As is tradition in our family, we are almost all safely settled in our home away from home. Christmas can't come soon enough when we are all here.
Years ago we decided that we needed to slow down a bit when it came to the holidays. For years we had been going to multiple homes on both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and we never really were able to connect with just the four of us. When our boys had short Christmas vacations, we took the opportunity to make it family time - typically 10 or 11 days out of the city, and away from the stresses that often come with work and the holidays. When our boys moved to college and they had full months off, it's still been a time to reconnect, doing the things we want to do.
Don't get me wrong. Our families mean a lot to us, and we know that we had upset many people when we decided to go away. But on one side of our family, we see people relatively often. On the other, it's pretty broken and Christmas just proved to be a pretty upsetting day. I understand we miss out on time with grandparents, and brothers and sisters, and aunts and uncles and cousins and nieces and nephews, but we gained so much more. We gained our sanity back. We gained time where we could reconnect as a family and focus on us. Is that selfish? Maybe. But I won't apologize for wanting to spend time with my family. I know that as the boys get older and they are out on their own, our lives will change once again and there will be fewer family vacations, hopefully to be replaced with a full house once again.
On any given year, I cook when I want to, and we go out when I don't. We visit friends at their restaurants and stop by and say hi to others. We go to the movies where we are greeted with a dozen or so other people that want some time away too. We gorge on Netflix and Redbox and Christmas movies galore. We take naps and play with our dogs, and sometimes go shopping. And of course, we ride our snowmobiles. Although you might think that isn't really connecting as a family, since we all ride our own, it really is. We are doing something we love to do. Dad takes the lead, and sometimes gives up the reigns to one of the boys. The boys love racing each other across the lakes. And I'm usually armed with my Canon taking in nature, and capturing all of them doing what they love to do. Some years, we have others here and they ride too.
As a family we really need this time away. This year started out slow with a job that was so dysfunctional, I never thought I'd find something better. Thankfully, May brought me a new job (which I truly love), August gave me a surgery that was much needed for my health, and now here at Christmas, we are in the place that really connects us. My husband has traveled a lot this year for his job, which was unexpected, and filled his time, and unfortunately a slow down for his business. Our oldest finished the grad school classes he needs before his student teaching in spring (middle school art!), and our youngest finished his third year of college football and his fifth semester of undergrad (chem/bio and forensics!).
Our time away this year is proving to be a little slower. The snow isn't cooperating, so do what you can and pray to the snow Gods for us. We'll still see movies and go out for good meals and we'll head to Bond Falls and hopefully get a chance to see some beautiful waterfalls and more wildlife. And with any luck, any luck at all, we will ride.
My wish for you all is you get to do what you love to do this time of year. If that means sleepless nights for a week to get ready for a house full of people, I wish you good luck. If that means watching a Christmas Story twelve times in a row, while you eat Chinese by yourself, have a great time. If it means you fill up on Christmas cookies you made for yourself and no one else, You Do You! And if it means you go away, just like we do, know that we are rooting for you even if your family doesn't understand.
Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Seasons Greetings, Happy New Year and the Best Festivus for the Rest of Us.
Saturday, December 22, 2018
Wednesday, August 15, 2018
A New Me
Sixteen days ago I was just coming out of recovery from what I understand to be a pretty invasive surgery. After dealing with lady bit woes for 18 months, my doctor decided it was time to schedule a hysterectomy. Needless to say, I was scared, because I wasn't quite sure what it was going to mean for me post-op. She planned on taking everything but my ovaries...it's like cleaning me out with an ice cream scoop.
I did what any 48 year old, married for nearly 26 years, mom of two would do...I went to the internet. I joined hysterectomy groups. I asked friends. I researched.
You can imagine my surprise when I read things like "You need to be really careful, because if you aren't and your stitches rip, your insides will fall out", "I'm six weeks post-op, what is that smell?", "seven days post op and I still have a catheter", "will I get my period after they remove my uterus, tubes and cervix?" and "It's day 19, when can I shower?" Um, what in the actual fuck?
Leading up to surgery I read just about everything I could. I shared it with my husband and he thought I was insane. He begged me to stop reading...so did my doctor. So I did. But then I went back to it.
My surgery went relatively smooth, with the exception of a lot of scar tissue thanks to two cesarean sections, and my doctor losing about a year of her life after they took an xray of me on the table and thought they left part of a tool in me. (Turns out, it was actually a broken off piece of the tool they used to remove my uterus). When it read it in my chart, the first thing I thought was I'm gonna sue someone! Then I thought, was it a junior mint? That's how my mind works.
I spent just a single day in the hospital getting released by noon on the second day. I was happy to go home because, frankly, you get not a single minute of sleep in the hospital. Sure, the nurses are all nice and say you need your rest....then 30 minutes later someone is taking your blood pressure or emptying you catheter. Yes, you read right. The catheter. When they finally removed it, my nurse said if I am unable to go, she would reinsert it. Fuck you will. I did not go home with it.
