Riding the Wave

So here I am on day 3 of being a temporary SAHW...certainly doesn't have the same appeal as a SAHM, as far as the acronym goes. I've kept myself busy by doing what housewives do, I suppose, by taking care of the house. Edgar incidentally is getting his haircut, so I'm a bit lonely today (which is so stupid, I realize.)

First, I've been trying to organize the chaos that comes with water damage. You see, we had to replace our water heater. After a nice flood and an expired warranty from 2001, it was time to bring in the Power Miser 9 a la Sears. My first call into the Sears call center was with an ESL lady by the name of Daisy. She was very polite and sweet, but finally I just had to tell her it was my fault and to please connect me with someone else. Here I am, the supposedly culturally sensitive social worker, and I couldn't understand what she was saying. After being on hold for another 10 minutes I just called back and explained to the next call center representative what had happened. He then told me that he knew who I was talking about and I was the third caller that night with the same problem. Ok, so now I felt terrible! Daisy was very sweet and called me back because we were disconnected and wanted to make sure I got everything taken care of. Yup, I felt lower than slime at that point. But, we did get our new water heater installed the next day.

The water heater was just one problem in the line of many. Our master bathroom toilet has been leaking as well. Getting out my Home Depot, DIY 1-2-3 book, J and I diagnosed it as a wax seal issue. This is something I knew I couldn't handle with a bad back nor did my husband have the time to fix it, so we called in more plumbers. They also fixed some broken stems on our master bathroom sink. Can't wait to see this bill. But see, now we have flooded carpets in two rooms.

J and I ventured to Home Depot to see about getting either a wet/dry vac or a heavy duty blower thingy for the carpet, especially since we live in mold/mildew central. When we talked to the rental guy he advised us it would be cheaper if we just bought our own blower vs. renting it. This completely overwhelmed J so as we sat in the patio furniture display I could see by his blank stare that we were not moving forward with a solution anytime soon. I called Mom to see what her recommendations were: hire a carpet cleaner. We did this months earlier, who by the way did nothing noticeable and I felt we were ripped off.

The other morning J disappeared into the back bedroom where the water heater resided in the closet with surgical material. I just kind of blew it off and went back to doing my own thing. I did ask what he was doing and he said he was suturing the carpet. This actually didn't seem odd to me. J practices his suturing on Edgar's torn up stuffed animals. However, why we have left over cat gut suture, hemostats, alligator needles, and other hospital things in our house is beyond me. I typically put all of the random medical supplies that travel home in his pockets into a drawer. We have quite the impressive assortment of tongue depressors, alcohol pads and gloves, just in case anyone was wondering. 30 minutes later he came out and got Edgar's leash. As the dog bounced around thinking he was going on a walk, I became more baffled.

"I fixed the problem." J announced proudly. "Now we have more circulation under the carpet to dry it out."

Well, all I can say is I wouldn't have thought of this on my own or in my DIY 1,2,3 book. While he sutured the carpet edge, he then attached the dog leash to the suturing and the closet rod. The photos speak for themselves.

Take This Job and Shove It

For the longest time, various men in my life (my husband included), have tried to convince me that "Office Space" is a really really good movie. I have never been able to sit through the whole thing as it creates such a visceral response in me. It touches a nerve that just resonates on that feeling of being trapped and really feeling like you haven't contributed anything in life. That to me, is ultimate failure. So around the part where characters being to ask if, umm, yeah, did you see the memo? I begin to feel my skin crawl.

For three weeks of May I was out on Vicodin, Skelaxin, spinal injections, and physical therapy. I don't do work when I'm on narcotics, so it yielded a lot of self-reflection. On Memorial Day weekend someone asked me if I was missing work and I inadvertently replied by unintentionally quoting a movie line from "Office Space." "I wouldn't say I was exactly missing work." J got a grin from ear to ear and knew the time was ripe for yet another go around of me watching the movie. Last weekend I finally sat through "Office Space" and actually enjoyed it.

