Caterwauling

I got to talking with one of my fellow “Survivors” from the old team. I mentioned how my most-recent (short-lived) boss de-friended me on social media. We laughed for a moment. And he said,

“Doesn’t he realize how happy you were in (previous town/building) with your original, handpicked team? Does he seriously think you had anything to do with what’s happened since? You could be sitting comfy in your chair, with a Starbucks in your backyard, your hair in pigtails and wearing shorts. You didn’t ask for any of this. And you handled it pretty darn well. And guess what, you deserve your promotion!”

I thought that was interesting. Especially given that I have access to some salary information and I have a good guess how much he was making. Hint: A LOT. Meanwhile I was doing the job … for about 40% less … if my estimates are right. And 70% better, IMHO.

In any event, we’ve made more changes and I kind of am back to a smaller version of my handpicked team. So, there’s that.

I’ve also been grousing that one of those people (not one of my picks, though) is getting some special favor for some bizarre reason.

But you know what? That’s fine.

So what if I had to earn all my breaks? So what if I had to get broken in the process? So what if no one, say, threw $30 at me to replace my brand-new groceries they threw out for no reason?

Fuck ’em. I’m still here. My rent is still getting paid at the end of the month. I lived through a damn hurricane and have another Cat-5 storm heading up the same path right as I type this. There are bigger things to worry about than someone else getting a damn perk in this world.

I still miss my old life. But now I can say, I miss the GOOD parts of it. I don’t miss the bad ones anymore. Not as much as I did these past few months, anyway.

But damn I miss my fridge. Which I guess I have to pay to replace. Because again, why should I expect a perk? And that’s probably why I have been so pissed off in the first place.

I hate people who brag about their good deeds.

But since I’ve been ranting about my most-recent ex-boss de–friending me for no reason, arguably at the worst time to piss off someone so connected in the field he wants to work in, I have an update.

Through the power of the same social network, I learned he’s applying someplace else. And not getting much in the way of positive references. Other than, “Nice guy but not sure what, if anything, he did there.”

So I actually did have something nice to say. Beyond the, “Nice guy, but not real sure what he did here.”

He’s a good writer. Specifically, he was very able to channel the voice of the company owner. I knew the services weren’t being written by the owner, because he’s already working 100 hours a week on other things.

But even my trained eye would often wonder, “Wait, that HAS to be the owner! No? Wow, that ghost is good.”

And I said as much, to the person asking.

In any event, if this guy gets this gig, I won’t expect a thank-you. My contribution is unconditionally anonymous.

But seriously. This is a lesson in don’t piss off someone who can really help you.

I didn’t *have* to be nice. But it does my heart good to know that I did the right thing.

On last night’s “Real Time,” Salman Rushdie reminded Bill Maher of his quote about how liberal purists need to learn “the difference between an imperfect friend and a deadly enemy.”

It was in reference to the dumbfuck Bernie voters who couldn’t stomach Hillary, or the indifferent who didn’t bother voting at all, for sticking us with that shit for brains who’s in the White House now. His comment was specific to the first 100 days of hell, and I can extend it to the embarrassing three visits the slob-in-chief and the First Slutty made to my state. Go the fuck away, to hell from which you were sent.

In any event, why yes, when recently asked what I’m looking for in a significant other, my first and only response was: “VOTED FOR HILLARY.”

Not “would have voted” or “considered voting” for her. Actually pulled the fucking lever to save our nation from impending doom, war with North Korea, trade war with our very good neighbor Mexico, and cultural wars that would make 1940s segregated America proud.

Speaking of which, Hillary’s new book is in my mailbox. Must run downstairs when I hit “publish” …

So much good loot! Postcards from Dave, stickers from Etsy and healing words from the popular vote winner.

Where was I? Oh yeah. Wars on my own front.

I was lamenting to a friend that the same person who ratted me out for wearing shorts (that got me kicked out of work) was eye-rolling at me ABOUT the person who kicked me out … and they were eye-rolling ABOUT my deportation.

Honey, if you think I am going to say something bad about THAT person (although, yes, I do have many feelings on that front), you’re dumber than you think I am. In fact, I said it’s OK and it taught me to figure out what DOES work, and to stick to it religiously.

Same with someone who is withholding the one thing from me that I want in this stupid world. Begging doesn’t work. Shaming doesn’t work. Ignoring the issue doesn’t work. Offering cash doesn’t work. But again, I’m sure folks are going for the reaction from me.

