Like that pedestrian bridge that just collapsed at FIU

March 15th, 2018, 9:08 PM by Goddess

There’s a reason why I quit folks cold turkey. So they get the hint quickly.

Most don’t. Some never will. But anytime I start to feel bad about it, I am reminded of why I didn’t want them around anymore.

Wish they’d all just see how lovely the distance is.

Junk in my trunk. And other basket case stuff

February 10th, 2018, 7:13 PM by Goddess

Ever since I gave my resignation, I have had a series of talks with the company owner.

Usually I’m just pleasant and agreeable. I raise the occasional objection and deal with it when he counters it. After all, that’s sort of what he does for a living — helps potential customers overcome their potential objections to spending money with us.

But these days, I am brutally honest. I have held exactly nothing back. I quit for many reasons. I was very happy to leave without explaining any of them. But he wants to know what’s broken … what got me to the point where I said “enough.”

He says he’s seen my value — he hopes not too late. And he can’t fix the past but he can make the present and future right.

I don’t know what I believe at this point. I believe he wants to pay me what I’m worth and I believe I’d like to be paid what I’m worth.

But this is the girl who literally has a coffee cup and a box of Tampax at her desk … and nothing else.

All my office supplies are in my trunk. I need scissors? To the parking lot. Done with that tape? Back to the vehicle. I don’t take lunches. Walking to the car is my therapy.

Look, I told him. I’m scarred. A basket case. It’s been a tremendously bad year.

He wants to understand. I tell him everything. Most people, after hearing it, had NO IDEA.

To sum up 2017, just with a 30,000-foot employment overview:

January-March — Still smarting from the rigged election. Hating the Trumpian boss (boastful, bullying, inflated sense of importance and rightness) for always treating me like garbage. Job-hunting. And noticing he was even more absent than usual. Like, office-cleaned-out absent after not exactly showing up for our daily 10:30 “ediotrial” (gaaah) meetings but always showing up for his daily 8:30 “monring” call (gaaahhhhh) brag/lie sessions. Like, I came to find out now that included lying about how well we were doing financially. Meanwhile, the cash cow in the main company died unexpectedly, so the worrying about the finances began in earnest.

April-June — Rejoicing that the boss officially quit instead of just claiming he had to stay home because of “contractors” on his brand-new, custom-built house anyway. (Maybe hoping to catch the wife in a nap to retrieve his balls from her purse.) Then dying a thousand deaths as the company imploded our beloved department and shuttered our satellite office. My commute increased fivefold and so did my frustration. I got a job offer paying more, but the guy was even crazier than the crazy I had just started getting acclimated to. So, Stockholm syndrome kicked in and I stayed.

July-October — My patience was rewarded quickly as my useless new boss (even worse than the last) who made $50K more than me and who worked about 11 minutes a day got tossed. Fucker wouldn’t do ANYTHING other than take hour-and-20-minute lunches. I got promoted. And got only $5k more. (Don’t get me started on the worse discrepancy from the department before that.) Then most of my new staff got laid off, one by one. My new publisher had the same taste for blood as the one I worked for at the company that booted me in 2010. Luckily, I was safe. For now.

November-January — I celebrated my anniversary Nov. 7. Nov. 8, I was told I’d be laid off on Nov. 30. Landlord tried to evict me and changed his mind. Car crapped out on 95 on top of it all. What a week! Applied for a bunch of jobs, even tried groveling at the place I shot down in the summer. (Hah.) Then I was invited to stay till Dec. 29. Then that turned into Jan. 5. Then Feb. 1. Then “Hey you know what? Don’t leave. Like, ever. But we gave your title away to someone who makes more than your old boss and who works even less. So just keep doing ALL THE WORK and oh hey BY THE WAY, we are destroying our old systems and you have to learn all new ones. Oh and all the old shit is going to break and drive you to the point of insanity. But we’re moving too far ahead, too fast, to fix it. Oh and hey THE WEBSITE IS GONNA GET HACKED TOO but no one will involve you pre-launch so of course you won’t be able to prevent it because nobody ASKS you what the risks (LIKE THAT) are. Oh and yeah we’re not even going to try to pretend your replacement can find his ass with both hands; just keep being his secretary. OH and WHY AREN’T YOU DOING THAT NEW JOB WE INVITED YOU TO STAY TO DO, TOO?!

February — I finally get brave enough to let everyone know that I accepted another job on Jan. 19. Owner finally has his “oh shit” moment. Realizes how much I have been doing not just the last two months, but the last six years. Everyone’s guard is down and they say well we know you loved your old boss and I’m like well, not quite. And they are like damn, how classy were you not to tell us the truth like how much you did to keep it afloat. So, hey, stay and do the same here? Small raise good? I’m like PASS because fair market rate is THIS. They’re like cool. Oh hey you can have that and more staff, sound good? And I go into INSANE INNER TURMOIL because I have a great offer I accepted but DAMN the number I always wanted is now MINE ALL MINE IF I REJECT THE JOB I HAVE BEEN PREPARING TO TAKE. Christ fucking kill me how much alcohol can a girl drink to cope?

