The Leadership Chronicles: Now what - Hollywood or Mary Kay?

When I was a little girl, I first wanted to be a ballet dancer. My dad nixed that plan when he told me I did not have the figure for it (haters don’t hate: he was completely right and better that my dream be crushed when it was nascent, before I nurtured such a completely unrealistic goal). Then I wanted to be an actress. I even joined an amateur dramatics club for teens. But I was really, really bad at it. Or at least I thought I was. That was until this course. Because what I did there has made me consider packing up and moving to Hollywood. I tell you, Meryl Streep had nothing on me those three days. So either I head to Hollywood or I start selling Mary Kay, because I faked it ‘til I made it.

At several points during the course I thought I would truly speak my mind and tell everyone what utter BS I thought it all was - and this was going to be full-on, not the passive-aggressive digs I got in now and again. But things kept delaying that reveal. I finally decided to put up and shut up because I realized everyone else was really into it. It mattered to them and I was not going to be the one who let down the team. It was at this point that I decided that I might as well go along with it, because it would be over soon and I would never see any of these people again. So I released my inner Meryl and acted my ass off.

I faked an enthusiasm for taking part in class discussions, and stood up and spouted some buzz word I knew would be popular – Vision! Growth! Effort! Enthusiasm!  As soon as I sat down I had forgotten what I had said, because what I really wanted to say was I am in hell! What a waste of time! Kill me now! Plus by this point I was on to their little games and knew that if I did not stand up I would have been called out for not doing so.

When I had finished a writing assignment, I faked writing more by either making notes for these posts or just simply moving my pen around above the page.

I pretended my tears were because I was so moved by what myself and others had achieved, but really I was dreading what was to come and wishing it were all over.

I got up to do whatever the latest lesson was as early as possible, not because I was keen to do so but because I wanted to get it over and done.

Fortunately I managed to not to have to speak when we had to describe how we were going to apply our newfound skills in our personal life, because what could I have said? They were all going on about how they would be a better sibling, or spend more time with their children. I mean, what was I going to say? Um, I’ll give my cat more wet food? Or I’ll be really nice to the cashier at the liquor store?

And it was a testament to my acting skills, and the aforementioned dramatic board breaking attempts that led to me being voted Most Improved Student! Ha! Oh my poor team mates, little do they know.

The winner of this was announced during our graduation ceremony, which took place in the dining room, the staff sat up front, the team in a half circle around them, with guests at the back. I knew I had won it because of the way the staff decided to present it. Mr. Clean conferred with the Tight-Ass Triplets and decided that one of the students would announce the winner and he chose me to do that. Seriously? Yeah, so I knew right off it was me. And it was. And when I announced my own name (I had to open up and read the name on one of the voting slips we’d filled in) everyone cheered and hugged me and oh my gosh, they were all so into it! Then of course I had to make a speech.

I remembered everything that had impressed the team, everything the staff had said, and brought it all together. I said the first thing I was going to do when I got home was change my name because “I am a different person thanks to this class!” That I would also need to buy a new dictionary because mine had the word “try” in it and I do not try any more, I do. I said I could have taken this class two months ago and I deeply regret not doing so because that would have been two months longer with all this new knowledge and confidence and skill set. I told them that when I walked into this building I only had three friends (not that much of an exaggeration, actually). “But you know what?” I said, “When I leave today I have 15 more!”

But I am going to conclude this series with the lines that concluded my speech. I am most proud of this and even to this day, over three months later, it still cracks me up. And this produced the biggest cheer from the graduation audience because they drank the Kool-Aid I was serving.

“So, as you all know, I complained a lot over the last few days, but my first complaint was about how close together the chairs were. But you know what? Now they are too far apart!”

Now they are too far apart.

The Leadership Chronicles: I’m Board Now

I am sure it will come as no surprise that this course included some physical tests; in this case, having to lift someone and be lifted, and that super-clichéd, karate-style board breaking deal (had this been outside I am sure there would have been that even more clichéd fire walking stuff). Apparently, we were going to learn to get into ka or kee or whatever the hell it is called and achieve some super human feats of strength. Now I did a lot of things at this retreat that made me uncomfortable because I kept reminding myself that my company paid a lot of money to send me here (over $2,000, I think) and I was not going to let them down, but there was no way in hell I was going to subject some poor soul to having to lift up me and my fat ass, twelve chins, and four or so spare tires. And no way was I going to attempt to lift anyone, whatever size they were. So just before this session I marched right up to Mr. Clean and told him that I had a bad back and that I could not do anything that put physical demands on me. I got out of the lifting part, but that excuse did not fly for the board-breaking. My attempts at this produced the most dramatic moment of the entire course and I truly believe it was this that led to my winning the Most Improved Student award (way more about that in the next post). I was the only one who did not break it on the first attempt; in fact, it took me about ten tries, I think.

Oh, so you have to know this before I go on: there was no alcohol or drugs allowed on site, but just before we started this session, Mr. Clean told us that there was wine and beer awaiting us in the dining room, as a treat for all our hard work. To paraphrase Homer Simpson, mmm, wine!

Anyway, so we had to write on the one side of the board what is our biggest block to leadership:

 (Yeah, no shit Sherlock, mine was low self-esteem!)

