Caterwauling

My social media site is not for name-calling when you’ve already made valid points. Those points get negated real fast when friends start sniping at each other and I have to delete shit after a particularly ugly comment. I hope the other person didn’t see it. The only one who can call people names is me, darn it. And even that’s only reserved for Pumpkinfuhrer and variations thereof.

So you can’t wear dress shorts.

You can’t leave your blinds open overnight.

You can’t leave groceries and the sammich your momma made you with her hurting little hands in the fridge if your name isn’t on them.

And good people are shown the door but certain others have job security for life.

And all these roads lead to exactly ONE place.

Seriously. Messing with a fat girl’s food means the fangs are bared and looking for an ass to chew out.

That time when the office people threw out all your brand-new groceries that you needed because you have no time to take lunch before the holiday weekend …

Because you didn’t put your name on it last night instead of THIS MORNING when they said the fridge would be cleaned out …

And you HAD a fridge of your own but it’s been taken hostage somewhere else in the building and no one will GIVE IT TO YOU …

And everyone is like well you were warned to put your name on your lunch like you have to stitch it in your underpants like a 5-year-old going off to camp …

And you just have to just be “overjoyed to be employed” as I say to everyone every single day. Because, that’s the way the cookie crumbles.

Mmm, cookies …

Goodbye, sandwich from mom, container of fruit, brand-new tub of hummus, and more carrots and broccoli than you can shake a Trader Joe’s at.

Caught my immediate ex-boss looking at my ProfeshunalSite profile on Friday.

I purposely did not update my profile with my new title (his old one) yet.

I wanted him to change his first. (He did on Friday.) Nothing worse than leaving a place NOT on your own terms. Well, other than having your replacement break the news that it happened at all.

I mentioned it to Mom and she reminded me how we never told anyone when we lived at the ocean for seven years. Like we didn’t want anyone to be jealous of how lucky we were.

I thought about that for a good, long time. She’s right. I never said that I lived a block away from Pumpkinfuhrer.

I mean, his gaudy beach house cost bajillions and I was in a rented condo with a series of six Evil Landladies and a maintenance guy who was in jail for stealing people’s shit (and a Mercedes, in the end).

But still, now when I say to people “Oh yeah, Nazi-sympathizing Dipshit and I were neighbors,” they don’t actually believe me. Which is fine. Honestly, I didn’t want them to come visit or want to stay with me anyway.

But I see what she means. I told my old friend W. that I got a promotion. And my BFF knew. But no one else outside the company (other than Mom, natch) knows about it.

It’s an interesting experiment, to see how long it takes for the news to spread. But I trust the three in-the-know to NOT spread it.

And it’s weird to see the dynamic within the company. Other than the people who made it a point to congratulate me, it’s been eerily silent.

I moved into my new office Friday afternoon. Maybe that will make it official. (It’s a pretty sweet office, too.)

But now I’m starting to wonder whether I’m worthy. I mean, they told me specifically to not work my 70-hour weeks that got me here. “Don’t burn out on us,” I was told. But … now that I finally have the title and pay I was striving for … I don’t want to check out like all my predecessors. (Yes, ALL of them.)

I actually WANT to work and do good things, better things … to BE better.

BUT … I gots a sick mom and kitty and I really DON’T want to burn the hell out again. I was crispy before my department imploded over Easter weekend. And I can tell you right now, all the bonus steps and personalities and authorities have sandpaper potential on my psyche.

Note I said potential. I can handle it. I can handle anything. But I worry. And maybe that’s why I haven’t told too many folks about how things are actually going in my favor.

I do honestly believe the universe wants me to be happy. But I do always have my eye out for that meteor coming my way. Like, what’s it gonna take away since it just gave me something?

In any event, I really don’t think I have to work too much harder — it sounded like the promotion was to catch me up to where I’ve been functioning anyway. I mean, I came in and took over … and the previous guy faded away. But you know me. I want to be better.

Lord, please help me be better, without sacrificing the free time I’ve worked so very hard to earn. Because that’s been better than any bump in pay. (Especially since I still can’t afford to move, and that’s what I want more than anything in this world.)

Can I really have it all? Does it really just take believing it to make it so?

Have I actually, honestly, really and truly suffered enough?

Major props to Dreamhost for resisting that piece of shit dangling from Pennsylvania Avenue and not providing info about folks who planned to protest the stupid fuck’s latest vanity rally in THE CAMPAIGN THAT NEVER ENDS.

Sorry you have to deal with this DDoS shit that has been fucking up our nation, one day and election at a time. It’s a clear message from President Putin what we’re in for if we don’t behave in a fashion Mother Russia prefers.

