anyway.

Cool cat

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I need to move to the Keys. Like, now. Half the price, a quarter the aggravation and 10 times the removal from society in general. What’s not to love?

Yesterday, I had a lovely memory of employment past. I had just started my new job after leaving the Crack Den of Iniquity, and I was determined to hire away all the good people from that bad place.

The hire of my first friend was 99% complete when the King of the Crack Heads threatened my friend when she turned in her resignation. Unfortunately, she’s still there, and I pray for her sanity (and everyone else’s) quite regularly.

He didn’t win, though. We never felt it was defeat, mostly because Fat Boy just scored a few thousand more bad Karma points … which will make a dent in his industrial-sized ass in due time. But if that didn’t reaffirm my decision to leave, nothing would.

But what I really remember is how much I loved my new boss. I remember she said we should strip his ass naked, duct-tape him to a chair with wheels, and send him sailing down the Avenue for all to mock.

That was the moment that solidified for me that I had made the right employment choice from my pile of offers. (Where are all those offers now, I ask. Grr.)

It was nice to have that heartwarming little memory. Because when things were good there, they really were great. And in saying that, I think I’ve finally (six months later) let go of my disappointment over how it all ended. It’s a big deal for me when I acknowledge that things had to happen the way they did. I will never really know why, but it’s part of my past and I’m OK with that.

But yeah, it may be time to move away from this area that doesn’t really hold much for me anymore. A cheaper little place situated straight on the Gulf of Mexico would mean not having to bust my ass to try to earn the month’s rent and bill money. Yeah, a return address that starts with “Key” and ends with near-removal from civilization is sounding better and better. …

End of an era

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Well, happy birthday, Goddess. Since 36 basically fucked goats, I’m declaring a do-over and NOT aging another year but, instead, trying to get it right this time.

I’ve been rather grumpy lately with my freelance life. Don’t get me wrong, I like it. I love the freedom and the flexibility and the ability to disappear if you’re just not in the mood today.

But it doesn’t pay, it’s hard and you still have to deal with what passes for personalities sometimes. Just because you did the work, doesn’t mean a check will come … whether because the company doesn’t HAVE the money or else they’re exerting some kind of fucked-up “control” over you and choosing not to pay. I hate that shit.

And then there are the Twuntzilla types out there who promise to leave you alone on your birthday but who, alas, do NOT give you that lovely gift and continue to haunt you with incoherence and bossiness all at once. Maybe I could follow a directive if I UNDERSTOOD IT. Not that it pays for more than a week of rent anyway, but still.

I’ve been kind of “meh” the past couple weeks anyway over work and birthday. I hate birthdays in general because it reminds me how, I dunno, USELESS everyone and everything is. You think of all the people you’ve basically celebrated, helped or otherwise did shit for during the past year, and then you note their absence on your so-called special day. Or you get words.

I don’t need words. Well, I guess I do because I love Facebook on my high holy holiday. But then everybody retreats back into their hole and you’re left to your own devices once again.

Imma gonna quit while I’m ahead here, yo.

But I’ve got to DO something about this career of mine. I sincerely love working with one group, but I don’t know how “big” the job or money is going to get. (Not big enough for right now, I don’t think. But maybe someday.)

With another, I am capable of so much more than what I’m doing. I’m expensive because I’m GREAT. And I can be dicking around with dumb shit or I could be running the company. And we all know which I’d RATHER be doing. But fine, keep the brains in your operation hidden. Wouldn’t be the first time.

And with still another, it doesn’t pay enough. And that’s saying something, given the eau de desperation I’ve dabbed on these past couple of weeks. Talking to the person makes me want to die of boredom, and for pennies per word, without a guaranteed minimum words, I’m not inclined to open my e-mails in a timely manner. Another job I can do without the point of contact.

A few friends and I have a “mastermind” session planned for tomorrow. I think we’re going to come up with the million-dollar idea within 10 minutes of convening. I really do.

I just hope I don’t have to go back to a proper job in the meantime. But it’s looking that way. And that is NOT the way to earn what I want, or what I’m worth. But maybe I have to sell my soul once more to buy me the time I need to make “Project Next,” whatever that may be, profitable.

I’m gonna own your ass, World. And I’m gonna do it by the THIRD time I turn 36, I promise you!

I’m always looking for signs, but the only ones I’ve found today clearly say “STOP.”

My iTunes turned itself on today so very randomly and started playing Brandi Carlile’s “Before it Breaks.”

My spirit guides are nothing if not mischievous, and clearly technologically talented as well, so I tried to figure out what the song message meant for me.

“I’m all right, don’t I always seem to be?
Am I swinging on the stars
Don’t I wear them on my sleeves
But when you’re looking for a crossroads
It happens every day, and whichever way you turn
I‘m gonna turn the other way.”

Hmm. Could apply to any number of situations. Moving on…

I got picked up twice tonight. I’m always on the lookout for a tall, dark and handsome millionaire. (Hey, in my neighborhood, you can always hit two out of three, and the most-common trait is “millionaire.”)