On the flip side we had to list what we would get if we could break through this block:

 

The words written in green were written before I attempted to break it. Mr. Clean stopped me halfway through my attempts and made me write more (the ones in red). To say this entire ordeal was one of the most uncomfortable moments of my life is no exaggeration. But the team was all rallying behind me, giving me advice on how to position myself, shouting encouragement, etc., but I just could not break that fucker. Until I did. Did positive thinking or getting in ka/kee break that board? Those on the course would say it did but I think the fact that I wanted to get out of there and start drinking may have had something to do with it!

 

The Leadership Chronicles: Someone else hated it too

No, I did not have the best attitude going into this, but – and here is why I do not feel guilty – I went in with an open mind. And I take no pleasure in the fact that it was as Kumbaya as I expected it to be. What did surprise me however is that there was one participant who, whilst his attitude was not as bad as mine, actually had the balls to articulate his displeasure at being on the course. Yes, I made my irritation known early on, but in very passive-aggressive ways; this guy was full-on - we hadn’t even gotten on the bus before he told us how much he did not want to be here. And twice he told Mr. Clean how much he disliked him. This guy was my hero. But he turned. Or did he? Was he faking it as much as I was? I guess I could ask him on Facebook but I think part of me does not want to know the answer. Part of me holds out hope that I was not the only one who thought it all bullshit and could not be turned.

But this guy, wow, he said out loud pretty much everything I was thinking. And sometimes did what I would have liked to have done. Like, at the end, we had to submit the names of those of whom we thought would benefit from taking a class - I made up a fake name, this guy didn’t fill in anything!!! Ironically, he and I were assigned seats next to each other for much of the course, and we partnered up several times. I confessed to him on more than one occasion how uncomfortable I was. But when an incident happened towards the very end, I did wonder if that had not been such a good idea: during one particularly loud session, he gets up and walks out. Now, this was not a bathroom break walk-out, this was full-on, taking the backpack, I am out of here deal. It was so dramatic and resulted in putting into practical use some of what we had been taught when we persuaded him to come back. But then I got all paranoid and I started to wonder if he was a plant and had been instructed to do this to test us. See why I was freaking out because of what I had told him?

The Leadership Chronicles: Watching the Watchers

Of all the cringe-inducing things we had to do, one that really stood out was having to introduce the sessions, which involved learning a short speech in about five minutes and then yelling projecting it to our fellow students. The person was chosen during meal times when one of the Tight-Ass Triplets would walk around the communal table, staring at us, and then stand behind the chosen one, put a hand on his or her shoulder and direct them to be outside the classroom at a certain time, about ten minutes before the rest of us.  

I so did not want to be chosen. I am sure you know what is coming, right? Yep. I was chosen. This was the second-to-last session. By now I had started my acting job (more on that later) and made sure to make full-on eye contact every time the moderator circled us, but I think the staff were not quite yet convinced. So when the hand plopped down on my shoulder I made sure to keep my face completely neutral. But then something strange happened: the moderator told me to escort another person to the classroom at a certain time. Huh? But I did what I was told and when we got there, he was taken into the room to learn the intro. Huh again? But you know what I think it was? I think this was a test and that if I had looked all pissy and sour-faced about it they would have gone ahead and had me do the whole thing. But because I was on to their little games by now I passed. It would have been interesting to see their reaction to my non-reaction.

The Leadership Chronicles: Platitudes with an Attitude

Three things not brought up that I thought might be, but it is a good thing they weren’t because they would have not liked my responses:

You can be anything you want to be if you put your mind to it.

Really? Well, I want to be five-foot-eight, weigh 110 pounds and be married to Anderson Cooper, so why don’t you go ahead and tell me how positive thinking will bring about any of those? OK, no, I am being unfair because I guess with two surgeries for me (spine lengthening and stomach stapling) and one for him (a frontal lobotomy) I could achieve that.

Live every day like it is your last.

Um, no. Because however much I love my job I am not going to go to work on my last day and well, I think I’d probably get fired after a week or so, so, no, not possible. Plus I’d eat a lot of chocolate and bread and fried potatoes and drink a lot of alcohol and… oh, yeah, then I guess as far as this part is concerned, I do live like it is my last day. But the going to work part, no.

There is no “I” in team.

True, but there is a “me” and me hates this.

The Leadership Chronicles: Because eff you that’s why

I truly went into this with an open mind. But that did not prevent me from even attempting to hide my displeasure with things that pissed me off. The very first was the seating arrangements – chairs were set out in a horseshoe shape and really, really close together. Almost as soon as I sat down, I said something about how close together they were and Mr. Clean grunts “There’s going to be a lot of touching over the next couple days.” A little later, we had to write some notes on a particular subject and then get up and make a little speech. Halfway through mine I paused because I had run out of things to say but I did not want them to know that, so I said, “Gosh, well, I did write more on the subject but when I tried to read back my notes I could not understand my handwriting because these chairs are so close together.” (I know, super passive-aggressive of me.)

