It's Right On Time

And it's time for something completely different.

After days of musing about how lonely and sad it is to be me, I'm feeling lucky I am that I don't control the Universe. I don't know who does, but it's hard not to think sometimes that there must be some plan, because things seem to happen right on time.

I think about the seemingly small incident that started it all. The fight. Yes, I got in a screaming match with DBo's crazy, hick-ville, religious fanatic aunt. And missed dinner. And ended up Hola's Mexican Cantina for their last-call half-off fried cheese plate. And got deathly ill. And called in sick. And my boss doubted said sickness. And I, of course, responded with self-righteous indigence, and a sappy letter about trust. Which apparently is frowned upon in the corporate world.

One trip to HR later, and here we are. Fat Al's European Extravaganza couldn't have come at a better time.

No I didn't get fired, but I decided that I was not being treated like a "valuable member of the team" and I could do better. So, now I've got 3 months to find a new gig, or I am prepared to come back jobless, and do some restaurant/bar work till the right gig pays off.

The practical, "success-oriented" side of me is not happy about this. However, the "me" that is frequently over-shadowed by my overly practical in-laws and my own desire for money and social status is starting to be stoked. I'm working my networks, and in the last two weeks I've talked to an author I admire, a VP at a big digital company, and the Director of PR at a major social media company. I've had to network, I've had to be resourceful, I've been pressure-prompted, and frankly, I've been thrown into the sort of situation where anything is possible.

And it's coming right on time.

Business - A Practical Study of Psychology, Gender Roles, Risk, and Pathology

I wish when I was young someone had told me something about Business. To me, an artsy wanna-be intellectual type, Business was this unexplainable concept floating out in space that my mother encouraged me to succeed in - without giving me any indication of what Business actually was. To me, Business was boring, it was bleak, it was expected.

I assumed for years that all Business People did the same things - wore suits, sat in a desk, did something with numbers, and used annoying Business terms like "paradigm shift," "interfacing" and "synergy."

Little did I know that Business was actually a practical application of design, debate, writing, the art of schmooze, and a study of interpersonal relationships. As such, I am not surprised that I absolutely love it.

I imagine that for some people, a lot of this stuff doesn't come very naturally (especially the politics and persuasion aspects) and I wonder why we're not taught real business skills in school. If school is supposed to prepare you for the real world - and the world of work - then there are some subjects that need to be added to your required list. Here are just a few of my suggestions:

- - Using Microsoft Outlook (and not cc:ing your entire company on personal emails)
- - Providing constructive criticism (and taking it!)
- - Conflict management
- - Getting your way without looking like a bitch
- - Feigning compliance with obnoxious policies
- - Holding your alcohol in a business setting
- - "Office Flirting" while avoiding sexual harassment suits

Are there any others?

Bad-ass of the Week

And There Is Hope!

I was sent this today by my HR department. I am not sure how frequently I was "licked and groomed" as a child, so I am not sure whether this news bodes well for me or not. But - it is nice to know there is a possibility of avoiding the lunacy of old age:

"Some interesting research has been launched by looking more carefully at data on older people. We've all heard about how just about everything declines with age: muscle strength, memory, reflexes, balance, etc, etc. It used to be that gerontology statisticians were simply a little annoyed that the variation in these characteristics increases, that is, there is more spread in functioning as the average functioning declines. It made their graphs less attractive. Then some people said: "Hey, wait a minute. That means some of us aren't getting worse as we get older. How come?" That led to research with rats which showed that some "age successfully," and one correlating factor that has been well documented is their treatment at infancy. The ones that were handled a lot by humans, or groomed and licked a lot by their mothers, aged more successfully than average. Just when nice treatment no longer counts isn't known, but this observation does provide some hope that we can learn how to minimize old age decline. It is speculated that managing stress better may be one equivalent to being licked a lot by a mother rat."

We can hope.

A Follow Up to Wednesday's Political Rant

I wanted to share this - a friend of mine posted it on Facebook. It encapsulates everything that is crazy about the Tea Partying, Fear Mongering, Health-care hating Right.