I was just trying to walk on the beach for a few minutes — my meditation time, on the rare occasion I get out of the castle — and this yahoo walks with me for a friggin’ mile. *stabbitystabstab* Well, he was from France, so I guess he wasn’t a total yahoo. But after he asked me if I like kids and I said I hate them and he opens his phone and SHOWS ME his kids, I was all, “Dealbreaker!”

I tried the whole “I’m unemployed and my mom has lived with me for FIVE WHOLE YEARS” line. Since it’s true and all. It didn’t scare him away. Somebunny was clearly hot to trot. And this twat was NOT.

He said I need a good man. That all men need a good woman and all women need a good man. At this point, I’ve already had my space encroached upon and I’m steaming, so I said, “Know any?”

*airplane joke. wooosh!*

Finally lost him, although he probably followed me home. *twitch* And I won’t even dedicate any space to the next one, Sammy the Sleazeball at the pier who slimes all over me every time he sees me. *huz*

I want nothing more than to meet Mr. Right. But God’s really gotta stop testing me with everybody else. (I did silently ask Him whether He was enjoying my discomfort. I think He was!)

“Say it’s over, say I’m dreamin’
Say I’m better than you left me
Say you’re sorry, I can take it
Say you’ll wait, say you won’t
Say you love me, say you don’t
I can make my own mistakes
And learn to let it bend before it breaks.”

I’ve been on a reading kick lately. Just finished Barbara Corcoran’s “Shark Tales.” (Brilliantly written.) And immediately started on Jon Ronson’s “The Psychopath Test.”

Holy shit.

I’m already halfway through Ronson’s work and I only just started it a couple hours ago. The first half of the book finally provides me with a diagnosis for the often-charming, always-criminally insane creature with whom I associated myself for too many years. It is downright amazing what behaviors a psychopath can influence a perfectly normal human to engage in. But, alas, true empathy always wins over in the general populace, and we have to extricate ourselves from the clutches of these soulless societal dregs.

I’m about to start the second half, where Ronson gets into Wall Street psychopaths and others in leadership in the corporate world. All I have to say is, I SHOULD HAVE WRITTEN THIS BOOK. Sure, I couldn’t have done it BETTER, but match-making the psychopaths from my personal and professional lives would be like shooting fish in a friggin’ barrel, yo.

See, I was right to shrug off my “Atlas Shrugged” reading assignment in favor of brushing up on my Machiavelli. “The Psychopath Test” should be required reading for all humans, although I imagine my pet psychopath will probably pick up a copy as a finishing school of sorts, just like my favorite self-proclaimed and professionally diagnosed paranoid narcissist wears his condition like a badge of honor.

Just like 2% of the population controls 80% of the world’s wealth, the 1% of the (non-incarcerated) psychopath population does its damnest to cause mayhem for 90% of the regular people who just want to live and let live. Sad.

Anyway, I’ve already made a personal recommendation to all of us touched (more like molested at gunpoint) by someone else’s madness, and if you too have met someone in that 1% (probably at work), you need this book.

It’s funny how a whiny post makes me feel so much better. 🙂

Anyway, I saw this article and it made me feel the need to share it on a greater platform than Facebook:

Creating Workplace Civility: Why Courtesy is Critical for Businesses

I’ve avoided many a boss in my day, not because I wasn’t doing the work or doing it WELL, but because every goddamned thing was met with a snarl or a hiss or a random comment that no one would have anticipated. (And nobody anticipates landmines quite like I do.)

I’ve also watched many a subordinate go out of their way to avoid a peer on the same or slightly higher level just because they were surly. Well, not “just because,” but that’s what it boiled down to.

Companies identify certain “star players” who take it to heart that the company simply CANNOT run without them. I know; I’ve been one. And I wasn’t above using my awesomeness to get out of, oh, all-staff meetings. 😉 But some stars are also socially inept; it’s not even that their pseudo-celebrity gets to their head — they just identify more with projects than with colleagues and don’t see when their attitude and comments are actually poisoning the environment.

And the problem with today’s companies is that they stick everyone in cube farms and/or in a “war room” with a dozen tables and chairs. You can’t avoid the people who drive you crazy. If they’re not assaulting you with unhinged e-mails at all hours, then they’re in your face, reminding you how much you disappoint them.

And you don’t get to say a word back. You have to be poised and gracious and remain beyond reproach. And every time you do that, you may earn your angel wings, but you get that much closer to death because a tiny bit of air comes out of your heart.

If you’re like me, you write it off as they may have problems at home or they are just having a bad day. Not that it excuses them giving YOU a bad day, but we’re all human here. It’s just when you excuse it for the 300th time and you’ve only worked there 299 days, that’s a problem. 🙂

If you’re like how I USED to be, I always found my revenge in little ways. Sending a large funeral arrangement to a beloved colleague whose wife died young when I was told my limit was $30. Planting a seed of paranoia just because I could. Doing “informational interviews” with other companies to stay sharp. Etcetera.

No harm, no foul — just validating my existence a little bit unconventionally, since everyone seems hellbent on making themselves feel better by making you feel worse.

