Got a call from a person looking to hire a former employee.
I bet it killed them to have to list me as a contact.
I referred the call to someone else to handle. I said my hope is that this person finally finds a terrific fit.
I mean it. And I hope others who maybe have their own set of frustrations with me would do the same thing. After all, we know those people had their own challenges with us.
A friend who has voiced her disappointment regularly over not having a man posted that she’s in a relationship.
No details and no sign of anyone special in the hallowed halls of Facebook. Unless it isn’t a man. Could be Jesus. Happy for her any which way, truly.
I just hope she didn’t fall for the same bullshit from the same someone who pestered the fuck out of me till I caved.
There’s a commercial for a candy bar, where a punk-rock girl tattoos “No Regerts” on a dopey biker dude’s arm.
It makes me cringe because there are two misspellings on my calendar that drive me crazy. Also, I’m an editor.
At least, I think I’m an editor. I really don’t know how to identify lately. Female, feminist, Republican (at least, I am voting for the Republican in this election — for Democrat Hillary Clinton), daughter, kitty momma, blogger, wine drinker, coffee connoisseur, sun worshiper and goddess.
Note there’s no writer or editor or expert or investing legend in there. I’ve gotten away from those sorts of things in an effort to manage my time better. Way to go, giving up what defines you so you can learn OPP (other people’s processes) instead.
Anyway. Regerts.
*cringe*
I wish I had never just walked out on the job that March morning six years ago.
There, I said it.
I was upset about a lot of things, yes. And I also had a job waiting. So there’s that.
But …
I wish I hadn’t wasted the moment. On people who I thought at the time either deserved it or wouldn’t care either way.
I’m not saying I wish I could do it now. But what I am saying is that I wish I hadn’t burned that bridge, and not for the reason I did it.
I did it in solidarity with another employee (a bunch, actually, but one in particular) who would go on to screw ME over big-time. Like the bitch didn’t learn how it felt to be utterly shafted by people you trusted.
I lost friendships when I picked my allegiance. I lost connections, too, some of whom have actually gone on to do better things — even the people I hoped to never run into again.
Anyway. When I maybe perhaps just briefly for a moment imagine saying exactly what’s on my mind at the exact moment I think it, I reflect. And feel more than just a little regret.
Did I owe them more? Maybe. Did I owe myself — my reputation, my integrity, my ability to hold my head high and not avert my gaze when I see these people on the street — more? Absolutely.
Because nobody would accept it if I said I were simply eating a Milky Way. I shoulda had a Snickers bar … or a damn V-8 … instead.
Relevant to my interests today.
The more I read, the madder I get.
I see so many friends sharing stories of sexism.
It occurs to me that, personally, I’ve forgotten more than I remember.
I know there are some repressed details I don’t want to deal with again. (If at all. Selective memory, people.)
I mean, I have enough clear and present memories of suffering fools. My little lady brain can only hold so much.
I tell you, though. One of these days I’m either going to pat someone lovingly with a shovel for hitting one of my triggers … or else I’m going to do something useful and spectacular and change the world.
Given how many triggers I try with all my might to ignore, I’d be bullish on shovels. I like Home Depot over Lowe’s, if you needed the stock pick.
My vacation week is going well, if you define vacation week as “being at work every single day.”
I wrote a whole post that I haven’t yet published on unexceptional assholes.
Then I remembered I had this saved, and it says it all for me.
It took me going out with a really good guy to realize how much I’ve been forced to put up with.
Mr. Trump, I love your opponent. But now my vote is just as much against entitled assholes as it is for strong, capable women who have put up with the likes of you for too long.
Number of Arnold Horshack-sounding belly laughs out of me today: 1
Number of random crying jags: 2
Number of times someone said, “Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation this week?”: 3
Number of articles left to edit at 4 p.m.: 4
Here’s to not hearing another Trumpish cocaine stiff for the balance of the day. I have a big fight to go have with a neighbor later, so I’m saving my rage for that.
Hurricane Matthew was thankfully a non-event here. Which was shocking, really …
The TV network coverage has been nonstop. The governor took every opportunity to tell us we would die if we didn’t evacuate.
It’s clear and cool and almost even sunny today. Daytona wasn’t so fortunate.
Matthew is set to make a U-turn after it visits the Carolinas. He might even clash with Nicole out at sea.
The weekend forecast is lovely here in the Palm Beaches. But next week is thunderstorm central.
I wish we were off next week too, but I’m happy the top management at my work was kind/wise to let us have these days to prepare, to deal with our fear and to be with our families.
I love the top guys (and the middle guy who was kind and helpful to me) that much more today, as I am utterly exhausted from worry.
And a wee bit hungover too…
I wore one of my favorite outfits, drank my best beer and cracked open a really good bottle of wine to pass the time.
Now what to do with all the snacks I didn’t manage to devour before the hurricane? (And I demolished a fair amount.)
Open a Wawa, I guess. Or polish off the ice cream, quinoa tortilla chips and pumpkin salsa for breakfast.
Yes, that’ll do, pig. That’ll do.
Thank you, God and many northern friends who prayed for us, for this gloriously calm day.
What does that mean, exactly? There’s a Category 4 — possibly 5 — arriving in three hours. You’d think there was something more appropriate to say or hear.
It’s like when you someone dies (only not among my friends, who will just ignore you), you say “I’m sorry.” Sorry for what? How does that improve matters?
It doesn’t. I know that. It’s just something you say, hopefully with the intent of making someone feel less alone.
It’s a lonely life. It really is. My governor is all over TV, saying that Hurricane Matthew is a “bonding time.” So check on your neighbors and get through this together.
Of course, this is also the guy saying people are gonna die and his family is safe. Reminds me of someone.
In any event, I took a walk today. Tried to speak to everyone. Not one person said hello back. Well except for the ducks. I had food and they were thrilled.
I often carry on rhetorical conversations with these assholes. After I say hi and they ignore me, I fill in for them.
Loudly.
“Hi!” *silence*
“I’m great thanks. How are you?”
“Good, good! You all ready for this storm?”
“Well let me know if you need anything. Stay safe and enjoy your day.”
“Fucker.”
Yeah. That comes out too.
I don’t want to wish that every one of these deplorables gets washed off the coastline.
But my friend’s husband got the call that FEMA is sending him here to rescue us, and I asked if I can pick and choose who gets saved first.
Because if these fuckers can’t fvdn say hi, what makes anyone think they’d say thank you for keeping them safe?