When I got home, I was treated like a queen. I didn't lift a finger. Meals were cooked, laundry was done, I slept alot. But surprisingly enough I recovered pretty fast. By day four, I went to lunch with my oldest son. By day five, he took me grocery shopping, and then I went to dinner with my hubby and ate all.the.food. By day six, I was outside walking alot and parking cars for the state fair in our yard, and spending some time napping. (Oh how I miss napping).
One week post op and I noticed was tired towards the end of the day. Eight days post op I saw my doc and she said I looked great - incisions were healing well, she released me for work and limited lifting, with the caveat I need to see her at week six. Last week I spent more time parking cars, and we followed our youngest back to college to get him moved back in for his junior year and football camp.
Last week I went back on the hysterectomy pages and promptly unfollowed them. There is some good information, but some of it is so bad, I just can't read it anymore. I don't know if my experience is atypical, or if the only women posting are those that need to talk about all the drama associated with this surgery. I do feel sorry for those that are truly in pain. I don't feel sorry for those that wait 19 days to shower. I showered the day I got home. I feel sorry for those that believe their intestines are going to fall out (maybe I'm off base, but I would hope this doesn't happen). I want to punch the women in the throat that think they will get their period after all their bits are removed. Honey, you need to take an anatomy class or talk to your doctor stat.
Fast forward to this past Monday, and I headed back into the office. I thought for sure that sitting all day would bother me, but it's not too bad. I even wore jeans to work. My boss has been great, my coworkers a blessing. Everyone seems to be happy I am back. In fact, here I am sixteen days after surgery and it's like I never left. I do have to be careful with lifting things - I made our intern lift 11 boxes of collateral for me. #worksmarternotharder
Days have been long, and I am tired by 2:00, but I push through. Thankful that I can start earlier than 7:00 and leave early if I need to. I came back to 280 emails (the ones I never opened in the last two weeks), and a short stack of work. Thankfully, I had the hindsight to give my boss a list of all the things he needed to do for me while I was out. Happy to say that 80% of it was done.
So here I sit, sixteen days after surgery, happy to be free of Aunt Flo forever, ready to take on the next step. My husband says I can be a drug mule - it's like I have this giant empty compartment - or maybe I can smuggle junior mints into the movie theatre. I'll be glad when I get released for real life (my hubby too) and be a new me. In the meantime, me and my ovaries will go to work, rest when we can, and get ready for fall.
I did what any 48 year old, married for nearly 26 years, mom of two would do...I went to the internet. I joined hysterectomy groups. I asked friends. I researched.
You can imagine my surprise when I read things like "You need to be really careful, because if you aren't and your stitches rip, your insides will fall out", "I'm six weeks post-op, what is that smell?", "seven days post op and I still have a catheter", "will I get my period after they remove my uterus, tubes and cervix?" and "It's day 19, when can I shower?" Um, what in the actual fuck?
Leading up to surgery I read just about everything I could. I shared it with my husband and he thought I was insane. He begged me to stop reading...so did my doctor. So I did. But then I went back to it.
My surgery went relatively smooth, with the exception of a lot of scar tissue thanks to two cesarean sections, and my doctor losing about a year of her life after they took an xray of me on the table and thought they left part of a tool in me. (Turns out, it was actually a broken off piece of the tool they used to remove my uterus). When it read it in my chart, the first thing I thought was I'm gonna sue someone! Then I thought, was it a junior mint? That's how my mind works.
I spent just a single day in the hospital getting released by noon on the second day. I was happy to go home because, frankly, you get not a single minute of sleep in the hospital. Sure, the nurses are all nice and say you need your rest....then 30 minutes later someone is taking your blood pressure or emptying you catheter. Yes, you read right. The catheter. When they finally removed it, my nurse said if I am unable to go, she would reinsert it. Fuck you will. I did not go home with it.
When I got home, I was treated like a queen. I didn't lift a finger. Meals were cooked, laundry was done, I slept alot. But surprisingly enough I recovered pretty fast. By day four, I went to lunch with my oldest son. By day five, he took me grocery shopping, and then I went to dinner with my hubby and ate all.the.food. By day six, I was outside walking alot and parking cars for the state fair in our yard, and spending some time napping. (Oh how I miss napping).
One week post op and I noticed was tired towards the end of the day. Eight days post op I saw my doc and she said I looked great - incisions were healing well, she released me for work and limited lifting, with the caveat I need to see her at week six. Last week I spent more time parking cars, and we followed our youngest back to college to get him moved back in for his junior year and football camp.
Last week I went back on the hysterectomy pages and promptly unfollowed them. There is some good information, but some of it is so bad, I just can't read it anymore. I don't know if my experience is atypical, or if the only women posting are those that need to talk about all the drama associated with this surgery. I do feel sorry for those that are truly in pain. I don't feel sorry for those that wait 19 days to shower. I showered the day I got home. I feel sorry for those that believe their intestines are going to fall out (maybe I'm off base, but I would hope this doesn't happen). I want to punch the women in the throat that think they will get their period after all their bits are removed. Honey, you need to take an anatomy class or talk to your doctor stat.