Then one part, we once again had to go up to the front, this time in pairs, and embarrass ourselves demonstrate our leadership skills by pretending we had won $50 million dollars (after tax). When the last pair finally got up there Mr. Clean told them that they had chosen to go last and made them take a vow that they would never go last again. This royally pissed me off because, no, they had not chosen to go last, they had been beaten out by others who were faster and/or closer. The only way they could have gone before would have been to resort to physical violence and cause bodily harm to their teammates who made it up front before them. Mr. Clean would also tell us all after we had attempted whatever ridiculous thing we had to do that we had chosen to fail. Um, no, it is your opinion that I failed, I did my best, just because you didn’t like it does not make it my choice to fail. And those of us not embarrassing ourselves attempting the task had to vote on whether the person had passed.  Without exception, Mr. Clean said that they were sympathy votes and he dismissed them. It got to the point that I told him I was no longer voting because he would just override our votes anyway.

And a couple of times I could not help but laugh out loud at some ridiculous thing. For example, at the end of each session we had to do a closing circle in which we all linked arms and repeated some sort of positive affirmation. The first time this happened I started to hear music in the background.  It eventually dawned on me it was the Chariots of Fire instrumental. Holy eff. That music is cheesy at the best of times but in this situation it was just ridiculous. Then another time, when we had to stand up and introduce ourselves, one man stood up, said his name and then added, “And I’m an alcoholic.” It took me a second to get it but when I did I could not help but bark out a laugh, it was so funny given the situation. But Mr. Clean obviously did not find it funny, he had a look on his face that could have frozen an ocean.

And at the end of each module, we had to write a report. The paper was returned to us with comments. My first came back with a note saying I had to fill up the lines and marked up like this:

 

WTF? Now, I can understand if someone is using that technique to pad out their report (it had to be a certain length) but in my case it was just where a word ended and it was natural to write the next word on the next line. So the next report I produced, this is what I did:

 

Because fuck them, that’s why.

My First Three Thoughts on This Dark, Dark Day

1. Where is my citizenship certificate? Is it at home or in my safe deposit box? I better go get it if it is there.

2. Actually, don't worry about it. I may be an immigrant, but I am a WHITE immigrant and that racist fucker probably doesn't care about those.

3. But if he does, would being forced to leave this country really be all that bad now? Yep, the UK is in the crapper too, but at least their leader isn't a Cheeto.

The Leadership Chronicles: Brought to you by Hallmark

One of the, um, hallmarks of this course is how past participants support and encourage those taking it. The newbie is given a cartoon-themed backpack which is packed with all sorts of things one might need – snacks, gum, tissues (for all the crying one might do); throat lozenges (because all that projecting can get to you), hand cream (oh, there was so much clapping), and a boatload of greeting cards with instructions written upon the envelope as to when that particular card should be opened. So for example, the ones marked “Open at the end of your first day” were filled with sentiments like “You’ve survived the first module – congrats” or ones marked “Open at breakfast” contained notes of encouragement to enjoy the day ahead. These are my cards (about 80% of my co-workers have taken the course):

And these aren’t your two-for-a-dollar, no-name cards from the 99 cents store. These are genuine Hallmark. I received 21 cards with a retail value of over $60. That is why I am convinced the company running these courses is owned by Hallmark.

I really appreciate the support but I found it quite amusing that the cards written by those co-workers whom I like and are not back-stabbing gossips that stay in their little clique and look down on the rest of us wrote the nicest things, genuine, from-the-heart sentiments. The cards from the co-workers I do not like and who do not like me were full of canned responses; you could tell they made no effort whatsoever. Again, not an exaggeration. Look at the inside of this card, for example:

The exact same sentiment, the order just changed a little, one on top of the other. The second writer couldn’t even be bothered to come up with something new (ironically, this writer just happens to be my most despised co-worker). Sigh.

The Leadership Chronicles: Life in a one-elevator town

I feel a little background on the course’s location and staff is needed to fully appreciate my experiences. The company running these classes has its own compound building, located in Alamo, about 90 miles north of Las Vegas. My dearest friend L. grew up there. How she turned out so normal is beyond me (a testament to her awesome parents, I am sure) because Alamo is … well, I don’t want one of its 800 inhabitants suing me so I will just stick to the facts: there are two truck stops, four motels, one Mormon church (yes, that explains a lot), no fast food restaurants, and one elevator. That elevator happens to be in the retreat’s compound building. The grounds were stunning, I will admit; I saw birds and deer and lots of green stuff (there is nothing green in Las Vegas, except money). The grounds were so very green in fact that the tree-hugger in me was concerned about how much water it took to keep it so lush. But the receptionist said something about underground water wells or what have you. I guess I could look it up, but I can’t be arsed. And the food was great (not that I could eat as much as I liked because I was so pre-occupied by the torture sessions classes). The rooms were clean, but there were bunk beds. Fortunately, the CPAP stuff meant I had a built-in excuse to grab a lower bunk.

Then there was the staff. From the grounds keeper to the receptionist, the kitchen staff and the moderators, and the course leader, every last one of them has taken at least one of the courses offered. And, boy, talk about drinking the Kool-Aid: these people were brainwashed engaged! They frequently asked us how we were enjoying the classes, they made sure we had everything we needed, and they held multiple cheerleading sessions that were a part of the meals. I know some of you might think I am exaggerating, but no, I am not making this shit up: towards the end of every meal, out they would trot, still in their uniforms, and perform a little skit for us, like doing the hokey-pokey or singing, all sorts of stuff that just made me cringe.