I mean it’s good to be me. It’s fucking GREAT to be me. I just know that if I leave, I will be like well this is nice but I AM STILL BROKE. And if I stay it will be like JESUS CHRIST I AM KEEPING MY SHIT IN MY TRUNK BECAUSE YOU PEOPLE ARE STILL CRAY AND ALL MY FRIENDS QUIT AND ALL MY RAISE GOES TO TOTAL WINE GAAAHHH FUCK THIS SHIT.

Honestly I wouldn’t even be so torn if not for all the gossip I’ve gotten about LVP. Karma is only a bitch if you are, is all we’re sayin’.

Anyway, when I was little, my grandmother told me it’s just as easy to marry a rich man as it is a poor boy. Pick the rich man.

And after I told the owner that my biggest career regret was leaving Ye Olde Employment Establishment, he said, “I’m trying to prevent you from making that mistake again,’ I wonder — is this divine intervention, or is the universe fucking with me?

I mean, if I get wiped off the planet because dipshit in the Oval Office pisses off the North Korean nutcake, where would I rather be working? Would I rather be happy or have my bills paid? Or would I be happy at either? Or both?

I know I’m lucky. And this is my last day/weekend of being so fortunate to be loved and wanted. Monday, I’ll be a basket case (even more so) and furious at whomever I DID end up picking.

I mean, I already picked. “Should I stay or should I go?” was resolved Jan. 19 when I officially said OMG GO, FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST.

But doing otherwise would be selling my soul. Telling the Carpathia, “Nope, just gonna hang onto Jack here in the ocean. Thanks for offering me a lift!”

My smart HR-type friend who is fresh out of fucks told me to turn off my phone. Silence the well-meaning friends and also those who don’t want me to do better. And drink a full bottle of wine. If the answer doesn’t appear to me after that, drink another.

God I love this woman.

I’m already done with one bottle. Go, go, go — my mind tells me.

My bank account says, “Fuck it. Stay and save up. Even if you get tossed, you’ll have a bigger slush fund.”

My heart says, “You do love you some drama. New guy? None. You’ll love it and be productive and get done at 3:30 every Friday and have time to spend with your momma.”

My brain says, “You stay and your ass is on fire three out of five days. Your inbox will have 47 new messages every morning with brand-new on-fire projects that you will be expected to execute THAT DAY oh and hey, your Fridays will continue to be fucked FOR LIFE.”

My bank account says, “Christ, isn’t it that way already? TAKE THE DEAL.”

My soul says, “You saw your new, clean, cute office today. Your heart jumped when you thought, this is where I should be on March 1. This is where I PROMISED to be March 1. OMG WILL I BE HERE MARCH 1 BECAUSE I ABSOLUTELY LOVE IT HERE AND CAN’T WAIT TO UNLOAD MY TRUNK HERE.”

Will I ever unload my trunk or will I always be ready to quit or be fired? “Volunteered or volun-told,” my dear friend always says. At this joint, your resignation is either/or. Right now, it’s volunteered. In three months when they find someone else cheaper with far less to complain about, I could be volun-told to leave.

Or I might inherit the whole damn empire when the guy retires next year.


If only folks were intelligent enough to comprehend this

January 29th, 2018, 8:22 PM by Goddess

‘There is more time than life’

January 23rd, 2018, 5:46 AM by Goddess

In the “Mexico” region of Epcot, there is a wonderful display about the Day of the Dead.

I saw this painted on a wall, and my breath caught in my throat …

It was one of those rare moments in life when you say, yes — that is the truth. There is more time than life.

I think of that as I have to coax myself into going to work. I say my gratitudes and one of them certainly is relief that they believe in me and that they pay me.

But the thing is, even though I am not exactly in possession of extra money, I have a profundity of my own. I am pretty sure they need me more than I need them right now.

It’s a powerful feeling. And one they can slap outta me right-quick with a pink slip.

This six-years-too-late empowerment helps me to be bold, for a change. To put my foot down at staying past a certain hour. To yell at the Booger Wooger Bugle Boy they named editorial director when he yells at ME for writing back to customers who have questions when I am the goddamned retention director and — oh hey — I have been corresponding with customers for 20 years buddy FUCK YOU FOR GETTING HANDED THE TITLE I EARNED MOTHERFUCKER.


Ain’t nobody got time for all this.

I spent my 30s-now-40s taking care of mom and not my social life.

I spent my 20s-then-30s-now-40s taking care of everyone else — and truth be told, I didn’t take THAT great a care of mom because I worked too hard for the almighty paycheck.