Hard to find things to smile about in this fucked-up world. But like they teach you at Weight Watchers, happier people lose more weight. Today they asked us to list three things that made us happy. (And as my cool new leader said, it doesn’t have to be on par with splitting the atom.)

Going to a meeting made me happy today. Losing the same pound and a half that I’ve been losing and gaining for the past three months was a win too. And being a Dreamhost customer definitely rounds out today’s trio.

The question I have asked myself every day since the first time I turned down that other job offer is back again today.

How did I throw away a chance to get away from all these thousand-step processes that don’t let me do what I do best? Twice?!

No wonder my last boss hid in his office all day and said no to every request. He didn’t want to waste his time.

Problem was, he didn’t do anything at all, to my knowledge.

I need to find a happy medium between doing a ton of unnecessary crap because of unnecessary systems, with folks who simply cannot remember all the steps, and actually actively liking this experience.

With great power comes … a whole lot of assholes not giving a shit about hiding their assholitry anymore.

Mom sent me this meme about “secret haters” …

She said, “Sound familiar?”

Yes. That’s the annoying bridge of the annoying pop song that is my life.

It’s not just that not a single person invited me to do anything to celebrate my little victory. I do have dinner with some of the girls soon. But for the most part, it’s been Pariah Central:

“Oh wow, something nice happened for you? *radio silence*”

Or, “Wait, you aren’t violently unhappy right at this particular moment in time? Well, fuck you then. We’ll all just go talk to everyone else who isn’t you.”

And of course, “Well you must be making more money. Go entertain yourself, or ya know, pay if you want me around.”

In the immortal words of Cee-Lo: “Fuck you. And, fuck her too.”

Amended to add: “And him too.”

Then there is the rest. The taking advantage in other ways.

Assuming the new boss is an old friend and therefore special privileges can be taken without fucking asking.

Or the absolutely fucking railroading the authority they said they were so glad for me to get.

The patronizing.

And the not actually giving the title the authority that I’ve ALWAYS carried anyway because the lesser title in my immediately previous life carried as much clout as the new one.

Now I wonder too if the people who rooted for this really just wanted someone to blame. Not today. But, you know, eventually.

I also see clearly that when the time comes (again) to play Budget Chicken, I have a big fat role in that cockfight.

The first two — Special Privileges and Fucking Railroading — don’t realize Large Marge is actually, officially and FINALLY in charge.

And that her grace has boundaries.

Oh, and that nobody objects to a smaller payroll.

Later, haters.

I’ve been sitting on a secret for a few days. That I was going to get a promotion.

Well, the news is out. My first official day doing the same ridiculous sum of work for a slightly higher salary sum was yesterday.

The news was bittersweet because two people were let go in the same two-sentence announcement.

“X and Y are out — Goddess is your new Queen.”

Not that I plan to give up the Goddess title. I mean, really. It’s who I’ve been my whole life.

But after five years of hollow promises from my former supervisor to correct the record and anoint me queen, it only took three months in the new gig to get my royal robe.

It was the surprise of a lifetime, though.

I figured they didn’t worship me as much as I deserved. And, to be fair, I wasn’t exactly in love either. All my friends had been fired and my BFF and I were waiting our turn.

So when I got a call a month ago to apply for the perfect role (title-wise and money-wise) … and I got that job OFFERED within a day’s time … I was ready to say yes.

But I didn’t. In fact, I said no.

Then they came back with more money. That was a hard one to say no to. I agonized. Literally lost sleep for days.

And when I envisioned accepting it, the only thing that made me happy was that I could deliver the exit-interview soliloquy I’ve been working on since Easter.

My BFF got an offer to leave too … and didn’t exactly have the same gut-punch feeling at the thought of leaving. She’s thrilled with her new salary and job. As my friend upstairs said, her only question was “What day do I start?” My debate was, “Will I be giving up a career I actually love?”

The second no was harder to arrive at. Yet, easier to say. Because, I knew. The job wasn’t for me. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

In the promotion process where I’m at, I mentioned the other offer. (That kind of mention comes with great risk. They don’t play with folks who have their eye on the door.)

But I wanted them to know about it. That I’d said no twice. That the position is still available, and that I’d told the interviewer to go about their business and maybe we can circle back in a month to see where they are and where my head is at.

Who knew that, in that month, I’d have the job I REALLY wanted?

Mom knew. Psychic.

I was badgering her for weeks with “what if” scenarios. Mostly what if I take this new gig and it’s even more of a flaming dumpster fire than my May and June were?

Eventually she said, “What if … you got the job you want at the company you’re at?”

That’s all I needed to call the would-be employer and said so long and thanks for all the fish.

And it’s not that July was any less of a dumpster fire. I just knew I had a ticket out. And I could get one at any time.

Once I had that, I got the perspective I so desperately needed.