Then there was the course leader and the class moderators; or as I nicknamed them, Mr. Clean & the Tight-Ass Triplets. Add a goatee to Mr. Clean and you had the leader. Shove sticks up the asses of three regular people and you had the moderators. We later learned their sour demeanors were all an act; I actually never heard why exactly, because I didn’t care, but it might have been something to do with keeping a professional classroom environment.

And then there were my fellow inmates classmates (there were 16 of us). By the end, these people were taking the Kool-Aid intravenously and I had convinced them I was too, but it was all an act. And this is where it gets hard, because writing this series of posts feels like a betrayal to them. These are all genuinely nice people and they all worked so hard and were so supportive of me and were so into it and convinced they learned so much that they would apply to – gag – the “Seventh Module”, i.e., their real life (the course was made up of six modules). We’re all in a private Facebook group now; one of them started making friend requests on the bus ride back to town; another had his assistant reach out to us a few days after the class asking for our mailing addresses because he wanted to send us something (he did - a self-help book (I was hoping it would be chocolates (or wine))); one of them is planning a trip to Vegas next year and I would imagine he could be fun to hang out with and knock back a few; one or two of them I would even like to see naked, if you know what I mean. But maybe they won’t read this; I had mentioned this blog during one particularly torturous session (mainly because I love mentioning this blog!), but I won’t publish a link on my Facebook page like I sometimes do. I have on previous occasions wrestled with whether or not I should publish a particular post because I am concerned it might offend someone whom I know reads this blog. Most times I can disguise the situation enough so as not to offend, but I have spiked more than one post out of deference to my friends or because there are things I do not want some of them to know (this has been less of an issue since I unfriended all my English relatives (they still don’t know I was out of work for 18 months)). I guess if my teammates come across it by reading older or newer links then so be it; maybe enough time will have passed by then that they can forgive me. We’ll see.

The Leadership Chronicles: Two Truthful Two Lie

• Up until this course, in the seven years I have had my cat, I have never been away from him for longer than 15 hours.
• Up until this course, in the nine years I have lived in Las Vegas I have only once left the city limits (and, no, going to Henderson or North Las Vegas does not count, they’re all pretty much the same city).
• I lived in Colorado for 15 years and never once went skiing.
• I am allergic to cinnamon.
• I am still driving the first car I ever bought.
• I have never had a root beer float.
• I have never seen an entire episode of The Sopranos or Game of Thrones or The Walking Dead or Breaking Bad or Mad Men or The Wire or Veep or Orange Is The New Black or Arrested Development (that list goes on – just think of any premium-cable and/or trendy TV show and in all likelihood I have not seen an entire episode).
• I have never been to a prom.
• I have not seen my parents in 17 years.
• I saw Frank Sinatra in concert.

In the weeks leading up to my class, one of my co-workers who had completed the course clued me in on some things that might happen. One of the last things she told me – as she was driving me to the pick-up point, as a matter of fact – was that her team played a game of Two Truths & A Lie. Because this information was so last minute, I spent the majority of the coach ride trying to come up with a believable lie. What I mean is, because of my amazingly boring life, my truths are somewhat out there so I am sure they come across as lies. Add to this the fact that I did not spend my childhood or teenage years in the US and so a lot of stuff Americans take for granted, I have never done – for example, I have never eaten a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Or gone to Disney Land. Or been to a sleepover. I could go on. We never ended up playing that game but had we, the list above is what I could have put out there (and if anyone is interested, hit me up privately and I will tell you which one is the lie (yes, there is only ONE)).

Introducing The Leadership Chronicles

When I first moved to America, it took me a long time to understand and accept certain aspects of American, um, culture and lifestyle choices. Like their fascination with cheese, particularly the melted kind (I call it edible glue), and that they put it on EVERYTHING. And how they elected two Bushes (although that one might be trumped (ha!) in November (but for the love of all things holy please don’t let that be the case)). Or all the commercial breaks on television shows. Or how a sport that features only two countries has a finale called the World Series. But the one uniquely American thing I have never been able to embrace is that positive thinking, cheerleading, you can achieve anything if you put your mind to it, Kumbaya stuff. I hate it. But you Yanks love that stuff. It’s a billion dollar industry. There would be no Oprah Winfrey without it. But I think it is BS.

So imagine my utter discomfort when in the middle of September my company sent me on a three-day leadership retreat. It was three days of positive affirmations and voice projection and team-building exercises and identifying the golden characteristics of a leader (that is a direct quote from the handbook). It was three days of hell. The only positive that came from it is that it provided fodder for this blog. So much so, in fact, that instead of one humongous post, I am going to split it up into several small posts. Stay tuned!

Second First Folio Post

 

I hate to say this because it is such a cliché, but I thought it would be bigger. I guess it makes sense that it is not. But apart from that it was all I expected it to be; or, rather, my reaction to it was all that I expected it to be. I mean, here I was in a room with a book that was probably touched by people who probably touched William Shakespeare. Not since I stood in the room in which he was born have I been that close to him. Was kind of disappointed by the rest of the exhibit, however – just a few placards and such. I see why there was no entrance fee.

