Caterwauling

Had dinner with my old boss last night. Not any of the crazy-useless men; this is the 29-year-old female who starts her new job on Tuesday. The one I never dreamed I would like and respect so much. The one who helped me to get to where I am today.

We had beer and fries, as we do when we are together. We also share a birthday — and it’s strange to believe there’s a 15-year age gap, because we are so alike.

Even if this brief friendship ends here, it already gave us so much more than a lifetime of knowing another person could.

She was proud of me that I hooked up my would-be boss with a gal who used to report to me. I said I really had her spirit in my heart when that all came together. We girls have to look out for each other, and do.I also got to make a job offer to another girl who used to work for both of us. At a real salary this time. All she has to do is accept it.

We fist-bumped and ordered another round. To JT. To MC. To DE., who couldn’t make it because she bought a last-second plane ticket to see her daughter at college before her own new job starts Tuesday.

To us. To wherever life takes us next.

“Sometimes, sometimes we can see beyond our history
The last place you hope to find
The one that´s been there all the time.

Sometimes, sometimes we can swim beyond the scenery
And the first place that’s on your mind
The first place you´d find each time.”

— Beth Orton, “Paris Train”

The card I gave her had mountains on the front — something she dreams of seeing. It said the journey of a thousand steps isn’t the hard part; it’s the first one that’s a real doozy. We laughed over that.

We both got what we wanted. Control for me, freedom for her. A complete switch from this time last week.

I should say, we both got what we wanted NEXT. After that, she’s in search of mountains. As for me, I said Paris is what I want.

I opened up about Sia. How her mom had houses in Paris and Germany; how she was going to show me Europe. But alas, our workaholic ways kept us apart. And one day, she went to step on a plane out of Vancouver and her heart gave out.

In a way, mine did too. I stopped dreaming about Paris because I didn’t have anyone to go with, anymore.

My friend said save your money, and get your ass to Paris. If that’s what you get out of your new job, it will be worth it.

We hugged tightly and parted ways. Maybe forever, maybe for a few weeks. She’s moving to my old stomping grounds and I’m planning to move to hers. But we’ll always have Ireland — well, rather, the Irish bar right-smack at the halfway point that we love so much.

What an awesome/awful year behind us both. And what a wonderful/ridiculous one ahead. If we can just stay focused on where we want to be at the end of it, we will turn out OK once again.

“You wanted to be where you are
But it looked much better from afar
A hillside in shadow between the people and the stars

Twelfth night, we go
After something everyone should know
Somewhere in the distance out of sight.”

— Gin Blossoms, “Pieces of the Night”

I feel like Viola, the heroine of “Twelfth Night.” To recall the “Shakespeare in Love” movie ending that set up the coming of that play, I feel like her as she married her rich king and sailed off to America with him … while leaving her beloved poet behind.

The torture she felt. The knowing she would love this man until she left this mortal coil. The sadness at how she didn’t feel anywhere near the same way about the man with whom she was about to start a new life.

And her grace at being able to say goodbye … to remind Will to redirect his sorrow into magnificent prose … to steel herself for the journey ahead, and whatever joy and sadness it would bring.

I will always miss my “Will.” And though my “king” is a great man, it hurt to matchmake T. with someone else.

It’s over now. It was the moment I drove to his office to withdraw my acceptance of his offer.

Time to stop looking back, and to start looking ahead at my chosen path.

And now, I sail on.

“Moons and Junes and ferris wheels
The dizzy dancing way you feel
As every fairy tale comes real
I’ve looked at love that way.

But now it’s just another show
You leave ’em laughing when you go
And if you care, don’t let them know
Don’t give yourself away.”

— Joni Mitchell, “Both Sides Now”

I told you my life is a Joni album.

Had a flash of genius on the highway this morning. I knew exactly how to finish a reference I owed someone. And I knew exactly to whom to send it.

Yes, I am a girl’s girl. “Goddess’ boys” are legendary in this field. But my girls? They are MUCH fewer in number. But just as amazing.

I reached out to T. I said look, it’s Valentine’s Day and I want to play Corporate Cupid. Would you consider JT to take the job I was stupid enough to walk away from? Oh by the way, here’s her resume and a glowing reference.

He said yeah, would you make the introduction? And I did and she was thrilled and so was he. About 10 emails later, I’ve made a love connection and they have an interview next week.

Today was my friend/cubemate D’s last day. I said I think I helped two people today. She said, Goddess, you helped three …

You helped your friend who needs a job … you helped the guy who was planning to hire you and who you feel you left in a lurch … and you helped yourself.

“The guilt has been killing you,” she pointed out. “You just solved a problem you haven’t been able to shake the guilt of creating.”

