Caterwauling

According to the fine folks at the Society for Human Resource Management:

“More than 60 percent of executives around the world believe workers who telecommute have a lesser chance of advancing in their career. But one-third of the executives said telecommuters are more productive than workers in traditional office settings.”

I’ve seen it in action and have always gotten the hint that telecommuting is perfectly acceptable, just as long as it’s done before or after business hours. It was never said to me directly, but I do get the impression that having a visible presence scores tremendous brownie points … even if you’re losing commuting time and/or closed-door time that would be better funneled into projects that require creativity and concentration.

At my last job, people blatantly napped at their desks and played Solitaire half the day, and that was perceived along the lines of, “Well, they are here if we need them.” Because you really need THAT bringing down the rest of your good workers’ morale. I personally think that if someone’s sitting around twiddling their thumbs but there’s a huge project coming up, they should be allowed to hang out at home and rest up for the late nights, and conversely, if they need to concentrate and just cannot do so with 40 irrelevant and not-time-sensitive interruptions, they can prioritize better and actually finish the projects they start.

I always suspected what SHRM wrote today, but it’s a good reminder that a day may feel like a waste of scandalous underwear, but in the long run, it’s really not!

My goodness, where has this week gone? Busy, busy lil bee over here. That’s a good thing, I guess. That means it’s executive summary time!

1. I am voting for Hillary Clinton in 21 months, because she will get the Democratic nomination and damn it, she should. She should run with John Edwards. I don’t know if this country is ready for a woman president or an African-American one (as I do adore Barack Obama, too), but as I heard today, Hillary’s the man for the job. And besides, she can appoint all the other great candidates to her Cabinet, and in that, I have hope for America.

2. “Pursuit of Happyness.” Loved it. You’ve got to see it. My heart was so broken by the time the ending came around, I sat and cried through the credits. Unfortunately, I went back to the theater I abhor so much and the idiots turned on all the lights during the credits and waited for us to leave. I hate that shit. I sat there with them glowering at me, and I snarled at them on my way out. In any event, the only thing missing from the movie for me was more about his career development, although I think they may have kept that hidden so that you wouldn’t expect the ending. But as some of us knew how his life turned out, it would’ve been neat to see more. One can only hope for a director’s cut someday!

3. Is it a sign when you keep missing somebody’s calls? I really want to be available for them, yet we keep leaving messages for each other. Weird. Is it that you need to work hard to get what you want, or that you shouldn’t sweat it if it doesn’t come easily because there’s something else waiting in the wings? The mind boggles.

4. One of my buddies said she’s never seen me so happy as I’ve been lately. Apparently sunshine becomes me.

Nothing says “Even if it IS broke, don’t fix it” like sending 20,000 additional troops to Iraq. Way to show them Dems how big your dick is, President Shrub. Jesus. It’s like war is your equivalent of other men’s little red sports cars. Kindly have your midlife crisis NOT on my tax dollars, mmmkay?

One of my colleagues/friends just got the news that her high school boyfriend was killed in Iraq. He never intended to be a soldier — this wasn’t his passion. He enlisted in his early 20s because he didn’t go to college and the working world wasn’t doing him any favors. He was a paratrooper, just like my grandfather was.

And I hate to think it, but it’s true. What if my grandfather hadn’t just been injured in World War II — what if he hadn’t come back at all? Mom and I wouldn’t be here, of course, but to frame this discussion, my poor grandfather got abused and neglected at the Veterans Administration Hospitals his whole life — it’s like they killed him slowly instead of it happening in one tragic mission.

I doubt that thought brought any peace to my friend (and I probably shouldn’t have said it), but boy did I cry for her last night. The things we are forced to deal with that just shouldn’t happen, in an ideal world, are mind-boggling. Pain, injustice, grief — and what do we (or they?) get in return for all the bad stuff?