I was disappointed in the attendance too. There were about five of us there. There should have been lines. Lines! It’s Shakespeare! And I guess if I am being truly honest, I am kind of disappointed I did not meet the chauffeur of my dreams there. Because, yes, that one percent of me that still believes it might yet happen, was hoping for the ultimate meet cute. Seriously, for me, Shakespeare nerd that I am, how cool would it have been if I had met someone there? But nope. Oh well.

 

First First Folio Post

 

My love for William Shakespeare is legendary. He’s the person I’d choose if I could meet anyone who ever lived (although sometimes, when Sammy is having a spazz, I would like to meet the bastard who abused him, so I could abuse him (or her)). One of my most prized possessions is a poster of the title page of the First Folio. I bought it when I was 17 or 18, on a day trip to Stratford-upon-Avon. It has adorned the walls of countless apartments in two countries, three states, and five cities. It is torn and tattered and stained by that blue sticky poster-hanging stuff and a rum and Coke cocktail (long story) but I wouldn’t exchange it for a thousand brand new ones. I am fond of his sonnets but the plays are the things for me. Macbeth was the first I studied in detail so it holds a special place in my heart. But… Twelfth Night contains my all-time favorite line –“I was adored once too”. But…  Richard II was the play I saw in Strafford-upon-Avon. But… The Tempest contains one of my favorite speeches – Caliban’s “I cried to dream again”. But… King Lear I saw in London, with Anthony Hopkins in the title role. But…

 

Hamlet, oh Hamlet, that is the one for me. For many, many reasons, not the least of which is I got some action because of it (another long story, worthy of a post all of its own but TLDR: I crushed on and then stalked and then got to third base with the actor who played Hamlet in a local production of Tom Stoppard’s Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead (only third base because I was 17 and he was married)).

 

Where was I? Oh, yeah, so Hamlet would be the gun-to-the-head choice as my favorite play. It is fitting then, and cool and ironic, that this Saturday I will be standing in a room with an original First Folio and it will be opened to Hamlet’s world-famous “To be or not to be” soliloquy. To say I am excited is an understatement. It’s part of a nationwide tour celebrating Billy Shakes’ (his rap name were he alive today) 400th-ish birthday and it is making a stop at the library on the campus where I work (deets here). Because of size limitations tickets (free, but this is one thing I would have paid to see (that right there tells you how much I love Shakespeare because you all know how cheap I am)) had to be booked in advance for a specific day and time. I chose the Saturday afternoon of the three-day holiday weekend because well, I hate three-day holiday weekends (three days of boredom, loneliness and misery instead of the usual two). I‘m so excited! I have my whole day planned around it, what I am going to do before (not much and won’t eat either so I don’t get an oops-I-crapped-my-pants moment) and afterwards (eat, mainly, and drink, of course). Oh I am excited.

A four-letter word beginning with F…

What do we all think about those crowdfunding pages, like Go Fund Me? I think if they are set up to help get a business up and running, they are OK, as long as the donor gets a free sample of the product or shares in the company or something along those lines; and maybe for a catastrophic accident resulting in medical costs out the wazoo; even perhaps funeral expenses for an unexpected death (although maybe I would draw the line at that one because no death can really be called unexpected seeing as WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE EVENTUALLY). But for other stuff, like say, for example, medical/living expenses and car repair I think they are ridiculous and nothing better than public begging.

 

And both of those elements – the public part and the begging part – are anathema to me.  Because how embarrassing would it be if you reached only a small percentage (10.6%, for example) of your goal? Or it took forever (like, for example, three months) to get donations? As my high school cohort would say, “Shown to the bone.” And the begging part? Well, that’s just degrading. Even during my darkest days of unemployment when I had sold everything I could on Craig’s List I never thought about doing such a thing. But I guess until you are in a dire situation (and I never was, despite being out of work for over a year) you do not know to what lengths you will go to dig yourself out (and I hope I am never in a position where I would have to consider it). But even so, it’s just… shameful. (I do think a lot of this has to do with my English inborn sense of decorum.)

 

So it was with great interest that I read recently on Facebook about a former… um, I was about to type friend, but I really don’t think I can call her that. Well, maybe she was to me, but I certainly wasn’t to her – I actually didn’t like her all that much and just hung out with her because she didn’t have an issue driving us places. Whatever we had ended badly when I did a not-nice thing.  No need to go into details except to say that there was a boy involved. I admit I was (almost) completely at fault, but here’s why I am (somewhat) unapologetic about the whole situation – because I never liked her in the first place, I did not care that she ended the friendship, and were she a true friend anyway, I would not have done what I did.

 

Where was I? Oh, yeah, so, on a mutual friend’s Facebook feed I read that this former “friend” has set up one of those Go Fund Me pages – for, um, medical/living expenses and car repair. And that she raised $265 of her $2,500 goal in 12 weeks.

 

I was surprised at my completely neutral response. I did not take pleasure in her hardships nor did I feel sympathy for her plight (does that make me a sociopath?). But the news did prompt the following telepathic conversation between the three sides of my personality:

 

Good Triplet (GT): We should make a contribution; the poor thing has fallen on hard times.

 

Evil Twin (ET): Hard times? She has a job and medical insurance. We didn’t have either of those for 18 months and we never begged for money.

 

GT: She is not begging, she has set up a crowdfunding page.

 

Me (MF): Well, technically, it is begging…

 

ET: Plus if we make a contribution, she will think we have been keeping tabs on her and that will just inflate her ego even more than it already is.