Fast forward to this past Monday, and I headed back into the office. I thought for sure that sitting all day would bother me, but it's not too bad. I even wore jeans to work. My boss has been great, my coworkers a blessing. Everyone seems to be happy I am back. In fact, here I am sixteen days after surgery and it's like I never left. I do have to be careful with lifting things - I made our intern lift 11 boxes of collateral for me. #worksmarternotharder
Days have been long, and I am tired by 2:00, but I push through. Thankful that I can start earlier than 7:00 and leave early if I need to. I came back to 280 emails (the ones I never opened in the last two weeks), and a short stack of work. Thankfully, I had the hindsight to give my boss a list of all the things he needed to do for me while I was out. Happy to say that 80% of it was done.
So here I sit, sixteen days after surgery, happy to be free of Aunt Flo forever, ready to take on the next step. My husband says I can be a drug mule - it's like I have this giant empty compartment - or maybe I can smuggle junior mints into the movie theatre. I'll be glad when I get released for real life (my hubby too) and be a new me. In the meantime, me and my ovaries will go to work, rest when we can, and get ready for fall.
Thursday, July 26, 2018
Stress and Surgery
It amazes me the amount of thoughts running through my head as I approach my surgery next week. For those that don't know, I am having a laparoscopic hysterectomy where the doctors are currently planning on taking out my uterus, my cervix and my Fallopian tubes, but want to leave me with my ovaries. The ovary piece may change based on a cyst that had been present, so I won't know what happened until the surgery is over. I'm also having a mesh sling inserted.
I've done my due diligence and researched, and researched, and researched some more. I've gone to reputable sites like the Mayo clinic, I've messaged my gyno, my PCP and talked with friends in the medical field, and then joined group pages on Facebook. The Facebook pages scare me far more than the Mayo clinic pages or my doctors advice or even friends info scare me. I've heard recovery times that take upwards of 12 weeks, while some women are up and around after two. I've heard that some are getting by on Advil, while others are taking their fair share of opioid's. I've heard of women being able to take off eight weeks of work and others that are back at it two weeks post-op.
My husband and boys are troopers. They have endured shortened road trips because we had to stop and find a bathroom. They have witnessed me at the dining room table one minute, then running up the stairs next to take care of business. They have watched me lay down with a heating pad, then ice, then heat again. They (usually the hubs), had to stop, time and time again at Walgreens, or CVS, or Walmart, so I could stock up on feminine products. If I knew 18 months ago what I know now, I should have bought stock in Playtex or Kotex.
Both our boys were born by C-Section, 24 and 20 years ago. I was convinced neither of them were ever coming out of my body. My water never broke, I never dilated, and I never went into labor. Our oldest stayed an extra 13 days...the younger one we scheduled three days after his due date. Incidentally, they were both born on a Tuesday. Why Tuesday? It was ingrained in mine and my husbands heads that the best cars are built on Tuesday's...so if it works for cars, maybe it would work for kids.
This road that I am on started in April, 2017 when I had my first long-time period. Months of bleeding, biopsies and a D&C later, everything slowed down last November, and then came back with a vengeance in December. I don't doubt my lack of sleep, my lack of focus, and all around tiredness comes from being borderline anemic. Years ago, way back when we knew weren't having more children, I told my husband I just wanted everything to be scooped out. Like literally take an ice cream scoop and get rid of it. We took the easy road out and he got the knife.
My thoughts lately run to wondering how I'm going to get everything done at work and still ensure that I have a job when I get back (I've only been here shy of two months, no benefits yet, no FMLA), to why didn't I wash our youngest son's college bedding when he got home in May instead of relying on the fact that he said he washed it. Thankfully, my husband, even though he is fighting his own injury now, has been there to pick up the slack. I've been making lists of things that need to get done in the now three full days I have before I go under the knife. The laundry is almost done, grocery shopping will be done on Sunday, helping the oldest with a project for grad school, a quick trip to the cottage to cut the grass, ordering of college textbooks for the youngest, making sure FAFSA is in order, remembering to drink up some Metamucil and wondering how our dogs will react when I'm gone overnight and come back a completely different woman.
Will I be different though? I don't think I will be. I was hoping that everything they are taking out would be like 20 pounds so I could kick start some weight loss...but I'd venture to guess that isn't the case. Years ago an older female relative that will remain nameless (RIP), told me at a Mother's Day celebration after our youngest was born, that I wasn't really a mother because I didn't give birth naturally. I was completely and utterly mortified. Everyone stopped talking, mouths agape. There may have even been a shudder and gasp. I was was holding our youngest, grabbed our oldest and told my husband to get my shit and get in the truck, we were leaving.
Regardless of how your children are born - naturally, via C Section, through a surrogate, through adoption, or even if you have never had a child, nor wanted a child, our lady bits are all the same. Some do what they are supposed to do, and women make it through their lives with no complications. Some are dysfunctional and riddled with cancer and need to be removed immediately. Some, like mine aren't functioning properly, and after many tests, and even more procedures, my doctor finally recommended that they come out.