I have a lot of friends who went into the military for the exact same reason as my colleague’s friend — they wanted the career training and hoped for a desk job. And after their time commitment was up, they got the fuck out (just before the Iraq war, incidentally). Like they told me, NAVY stands for “Never Again Volunteer Yourself!”

I feel for my friend — this is someone who was important to her at one time, even though he wasn’t someone she thought about every day. I remember when the L.A. riots broke out after the Rodney King debacle — a guy from my high school had gone to L.A. with hopes and dreams just like so many millions before them have done, and he got caught in the crossfire. I didn’t know him well or, for that matter, even like him all that much. But what it did was connect me in some way to events that otherwise wouldn’t have touched me personally.

It makes the world smaller when you realize that somebody you know is the person the headlines are talking about. And it makes your heart a little harder, your mind a little more jaded, to know that your government doesn’t really care about you as a person — just as long as their operatives go off without a hitch.

Mom got something in the mail recently, after that fucking VA Hospital murdered my grandfather. It was a certificate signed by O Holy Shrub himself, acknowledging my grandfather’s service to this country. Whoopty fucking doo. He gave his life and his health and his best years, and all he got in return was a very painful death. If the certificate had come earlier, I would have buried it with him.

Thanks for the piece of paper and the flag that makes us cry because it was on his casket and now it’s all we have left of him. Go back to your mansion and continue your circle jerk with the joint chiefs of staff and don’t worry about the rest of us who’ve lost emotional and financial supports. Really — we’ll be OK, thanks for not asking.

Incidentally, Mom found some letters my grandfather had sent to his family. His mother was amazing, his father was absent/abusive and he was one of eight children. He always sent home money to feed the family, to ensure that the little ones got the clothes or birthday presents they wanted (they had so very little), and all he ever wanted was for them to take a couple of those dollars and send him some new guitar strings because he couldn’t find them in Germany.

These are the kinds of people that war takes away. And it’s only the few of us who knew them as people and not as just another body who will ever truly know what a great loss to this nation these people are. …

I always say Karma pulls on the shit-stompers in due time, and I have one of those stories that will warm our hearts of that actually happening.

There was some miserable whore who got my friend’s husband fired from a job in her company. Gossipy wretch of a woman who no doubt didn’t want anyone else to succeed. He got the boot because the bitch’s seniority might have counted for something, and the family was left in dire straits for awhile.

But then my friend gets a call recently from the wench (did I mention they used to be friends? I stress USED to be) and she was all hysterical because after all her years with the company, she just got FIRED.

HAH!

I don’t understand how “people” (I use the word loosely) who do their damndest to screw others over can have the audacity to call them for a shoulder to cry on when clearly they lost the privilege for a reason — do they think people don’t KNOW about their dastardly deeds?

Did she think she was going to get sympathy? I mean, really. Doesn’t she know that while no one would ever *wish* misfortune on her directly, she certainly won’t get any tears cried over her predicament by anyone but herself?

That’s the thing — you can’t even be happy at someone’s misfortune, no matter how much they might deserve it. If you just don’t care, however, that’s the best reaction of all.

Yeah, I know, I hate snow. But shit, if the fluffy white crap is going to disrupt my world, can’t we just get 10 feet of it? I already know it would take a nuclear bomb going off in D.C. (if that!) to impede a workday, but I’m fine with working from home just so long as I don’t have to take my happy ass out in the cold. I wish we could just wear jeans already — my skirts and dress pants just aren’t made for warmth, and I can’t wear wool suits (allergic to the fabric).

In any event, I’m disappointed that the federal government is open today, because that means we all have to go in as scheduled. Bah.

It’s funny, I remember not having a car and having to take two buses to work, and I was always in miniskirts, tights and fashion (i.e., not snow) boots. (So, I fell on my ass A LOT.) And much as it sucked to go earn $4 an hour for all that aggravation, it never really bothered me to freeze my hoo-ha off. And now, waaah, I have to drive 15 whole miles in a warm car — boo hoo! From one shoveled walkway to another, I might add. Luxurious in comparison to 10 years ago, and yet, I whine more now.

