Summer of Peace

So last year, I had what first appeared to be the worst job in the history of Silicon Valley. I had an asshole Aussie, chauvinistic boss trying to push me out of my organization for having a brain in my head and using my intelligence to "question" his direction of our department. Long story short: He was an asshole.

He cleverly included me in the group of people who were being outsourced to India and I was notified in December that my job was "going away" in June of this year. I was devastated. I spent months trying to justify this rationale...Trying to understand who in upper-management had left me on the chopping block. I spent years dedicating myself to this amazing company, drinking the corporate koolaide and for what? For a six month severance and unemployment? For six months of paid time off with the opportunity to find a better space after a summer with my daughter? Time off to spend any way I so desire? Wow, who cursed me with such a shitty deal? Who can I hug and pat on the back for setting me free?

I passed the time to June and left this monster company with barely a peep. (Okay, there was that can of whoop-ass that had to be opened when they tried to screw me on the severance, but aside from that, I went quietly.) And then I woke up each morning and did things that I probably have never done mid-week (except for major holidays). I made breakfast, took long showers, packed lunch for a day trip to the park or the beach. I called old friends. I learned to mountain bike. I cleaned my apartment and moved the sentimental clutter to a storage unit. And slowly, I began to breathe again. I noticed the little things, like the smell of the air in the morning and I tasted the Starbucks latte that I used to drink like water. I noticed my daughters smile and heard her laugh with me. We played together and she learned how to ride a bike without training wheels (with me). I made dinner, enjoyed music and wine.

I found myself...Buried under layers of corporate fluff and years of denial, of suffering and feeling unworthy to have anything truly beautiful in my life. Yes, the flogging had finally passed.

And then something even more magical happened. Another great company tracked me down and asked me to grace them with my expertise. They gave me more money, an office and tell me daily that I am valued. I have balance - work is 9-5 and when I need to go be a Mom, I have flexibility to do so.

And I have never been in a better space.

Men are Toys

I have this theory that is reinforced daily.

Men are simple creatures - we all know this. They need three things to survive as my friend MS says: Sex, beer and sports - in that order. The longer I am single, the more I agree with this.

Through my own and my friends experiences I have seen nothing but patterns of men who are looking for sexual gratification while masking it with friendship and "honesty". Don't get me wrong, women are just as guilty of this as well, but it is far less frequent from the female side of the house. Most of us women are looking for someone to be faithful to us, madly in love with us and independently wealthy.

I again am somewhere in the middle (and a bit of a hypocrite). I want sex from a man who is madly faithful to me and independent wealth is a bonus. What about love you may ask? What of it? Love, like loyalty, is more easily found in friendships. Sex - at least where most of us are looking for it - is about the magnetism. Once you quench that thirst (a.k.a. - lust), the thrill too is gone.

Don't get me wrong, I am sure that some people find everything in one. I say "more power to them", but I am living in the Realist Universe. And I am kissing many more frogs than princes. But no one said you can't have great fun, and mind-blowing sex in the process!

Play ball!

New Lease on Work/Life

I have come to the conclusion that a job is just that - a job.

I used to think that a job defined you. A job told other people what you did that was contributing to society; what value you held in the hierarchy of the world.

As recently as a week ago, I thought that if I didn't have a good job in Hi Tech, that I was less of a person. Not true. I have seen the light and that light is in a Barista role at Starbucks. That light is in the counter sales person at Victoria's Secret.

A job is what you make it. A job that makes you happy to get up every day is the greatest blessing we can ask for. Sadly, my job is crap, but I have seen the light. And that light is closer than I realized.

I told my boss to lay me off last week and she said no. And since my epiphany, I have been working like I could care less if I get fired. Oddly, now that I have a fuck you attitude, they want me more.

Who knew?

9/25 - Princess or Beast?

I have a five year old that I want to throttle right now. She is precocious and a serious pain in my ass. I was at the grocery store with her earlier today and a woman said to me "Oh, how precious they are at five". Precious my ass.

We have been trying to get three pages of homework done for her kindergarten class for the past 3 hours. Not only is she not listening, but when she does, she tells me I am wrong. How the f$@# can my 5-year old be right over me on which number comes before 27? The simple answer is: she's not. But tell her to shut up and listen and I get a tongue stuck out at me. It is about this time that I want to dangle her over the balcony like Micheal Jackson did to his baby, Blanket. (There is one kid more f-d up than mine will ever be)

And I think to myself, as I am telling her to go to her room, "Am I the only parent going through shit like this?" I am a relatively cool parent. We watch movies, ride bikes, read books, buy treats that only a child likes from the store, and I still get lip when I say "what comes after 24?".

Granted, I have had this walking pneumonia kind of cough for the past week, and I am at my wits end at my job, and PMS is well upon me, but I would want to kill Miss Bossy anyway. (Not literally, but I have considered leaving her outside to see who may want to take a brat like her home with them - for like a minute - then common sense takes over.)

I know that being a single parent is hard, and most of the time I just do it. Today, like many days, when I am shackled to my child for the entire day, I am just ready to call my Mom to rescue me. But, of course, I have hit my breaking point at dinner time, so that will have to wait.

I'll just put on some music to keep my sanity in check and pray for strength to get me through it.

Reflections - Beautiful or Perverse?

I recieved an email from a friend of mine today that spurred my very first blog. M - thanks for the inspiration. I have been kind of down since the guy I was dating told me I was "special" and then proceeded to jet across the U.S. to shack up for a week with his ex-girlfriend. It almost goes without saying that I feel much less "special" at this point in time. Almost. As usual I have been drowning my sorrows in my plethora of high quality alcohol, my higher quality friends and by throwing myself into my crappy job. Single men take note: You will be suffering for some other nimrods stupidity if you put the moves on a woman in this space...and there is no way to know it until you have had your ass handed to you by said scorned woman. So here I am in that space, feeling low and (the one thing that 99% of the female population feels at least once a month) fat. In typical fashion, I expressed these feelings of dispair to my friend. Here's part of his e-mail to me the evening after that conversation: (This is from my friend, not Mr. Happy Pants Jet-Setter) In his wonderful words of encouragement he says: "But look in the mirror (and don't see a cow), see the woman who is single handedly raising a great kid, who can still rock with the best of them at concerts, who can kick the ass of my friends in pool, and still have time for the occasional social life. That is one hell of a woman." And I wonder, "Who's right?" What do I look like to other people and why is that so different from what I see? I know that we all look in the mirror and critique the hell out of ourselves, because when you are close to something, you see it's imperfections. So how is it that my close friends see me and look past those? Do they love me more than I love myself? (There's another one for the couch doctor). Or do they simply not need to put me under the microscope that I turn on myself after being rejected? Does the general population see me as a cow with a Mom-tummy? (They may, but choose to keep that to themselves for fear of being pummeled to death by my meaty, crispy creme covered fingers) ;-) Have you ever wished you could put on those rose-colored glasses when you look at yourself?