The last week of May was a pivoting point. By Thursday I finally worked my way into my bosses schedules for a catch up meeting. One would have thought they would have prioritized me into their schedules, but whatever. My contempt for them could no longer hide and after a very convoluted conversation I finally said, "I can't do this anymore. I just don't think I'm a good fit." It seems like a very P.C. thing to say until I went on to tell them what exactly I dislike about my job, specifically their (lack of) leadership. I finally listed my strengths, what I thought I could contribute to the organization and said if they could find a fit for me we can move forward otherwise I think we should part ways. Man it felt empowering to say all of this out loud!

However, I dreaded coming back and telling my husband. He actually took it really well. His eye brow raised and his eyes looked really big for a second while I re-enacted the life changing line, but he then returned to normal and said, "Well, it seems like you committed political suicide, but then again you are a lot more successful than I am in the business realm, this is how you would react authentically, you hate this job, and life is too short for you to be unhappy." I couldn't believe how supportive this man is! Everything he did or said just reconfirmed exactly why we are together.

The following Tuesday I was scheduled for a meeting with my bosses and they offered to create another position for me that really didn't exist with a dock in pay, time limited to 4-6 months, and with the understanding that they would "spin this." Essentially, they were buying my silence. Oh, and they needed an answer RIGHT NOW. I told them I would get back to them tomorrow after speaking with my husband. After talking with another colleague in the field he pointed out that I was the organizational darling, all other existing leadership were being compared to me on a weekly basis (hence, why I really never was accepted as a peer), and if I just left it would point to an inadequacy on their part. Could I stay and keep my integrity? After waking up my post-call husband with the urgency that we needed to talk, we both came to the same conclusion: Not on your life.

I walked in the next day and told my coordinators team that I was resigning. A couple cried, most looked shocked. I explained the whole situation and why I had come to that conclusion. I then quickly typed up my letter of resignation and went down to administration. It was the calmest I had felt during my tenure. One boss wouldn't speak to me, the other was angry and in not so many words threatened me with a bad reference. They were betting on me taking the deal. I then met with the CEO to tell her exactly why I was leaving. She was just truly baffled even by my line that "it wasn't a good fit." She said that they took a big risk hiring me, I had a huge future there, and with all of the incredible work I was doing, she could only see it as a failure on their part. She wanted me to walk her through from the interview process to now as to what happened. I finally leveled with her that the only reason I was leaving was because of the "Dick and Jane Show," which is what all of the leadership call our bosses on admin. These two are a histrionic gay man in recovery and active alcoholic woman, co-dependent couple who are so unhealthy, its killing the organization. I cited specific examples where I had to clarify what their jobs were because they didn't know (literally), the waste of time our bi-weekly 6 hour meetings were, and how unsafe my peers felt because of their personal ethics. I always questioned what was being said behind my back. I acknowledged that I knew she believed in their efforts and I was smart enough to know when to move mountains and when to go around them. In the end, I chose to leave. She finally nodded and said she understood. She also said that I could count on her for a reference and to please give any employer her direct line.

The next day I spend all of my time informing my teams of the change. The reactions were varied, as expected. After all, a 60% approval rate in politics is unheard of and considered a HUGE success. I had a couple cry, one guy threw his pen and walked out after telling me I was the best thing that had happened and now I was leaving, and a few smiled. After telling people in the leadership team of my decision, I was literally dismissed by Dick. He also said that although 30 days is customary, it was not necessary and the sooner I was out the better. Oohkay.

I came back to my office to have my phone ringing off the hook as well as boxes mysteriously appearing on my floor. Colleagues from the community were calling me asking me what the hell happened. How did they know? Oh, Dick sent out an email that morning explaining I was no longer employed to the community, with the implication that I was fired. I was not cc'd. My trusted friend forwarded it to me and then promptly asked for my resume. I decided to ignore Dick's email and send out my own resignation letter with the official line of me deciding it was "not a good fit" and with grace wishing the organization the best. No way was I burning any potential bridges. However, war was declared between Dick and me.