And I am under no illusion that my 40s-turned-god-willing-into-something-more isn’t going to be spent chasing more money and my tail when it comes to happiness and balance and whatnot.

You know, I was kind of excited about this new venture we’re doing. We cut out most of the overhead (dead salary weight, make no mistake) and kept the underpaid people who are the hardest workers.

For the most part, anyway — there’s still Booger-Eater and a few others who can eat more than what their snoot produces, as far as the rest of us are concerned.

And as I return to juggling 17 jobs because no one else is there to do them … and Boogie-Woogie refuses to take on the jobs I’m supposed to part with … I think, wow.

I mean, I gave up my life for LVP. AND FOR WHAT? Promises of riches and company ownership and other perks that, after five years, never came? That fucker never worked past 4 p.m. And the time leading up to 4 p.m. was filled with braggadocios stories about his arrests and $100 steaks he’s eaten and thousand-dollar wines and trips on his BFF’s yacht. Never a productive minute of supervision or coaching or a supportive word for any of us. And no bonuses/ownership/CREDIT as far as the eye could see.


I have not lived, is the point of all this. Sure, I’ve had fun. Tried to give us a good little life. But the only thing crueler than anyone I’ve ever worked for is time itself.

There’s always more than enough work to go around. And for all our complaining that “there isn’t enough time,” well, there really is. The collective we just fuck up royally when it comes to using it.

I can’t get time back. And maybe I can’t get my life back, per se, when I never really HAD one.

But, well. You know. I’m thinking it’s high time to add some life to all that time.

And this all *waves hands* ain’t the way to do it.

Time flies when your life is falling apart

December 24th, 2017, 8:42 AM by Goddess

“The girls are down at Ruby’s
Trying to find some Christmas cheer
There’s not much to do but drink too much
When every day’s unclear.”

— Melissa Etheridge, “Christmas in America”

I have no reason to be depressed this year. I mean, I *DO* but honestly, the things I never took for granted in the first place are even more special this year.

In the six years I’ve had my job, it’s never felt safe. You’d think being part of a 50-year-old business would come with some security.

But then the job I had last year got yanked away and transformed — first in a bad way (i.e., department, team and satellite office eliminated), then a good way (i.e., idiot new boss tossed out, I got promoted) … and then in a REALLY bad way (i.e., new department and new job eliminated). And then a new job appeared out of those ashes.

And then the apartment I never loved anyway was about to get sold out from under me … and then the landlord turned out to be a nice guy and he let me keep it through the holidays.

And the car I’ve been looking to replace broke the fuck down on the highway … but a wonderful tow truck driver and mechanic made Stewie better (and in one day’s time).

And while good health still eludes my mom and now my cat, they are both still here.

Every day is unclear, indeed. But if ever I took a minute of my good fortune for granted, I officially know better than to be the slightest bit ungrateful about what I *don’t* have because I *do* have so, so much to be thankful for.

Someone at work was asking me why I don’t talk about dating. And I explained the way I always have, that you’ll know when something amazing is happening. I don’t share anything less.

She was shocked I was so matter-of-fact and wholly uninterested in the topic. I said when you get to my age (which is old in my field — they only want the young kids who will work for no wages whatsoever), you’ve waited so long that what’s another year or 10.

I told her about my (smart, truly) friend who gets mixed up with one loser after the next. They abuse her mentally and/or physically, they take her money, they make her feel like shit … and she doesn’t leave. And when she DOES walk the fuck out … she just finds another loser to fill the void.

Not that I have any judgment in me, because I don’t where she’s concerned, but I avoid all that. You want someone to abuse and treat like an ATM? Bye, Furrlicia.

I am proud that I was able to take care of my Momma as best I could. Sure, I wasted money along the way and should have been more responsible and planful. But overall, we’ve had a fun, good life together.

Wasn’t what I envisioned when I was younger. But much better than babysitting some doofus and faking some orgasms to get his sweaty, hairy ass off of me faster. And then having to divorce him for voting against Hillary and then having to find a new home untainted by his stupidity and then losing half my 401(k) on top of it. Fuck dat.

In any event, the world is a big fat flaming pile of shit right now. But time flies when your life — when the country and the entire universe — is falling apart.

Might as well love what you’ve got instead of missing what you’ve never known. Who knows if it will still be there next quarter, let alone next year.

At least December brings the hope and spirit of Santa Claus. Even though there’s not a present to be found under our tree that you can see, I can say a full heart is eleventy billion times better than a cluttered floor.

Happy birthday, Jesus. Even though I am pretty sure you were born in the spring and that you aren’t exactly a Caucasian hippie, I love you today and every day just the same. Thanks for the real presents. Wish I had something to give you other than my worries and thanks. But I’m grateful that, if you’re the kind of guy (or gal) I think you are, that’s exactly what you’d want.