Caterwauling

When I was told in November that my job was eliminated, I joked that I’d still keep showing up to work — either at the current place or the company that was buying our assets — in hopes that eventually they’d start paying me.

Me and my little red stapler down in Storage Room B.

So it’s only fitting that I moved into a new office on Tuesday. An office that used to be our storage room.

It’s official. Forget being Viola. I am Milton Waddams.

To be fair, the office had already been cleared out a week earlier for the owner. It’s pretty nice, actually. Spacious and with a wall of windows.

He decided I should have it.

Yesterday he came looking for me. He was so pleased to see me in there. Said he loved how I arranged it. Said I deserved it.

He also thanked me for a project I rushed through earlier in the day. I said no problem; you made it easy. He said, well, you make everything easy.

It was a nice moment. And in that moment, I was happy I decided to stay.

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.

“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.

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!

Instead of bitching about the lying sack of shit who bugged my office and still thinks I’ll jump upon request and that I am keeping folks from worshiping him after he treated THEM like garbage, too …

I’ll type about something that made me cry in a GOOD way today.

“When I was a child, it was up to me to feed our family because my father couldn’t work. I had a job at a motorcycle repair shop. Everyone would sit at home and wait for me to make money. Once we almost ran out of food. We didn’t have a single rupee and there was nothing to eat. I could handle it, but I couldn’t bear the thought of my baby sister going to sleep hungry. I sat at my shop all day, praying for a customer. But nobody came. Then just as night was falling, a man drove up with a puncture in his tire. The price of the repair was three rupees. But when I was finished, the man handed me twenty rupees and drove away. I was able to buy two kilograms of rice. My entire life turned around that day. My shop became very busy. We were never hungry again. Even today I think about that man. I never saw his face. He changed not just my life, but the lives of my entire family. I wonder who he was. Sometimes I think it was God himself.” (Mumbai, India)

A post shared by Humans of New York (@humansofny) on Jan 10, 2018 at 10:51am PSTMy favorite comment is that “We all get to meet God at some point. We just don’t know it.” For the story writer, it was the customer whose generosity changed his fortune.

I think we all get to meet Satan at some point. (See “bugged office.” Also see, “that’s why everyone but me was allowed to work from home so he could whack off to the sound of my silence.”)

But I do think God is one of us. Just a slob like one of us. Just a stranger on the bus. Hey that might make for a great song!

This one hit me hard because that’s me — I take care of the family.

I always knew I’d be the one to do that. I knew I had to get a good education and a good job because the buck would stop here sooner rather than later.

That’s why I get so enraged about certain stuff. I’ll be fine. You don’t get to damage me beyond the shorter term. But anything that messes with my personal economy and my FAMILY, it’s on like Donkey Kong.

But I say all of this to say I think I saw God yesterday. Details forthcoming. But I am looking very forward to being able to say that life has some good surprises in store, and not just for those who don’t deserve them.

“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.

“Now the parking lot is empty
Everyone’s gone someplace
I pick you up and in the trunk I’ve packed
A cooler and a 2-day suitcase
Cause there’s a place we like to drive
Way out in the country
Five miles out of the city limit we’re singing
And your hand’s upon my knee.”

— Indigo Girls, “Power of Two”

So I had moment in the car last night, between stops to get a cheeseburger for the cat at one place, and chicken for the hoomins at another.

NPR was on the radio, and my hand fell from the gearshift to the passenger side.

I had a strong memory of someone I knew a long time ago. Almost felt like he was there at that moment.

It passed quickly. As feeling calm often does.

Made me think about how I say my lucky number is three. But maybe it’s two.

After all, I’ve had two jobs I’ve loved … two apartments I’ve loved … and two men I’ve, well, gotten all warm and fuzzy about.

Wonder if the third would be the charm or if I should just quit while I’m ahead.

“I don’t need to talk about the world, all right?
I just want to sleep with a smile tonight.”

— Portugal, “Smile”

Got a good sleep, for a change. Maybe it was recovery from the 2.5 hours I got Friday and the maybe-three I got Thursday night. Maybe it was having a good Saturday too.

Today I updated my resume. The latest version hasn’t done shit for me. Maybe this one will help me find my next home faster.

A good friend from an old job reminded me that I don’t have to believe in me. Enough of them are doing that on my behalf, and I’ll be fine because of it.

Bless her. She was always a treasure. I imagine she had to have heard about this godawful situation somehow, because I haven’t been reaching out to the people I need most, lest the person who drove us into the Titanic gets into another of his screaming fits that someone else heard about the iceberg somehow.

She knew what I needed to hear, when I heard it. Because I didn’t know and God my heart swells with joy now that I do.

I wonder if I’m going to live through this after all …

One of my favorite movies from my younger years, “Sweet November,” was on HBO last night.

It’s still hard to watch Keanu Reeves. He’s too jerky to be believable as the leading man/love interest. But like Trump, he has a job and I don’t. Which makes me loathe them more.

But it was one of those things I needed to see when I saw it. A dying girl who takes life one month at a time. He was her November. And she walked away in December, leaving him with a broken heart and beautiful memories.

It made me think back to all my Novembers. The best was six years ago when I landed the job that’s now ending. After 11 months of barely getting by with freelance work, I knew this wasn’t a dream job. But it sure saved my life. And I gave till it hurts in return to show my gratitude.

The worst November was when we lost my grandfather. Thanksgiving 2006. It was one thing if old age got him. But the VA killed him and there’s nothing we could do about it.

The second-worst November was the first time I was jobless. 2004, I think. I couldn’t afford the gas to go to Pittsburgh to see my family. Seriously mapped out ways kill myself. My Calico kitty saved me just by refusing to leave my side.

Third-worst November is clearly when assclown tRumpy somehow was elected by the Russians and 74,000 stupid fucking Americans last year. I might even say that was the worst November ever because it fucking ruined the country and not just my year. Lost a lot of friends over it. Losing tax breaks and a whole lot of other shit. Losing my shit still. And that fucker is at his gaudy beach estate down the street so I’ve also lost the ability to drive around town. Fuck him. Die. Just die.

Then there’s this November. Which should hands-down win “worst November ever.” I mean, your landlord tells you to move out … you lose your job because you work for people who can’t manage a company or hire competent help … your car shits the bed in the middle of one of America’s busiest freeways … you pick up a virus you just cannot shake … your cat’s sick and your mom’s sicker … and yet the orange fuckface up the street, no matter how much he taunts North Korea, still can’t get them to drop a nuke and end it all.

But … it’s not the worst.

Apparently my decision to believe in Santa isn’t the funniest thing ever.

• My landlord said, look. Get your life together. Find your next job. I’ll worry about selling the condo next year. Breathe. Oh and hey, I may know someone who’s hiring.

• My tow-truck driver saved my life. SAVED. MY. LIFE. My mechanic took quick and excellent care of me. And I have a no-limit credit card so I can deal with the money part later.

• My company owner said please stay till year-end.

• And I wouldn’t say I have a job prospect by any means. But I met a really cool dude who knows people. Who knows people who like me. Maybe there’s a love connection, maybe there isn’t. But there is the hope.

Look. Things ain’t perfect. Or anywhere close. But compared to electing Trump, losing my grandfather and sharpening a knife I wasn’t using because I couldn’t afford food, this November is almost sweet here too.