I knew he was going to send out an email announcing my departure to the organization, but after what he did, I beat him to the punch. He was PISSED and sent me an email asking what the hell was I thinking, also cc'd to the CEO. I forwarded his original email sent to the community telling him I was disturbed and disappointed in his decision to go against our planned communication of telling staff before everyone else. I also said it implied I was fired but I thought I had done good work for them and while politically they didn't owe me anything, it would have been a nice personal and professional courtesy for us to have worded something together. I also cc'd the CEO. I haven't heard anything from him since. Uh huh, don't fuck with me, bitch.

My last day is tomorrow. In the meantime I've had one job interview (potential solid offer) for part time consulting, another phone call on a resume, and three requests from the community for my resume. I can't wait to get rid of this negative energy. I feel lighter, happier, and so much better. Harking back to the movie, while I did not take a fax machine out to a field and smash it with a baseball bat, I did feel extremely rewarded for throwing away my "I'm proud to be an employee" travel mug.

Things I Have Learned in the Past Three Weeks...

1) If you pass out in the doctors office you win a trip to the ER in an ambulance, but if you only have a near-fainting spell you win a heart monitor to wear for 2 weeks, an EKG, blood work, and a whole lot of stupid drama.

2) Listening to my husband sing "Walk this Way" with the wrong lyrics is hilarious. "Hey little little with your tittie in the needle..." I had to explain what the right lyrics were and what exactly it was alluding to sexually. His reply, "Thank God! A tittie in the needle just sounds painful!" He's been singing the song this way OUT LOUD since it came out and we were in junior high.

3) Despite the common knowledge that Scotties cannot swim because they are essentially a block with a mailbox for a head and will sink, Edgar has proved that he indeed CAN swim and loves to now venture to the lake. He still has not mastered retrieving the ball however as he sucks in water through his nose as he tries to bob for the ball wondering why he can't get it.
His exceptionally long tail serves as a rudder when wagging and can cause him to go off course.

4) There is a longer medical venture than the 4 years of residency of Med/Peds. My spine pain doc did an intern year in internal medicine, 3 years in anesthesiology, decided he really wanted to do critical care which earned him another 3 year fellowship and then settled into another fellowship of pain management. After learning he wasn't a quack, just highly confused as to what he wanted to be when he grew up, I felt much more confident about him doing a spinal nerve block scheduled for tomorrow.

5) Odd that my life lesson is to figure out how to do nothing and releasing control. Bed rest is my nemesis although I can safely say that I would prefer it to my job on several levels which is frightening as I've never really felt that way before. However, what I wouldn't give to be able to clean!

6) "Family home evening" takes on a new meaning when the excitement is your husband going through your MRI scans at home on the computer and exclaiming, "Honey, there's your poop!"
And, "Boy, you sure did have a full bladder when they did this scan!"

Get Scammed!

A couple of weeks ago my company announced it would be sending all of my peers to a motivational seminar. Apparently it was advertised in the newspaper and several of my staff commented that they were jealous as there were several speakers including Peyton Manning and Tony D-whatever-the-coach's-name-is. Honestly, outside of those two I only recognized a couple other names: Steve Forbes and Colin Powell. The seminar was being held at the RCA Dome, so that told me they were expecting a crowd. I figured it was one day away from the office and the worst thing that could come of it was a blog entry. I should have adjusted my expectations.

Getting downtown was a nightmare. They wouldn't let me in without giving them some of my personal information. "Door prizes," is what they said. I believe that this translated into spam email. I gave them my business card. The ticket said to arrive early to get your registration packet. It was a magazine with the owners on the cover touching the Superbowl trophy and it cost $20. 00. I passed it up thinking if there were gems of wisdom I'd write them on my leg. When I found my group, my administrative director handed me a copy of the magazine that she bought for me. As I flipped through it had really basic articles on glossy paper filled with basic concepts like, "visualize your success," "manifest your dream," or my favorite, "set goals." Yup, that's $20 right there.

I came in late and caught the middle of Steve Forbes. There were jumbotrons of him everywhere. Here was this white upper class male saying things like we need to drive a stake into the heart of being overtaxed, and isn't it great to live in America where we can live the American dream, etc, etc, etc.. I began to wonder if I was at the Republican National Congress.