I told her this was the right thing to do. But it really closes the door to me changing my mind and getting the fuck out of Dodge at the 11th hour.

But she’s right. I am so, so happy to do a very good deed for two people I absolutely adore.

I didn’t have a great day. It wasn’t bad. Just, a clusterfuck in the last half-hour. Exactly what I wanted to avoid by leaving.

But, I always do pick the bad boy. The one who leaves me confused and crazy. And I was able to overcome feeling insane and heartbroken about hurting the good guy by sending him a good girl.

I think I’m a good girl. But not that good. I’m definitely drama and trouble. I’m exactly where I need to be, in that regard.

In any event, today is the day I stopped feeling like shit. And started accepting that this is my path.

The thing is, Mom always gets mad at me for helping everyone but myself. But my good karma is paying off. So is everyone’s that I know. And people like LVP are drowning in their karma, too. And we are all cognizant of that, too.

I finally, for the first time, feel like I am going to be OK. Filled with drama and insanity and unpredictability and scrambling and rushing and heart palpitations, yes.

But really, would I be able to survive in calm and predictable and reliable and happy like T. was offering? No. Fucking. Way.

But JT will be a perfect match. Calm, steady, not bored to absolute tears after mastering something in 10 minutes.

I did good. A lot of good.

Add matchmaker to my crazy skill set.

This probably closes the door forever to me going back. But it’s OK. I bet the guy gives me a great reference when it’s time to move on. He’s just that kind of guy. Just one I will have to love from afar now. But one I will love as someone I let get away just the same.

My life is a Joni Mitchell album.

When I was interviewing with T., he kept talking about profit-sharing. Like, stick with me and you’ll own part of this empire.

I heard that from LVP, and I said so. We all know what a world-class liar LVP is.

T said well yeah. But LVP didn’t even own the biz. Not his place to promise you jack. I however do have that power. Mission 1: Serve the customers great stuff you can be proud of. Mission 2: Share in the profits and keep the team small to keep the profits bigger.

I told him that it all sounded like a Joni Mitchell song. Cue up some “Cactus Tree”:

“He has seen her at the office
With her name on all his papers
Through the sharing of the profits
He will find it hard to shake her
From his memory
And she’s so busy being free.”

I meant that in the best way possible.

Here in post-breakup/stayed with the guy you finally got brave enough to leave land, cue “A Case of You”:

“Go to him
Stay with him if you can
But be prepared to bleed.
Oh but you are in my blood
You’re my holy wine
You’re so bitter
Bitter and so sweet.”

Monday night, I was up with a never-ending series of panic attacks.

But Tuesday was OK. Calm. The only thing that annoyed me was getting into a fight with someone about why I don’t want to move my computer into my new office RIGHT THIS SECOND. And then telling her fine, I will pick out some whiteboards. Where do I want them? I dunno, I guess here. Then being told I was making a bad choice and she would put them THERE. Oh and I should have more furniture — look how bare it is in here. And what make you face the desk to the window like that — you moved that yourself?!

NO NO NO.

I’ve had plenty enough with men putting doubt in my head. Two men saying don’t go to the other. Men historically underpaying me and telling me to be grateful. Men basically forbidding me from having a break or a life but not missing a moment of theirs. Don’t you start any kind of “mean girl” crap with me because I have enough swirling around in my squash.

Speaking of mean girls …

I really thought my recent boss was going to be a mean girl. We got off to a rocky start. I get why now. She loved my sarcasm but didn’t want it to affect her girls. Girls she took care of and helped and promoted and really gave a fighting chance to.

Girls who won’t return her calls or agree to go to a happy hour in her honor that I am trying to pull together.

Bitches. Good to see what I’m REALLY up against.

My boss is a total girl’s girl. She prepared me for the fight of my life. Her friendship was genuine and her advice was spot-on. I got the result I wanted. I’m pretty sure it was the result SHE wanted.

You know who’s coming to that happy hour? MY friends. My two amazing friends who got nothing from her but who love and respect her because she is a good person who was good to ME.

Moral to this story — I wanted to leave with my friends. I loved us all quitting on the same day. But we will still all be friends for at least a short, and hopefully a long, time to come.

This place brought us together. It didn’t turn out the way any of us thought it would. I mean, I joined first and I’m watching them go and I’m staying to run the place.

It’s mind-boggling. Just in November, I had joked that, when I was being laid off, I’d stay and keep working without the paycheck like Milton in “Office Space.”

Shit, my new office is our old Storage Room B that they cleared out because they realized a woman needs a room of her own. Who says you don’t speak your own fate into existence?

In any event, behind every man — great or otherwise — is a group of girlfriends like us. And which man doesn’t matter. It’s honoring those who helped us and then helping the next generation that will be what defines our success.