That, and I had finally stood up to my new (super-nice but super-micro-managey) boss and told him to pipe down on the micro-management.

He did, for the most part. And life was better in Goddess-land.

Today, I have his job. Which, to be fair, I took over three months ago anyway and was frustrated that he was living on Easy Street while I was (voluntarily) busting my butt.

But the overlords were watching. They don’t miss a trick. And they tell me they had this plan for me since Day One.

Which may explain why they all tortured me so much. Man, getting sent home for my dress shorts, being talked about within earshot, having things I said half-ass repeated/twisted (I mean, talk about me all you want. Just quote me accurately), etc.

They just wanted me to be better, to be ready for what was in store.

Or maybe I’m reading too much into it.

Anyway, I’m happy with the outcome. Terrorized a bit by the process. But as they say, if you aren’t at the table, you’re on the menu. It was nice to be where I was this time, instead of the one guessing.

Congratulations have been quick and hearty. But everybody’s suddenly a two-handed economist:

“Oh that’s great. We love you. We know how hard you work. So deserved …

“But damn, why did (collateral damage) have to be let go?”

Not my boss, who I have to state again was truly the nicest boss I’ve ever had. But one of his friends got let go too. And everyone LOVES the friend. (No one really saw the boss. Least of all me.)

So the victory, as it were, has been hollow.

I was texting with my friend upstairs while all this was going on. She said fuck them. You busted your ass for how many years and didn’t get a drop of recognition before today? Did your superiors’ work and got none of the credit before now? Fuck them, you earned this. You deserve YOUR moment.

I did celebrate, by the way. I walked out and right over to the nearest Weight Watchers center. I hadn’t been to a meeting in YEARS. But that was the night I had planned to return. And damn it, I returned.

My new leader is fantastic. I’ve hated almost all the meetings I’ve attended in South Florida. But I am so happy I picked the leader and the night I did.

She asked what brought me back. I said I was always planning to return. And that I got promoted and I really wanted to go home and stuff myself full of wine and cake. But that my ultimate mental challenge was to stick to my original plan. And this proves I can do it.

She said “Honey, you celebrated in the best way possible. I have no doubt you’re going to ace this, too.”

It’s good to be queen.

I don't post about weight loss much because I've been stagnant.

Actually I lied. Not stagnant at all.

In fact, since we got ripped out of our old jobs on May 1 and put into our new reality, I've gained everything back that I lost since Jan. 1.

Of course, I'm the last Mohican standing from the Dream Team. So I ain't got nothin' to complain about. At least my paycheck keeps coming and I have the opportunity to keep working my ass off for it.

(My bestie's last day of work, this week. I miss her so much already.)

And I'm tired.

Not of the work, the job or the incredible shrinking number of friends who are still there with me.

(The "mean girls" at dinner Friday. I love us!)

I'm tired of always having to be "on." Of saying yes a whole lot more than I want to.

And that, lately, has been true of cakes and beer and chips and BREAD OMG BREAD and other things that I've avoided like the plague these past two years.

Yes, yes to all of it! Especially the 2-for-1 wine specials at our favorite after-work haunt.

I've been slipping with my weight loss because I'm sick of my friends ordering what they want while I'm trying to be "good."

I'm sick of ordering the "healthy" option, only for it to be 25 SmartPoints and I'm only supposed to have 30 in a day.

It's exhausting to ask disinterested servers what's in this and can you change that up. I hate being "that" customer and I hate that half these people waiting on me (or their kitchen staff) can't get it right, anyway.

It's frustrating to need something to crunch on when you ask for help and they either lie and claim they have no time to help ("But by all means, call me for anything else you need, even any of the 'grunt work' because I'm not above doing whatever it takes to help.") …

Or, worse, they claim that they helped. (In six minutes? You read a 17-page Word doc TWICE in SIX MINUTES before your daily extended lunch break? No one else got a lunch break. Or, ya know, FOOD.)

I'm tired of corking these feelings. And of complying with this person's rules for when I can and cannot leave my desk.

And of never feeling safe. And of letting my mind wander to what would happen to mom and me without money to pay the rent. Hard enough for her to be sick in a house where everyone is loud and nasty and meth-addicted duck-murdering and Trump-voter-level deplorable. Better here than in the streets, though.

I'm going to turn this around. There are going to be some big changes this week. New routine. And a couple other new things I’m not ready to reveal yet.

Out with the old, and that includes the pounds …

Rather than talking about two competing job offers (um, squee!) or my utter and complete disgust with Rainman, whose lone talent is pushing work on others (and pushing it back TWICE when I asked for help yesterday), I’m just gonna throw some links here for reading when my brain isn’t going a thousand miles an hour …

The secret to office happiness isn’t working less—it’s caring less

Completing this 30-minute exercise makes teams less anxious and more productive