The next guy was someone I hadn't heard of, but apparently he is a TV evangelical preacher and is syndicated even here in Indy every Sunday. He again mentioned how great America was, but then drove it home by saying God created such a great America. He told stories of people selling Bibles and kept praising Jesus, but also then would mention several people told him that he alone saved their life by preaching. I was expecting people to start passing out and speaking in tongues. The closest thing I got was a loud "Amen!" and a lot of hands raising up to the Lord!

Could it get worse? Oh, yes, it could. After being financially raped for a $6.00 20 oz Coke, the show started up again. A lady looking much like Tammy Faye Baker complete with bad hair, too much make-up, and a wireless headset mike came on to welcome us back. She introduced a group called "Quick Change" who apparently were on America's Got Talent. Given the three ring circus appeal, I was holding out for the clowns in the small car to come whizzing up and down the aisles. Oh, and did I mention the pyrotechnics? Every speaker was announced on stage complete with stage fireworks and flashing colored lights. Flashy!

Our next speaker was some financial guy who was going to teach us about the stock market in just three easy steps. Now, anytime I hear, "three easy steps," and "wouldn't you like to be a millionaire?" I get a little skeptical. I sat through a live infomercial essentially. Don't mind that all of his stats were from 2000 (before the stock market crashed, and a little out of date), or the fact that he again mentioned how great America and the American Dream is (praise Jesus), or the fact that he said that his motto was to never lose money. Hell, even Warren Buffet lost money. He only shared testimonials of those who were successful. But wait! There's more! You too can become successful! For only a small price he was going to let you in on a secret deal and give joe schmo become successful too. What is an $11K value, he would give to people for only $1495! It was a bargain! All you had to do was give your credit card to one of the 100 representatives waving a flashing light and they would give you a tool kit for free. If you like it then they would imprint the card within 24 hours for the total and success could be yours!!! Oh Hell No. But then I realized all of this was sounding very very familiar. Including the part that wealth is powerful, but the knowledge you could pass onto your kids is invaluable. One of my relatives actually bought this system. They were gullible enough to give the $1500 only to then realize that to get to the next level of "training" it would cost another X-thousands of dollars. But hey, success could/would be yours! (As they laugh all the way to the bank with your money.) Here's the deal: if he's so successful, why in the world would he be passing along his secret to you and would he really even need to be out doing these sales pitches? Why? Because, fools that buy his "system" are making HIS American Dream come true. Oh. My. God.

By the break, I was done. I can't keep my mouth shut by now. I'm on my own soapbox in front of my peers about how can anyone be so stupid. One of them raised her hand and said that she bought the system last year, but it was only $1000 then. And of course, she never used it, "because it was too complicated." She felt good that she got it for $500 less than what the going rate was this year. I just couldn't believe she went to this thing two years in a row! I began to long for my emails and piles of spreadsheets on my desk. Anything was better than this. I would have rather been a budding phelbotimist's guinea pig with multiple needle stabs than sit through this.

The last speaker for the morning was preceded by a former singer of Santana singing made up lyrics about motivation to songs like "This Land is Your Land" and doing the running man. Are you freaking kidding me? It reminded me of the Simpson's episode where Bart is recruited to be in a boy band and their catch phrase is, "Nioj eht yvan," concerts on a aircraft carrier, and everyone is joining the Navy. El Dummo. There is nothing subliminal about this. Again, more pyrotechnics and Tammy-wanna-be came back on to announce the greatest man she knew, her husband and co-founder of the Get Motivated! seminars. I was officially done. This guy looked like an effeminate Ronald McDonald who needed thyroid meds as his eyes were bugging out of his head. I began to walk out. In front of my peers. They followed suit. In the food court lunch line, one of my fellow attendees said, "Well they may be married, but they certainly have never had sex."

I didn't go back to the RCA Dome. I couldn't have if I still wanted to have integrity. Sure they may have had an alum list of speakers that would knock your socks off, however I know for a fact that Maya Angelou's price for 1 hour of speaking was $10K back in 1998. These guys were getting paid huge bucks to pitch their products all in the name of a moral hook involving God, family, and America.

