Pretty sure this isn’t how it’s supposed to feel

February 12th, 2018, 8:59 PM by Goddess

I un-quit today.

I wish I were dead.

Every time I downed a whole bottle of wine … flipped a coin … woke up from a dream (or drunken stupor) … or asked the universe which boss to pick, the answer was universal. “T.” Every goddamned time.

I picked M.

I emailed M at 7 a.m. to say he wins. By 9 a.m., not only had he told the whole staff, but he asked me to address the staff. Say something encouraging, he suggested.

I spun my sugar. People were pleased. Enthralled. Full of applause. And they came by to say thank you for staying. We need you, they said. You care so much. You give me hope, they added. If you believe, then I can too, they emphasized.

God, I am this guy’s student. Spin control. Master marketer. I earned my stripes today alone. Well and in the six years leading up to this day.

Privately, I prayed for death.

“Trapped in each other’s arms
We got the best of us
We keep each other warm
But we both know it’s not enough.”

Dark Waves, “I Don’t Wanna Be In Love”

I believe I made the right choice for me. For today.

But then I drove to my would-be new office … the one I stood in front of Saturday and Sunday with a metaphorical boombox … and cried the whole way back.

I saw my would-be boss. And “broke up” with him, so to speak.

I wish I were dead. I really do. I really fucked up. I can’t convince myself otherwise right now.

I had a very bad day. Constant flow of tears not withstanding. I got to meet his dog and I’m like, “I could have worked in your office with your sweet puppy? Mother of God. What have I done?”

I didn’t say that. I did bawl. Didn’t meant to go there to do that. But still. I am out of my fucking mind.

He gets it. We parted friends, the way we started. I said I hope you hire someone fabulous. I said I hope that if you don’t, and if I feel the way I do today — just one hour after making my decision — you will think of me again.

I think this ship sailed. And I am so, so very sorry for that.

I have very little relationship experience. I’ve fucked many. Dozens. Probably more than dozens. But knowing a good guy from a bad boy … and picking the good guy? I ain’t real good at. Not even in my career.

Ultimately I think I picked right. It was just a really bad day. And my emotions are so very raw. I mean, I just dumped the guy who would love me in favor of the guy who will take care of me. I wish I were dead. I’m so drunk and I can’t stop crying and OMG why God why did I not follow my heart?

I’ll tell you why. When I follow my gut, it leads me to the buffet. This time, I followed my brain. I am hoping for a better — or, at least, more prosperous — outcome.

But I won’t lie. I am already missing the one who got away. The one I let slip away. And I know it.

I’m sorry, T. He needs me more … but you are the one who deserves me. I know you can’t wait for me. And I will love you forever, even still.

I just need to take care of momma and me. I know you understand. That would makes one of us. You knew me better than I knew myself. Which makes me sadder still.

Is this pain ever going to end? OMG I can’t do this, if not.

Some people have great love stories. Mine are all with employers. Especially the ones I let get away …

Don’t go away mad. Just go away

January 8th, 2018, 8:38 PM by Goddess



Holla’ing at MY friend, to bitch about ME and claim that I somehow am singlehandedly keeping you from relaunching the business you flashed your hairy butt crack at …

And somehow claiming it’s ALL MY FAULT …



Not that any of us believe it will work this time. You burned everyone who made it work. No one likes you.

But I love that you give me all this power.

Especially when I spent years giving mine up to you.

You are the REASON for the #metoo movement.

I have zero desire to hear of you whining that I somehow am hurting you. No need to suddenly give me credit for the first time. But hey, thanks.

Who’s down with LVP? Not you, not me

January 6th, 2018, 2:40 PM by Goddess

First of all, I LOVE me some Lisa Vanderpump — the one on “Real Housewives of Beverly Hills” and “Vanderpump Rules.”

I am NOT the slightest bit enamored with MY “Lisa VanderPump” — LVP. To say the least. The very least.