Monday is going to come up fast. I just want the surgery done, so we can all get on with our lives.
I've done my due diligence and researched, and researched, and researched some more. I've gone to reputable sites like the Mayo clinic, I've messaged my gyno, my PCP and talked with friends in the medical field, and then joined group pages on Facebook. The Facebook pages scare me far more than the Mayo clinic pages or my doctors advice or even friends info scare me. I've heard recovery times that take upwards of 12 weeks, while some women are up and around after two. I've heard that some are getting by on Advil, while others are taking their fair share of opioid's. I've heard of women being able to take off eight weeks of work and others that are back at it two weeks post-op.
My husband and boys are troopers. They have endured shortened road trips because we had to stop and find a bathroom. They have witnessed me at the dining room table one minute, then running up the stairs next to take care of business. They have watched me lay down with a heating pad, then ice, then heat again. They (usually the hubs), had to stop, time and time again at Walgreens, or CVS, or Walmart, so I could stock up on feminine products. If I knew 18 months ago what I know now, I should have bought stock in Playtex or Kotex.
Both our boys were born by C-Section, 24 and 20 years ago. I was convinced neither of them were ever coming out of my body. My water never broke, I never dilated, and I never went into labor. Our oldest stayed an extra 13 days...the younger one we scheduled three days after his due date. Incidentally, they were both born on a Tuesday. Why Tuesday? It was ingrained in mine and my husbands heads that the best cars are built on Tuesday's...so if it works for cars, maybe it would work for kids.
This road that I am on started in April, 2017 when I had my first long-time period. Months of bleeding, biopsies and a D&C later, everything slowed down last November, and then came back with a vengeance in December. I don't doubt my lack of sleep, my lack of focus, and all around tiredness comes from being borderline anemic. Years ago, way back when we knew weren't having more children, I told my husband I just wanted everything to be scooped out. Like literally take an ice cream scoop and get rid of it. We took the easy road out and he got the knife.
My thoughts lately run to wondering how I'm going to get everything done at work and still ensure that I have a job when I get back (I've only been here shy of two months, no benefits yet, no FMLA), to why didn't I wash our youngest son's college bedding when he got home in May instead of relying on the fact that he said he washed it. Thankfully, my husband, even though he is fighting his own injury now, has been there to pick up the slack. I've been making lists of things that need to get done in the now three full days I have before I go under the knife. The laundry is almost done, grocery shopping will be done on Sunday, helping the oldest with a project for grad school, a quick trip to the cottage to cut the grass, ordering of college textbooks for the youngest, making sure FAFSA is in order, remembering to drink up some Metamucil and wondering how our dogs will react when I'm gone overnight and come back a completely different woman.
Will I be different though? I don't think I will be. I was hoping that everything they are taking out would be like 20 pounds so I could kick start some weight loss...but I'd venture to guess that isn't the case. Years ago an older female relative that will remain nameless (RIP), told me at a Mother's Day celebration after our youngest was born, that I wasn't really a mother because I didn't give birth naturally. I was completely and utterly mortified. Everyone stopped talking, mouths agape. There may have even been a shudder and gasp. I was was holding our youngest, grabbed our oldest and told my husband to get my shit and get in the truck, we were leaving.
Regardless of how your children are born - naturally, via C Section, through a surrogate, through adoption, or even if you have never had a child, nor wanted a child, our lady bits are all the same. Some do what they are supposed to do, and women make it through their lives with no complications. Some are dysfunctional and riddled with cancer and need to be removed immediately. Some, like mine aren't functioning properly, and after many tests, and even more procedures, my doctor finally recommended that they come out.
Monday is going to come up fast. I just want the surgery done, so we can all get on with our lives.
Friday, July 13, 2018
I'm Scared
It's not often I say that I'm scared. I
grew up in a house with three brothers and a sister that spent a significant
amount of time terrorizing me. It wasn't uncommon for any one of them to
crawl on the floor into my room where I was sleeping and jump out of the
shadows all in hopes to make me cry. That's what kids do, right?
There are things that make me uncomfortable, like sketchy situations, walking in an alley, letting my dogs out in the middle of the night in the north woods. Does it scare me? No. Not really, just uncomfortable.
A gaggle of clowns might set me off. (Is that what they are called? No, I looked it up. A group of clowns is called as clown alley). I might even go to say that they might set off a panic attack. Not sure why. My mom dressed me in a real life home-made clown costume when I was 5. I thought I was cute. When I think back to pictures, it freaks me the hell out.
So when it comes to being scared, the only thing that is really kind of weighing on me is my impending surgery. Last year I went through a series of biopsies, two of which were unsuccessful, and the third was paired with a D&C - not a fun experience. Needless to say, my symptoms never stopped, and here I am a year later going in for a hysterectomy at 48 years old.