 

MF: We have not been keeping tabs on her, we just have a mutual friend who posted a link to the Go Fund Me page…

 

ET: …which we clicked on and read. Don’t you remember that ego of hers?

 

GT: We could make the contribution anonymously.

 

MF: Hell, no. When I part with my money, I want it known it is from me.

 

GT: Then let’s make a contribution and include a note about how sorry we are that our behavior led to the end of the friendship and that we hope this helps and that the Universe does not give us more than we can handle and…

 

ET: Gag!

 

MF: I wonder what happened with her and that guy we fought over?

 

ET: Oh I am sure she gave him the best sex of his life (according to her, anyway). Seriously, do you not remember that ego of hers? Look at this Facebook post where she says that if some guy can make her this gadget she saw on Pinterest, she promises she will give him – and this is a direct quote – “the best free sexual experience” of his life. And she is not an attractive woman so I doubt for most men it would be.

 

GT: Well, no, she is not conventionally attractive, but everyone is beautiful in their own way.

 

MF & ET: Gag!

Sleeping Duty IV – Home at Last

 

So remember, just before I got laid off and descended into 18 months of hell, I did a sleep study? Not sure if I ever mentioned it because I was too preoccupied with finding a job, but I never got around to picking up the equipment. I planned to – I literally had just gotten off the phone making arrangements to pick it up when my boss called me into his office. The rest, as they say, is history. Yes, I know, I still had medical insurance and could have gotten the equipment but I did not want to take on the extra expenses not covered by my insurance just in case my unemployment lasted a while. Talk about prophetic, right?

Anyway, recently I decided I should finally get off my fat arse and deal with this. Of course because so much time has passed I could not just go ahead and pick up where I left off. I had to do the sleep study again. And this one was vastly different. I was in a different room, for one, not as nice and located directly off the reception area, which at times was very noisy. Secondly, I did not fall asleep as quickly (this one was scheduled way earlier in the evening) and there was concern that not enough data had been gathered to provide a diagnosis. One similar thing? I once again had slightly racist dreams (this one involved a mariachi band playing outside my window).

But the biggest difference this time was that I had a male technician conducting the study. This did not bother me at first, mainly because he wasn’t my type so I did not care that he was seeing me in just knickers and my beloved-but-ratty Steelers t-shirt. In fact, I was so much at ease that as he was sticking the wires all over me, I blurted out, “Well that’s the most action I have gotten in a long time.” (Which, technically, is true.) However, I think he took that as carte blanche because the banter that followed was borderline-offensive.  He went on about how his wife is also a BBW and how he couldn’t understand how men can sleep with skinny chicks. He told me he had not had sex in at least three weeks (yeah, try four years, buddy) and that he could not understand why I was single (this threw me at first because I had not mentioned anything about this, but then I remembered “Marital Status” was a question on the intake paperwork). It started to make me feel a little uncomfortable and I think this contributed to my inability to fall asleep quickly, but, as I said, I think my initial comment started it all off. Which I know is classic victim-blaming, but still.

Anyway, turned out there was enough data because, last week, I picked up the equipment! But I do not like it. It is not Darth Vader-ish noisy like the equipment used in the study but there are leaks that shoot up into my eyes and it makes my mouth dry and I cannot really lay on my side and the headgear is tight and if I have an itchy nose I have to remove the mask and then if I do not put it back on properly it makes farting noises and I have to buy distilled water to put in it and clean parts of it daily and weekly and replace some parts every three months and pay for it for 13 months (then I own it) and on nights I drink heavier than usual and pass out on the sofa I can’t be arsed to put it on for the remainder of the night when I crawl into bed and when I get up to pee I do not put it back on either and yeah, well, I do not like it. But maybe it will get better and maybe I will see health benefits but right now not so much.

Feast of the Virgin, Year IV

Oh yes, another year has gone by without any fornication. None whatsoever, not like a couple years ago when there was some 34.5 action (34.5 is half of 69). But you know what? I am OK with it. Which is not to say I wouldn’t jump at the chance of turning Anderson Cooper, but otherwise I am OK with being a born-again virgin again. And I could have gone the Moet & Chandon route this year, because I am somewhat more solvent than last year, but I couldn't be arsed. My $7, 1.5 liter of Pinot Grigio was perfectly acceptable.

May 23

May is my favorite month and 23 is my favorite number and that is really all I have to write about! Yep, another “just because I don’t want to go a whole month without a post” post. I’ve actually started a couple, one about a frenemy who has set up a Go Fund Me page, which I think has potential but it is difficult for me to write it because I come off as a bit of a sociopathic bitch (so what is new?!!!). Then I had some medical tests done and the results were kind of scary but if I write about that I know it will result in some nagging from certain readers. And then I had another dream incident, not one that made me money, but one that did result in my tracking down a high school friend I’d been looking for for ages (I am not much of a feminist but I hate the fact that after marriage men get to keep their own names but for the most part women do not and that makes them hard to find if you don’t know their married names). And then there is work stuff: I have my 11-month performance review coming up in the next few weeks and that determines whether I get to stay and whether I get a pay raise, so I am on tenterhooks about that. I’ve heard that after your first year, it is pretty much impossible to get fired and that the contracts are for something like 50 years! Fifty years! I will be way dead by the time that expires!