Incidentally, I decided which apartment I’m going to go with. I’m picking the one that lets me keep one toe inside D.C. proper — there’s something about having “Washington, D.C. 200**” on your mailing address that feels right, and the thought of transferring my car registration to another state is enough to make me fall ill, so it makes the most sense. And a snow day would have been a lovely reason to start packing for this next adventure!

To apartment-hunters everywhere, here are two things to keep in mind when you’re looking at potential new places in January:

1. You will likely get a rent special offered because nobody is moving in the fucking snow.

2. Speaking of the fucking snow? They reserve the right to REFUSE to give you a tour because they don’t want your slushy paws tromping through their pristine model units.

3. After doing said tour of nothingness, I lost control of the car on an unfamiliar road as I was sitting there bitching about how SLOW everyone else was going. Heh. Awesome. The vehicle’s fine, I’m fine, but yeah, I HATE SNOW.

That said, I found a great place today. Not cheap, but spacious. And “convenient enough” to the things I want to be close to. I didn’t see the model, of course, but the management office was set up similarly, so I got to use my imagination and it works fine.

This one is definitely a possibility, although I’m thinking the real “dream” apartment is one in Hawaii right about now, as two inches of snow expected for tonight and there’s a good half-inch of it already on the ground. …

Because so many apartments here in the land of corruption, greed and brown-paper-bag handshake agreements have what’s known as revolving security deposits (i.e., if you have good credit, you pay X amount. But with a questionable credit history, you might be asked to pay up to two months’ rent — money that you might never see again, as you know how these rental companies will nickel-and-dime you to death on supposed “damages”), I decided to get my credit report today.

And then, I decided I didn’t need to pay for someone to tell me I have shitty credit. See? Am wise at money management after all!

I wish I could go back to my 18-year-old self and just say no to all those creditors who liberally handed me cards with no limits. What, did they think my $3.80-per-hour minimum-wage jobs while I was a college student were going to go solely to credit-card debt? Did I?

I remember when I started fudging on payments. I was living with someone who was, for lack of a better word, a pig. The pretty boy who spent more time in front of the makeup mirror than I did, the one who made friends with half the homeless population of the city and let them sleep on the floor while I was away at my two (minimum wage) jobs each day. Then he bought a dog and let the dog poop everywhere. He wasn’t good about cleaning it up. He was a good kid and I miss him from time to time, but he was just that — a kid playing house but with no idea of how to upkeep one.

We’d only lived together three months at the time, and that was enough. Despite the financial/emotional cost, I had to move elsewhere. And the downward financial spiral began — hell, I had to drop out of school because I couldn’t afford the tuition that the student loan wouldn’t cover. And I learned the bad lesson that nothing really happened if you missed your bills. Sure, the interest rate on my car is astronomical, but enh. Details.

At that point back then, I was just angry — angry that I had to bust my ass on my feet 12-14 hours a day, selling people shit they didn’t need and working around the clock because my employers told me I had to and not because the stores were actually busy at 11 p.m. I put my safety in jeopardy every single night that I had to walk four blocks to catch a bus at midnight — well, I had to run, most nights, because the last bus left at 12:30 a.m. I couldn’t afford a car. Shit, I had to work 15 hours just to afford the monthly bus pass.

I blame no one — those were just my dues and hard knocks. A life filled with furniture and clothing bills to reward myself for all the struggling to get through school and all its myriad assignments, plus being on the school newspaper/magazine staffs and then working every other available hour in the week and busting my ass (in heels!) for not even four bucks.

Today I have a “real” job (i.e., an office job, but the hours haven’t changed much since leaving retail hell) but it’s still challenging to get by sometimes. D.C. real estate is a joke if you’re trying to save money. It’s impossible. And when so much of your income goes to housing, why not just spend the extra couple hundred bucks and get a gorgeous place instead of a blah one?