That doesn't bother me. It's not like I need that baby factory anymore. We have two grown children, and there is no baby fever for me. I've been told that the procedure is a laparoscopic hysterectomy coupled with a mesh sling (sounds fun, right?). Now, I wouldn't go googleing this because it is simply gross. I'm going to be left with my ovaries so that I don't go into premature menopause. Little do they know, the night sweats, excessive crying and all around moodiness is here. I'd like it to leave. Soon.
When it comes to being scared, I think that what is bothering me the most is what I will be like after the surgery. I started a new job under two months ago, so timing sucks, but frankly I'm sick of having to take stock in Playtex and feeling like I'm lethargic all the time. One surgeon says I'll need at least eight weeks of recovery; the other says six weeks. I want to go back to work as soon as possible. I don't have the luxury of truly resting.
I know I have a good support system at home. My husband and oldest son will bear the brunt of taking care of me. Our youngest son will only have a few days of me being off my feet before he embarks on his third year of college.
The docs told me my surgery will take at minimum four hours, and then I'll spend the night in the hospital, likely fully medicated. I hate taking pain pills. I didn't like it when both pregnancies ended in cesareans, and I don't like it now. I'm worried about being under the knife, knowing that everything is out of my control. I'm worried knowing that my husband will be sitting in the waiting room, likely wringing his hands, and quite potentially any staff he encounters at the hospital if he doesn't get quick enough answers.
I'm scared of thinking that I might not be the same when I come out of surgery. Does this make me less of a woman? Will I feel differently? Can I still do all the things I love to do?
I know women go through this all the time...apparently about 600,000 annually in the United States. Sounds like alot, right? Not when you look and there were 157,000,000 women in the US in the 2010 census.
17 days until I go under the knife. 17 days to prepare for a necessary surgery. 17 days to figure out how to not be scared.
There are things that make me uncomfortable, like sketchy situations, walking in an alley, letting my dogs out in the middle of the night in the north woods. Does it scare me? No. Not really, just uncomfortable.
A gaggle of clowns might set me off. (Is that what they are called? No, I looked it up. A group of clowns is called as clown alley). I might even go to say that they might set off a panic attack. Not sure why. My mom dressed me in a real life home-made clown costume when I was 5. I thought I was cute. When I think back to pictures, it freaks me the hell out.
So when it comes to being scared, the only thing that is really kind of weighing on me is my impending surgery. Last year I went through a series of biopsies, two of which were unsuccessful, and the third was paired with a D&C - not a fun experience. Needless to say, my symptoms never stopped, and here I am a year later going in for a hysterectomy at 48 years old.
That doesn't bother me. It's not like I need that baby factory anymore. We have two grown children, and there is no baby fever for me. I've been told that the procedure is a laparoscopic hysterectomy coupled with a mesh sling (sounds fun, right?). Now, I wouldn't go googleing this because it is simply gross. I'm going to be left with my ovaries so that I don't go into premature menopause. Little do they know, the night sweats, excessive crying and all around moodiness is here. I'd like it to leave. Soon.
When it comes to being scared, I think that what is bothering me the most is what I will be like after the surgery. I started a new job under two months ago, so timing sucks, but frankly I'm sick of having to take stock in Playtex and feeling like I'm lethargic all the time. One surgeon says I'll need at least eight weeks of recovery; the other says six weeks. I want to go back to work as soon as possible. I don't have the luxury of truly resting.
I know I have a good support system at home. My husband and oldest son will bear the brunt of taking care of me. Our youngest son will only have a few days of me being off my feet before he embarks on his third year of college.
The docs told me my surgery will take at minimum four hours, and then I'll spend the night in the hospital, likely fully medicated. I hate taking pain pills. I didn't like it when both pregnancies ended in cesareans, and I don't like it now. I'm worried about being under the knife, knowing that everything is out of my control. I'm worried knowing that my husband will be sitting in the waiting room, likely wringing his hands, and quite potentially any staff he encounters at the hospital if he doesn't get quick enough answers.
I'm scared of thinking that I might not be the same when I come out of surgery. Does this make me less of a woman? Will I feel differently? Can I still do all the things I love to do?
I know women go through this all the time...apparently about 600,000 annually in the United States. Sounds like alot, right? Not when you look and there were 157,000,000 women in the US in the 2010 census.
17 days until I go under the knife. 17 days to prepare for a necessary surgery. 17 days to figure out how to not be scared.
Tuesday, May 1, 2018
It Was Just a Cup of Coffee
Way back when I started my grown up career journey, I was faced with
what I felt was an impossible task. I had to get coffee for my boss on
what seemed like an hourly basis, and it never seemed to go right. Too
hot. Too cold. Not dark enough. I want sugar, dammit! I felt like
Goldilocks and swore he was the reincarnation of Sybil.
After I attended college and got married, I held jobs where I thought I was above what I was asked to do. I was young and foolish, thinking that there is no way they want me to do what some people asked me to do. What I realize now is that coffee was just the tip of the iceberg when it came to bosses and coworkers. Their quirkiness (lets be honest, assholish behavior) was enough to make your head spin.