But to Salman’s, and originally Bill’s, point, these aren’t deadly enemies. That’s Trump. It’s not Hillary (to the Bernie bots and dumb fuck Trump voters). Hillary and the people I talked about today are imperfect friends.

Hillary would have been a survivable event to the Bernie bots and Trump voters. Trump is NOT a survivable event. My “friends” are a survivable event.

And so, as with the absolute disgrace this country has become, in my life too I am just grateful it isn’t scorched earth. Funny how you come to accept in life that a low bar is still a bar.

And for someone who barely drinks anymore, it’s not that hard to just ignore the bars for the most part because they really don’t affect your life either way, anyway.

I wasn’t responsible for someone at my company getting let go. Or for getting their job.

Maybe they were forced to hire me. I don’t know. What I do know is they faded while I shined. That was beyond my control.

In any event, I genuinely like this person and want the best for them. So when I heard they are looking for freelance, I put a really good freelance job opportunity on my social media wall.

It was meant for this person to see. And I didn’t tag them or contact them directly. Just trying to be nice from afar.

And here’s how that worked out for me …

The person viewed my profile (again) … and unfriended me.

I mean, whatever. But I generally stay connected to folks just in case.

You know, just in case they can lead you to another job.

Just when I think I can’t be surprised anymore, the universe always says “challenge accepted.”

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.

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

The irony is almost delicious.

The same group of people who made my life hell after my job/department/business we were building fell apart …

Are now watching the business THEY were building together crumble …

Because one of the people who championed our demise is leaving

OK, that particular irony isn't so sweet.

But this is …

Collective "They" never understood why I was so sad. They thought this was so much better. Now they are starting to see what it's like when a key player quits and good people get cast aside.

Fucking hurts.

I've been gracious. Sharing my expertise and experiences. Giving them the consolation that it took me three months to find on my own.

I actually do like these people. And I think they realize things have to break to be fixed. And that given the opportunity to fix it or let it implode, well, get ready to live with a lot of uncertainty.

I just hope they get how differently I treated them when it was their world falling apart than they did when it was mine.

Because, my world is imploding again too …

I am my own favorite editor.

Seriously.

I said that to one of my boys today after I edited and broadcast five alerts in the space of 50 minutes. (When everyone else was at lunch, of course. I didn’t get any today. But that’s OK. Am fat.)

I like my editing style. I know my subject matter. I’m better at both than most. And to not have Big Brother sending random IMs that have to be followed up with conversations and/or emails, even better.

Seriously. One-man band. Missed it. Bigly.

Now to be fair, I have one sidekick right now who I do actually like. (Another is traveling. Like that one too.) Excellent editor. Super researcher. Kind of a noodge because of said secluded IM/email/meeting person having seven thousand exceptions to half-assed rules that never should have existed in the first place.

(No exceptions to “Goddess can eat at the same time as everyone else.” Of course, maybe Goddess COULD eat for reasons best left complained about only to her momma. But folks who never miss a meal shouldn’t mess with anyone else’s.)

In any event, the one project I didn’t get to on time just fucking kicked my ass. My helper gave it a great start. And I beat the shit out of it in the end. Could have been better. But, garbage in/garbage out.

And it’s not like I wasn’t doing 799 other things while it sat here waiting. Not like there weren’t four frillion emails/IMs/visits in the midst of it. Or more-urgent things than that flaming pile of flammable things.

In any event, the end is in sight. So is food. Hooray.

I like being busy. Because I like getting paid and using my brain.

But I really worry about layoffs and I wonder, who would do so much in so little time with such high quality?

And does anyone even know that or, now that I have to share credit with the barely credible and the incredible, do they know where the load really falls?

I am grateful for my boys who not only make it worthwhile, but I think they may even wait to make sure they get me as their Goddess. So I ain’t mad at the lunch rush. I take it as a compliment that they know the Goddess’s schedule so well.

I’d just give anything for something to gnaw on to help me come down from my “rush” rush.

My second frog returned to propose again with a bigger ring.

Admittedly, I had said another carat and I’m yours.

I knew he’d never go for it.

But he did go a half-carat higher.

Well, a half-carat higher … accompanied by a request for daily BJs.

I mean, I guess I figured there’d be an extra string attached, sure. But I also thought I was worth some more sparkle.

And let’s be honest. It was never about the sparkle.