Get Motivated! Nope, more like Get Scammed!

When I Grow Up...

In grade school, recess was one of my most anxiety producing times. I was always worried that I wouldn't get picked to play with. I was actually one of the most popular girls when I went to private school, and yet, there were times when I would ask, "Do you want to play?" and the huddle of other girls would whisper and then tell me, "No." I have to say that on some of the days I was part of that huddle telling others we didn't want to play with them too. It was a crushing experience. What factors made me play-worthy? Why didn't they like me today but yesterday I was cool? When I switched to public school this really didn't get much better. Now I didn't need to ask if I could play with others; it was just understood that the Mormons played with the Mormons and the non-Mormons played with the other non-Mormons. It didn't matter if it was Tuesday or the moon was full; kids are just plain mean.

As I got older I watched groups sort out into cliques. There were the preppies, the jocks, the nerds, the popular crowd, and the misfits. People were judged by what they liked, who they were with, what they did. Even when I joined a sorority I found that this larger clique had subgroups. Gossip, stealing boyfriends, spreading rumors, and alienating others were common occurances. I skipped my 4th year in the sorority just to avoid the drama. When were people going to grow up? Perhaps never.

Its amazing how the coping skills of fourth grade kick in even when you are middle aged. I had two friends decline to come to my wedding last September because they felt like an afterthought. They had their own huddle and then wrote me mean emails telling me that they wouldn't come because they received their invitation later than others. In all reality, it was the bride and grooms fault for not being more organized and just sending them out as they were getting addresses vs. in one lump. However, the email alone ended with a line about how now I could invite someone more popular because they wouldn't be coming. Its been 7 months and I'm still hurt. Of course other friends told me that I wouldn't want friends like that anyway. Somehow, it doesn't make it sting less.

When I was in the first grade, my class put on a production of "The Wizard of Oz." Every little girl wanted to be Dorothy. The head huddle pusher on the playground was cast as the star and I became a munchkin. However, she was my "best friend" so I supported her in the role. I was actually grateful not being cast in the end as she had so many lines and had to be in front of the audience alone. Recently, I had a good friend get a job that I thought perhaps one day I would be in. I actually encouraged her to apply. She got it and although it stung just a little bit, I know that she really will do an exceptional job in that role. My job as a supportive friend is one of the most important roles I can play. What would have been worse is for me to have told her to not take the chance because I was selfish. Its like having your best friend in high school tell you to not try out for cheerleader because you aren't pretty enough or your round-off isn't as good as it should be and then they secretly sneak in their name into the ballot. That is crushing and not at all what a friend does.

Recently my father had a round of hang-ups/redials with a sibling. My father is 55. Honestly, when I heard this I just laughed. Why in the world would two grown, adult, mature men engage in this type of power struggle? They were arguing over time spent with Dad and a guitar. Attention and stuff. Its the same things they probably fought over when they were little. Will my brother and I be doomed to drawing the same invisible lines down the middle of the backseat of the car daring them not to cross it, "or else?"

We may be graduates of high school, but it seems that adults are still not above giving each other wet willies and spreading rumors that so-and-so has cooties. No gives.

The Savior of the Lambs

Recent conversation with my Mom on Easter:

"So, I didn't get the lambs."

"What?" This made no sense to me what-so-ever.

"How long has it been since I talked with you? Well, remember how every year Emigration Market brings in baby lambs at Easter?" She was referring to live lambs opposed to the shanks I was in the middle of preparing. The local neighborhood market sets up a sort of seasonal petting zoo.

"Yes, I remember you were excited about taking the dogs to see them." Its a ritual to take the dogs to see the lambs or at Thanksgiving, the turkeys, just to see how they react. Off hand note: those turkeys are way bigger than Scottie dogs.

"Well, I never got the dogs there. But, JT had 4 baby lambs brought in. The mother wasn't well enough to produce her own milk and I was there when they arrived. I helped bottle feed the runt. Oh he was so cute! He didn't know how to work the nipple and his tongue kept sliding around it, but he finally got the hang of it."

"You fed the lambs?"