In the fashion of Jen Mann's Working with People I want to Punch in the Throat, I give you a snippet of my life at work. In no particular order, in order to protect the innocent, (who am I kidding, they are all guilty), I give you a handful of people I've worked with that are lucky to have made it out alive.
The Bastard. On any given day, I was asked to order flowers, cookies, and gifts for my boss. No big deal, right? Au contraire. They had to be sent to his wife...and mistress. And before you ask - he always spent more on his mistress.
The Closet Politician. This coworker thrived on all things politics She would stay up for 48 hours straight during any given election, then come to work work to impart her wisdom. What's even better, she devoured celebrity gossip and everything royal, like they were her best friends.
The Egomaniac. His wife took half his fortune, and he numbered his girlfriends and did their homework. In the middle of a corporate meeting, he opened his laptop to project a presentation and a half naked girlfriend was what our staff saw. Needless to say, he never again was allowed to set up his own presentations.
The Foreigner. His wife taught her English and she referred to staff by their pronouns instead of names. It wasn't uncommon to walk into an early morning screaming match.
The Yes Man. Agreed to everything without taking into account the consequences for his staff.
The Doing Business On The Side One. Could do their own job, but instead ran a personal business out of the non-used workout facility.
The Sneaker Outer. Finish a meeting at 3:00? Perfect. Out of the mouths of babes: "I have so much work to do, I'll be in my office." 3:02, hear them pack up and sneak out the back door.
The One Who Wasn't Funny. I'm all about inappropriateness. It makes me laugh, because I don't have a stick up my ass. This one, however, thought that all female staff was trying to slowly kill him, and proceeded to be funny even when a dog died.
The Alrighty. Every time a task was started or completed, this one said alright. I would have been ok with that if it was Matthew McConaughey.
The Drinker. It's one thing to have a drink after work. It's another thing to talk about bar hopping every night of the week and show up late every morning.
The Stealer of Ideas. Nothing like having your staff work on a project that was scammed from another company. Or have someone mock up a strategic plan, that gets presented as your own work, even though half the people in the room knew it was done by someone else.
The Liar. Many people embellish their resume. This one lied about finishing their college degree and where they had previously worked, yet they were hired and ultimately promoted. Twice.
The Vacationer. The one that treated company business trips like their own personal vacation provider. Need a volunteer to go abroad? Absolutely! Working a trade show in the deep south? Shit, I can lay on the beach and no one will notice my tan! Order steak and lobster and $100 bottles of wine? I'm on it! My assistant can kiss ass and get my expenses put through.
The Original Selfie Taker. When you have downtime at a conference and you and your coworkers scroll through social feeds of people you don't like at work, be careful. You may come across a gem of a senior leader in the locker room at their gym taking a bathroom selfie, with stall behind them and the obligatory flash blocking their face. Or if you are really lucky you may see that same person sans shirt in the lobby of your office after hours.
The All-Day Luncher. How much food can one person pack in over the course of eight hours? For the love of all that is holy, stop cooking fish in the microwave. Please stop crunching carrots. And if I have to listen to you make a tink, tink, tink sound as you rummage around in your homemade yogurt housed in a mason jar, I'm gonna flip my shit.
The Scientologist. So many things could be said, but I fear for my life and that of my husband and kids. I'd rather if Tom Cruise didn't send his church mafia to my front door. Just know that you've never really experienced a wackadoo, unless you experience someone that worships LRH.
The Pig. Your cube is disgusting. Crumbs and spilled coffee do not belong on your desk, nor on the front of your shirt. Garbage belongs in the waste basket, not overflowing in to the aisle. Wash your fucking dishes. I am gagging on the mix of ketchup, mayo and ranch dressing you seem to favor. And for fucks sake, change your shirt and pants. You cannot possibly own 12 of the same button down shirts.
The Unequal Opportunist. Never gave anyone credit for their own work. Often lied to the person that actually did the work and took it as their own.
The Heat Seeker. In winter, the office was set at 75. In summer, no air conditioning because they got cold. The thermostat was in their office. Everyone else suffered.
The Pregnant Hypochondriac. Morning Sickness? Yes. Hyperemesis Gravidarium. Yes (and did you know that the princess had it too, and we are due on the same date?) Said she craved celery. You have got to be kidding me.
The Entrepreneur. No. I don't want to buy Lula Roe, Jamberry, Norwex, Tupperwear or Oils from you. If I did, I'll contact you. Stop messaging me. And do you even work here? How could you possibly have the time?
The Upward Climber. Had no respect for anyone unless they were a superior. Managing up is the only way to go. Everyone else could suck it.
The Sneaky Filter User. Be careful. Snapchat is her best friend. And you may be her enemy.
The Micro Manager. I'd like to say they didn't know they were micromanaging, but I really believe they knew, and got off on it.
The Bathroom Eater. Honey. I hear you eating the Cheetos. You repulse me.