I guess that’s why, when I was looking at apartments yesterday and found the “dream” one, I reverted back to my 4-year-old self and wanted to stomp and scream, “WANT!!!”

The people who work in the management offices of the better places are so much nicer to you — they require so little as a security deposit because they expect that if you can afford to live there, then you must be a good, responsible person. You are willing to pay for luxury and safety and stature, so you’re OK in their book. Come and play with the other people who can’t afford to put food in that gorgeous stainless-steel fridge!

Surprisingly, I have the gross income they are looking for, which felt odd that people like me can live like that. But then I got Suze Orman’s voice in my head, telling me, “You CANNOT afford it!” and she would be SO right.

I was talking to a friend recently in another state, and their monthly net income is what I spend on a 1BR apartment in the city in a month. It’s weird how one area can have such a higher value than another, at least in realtors’ eyes.

I don’t know — I just wish I could find that ever-elusive combination of price, convenience and even, how shall we say, interestingness. The thing I hate about moving back to suburbia from the city proper is the loss of character in the apartment world. Every building and unit looks the same, from the bland wall color (”apartment eggshell”) to neutral carpet to the boring plastered walls. Bah. After looking at the same thing all day in an office, it would be nice to go home to something a little more special and maybe even luxurious, if at all possible.

Oh well, time to go scrub my butt and go look at more cookie-cutter places. Mmm, cookies. … :9

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m
Ever gonna make it home
again.
It’s so far and out of sight.
I really
need someone to talk to
And nobody else
Knows how to
comfort me tonight.”

– Carole King, “Home Again”

So I found my dream apartment this morning, although it is only feasible in a dream world, financially.

This morning was marathon apartment-hunting fun, and it makes tomorrow’s mere handful of appointments seem like a picnic.

Today I am debating among:

1. The spacious and pretty place that’s way the hell out in bumfuck Egypt that’s ass-cheap but with the shady security deposit scam and the inept management office employees. Decent size and rent, two full baths and I LOVE the master bedroom’s layout. Basic cable is paid for by them. (Heat/hot water is electric, which I’d pay.)

2. The place where I’ve rented with the management before, like the layout and the location, but I wouldn’t have a washer and dryer in the unit. (But it does have a good rent special.) OK size, 1.5 baths and only pay electric, which is basically just air-conditioning. (Heat, hot water and cooking gas are included.)

3. The chi-chi place with the gorgeous layout, all upgraded appliances/countertops, two full bathrooms and the rent alone is (just above) one net paycheck. Fabulous location — a place I’d love to say, “Oh, I live at the (frou-frou locale).” One where I wouldn’t be able to afford to go out or buy groceries, but it wouldn’t matter because I’d be too busy loving the apartment.

*sigh*

I shouldn’t have seen that third one. Although, it is something to eventually aspire to.

Funny, I thought I lived in a midscale place, but everytime someone asks me the building, it’s like, “Oh” accompanied by a funny face. Of course, every place is tenement housing in comparison to the place I should be in!

If I had comments enabled (ha!), I’d ask your advice on whether it’s best to choose on the basis of space, location/convenience or price. Basically, I know I need to go for biggest-place-at-cheapest-price at this point, which is Option 1, but I didn’t feel at home until I saw the third place today.

Option 2 is across the street from the place I love, so I can be in the “right” area, just sort of in the ghetto looking at the place I’d rather be in. It’s nice enough, although a little too “apartment community-ish” (read: 200 apartments in a small patch of land, on a block that is one complex after another) for my tastes.

So basically, everything’s got equal perks; it’s just the price (time or money) I’m willing to pay for them.

I just wish it would come to me already, y’know? My intuition is telling me to hold off but to my knowledge, I’ve seen my preliminary “favorites” and I’m not sure I still believe in miracles that the “perfect” place is going to present itself.

Tomorrow’s batch are in yet another part of town, so all I can say at this point is that we shall see.