"Well, JT needed help. They were all scrawny. I don't know how he was planning on managing all 4 lambs at once since that mother was no help at all. So I offered to take a couple if he needed me. You know, I would just put them in the dog crates, set them up in the kitchen, and sleep on the couch until they said, 'maaawww,' and then I would go feed them." This is something my mother would completely do. When she was little, Mom was known for her odd group of pets including Henry and George the ducks who got imprinted on the vacuum cleaner and would follow it around every time Ginny spruced up the house.

"The kitchen?"

"Well, yeah. I didn't think anything of it, but then one afternoon JT called. He was going out of town and needed me to take two of them for a couple of nights. He already lost the other two the night before, including the runt. He said that he already took them home and bathed them in the bathtub. Boy that mirconium really is sticky stuff." This broke my heart. We always had a soft spot for the runts. My first dog, Henry (perhaps named after the duck), was the runt.

"Well, when I told your father he got very quiet. The tv wasn't on, no computer, nothing. He just sat quietly for about 30 minutes." I began to laugh. He is typically quiet, but there is always something on.

"Finally, he came to me and said I was crazy. But I was thinking that if you were still in your old house, we could have put them in your basement and then I would have slept in the spare bedroom when they said, 'maaww.'" Ok, so this is probably something I would have done too, pre-marriage. I'm still getting used to consulting with another person when I want to do something that seems totally reasonable like take in orphan farm animals for a sleep-over.

"What did Ginny say?"

"Well Ginny said she would take care of them if I could sneek them up to her condo." I could actually see my grandmother with her oxygen and dowagers hump trying to bottle feed the lambs while they ran all over her condo, even though they don't allow animals.

"And what did my brother say?" After all, he might help as he is living with them.

"Well, he didn't say anything, but I'm guessing he thought I was crazy too. So I called JT and told him that my husband couldn't do it. And I guess it was a good idea. After all, we did just get the hardwood floors refinished in the kitchen." I tried to imagine knobby kneed lambs sliding all over the new floors. My father would have had a fit. "JT understood and ended up shipping them back to the ranch early."

My Mother: Attempted Savior of the Lambs.

Easter, Bubba Style

No surprise here, the Easter Bunny came to our house. Well, I should say, the Easter Bubba. Somehow Edgar's nickname has morphed from "Baby Puppy" to "Buppy" and now "Bubba." J and I take much delight out of narrating the dog's life as if he had a voice. For example, if we are taking Edgar on a walk and he begins to skip (and, yes, he does skip), then one of us would exclaim in a deep voice, "I'm a Bubba Dog on a walk. Nose down, tail up!" Or, when he brings you a toy and pushes it against your leg as if to say, "Here, guys, its my fun toy, here, here, here. Take it!" And then we burst into fits of giggling. Yup, we focus a lot of attention on the dog.

This morning, J resurrected himself after working a twelve hour shift and getting home in the wee hours. (Don't mean to be blasphemous, just thought the verb worked well.) To what does his wondrous eyes doth appear? A Easter Basket! Complete with a note from the Easter Bubba. There was fun stuff like cell phone head sets, fun beer from all over the world, an exotic chocolate bar, simple syrup for J's famous mojitos, mini french lemonades, a star fish: and of course racquetballs and an alligator toy for the dog. The Easter Bubba left me some beautiful Stargazer lilies and an add on "Seasons" component to the Sims 2 (this could be a separate post within itself).

I cleaned the house yesterday and put on my spring decorating hat to arrange something festive to welcome/invoke the warmer weather. Invoke is probably the better word as it is only in the mid-thirties today. I clustered similar styles of glassware (always in groupings of 3 or 5), filled them with sand, sea shells, and candles. Just call me Martha.

While I had intended on cooking an elaborate Easter dinner complete with Lamb Shanks and Asparagus for the two of us, J's ER schedule changed and he was back on the 12-midnight shift. Damn. So instead I made smoked salmon scrambled eggs, strawberries and warmed up some pastries from our favorite bakery. This doesn't mean I'm not having the lamb tonight. It will just be Bubba Dog and me.