Now, before you think I'm all bitchy and judgmental, this is done out of survival. Thirty plus years of working will do that to you. Misery loves company, and I guarantee if you worked with me, you may recognize some of the individuals above. I guarantee coworkers would probably have choice things to say about me. As a side note, some of the people above are the same person. I didn't work with all assholes.
So when I think back to it just being a cup of coffee I was so worried about, that was the least of my worries.
After I attended college and got married, I held jobs where I thought I was above what I was asked to do. I was young and foolish, thinking that there is no way they want me to do what some people asked me to do. What I realize now is that coffee was just the tip of the iceberg when it came to bosses and coworkers. Their quirkiness (lets be honest, assholish behavior) was enough to make your head spin.
In the fashion of Jen Mann's Working with People I want to Punch in the Throat, I give you a snippet of my life at work. In no particular order, in order to protect the innocent, (who am I kidding, they are all guilty), I give you a handful of people I've worked with that are lucky to have made it out alive.
The Bastard. On any given day, I was asked to order flowers, cookies, and gifts for my boss. No big deal, right? Au contraire. They had to be sent to his wife...and mistress. And before you ask - he always spent more on his mistress.
The Closet Politician. This coworker thrived on all things politics She would stay up for 48 hours straight during any given election, then come to work work to impart her wisdom. What's even better, she devoured celebrity gossip and everything royal, like they were her best friends.
The Egomaniac. His wife took half his fortune, and he numbered his girlfriends and did their homework. In the middle of a corporate meeting, he opened his laptop to project a presentation and a half naked girlfriend was what our staff saw. Needless to say, he never again was allowed to set up his own presentations.
The Foreigner. His wife taught her English and she referred to staff by their pronouns instead of names. It wasn't uncommon to walk into an early morning screaming match.
The Yes Man. Agreed to everything without taking into account the consequences for his staff.
The Doing Business On The Side One. Could do their own job, but instead ran a personal business out of the non-used workout facility.
The Sneaker Outer. Finish a meeting at 3:00? Perfect. Out of the mouths of babes: "I have so much work to do, I'll be in my office." 3:02, hear them pack up and sneak out the back door.
The One Who Wasn't Funny. I'm all about inappropriateness. It makes me laugh, because I don't have a stick up my ass. This one, however, thought that all female staff was trying to slowly kill him, and proceeded to be funny even when a dog died.
The Alrighty. Every time a task was started or completed, this one said alright. I would have been ok with that if it was Matthew McConaughey.
The Drinker. It's one thing to have a drink after work. It's another thing to talk about bar hopping every night of the week and show up late every morning.
The Stealer of Ideas. Nothing like having your staff work on a project that was scammed from another company. Or have someone mock up a strategic plan, that gets presented as your own work, even though half the people in the room knew it was done by someone else.
The Liar. Many people embellish their resume. This one lied about finishing their college degree and where they had previously worked, yet they were hired and ultimately promoted. Twice.
The Vacationer. The one that treated company business trips like their own personal vacation provider. Need a volunteer to go abroad? Absolutely! Working a trade show in the deep south? Shit, I can lay on the beach and no one will notice my tan! Order steak and lobster and $100 bottles of wine? I'm on it! My assistant can kiss ass and get my expenses put through.
The Original Selfie Taker. When you have downtime at a conference and you and your coworkers scroll through social feeds of people you don't like at work, be careful. You may come across a gem of a senior leader in the locker room at their gym taking a bathroom selfie, with stall behind them and the obligatory flash blocking their face. Or if you are really lucky you may see that same person sans shirt in the lobby of your office after hours.
The All-Day Luncher. How much food can one person pack in over the course of eight hours? For the love of all that is holy, stop cooking fish in the microwave. Please stop crunching carrots. And if I have to listen to you make a tink, tink, tink sound as you rummage around in your homemade yogurt housed in a mason jar, I'm gonna flip my shit.
The Scientologist. So many things could be said, but I fear for my life and that of my husband and kids. I'd rather if Tom Cruise didn't send his church mafia to my front door. Just know that you've never really experienced a wackadoo, unless you experience someone that worships LRH.
The Pig. Your cube is disgusting. Crumbs and spilled coffee do not belong on your desk, nor on the front of your shirt. Garbage belongs in the waste basket, not overflowing in to the aisle. Wash your fucking dishes. I am gagging on the mix of ketchup, mayo and ranch dressing you seem to favor. And for fucks sake, change your shirt and pants. You cannot possibly own 12 of the same button down shirts.
The Unequal Opportunist. Never gave anyone credit for their own work. Often lied to the person that actually did the work and took it as their own.
The Heat Seeker. In winter, the office was set at 75. In summer, no air conditioning because they got cold. The thermostat was in their office. Everyone else suffered.
The Pregnant Hypochondriac. Morning Sickness? Yes. Hyperemesis Gravidarium. Yes (and did you know that the princess had it too, and we are due on the same date?) Said she craved celery. You have got to be kidding me.
