Labels and why they don’t work for me. September 27, 2010

I’m the epitome of an anomaly.

Doing comedy, radio and band promotions for 8 years, I’m in bars all the time, yet I don’t drink.  Ever.

My calendar is booked solid for 2 months, yet I’m home today.

The comedy and music and radio are considered cool things, yet I also belong to a writing group and a geeky co-working group.

Though the perception of me is that I only date black men, my ex-husband is Irish, ex long-term is Mexican and I almost married and Englishman.

My playlist goes from The Gap Band to Descendents to Queen to Ja Rule to Madonna to MGMT.  I don’t “fit” into any category.

But, why should I?  Why does everything have to have a label?

I’m almost 40, yet I don’t even have cable so I don’t sit around watching TV.  I haven’t slowed down yet.

I’m a single girl, but unlike most single women my age, I have an enormous fear of commitment and won’t settle for just anyone.  If I’m spending time with you regularly, you’ve made it past the wall.

Although I work in sales, which requires experience, attitude and personality more than a degree, I have a BA&S with a double major and triple minor.

I’m perimenopausal, which means I’ve started menopause, early stages.  Where most women freak about their age and this sort of thing happening to their bodies, I welcome the future of less hassle.  It also means my sex drive slows down.  Well, that hasn’t happened.  I also look amazing for my age.  I admit that.

People will look and label me as retro, rockabilly, whatever.  Truth is, I still have my leather biker jacket from when I was a punk in High School and still wear it.  It just doesn’t zip over my boobs anymore.  I can’t wait for it to be cool enough out to break out my favorite sweats.  Most of my clothes are lame capris and button-down shirts.

I have huge tattoos and several of them, yet I can cover them up to go to work, because I want to look professional.

Though I seem like a bad girl, I’ve never thrown a punch in my life.

I guess I’m intimidating, but when I see a spider, I pick it up with a paper towel, very gently, and put it outside.

And, lastly, though I seem to be this out-going party girl, I’m extremely shy and just put on a mask when I’m around new people, just to get through the initial moment.  I’m an introvert, which means I need to be alone to recharge, rather than be with friends.

So, there you have it.  Evidence that labels suck.  And why you should never use them.

Judge not, lest ye be judged yourself.  I always say “Who the fuck am I to judge?”  I’m an alcoholic in recovery, did my fair share of drugs.  If I don’t give people a chance, I shouldn’t expect one in return, right?

Yeah fuck yeah! I quit my job!!! September 19, 2010

I’ve been looking for a new job for 6 months.  I have a previous post about my job sucking my soul.  Well, I finally got a lead on one from a friend and spent two weeks interviewing, sending forms, etc. and finally got offered a position on Wednesday. I was planning on giving my notice Monday the 20th and work until Wednesday, take a long weekend before the new job starts on the 27th.  That is, until I went to work this past Thursday.

Well, Thursday sucked.  My boss’ boss was in town, interviewing for a vacancy.  We have a new guy who started about 3 weeks ago and both of them came down on him pretty hard, in front of everyone.  It was then that I realized I didn’t OWE them anything as far as working a few more days.  I’d been treated like crap by both of them all week, too, and it was all I could do to muster up the strength to go in there Friday.

I was going to quit.  I’ve been called a hero by some of my friends for this:

I walked into work and realized “Oh, shit.  It’s his birthday.”  What, you think I’m NOT gonna quit because it was his birthday?  That just made everything more awesome!  It gave what I was about to do an extra…punch.

We sang “Happy Birthday” to him around 9am.  My intention was to get him before he went to lunch.  I planned on going to lunch and, well, not going back to work.  I took my piece of his birthday cake to my desk and started laughing.  I sat in a cubby, where I couldn’t see anyone sitting next to me, we could barely hear each other.  It was like living 40 hours a week in a box.  We were Pavlov’s dogs.  I sat there, eating this piece of birthday cake and started laughing.  It was the kind of laugh where you kind of have to hold in, so as not to draw attention (lord help us for being human!) to myself.  I had tears running down my face and snot bubbling out of my nose.  I kept thinking of how hysterically hilarious it was that here I was, eating a piece of birthday cake, an hour before quitting my job.  I’m still laughing and it was 36 hours ago.

So, right before I knew he’d be headed to his birthday lunch (HAHAHAHA!!!) I went to his desk and asked “Do you have a minute?” and we went into one of the conference rooms.  Here’s how it went:

Me:  I hate to do this to you on your birthday, but I quit.

Assclown Troll:  When is your last day?

Me:  What time is it?

Assclown Troll: 11am

Me:  I’m not coming back from lunch.  I got a job offer I couldn’t refuse.

Assclown Troll:  Well, good.  We need to make room for some strong people to work here.

Me:  Whatever.

I went back to my desk and he asked if I needed a box for my stuff and walked out the door for his fucking birthday lunch.  I chatted with my co-workers for a bit.  Two started to cry.  The others thought I was joking.  I’d been there for 18 months and was a big part of my team.  Even if I didn’t get a lot of sales some weeks, I could always be counted on for advice and inspiration.  And a little bit of sunshine.

Hahahaha!  I quit my job.  After eating a piece of my boss’ birthday cake.  I rule.