This is why I can’t go back to work. It’s that whole doing the same thing again and again, and expecting a different outcome. And I have a couple new ideas how to occupy my time productively. I just wish I could come up with one that would bring in money. 🙂 But seeing as though it’s already tomorrow in New Zealand and no one has yet been raptured, I figure, I have time. …

Pink

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Easy week, work-wise, and rough week otherwise.

It kills me that morons are employed everywhere and I can’t find a job. Of course, I haven’t exactly been looking. 😉

Kills me further that I DO the work and yet there’s always someone out there who thinks they can put the “free” in “freelance.”

And yes, the illustrious houseguest is driving me batty. Like you had to ask. 🙂 I worry about her. But her issues are so beyond her control AND mine. I’m enough of a failure on my own, thanks, without adding in my shortcomings there.

One of my Internet friends took it upon herself to talk me off the ledge, so to speak. That “suicide isn’t the answer.”

That never crossed my mind. (Suicide, although I wouldn’t argue against being swept up in the Rapture. I hear it’s at 6 p.m. tomorrow. Is that Eastern time?)

I had to set her straight: I don’t want to die; I want to LIVE.

I miss my travel budget and my dining budget and my technology budget and my clothing budget. Let me rephrase, I miss not actually HAVING to budget.

I know, this is a rough patch. And I get violently depressed around birthdays anyway.

I declared yesterday that something good HAD to happen. Well, better luck today, I suppose. 🙂

They say when you’re down to nothing, God’s up to something.

In the meantime, I’m going to keep looking for my perfect birthday cupcake. But I’ll be watching for a miracle. We could certainly use a couple of those around here. (Miracles. Or cupcakes. Whichever.)

I am in a bit of a mood today. And I’m especially tweaked over the Twunt — yes, I finally have a name for the Wicked One. Twat seemed too mild. And cunt was just too cliche.

But Twunt? Yep. The one-two punch of a Massengil and Summer’s Eve merger.

I really need to get out of this field. It’s too bad I’m so good at what I do and I LIKE it, minus the Twunt Factor.

Too bad we just lost a wonderful little lady in our life but that miserable Twunt will roam this world forever.

Rapture, can haz?

Baby you’re a…

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

So, we had a death in the “family” yesterday. I use air quotes because of the lack of blood relation, but the connection was real.

For once I will respect people’s privacy and NOT post about it. But I will say that the air is a little heavier today, and smiles are harder to come by.

Speaking of death, I dreamed last night that I died. And it was awesome.

No, I didn’t see any great white light or anything. But I felt so FREE. Like, all the bullshit isn’t my problem anymore. It’s somebody else’s mess to clean up now. I can’t do anything about it and I ain’t taking it with me. Buh-bye.

I’m sure we all know I talk to God and to what I hope are my spirit guides. But I’m sure we also know I always have an ounce of skepticism in the back of my mind, as I know there are evil-intentioned voices in the mix.

(Seriously — why is it the voice that tells you to eat cupcakes is WAY louder and more-persuasive than the one to go do exercise?)

So anyway, I was kind of kvetching with my imaginary friends recently about the houseguest. And the response I heard VERY clearly was that I’m not going to outlive her, anyway.

Now, it sounded like the “Go eat cupcakes” voice, so I don’t know how seriously to take it. (But I would LOVE a cupcake right now…)

But it was more liberating than scary. Which surprised me. Because there is SO MUCH I want to do before I go. But if I can’t afford to do it anyway, well, who really rightly gives a fuck, you know?

In my dream, I was at Old Navy, contemplating a new outfit. And the Cupcake Voice told me to not only buy it, but to wear it RIGHT NOW because I’d be dead in 24 hours.

And I got hit by a car, wearing my cute outfit. Go figure. Right as I walked out of Boca Town Center. (Damn it, I KNEW it was treacherous to shop there!!!)

Even in the dream, I remembered the Cupcake Voice of days past. And I was glad I hadn’t ignored it — that I was blessed to have received that communication. Ergo, I was as OK with going at 36 as I could ever have been.

I woke up somewhere during my Life Review in the dream. I was smiling so serenely that the Ultra Extra Over Extended Extra-Terrestrial Houseguest from Outer Space was no longer my burden.

I was overjoyed that the Wicked Witch of the West Coast couldn’t reach me anymore.

And I thought of all those deadlines and dumb things that irk the fuck out of me … that had wasted so much of my time … and thanked God that they were no longer my problem.

Ah, death. I can only hope to go so quickly and peacefully when it is indeed my time. I hope I will have lived and loved a great deal more. But I look forward to starting over in another era, too.

I still wonder whether I’m going to kick it young or whether the Cupcake Voice lied to me like it always does. (“You can go for a walk and burn off the calories!” Fucker.)

I do promise you this. When I do go, and if that parasitic son of a bitch Schmitthead is still alive in Maryland, there will be many a glass trinket or commemorative plate a-flying right into his pointy little head.

Anyway, rest in peace, dearest departed friend of the family. So glad I got to meet you and I can only hope that your spark and spunk will carry on in the rest of us.