The Entrepreneur. No. I don't want to buy Lula Roe, Jamberry, Norwex, Tupperwear or Oils from you. If I did, I'll contact you. Stop messaging me. And do you even work here? How could you possibly have the time?
The Upward Climber. Had no respect for anyone unless they were a superior. Managing up is the only way to go. Everyone else could suck it.
The Sneaky Filter User. Be careful. Snapchat is her best friend. And you may be her enemy.
The Micro Manager. I'd like to say they didn't know they were micromanaging, but I really believe they knew, and got off on it.
The Bathroom Eater. Honey. I hear you eating the Cheetos. You repulse me.
Now, before you think I'm all bitchy and judgmental, this is done out of survival. Thirty plus years of working will do that to you. Misery loves company, and I guarantee if you worked with me, you may recognize some of the individuals above. I guarantee coworkers would probably have choice things to say about me. As a side note, some of the people above are the same person. I didn't work with all assholes.
So when I think back to it just being a cup of coffee I was so worried about, that was the least of my worries.
Monday, January 1, 2018
New Year. New Attitude.
2017 was very humbling. I'm glad it's behind us as a family. I have the most supportive spouse and boys, and for that I am grateful. I have friends I can vent to, and some family that I know is there for me. I belong to some really great online groups that know just when you need to have a meme war, full of all the things you shouldn't say. Kind of like George Carlin did. I love it.
This week will bring a fresh start. I'm not much into resolutions. I always seem to break them. I was lucky enough to schedule several interviews and I know that this is the week that I'm going to land back on my feet.
Despite the way things have been, I tried to stay positive. Not an easy task when you continuously talk about yourself and get no traction. I've questioned every interview and interaction I've had in this search. It's a lot harder looking at 47, then it was even five years ago.
I have read countless books on the Law of Attraction. I've started changing the way I've always done things. I spent nine days away from all of this just to get recharged. I highly recommend it.
Don't ever assume you are safe in your career. Trust your gut, and if there are red flags, get out while you can. Take chances. Embrace choices. Say thank you to those that help you, and don't be bitter to those that don't.
This is my week.
This week will bring a fresh start. I'm not much into resolutions. I always seem to break them. I was lucky enough to schedule several interviews and I know that this is the week that I'm going to land back on my feet.
Despite the way things have been, I tried to stay positive. Not an easy task when you continuously talk about yourself and get no traction. I've questioned every interview and interaction I've had in this search. It's a lot harder looking at 47, then it was even five years ago.
I have read countless books on the Law of Attraction. I've started changing the way I've always done things. I spent nine days away from all of this just to get recharged. I highly recommend it.
Don't ever assume you are safe in your career. Trust your gut, and if there are red flags, get out while you can. Take chances. Embrace choices. Say thank you to those that help you, and don't be bitter to those that don't.
This is my week.
Saturday, December 30, 2017
New Years Eve Eve
2018 is almost here. The day before the end of this year.
I'm ready, as is my husband, and a good handful of friends, and some family, to get on with putting this year behind us. I know I'm looking forward to a fresh start, and to have to stop looking for a new job. Next week is the week...I feel it (it helps having four interviews).
Everyone says things happen for a reason. I try to think that, but sometimes life just sucks and you just deal with it. At least that's what my husband says.
I have friends that swear by positivity and putting good out into the world. I have others that are stressed and life has left them broken, and all they say is screw the world. The best way that I know to get through life is be a survivor. You never know what life has in store for you. I certainly don't.
What we see on social media is a fraction of what someone's life is really like. Granted, sometimes there is just too much info shared, but whatever floats your boat. That's the beauty of scrolling past or unfollowing someone's feed. There are only so many happy memes I can look at without wanting to gouge out my eyes. And I'm sorry to say that I just don't care when you post "I can't even" with no context, or decide to share something about someone that you have had not an ounce of interaction with, but feel it's necessary to flood my feed with whatever it is you think your friends might care about.
Our family has spent the last nine days decompressing this year. Tomorrow night there will be no parties or spending a fortune on dinner. Midnight will come and go without any hoopla, instead life will go on while we are most likely tucked into our beds, fighting with our dogs to get off our numb legs.
Don't get me wrong, I hope you have a grand old time. If you find it necessary to go out bar hopping tomorrow night, only to wake up with a wicked hangover on Monday morning, more power to you. We did it a few years, but we were married young and had kids early, so going out on New Years more or less lost its appeal. If you decide to stay home, sporting your pajamas while eating pizza straight from the box, have at it. Or if you decide to go to an early movie and splurge on the large popcorn and pretzels, only to spoil dinner, you might be my spirit animal. If you do go out, please don't drive. Even if you think you are sober or you didn't have that much, you probably did, and you shouldn't be behind the wheel, or at the helm of a snowmobile.
Needless to say, enjoy these last two days however you want. I'm covered in a blanket, nestled at our cottage while my husband watches UFC. I'm looking forward to putting this year behind me. 2018 promises a brand new career, a 25th anniversary vacation, and an attitude that will stop me from worrying so much about everyone else.
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