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 …

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.

GAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH WHAT WOULD YOU DO?!?!!!!!!?

People are dropping like flies around these parts. Half are out with the killer flu. The other half are heading for the hills.

You already know they showed my friend the door. This was expected, yet still abrupt.

(If I hadn’t been offered permanent residency at this Las Vegas show, I would have already been gone.)

We also had a not terribly surprising departure on Friday, as Can-Can cha-cha’ed out.

Then we got the resignation I’ve been waiting for on my Company Bingo card. (Yes, I have a Trump Bingo card with his Swamp Cabinet, and I have one for my company too. And we sit on an ACTUAL swamp with creatures less dangerous than Orange Shitgibbon’s cronies.)

But that wasn’t all. ANOTHER dear friend got to have her own “Half Baked” moment.

Everyone else is rearranging their own bingo cards. And these betting folks have a new odds-on favorite to leave.

My money is on the overworked programmer/designer. Their money is on the overworked editor/marketer …

My neighbor (the one who was told his daughter doesn’t attend a real school) came over and said, “Are you next?”

I put up my hands and said, “I plead the Fifth.”

He said, “You’re leaving February fifth?”

I looked at him wide-eyed. For longer than I should have.

Because, well, Feb. 5 would be a great day to resign.

The perfect day, really …

Edited to add: I QUIT on Feb. 5.

“Crown Royal and Coke. What I am drinkin’
Newports don’t work, look at ’em throwin’ words

I know I need to quit again
But soon as I try to go a day or two,
I’m caught up in some shit again.”

Lil Wyte & Jelly Roll — “And the Band Plays On”

New boys don’t work.

No shit.

Fuckin Eric Trump with the Booger Fetish called me at 4:05 Friday to ask where an issue was.

My reply was a metaphorical, “Eat shit, Sparky.” I said I have seven issues — with 700 steps each. You can wait in line, booger boy.

Furthermore, he missed most of the editing mistakes in the one issue he deigned himself good enough to glance at. Unless he agrees that credit card providers engage in “transitions” rather than transactions. In which case, let’s order gay wedding cakes for them all!

Thursday, I skipped lunch (well, that’s not an unusual occurrence) because I was told to send an “urgent” issue. I edited the 14-page thing, formatted it in WordPress, reformatted it for Dreamweaver … and waited.

Came in the next day to a brand-new version. “Disregard the old,” I was told. So the six (at the time) projects with the 750 steps became six plus a redo.

Well, six plus TWO redos. After I re-edited and reformatted the big-ass document for web and HTML, I was sent a THIRD version.

So Booger man —

You know, the motherfucker who watches TV (LOUD) all day and hires a freelancer to write his shit … and who bullies a marketer into doing his editorial work … and who has me to edit and publish all the shit that he doesn’t feel he has to inherit until he is good and goddamned ready —

You can borrow my beach-ball-sized lady nuts if you ever want to know what it feels like to have a set.

My boss overheard him making the call and immediately Skyped me to offer to beat the shit out of him. I said I want the first, last and EVERY OTHER PUNCH I could get in.

It’s OK. I’m about to force him to take it all on. Although something tells me that poor marketer whom he has designated as his editorial slave will suffer the most.

Good thing I’ve been training her well. That’s all I gotta say about that … today, anyway …

“I’m fed up, I’m on the road
I’m doing shows, I ain’t going home
On I-40, in the fast lane
Tryna get away from all the wrong

It’s catching up, I’m driving faster
It ain’t getting the best of me
Only reason I made it this far is I have the recipe

I know what I’m doin, 10 years and I’m only venting a little bit

If shit really get bad you’ll know cause I’ll fuck around and kill a bitch.”

So imagine my surprise when, after my not-so-stellar interview at the place that assumed I make 250, they emailed.

It took me a day to get brave enough to open it.

I wasn’t surprised that it was a rejection. But, it wasn’t really a rejection. It was more like, “Loved talking with you. We want to keep the door open for when a more-senior position opens in the future.”

!

I wrote back what I hope was a beautiful thank-you. I’d read a funny story that had reminded me of the recruiter, and I shared it. I also said I was aware I didn’t shine as much as I could, but I really appreciated that she gave me every opportunity to try. I said of course, I would be thrilled to hear from them again someday.

They wrote back again (!) to say FWIW, don’t change a single thing about you. That they got the kind of conversation with me that they aren’t getting “amid the sea of ordinary.” And, don’t be surprised when they DO call.

This happened on the same day the company owner gave me a project he should have given my replacement. But I’m just the better choice all-around, was the reason.

So, lots of compliments yesterday. From people I respect very highly.

Nice way to end a week. Happy weekend!