So, yeah, thanks for reading, sorry my life is so boring but stay tuned, if I can find a way to tell you about how I want to make a Go Fund Me donation because that way my frenemy will know I know about her issues without coming across as a cold-hearted bitch, I will (guess that boat sailed, right?!!!)

A Farewell to Idol

To say that American Idol was a big part of my life is no exaggeration. And now it is gone. But I think it went out in style because its last episode was pretty near perfect from start (the Dunk was back - more later) to finish (I did not want La’Porsha to win (also more later).

Because of my OCD and addictive personality I try not to start watching a TV show from the very first episode, because the OCD means I will have to watch it until the bitter end and the addictive personality means I will want to watch it until the bitter end.

And I am not a fan of the reality TV genre.

It is a wonder then that I watched (every single episode of) American Idol (live). No exaggeration. I did not DVR it because it started after my bedtime (Revenge, The Americans, Impractical Jokers) and I did not miss an ep because I was having a midlife crisis and relocating 750 miles (Lost, season three, episode 14, original air date March 28, 2007, the one featuring that smoking hot Brazilian guy who was in Love Actually. I was driving through Utah at the time. I caught up with it online a few days later but it remains the only episode of Lost I did not watch live).

But Idol was an exception. Mainly because of its British component (which is also the same reason I started reading the Harry Potter books (and once I started to read the books, I had to watch the movies because I always do)).

I have voted for some contestants. I have borrowed from the library and copied on to my iPod some performers’ CDs (but not purchased – I may be a super fan but I am still cheap). And I once even had a viewing party for a finale. That is rare. The only other time I have ever done that is for Friends. Although I guess party is a slight exaggeration because in both cases the guest list consisted of only one other person - D. for Friends and my former friend K. for Idol (former because she got engaged and turned into Bridezilla; D. also got engaged but did not). I also crushed on the occasional judge (I would go down under with Keith any time), one or two contestants, and of course the only host that mattered, Brian Dunkleman. It also provided fodder for this blog.

And, yeah, I thought the final episode was damn near perfect. I have always thought using the song One Voice the way they did would be a great start to a show or a concert. And then there was Simon, the British component that got me started with this show. I could have done without the fake surprise when he showed up because seriously, did anyone think he would not? The judging panel was never the same without him - he told it like it was; yes, he was harsh but he was never unfair. I am very glad there were subtitles of all the singers because I did not recognize a ton of them – Bo’s new look is hot although I do miss Justin’s Sideshow Bob hair style. I enjoyed the fact that Kree got more airtime than that bitch she lost to; and I loved that the producers owned the white guys with guitars criticism with that medley.

And then there was Brian. I crushed on Brian from the very start. I almost considered not watching anymore when he left. I would dislike Ryan anyway (I do not like hypocrites – get out of the damn closet already, you are not fooling anyone) but the fact that he remained and Brian left was devastating to me. But his bit on the finale was a perfect bookend, I thought: it was funny and humble and he was as hot as he was back in the day.

And then there was that result. I do think La’Porsha is talented, and maybe more so than Trent but I am very glad she did not win because of the way she was treated during the season. The way the judges gushed over her annoyed me. I have always been that way, though: if anyone is getting preferential treatment, I automatically am against him or her. I am sure there are deep-seated psychological reasons for this (like maybe the fact that I have NEVER gotten preferential treatment? OK, maybe not so deep-seated after all!).

But Idol is done. “For now.” What the fuck does that mean, Seacrest? Way to end a show, shithead. Don’t you know how annoying that is for people with addictive personalities? Will Idol come back? Will I obsess over it? Watch this space.

I Dream of Ginger

I have long been fascinated by dreams and dreaming (the kind you do when you are asleep, not the ones involving winning the lottery or getting married or living in Anderson Cooper’s laundry basket (that last one might just be me, though)). I’ve taken classes on dream analysis; I have four dreamer's dictionaries on my night stand; I used to keep a dream diary; and I’ve watched countless TV documentaries on the subject. (I think it is pretty obvious that I am enamored of dreams because my waking life is so downright uneventful and on the whole pretty sad - I’ve been slim in dreams; I’ve been loved; Sammy can go outside.)

But recently, I’ve had dreams in which particular words have stood out. The dreams have not been about that word per se, it has just made its presence known. And then I formed the notion (and I do not know if it was when I was awake or asleep) that these words were the names of horses taking part in horseraces. One morning after such a dream I went online to see if I could find a listing of horseraces taking place that day but I got distracted by a video of a cat, and never got around to looking up horse stuff.

That was until this weekend. I cannot remember anything about the dream itself, just that the word ginger was important somehow. I already had plans to go to the Champagne brunch at the casino next door as an Easter treat, so I decided to stop in the sports book while I was there. OK, so, wow, there are lots of horseraces in America! There were about 20 lists of races! No way was I going to read through all of them so I decided to pick three. I chose Golden Gate Fields (because gold is a color, like ginger is); then Hawthorne Race Course (because Hawthorne is a plant, like ginger is) and Penn National because I used to live in Pennsylvania. That one was the last one I chose but the first one I read. This is the listing for the seventh race:

O. M. G.

This is the result of that race:

Holy eff, right?