Not overly certain how someone who has maybe worked five full days in their career …

Who is brilliant at bullshitting their way into massive salaries, big titles, bigger bonuses and falsely selling their superiors on their so-called indispensability …

Who never saw fit to promote me despite calling me by a higher title …

Who wrote horrible reviews for me that painted me as aspiring to mediocrity on a good day …

Who publicly embarrassed me on group calls that said person couldn’t even spell correctly on the meeting reminders they put on our calendars …

(Oh and no one else got that treatment — one other person got private reamings and the rest got left alone. And for both of us, 99% of those reamings were for not working on projects said absentee person never TOLD us about) …

Who didn’t even say thank you for the $60 birthday cake or the $50 birthday booze and didn’t even acknowledge me with a happy birthday that year …

And who — among other ridiculous things — got everyone ELSE fired after attracting a million-dollar lawsuit against the company and its owner …

Is now entitled to the charred remains of the dream this person sold to us in a (successful) effort to get us all to work around the clock to make that person “famous.”

And the fact that this person is back to BARKING UP OUR ASSES to jump to serve said person is like a battered wife being told she has to give her abuser the dog, too.

I have been working on a reply in my mind. But I am enjoying the silence an awful lot. I know LVP is motherfucking me in their mind.

I mean, it’s not like LVP could speak to me with a modicum of respect or the awe I deserved for being one of the wizards behind the curtain that made the puppet dance.

That hurt me in a big way. The not having my name on anything. I hear my name was never credited for anything either. So I had to work very hard to show folks I am capable and was working my ass off all along.

They see that now. And they don’t know the depth of my rage. But they know that for me to refuse to comply with a command from LVP, I have reasons.

They all finally figured out that everything was smoke and mirrors. And my guess is this no-strings-attached “gift” my friend and I are to provide to LVP is less an OB tampon and more like a compact cooter plug. One where the string is hidden inside the smaller pouch.

(Compact cooter plug. I may have to save that for a future nickname …)

In any event, I know LVP comes here looking for answers. And I’ll put it right here …

I jumped for you on every occasion. I lost out on nights and weekends and time with my mom and friends. I was kind to you at all times and listened to your stupid stories about your arrests and all the money you spent on things I’d never be able to afford because you said I was too “expensive” so I clearly was never going to get a raise. I stopped talking to my editors who actually loved me, just so you could stop needling me and egging me on, claiming “you knew” I was talking to them when I wasn’t. You’re a liar and a miserable person.

Oh and thanks for those casual bullshit comments made to (I guess former) future potential employers. But funny about people who repeat things back to me — they have a LOT more to say than what they heard.

Sorry karma’s teeth are sharp. I really do want you to be happy. I just wish this had all made you nicer instead of making me harder.

You can’t miss if you don’t swing (and that’s a good thing)

December 14th, 2017, 6:01 AM by Goddess

I have a friend I quote here from time to time. Because she’s brilliant.

Her latest is stuck in my head:

“Life will throw you curveballs. But you don’t always have to swing at them.”

We’ve always been told the opposite. Wayne Gretzky said, “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.” And that man sure scored a lot of points for my beloved Penguins. Other than every Wayne I’ve ever known being a compete douche (and one more follow-up douche moment for the books), wouldn’t you want to be like this particular Wayne?

I don’t have anything profound to say after another night of listening to the neighbors gallop across my ceiling and then the cat yanking me out of bed to feed her hungry belly.

But yeah. Lots of curveballs here.

I’ve felt pretty helpless, swinging at them till my arms hurt. Today I’m going to stand still and let a few whiz by. Let someone else swing. Let someone else endure the injury today. I’m too old for this shit. And so is the screwball lobbing all these blunt objects at my head.

‘It’s gotta get better. It can’t get worse’

December 12th, 2017, 8:58 PM by Goddess

“Leaving’s hard, trust me, it’s really bad
It’ll shake you, damn near break you, it always has
You don’t go until you’re praying to break even,
Until staying is worse than leaving.”

— Sunny Sweeney, “Staying’s Worse Than Leaving”

I prayed to keep this apartment. Now it drives me crazy again.

I prayed to keep this job somehow. They (sort of) gave it back to me. And when I approached after another fucked-up commute and saw smoke billowing out of a (nearby, damn) building, it was an “Office Space” moment. I thought, hmm, should I turn around?

Have to keep reminding myself that, yeah. Staying definitely feels worse than leaving. But no paychecks are MUCH worse than paychecks.