"This morning I was awoken by my alarm clock powered by the public power monopoly regulated by the US Department of Energy. I then took a shower in the clean water provided by the municipal water utility. After that, I turned on the TV to one of the FCC regulated channels to see what the National Weather Service of the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration determined the weather was going to be like using satellites designed, built, and launched by the National Aeronautics and Space Administration. I watched this while eating my breakfast of US Department of Agriculture inspected food and taking the drugs which have been determined safe by the food and drug administration.

At the appropriate time as regulated by the US Congress and kept accurate by the National Institute of Standards and Technology and the US Naval Observatory, I get into my National Highway Traffic Safety Administration approved automobile and set out to work on the roads built by the local, state, and federal departments of transportation, possibly stopping to purchase additional fuel of a quality level determined by the Environmental Protection Agency, using legal tender issued by the Federal Reserve Bank. On the way out the door, I deposit any mail I have to be sent out via the US Postal Service and drop the kids off at the local public school. After work, I drive my NHTSA approved car back home on the DOT roads, to the house which has not burned down in my absence because of the state and local building codes and fire marshal's inspection, and which has not been plundered of all its valuables thanks to the local police department.

I then log on to the internet which was developed by the Defense Advanced Research Projects Administration and post on Fox News Forums about how socialism in medicine is BAD because the government can't do anything right. Just say 'NO'!"

Let My Boobies Go

In DBo's family, the tendency is to be super thin with a moderate rack. I mean, that's cool with me, I'm not one to hate on the fortune of others. I'm not particularly thin myself - I mean, I work at it, I'm fit, but I would say I am more of the "boobs-and-ass" variety than the "twig" variety. And that's generally cool with me too.

What bothers me, is that because I am curvy and they are not, I have been consistently held to a higher standard of prudish dressing than the women in DBo's family.

Whenever I wear something that is remotely cleavage-y, or a teensy bit shorter than normal, I get the same death stare I’d expect to receive if I walked in wearing stripper heels and a strap-on.

On the other hand, DBo’s sister is constantly prancing around in teeny rolled-down shorts (like she’s 13 and trying to impress a boy in PE class) spaghetti-strapped midriffs that seem to say ‘Yeah I’m slutty, who cares?” and dresses from Forever 21 that look more like slips than something one would reasonably leave the house in.

Yet somehow, this is all passable, because she’s a twig. And yes, she looks good in her outfits, but there is no way in hell I would get away with some of the shit she wears. (Proof: I have been pulled aside at family parties for wearing a v-neck.)

I decided to try and get around this issue this weekend at my engagement party, where I chose a somewhat tight/boob-a-licious Band-Aid dress.

In reality, it's the opposite of scandalous, but it shows a bit of tit. So in the eyes of the fam, it might as well be a thong.

I was super excited to wear this dress out, and spent the week before the party tanning, working out, and getting the necessary waxes. However, when I showed up on Saturday night, I saw DBo's sister in a conservative flowy dress, and his mom was in an age-appropriate skirt. Of course, I started feeling insanely self-conscious. And of course, as expected I got the surprised look from his mom that says, “You’re really wearing that!”

Long story short, I spent the first hour of the party pulling the hemline down and the neckline up, and it wasn’t until I had a couple of Flaming Dr Peppers that I began to feel like myself, and stopped giving a shit. I ended up getting quite a few compliments, a few that I didn’t hear about until after the party, and, I suppose that all-in-all it was a good outfit choice for a party that’s all about me.

What’s amazing to me though, is just how much the judgment of thin girls can turn me into an insecure wall-flower. The first hour, I was ashamed to be in pictures, I couldn't make eye contact, and I didn't feel like talking to anyone. It makes me sad that I try so hard to please people who don’t seem to understand that there are only a few years where you can wear crazy red dresses and not be called a “Cougar” or a “Home-wrecker” or a flat out "Slut" and that you need to take advantage of them.

I mostly hate the fact that I apparently need to have a minimalist body type to be able to wear what I want around my future family. Unless I develop an allergic reaction to food or boobs in the near future, this is a problem I don't see going away . . . . and I have no clue how to A. shut them up, or B. make myself stop caring. Fuck'n sucks.