I bet $5 to win. A co-worker looked up the odds or the numbers or the form or whatever it is and calculated I’ll probably get about $23 back.  (I don’t plan to go cash in the ticket until after this post is published, because I want to get it in before the end of March - I’ll let you know if it is any more than that.) Not enough to retire on or employ my own chauffeur, and I lost more than that at the Blackjack table after the buffet, but still, how flipping cool is that?

And kind of scary too, right? Because, well, cue, Twilight Zone music, I dreamed of ginger and a horse named Gingers Hero won. Is this not freaking you out? Because it is freaking me out big time.

Bonus Day, but not a Bonus Post...

I am literally only writing this post because, as I mentioned before, I do not want there ever to be a month without at least one posting. But I really can’t think of anything to write about, nothing good or bad – but I guess I will take having nothing to write about over having something bad to write about any day.

 

But there has got to be something… Oh! There was that horrid Superbowl (the Steelers have six rings, by the way). And I did my taxes and am getting back a pretty hefty hunk of change, which is nice, way more than I expected. And Idol’s back.  I might write about that occasionally, especially as this is the last season. My early prediction is Dalton for the win, but I guess the smart money would be on the chick with the pile-of-dog-poop hair. What else? Oh, as I mentioned on Facebook, I found out that some of the people with whom I work are Republican, but better Republican co-workers than no co-workers at all.

 

That really is all my February produced. Further proof that it is impossible to die of boredom.

One down, ten thousand and eight to go…

So I replaced the first of the many items I sold during my unemployment: a dining table.  Isn’t it sexy? A neighbor was selling it. He wanted $60, I got it for $55 and he delivered it too. So once I re-acquire two dressers, a big screen TV, a Crock Pot, a wok, an electric griddle, a blender, and a Magic Bullet (some of the tangible victims of my long term unemployment) I will be back to square one. Those items and $10,000, that is.

 

Yep, I finally did the math and I now have exactly ten grand less than I did this time two years ago (two years ago today, in fact), when I was laid off. I guess considering all I went through, ten grand really isn’t all that much. It could have been a lot worse, and I should be thankful that I had ten grand to lose. Except I didn’t, really. Because that was my retirement savings.

 

“Welcome to Walmart, how can I help you today?” 

 

 

Year in Review – 2015 Edition

Despite finally learning to accept the fact that I might never know why my first Year In Review post is so popular, I still feel pressure to produce a great edition, so here goes my 2015 effort:

It’s been a strange year, to say the least. It started off on a hopeful note, with a new, full time job. But it quickly went downhill when I was once again out of work. Then two part-time positions followed; one crappy, which I voluntarily quit to take on a better one, which I then lost, making it the fourth job I lost in a 16-month period. Then - oh miracle of miracles! - my current position comes along. What did I do to deserve such a wonderful job? Oh yeah, that’s right – I suffered through the worst (I hope, anyway) 18 months of my life. It is not ideal but oh how I love it, for many, many reasons, not the least of which is it was directly responsible for one of the best nights of my life.

It was in early December. There were some Facebook posts concerning it, but nothing on this forum. And I am not going to go into too much detail here (it really is best told verbally) but it revolved around a Strip-based company event. My partner in crime was a co-worker, whose drop-dead gorgeousness literally opened doors or, rather, got velvet ropes lifted! We paid for only one drink all night, our first. At least eight others followed for me (that’s the ones I remember). There was a lot of my saying “She’s got a boyfriend” to guys inquiring about her; and me asking the one guy who didn’t but instead actually talked to me if he was part of a hogging event. And telling him that if he was, he’d definitely win with me.

And whilst it will literally go down as one of the top ten best nights of my life, what makes it even more remarkable is the fact that it was followed by four days of my not drinking any alcohol. I will pause a minute to let that sink in. Yes, for the first time since maybe the age of 16, I voluntarily did not drink for four whole days (I am surprised Franzia did not declare bankruptcy). It was only after a 7-Eleven Big Bite (onions, relish and ketchup) and a Big Gulp (Pepsi) did I finally feel in the mood to imbibe again (those Big Bites – kill or cure as far as I am concerned). I mean, I have gone longer not drinking (way longer), but not on a voluntary basis. And as a matter of fact, there are two nights a year when I purposely do not hit the hooch - January 1 and December 30. Because I always plan to get smashed the following days (birthday and New Year’s Eve) and so I want to give my body a break, to recalibrate, and prep for the onslaught (I drink especially heavy on those two nights).  

What else?

·                 Still no sex (that is three and a half years now).

·                 Saw five movies in the movie theater – the most I have seen in one year since I moved to Las Vegas.
·                 Lost six pounds.
·                 Spent 14 hours away from Sammy, the longest I have ever been away from him; he didn’t care, though, because that was the week JTV was visiting so he had someone around to bite (all human flesh is the same to him).
·                 Left the Las Vegas city limits for the first time since I moved here eight years ago; yeah, it was only 33 miles away and I was gone for less than 10 hours but still.

So, all in all, not the worst year of my life (2014 still holds (and I hope will hold forever) that title), but not the best either (don’t really have a contender for that title; maybe 2009 when I met Sammy) but not bad at all. Hope your 2015 was great and your 2016 will be even better!