It's Day Four of feeling like a lung is going to pop out of my mouth at any moment. It all kind of started Saturday when I felt a little out of sorts, but put on my party face for another rousing Supper Club, only to spend all day Sunday on the couch, being lectured by my liver on the differences between 21 and 30. Monday was a bit crappy and Tuesday was full on miserable. Cut to today. It sux, too. I'm rocking some Betsey Johnson PJs, slippers from Restoration Hardware that just about have this atheist convinced that heaven does exist and it's manifested in unattractive, but dreamy footwear. I've showered, but I'm breaking my cardinal rule of "never be without mascara." I think one is less of a person without proper lash coating, don't you?
Half-hearted jokes aside, all this time on the couch has gotten me thinking about the differences between men and women when they're sick. I'll be the first to admit that I don't get sick all that often, so when I do, I may get just a teensy bit whiny. You know why? Because I really don't feel well. There are tons of days throughout the year when I feel less than my best and have the sniffles, but I don't say anything about it other than, "I'm tired," so when I do say I'm sick I guess I expect to be taken seriously. I'm not asking to have a private doctor on call, but a little "time off" is in order. Since my current job title is Domestic Goddess, let me explain what I mean.
I want time off from The Details. Every single day, a woman's life is immersed in details. It could be the details of knowing which kid has which practice at which time, or the smaller stuff like knowing when the library books are due and which pet needs which treatment or appointment booked. It could be mailing the birthday cards or actually booking the service appointment for the air conditioner that broke the day before you went out of town...and your spouse just sweated until you got back, rather than making one simple phone call. (Can you tell how confident I am that he doesn't read this?) Details could be planning your menus for two weeks, then buying the groceries and making those dinners each night. Details could be looking more than five minutes ahead to actually plan something. They could be thinking about what everybody else needs before thinking about what you need. They could be remembering to get your wife's medicine that she sent you to the store for, or at least bringing them to her at lunch, so she's not at home, miserable all day.
Let me tell you, dear reader, I need a break from The Details. And I do not want to hear a damned word about those details in the week that I skip them. I don't want to see you pile a dish on the counter because you think I should have unloaded/reloaded the dishwasher today. I don't want to hear about ANYTHING other than my resting, feeling better and highly medicated state. And I don't want you to try to make me feel guilty about it. I'm sick. I've barely eaten in like five days! And, yes, I've been lying on the couch all day, watching TV and napping because that's what sick people do. They do not jump up to do laundry or to take care of household duties that are not dire. And in between coughing so hard I threw up today (twice), I did not clean the kitchen, nor pick up and put away the broom you left in the kitchen a week ago. And I'm not going to feel guilty about that.
Give me a break from The Details. Feminists forgive me for what I'm about to confess on behalf of us all, but: SOMETIMES WE WANT TO BE TAKEN CARE OF. I said it. The cat's out of the bag! Sometimes, after taking care of husbands, pets, children, friends, careers, households, we just want to be taken care of, too. And there's really no better time to show us that you're capable of being a partner than when we are sick. How about instead of acting like we're being lazy, you pitch in and do some cleaning since it seems to bother you so much? How about instead of coming home and expecting the household to be functioning as normal, you take a moment and remember how you are when you're sick? Men are babies when they have the slightest cold. (Bone breaks are another story. My husband walked around with a broken, swollen finger for a month and I once saw a friend break his collarbone while playing softball, but put off going to the hospital until he finished his almost-full beer.) All of a sudden, not only are you Florence Nightengale, but you're also his mommy, making him grilled cheese sandwiches and renting him movies...and cleaning the house, and doing the laundry, and making the phone calls and dropping everything just to run to the store for more cough drops. But you know what's weird? I honestly don't think we mind because we know how crappy it feels to be sick and to still have to take care of everything by yourself. Maybe it's the caretaker instinct in us, but I think taking care of your partner when they're sick is a great way of showing them that they can depend on you when the chips are down...or whatever that expression is.
So, men (all four of you who actually read this blog), please hear this: I'm not ragging on you. I'm trying to help you because women don't want to have to ask for the same courtesies we show you when you're sick. Just help us. Just fuss over us for a few days or a week or whatever it takes for us to seem back to normal. And believe us when we say that we feel like hammered dog crap because if she's couch-bound, sans makeup, coughing and her eyes are watering, I highly doubt your lady's just trying to get you to run the vacuum.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Monday, April 2, 2012
Tennessee -- who knew? (This one's a meandering mess)
"Tennessee: It's not just for rednecks!" I'm going all Greenburg and writing a letter to the Tennessee Chamber of Commerce to suggest the above as the new state motto. Let me tell you, I would have found that information helpful before we moved here. Frankly, I don't think I had any idea what this place would be like and now I understand what my friend, Darbi, has been raving about for years. But, in the interest of full disclosure, I must admit that I've really only lightly explored the Nashville/Franklin areas of TN, and that's about it. Of course, I did drive through a little chunk of some of the rest of it on my move out here. And aside from the young man in the purple car who was driving in the left lane and going about 50 when the speed limit was 70, who flipped me off while finally changing to the right lane, I found it very pleasant. It was pretty, green (After about seven years in Denver, I'd forgotten that grass is supposed to be GREEN and not brown.) and reminded me a little bit of my childhood and college days in Missouri -- and it gave me that warm, humid feeling in my heart.
Thus far, every single person I've encountered here -- and I do mean every single person -- has been incredibly nice. People thank one another about ten times in a single transaction. It was a little bizarre to me at first, but now I'm falling into it and it's almost becoming second nature. Don't look for any Southern accents in this household anytime soon, but maybe living in the South will make me a nicer person??? (Mom, I can hear you laughing.)
I have to say that it was a strange realization last week when I went, "Hmmm...maybe I can do the South. I might even like it this time." (A large part of why I didn't like it before was most likely thanks to the fact that we moved at the beginning of my seventh grade year, when I was sporting big glasses, big cheeks and frizzy hair. Seriously, Mom, I'm sure there was no polite way to transform my look without giving me an eating disorder, but holy guacamole, Batman! Nerd alert!!!
My life is really different at 30 than it was at 12 - thank hey-zeus. I (willingly) live in the suburbs (Never thought I'd say that.); I'm married; I'm trying to spend less time being so self-conscious; I'm no longer concerned with being "cool" or making tons of friends. I'm happy with the people I have in my life and anyone else who comes along is just a bonus.
And while it was a hugely important time in my life that I wouldn't trade for anything, I realized something about my NYC days: I loved it, but maybe it wasn't always good for me. I'm not going to elaborate too much on that because there were lessons learned that probably wouldn't mean anything to anyone but me. But it hardened me and threw me into a fast-paced frenzy that's lasted for quite a few years. I left that city in 2005 and I think I'm just now starting to shake that -- mostly because I've never wanted to until now. I think my blood pressure went up and just stayed there for 7 years. On the positive side, though, that city taught me how to be self-sufficient, the importance of being direct (people who don't like honesty are hiding something about themselves), and that if you want something in your life, you have to go get it yourself -- no one's going to bring it to you. They were the best days of my life, but maybe I need to create those days all over again, this time under the banner of being a 30-year old who's somewhat found her way.
Which brings me to my next point: I'm paraphrasing this, but I recently heard the following saying, "Decide you want something more than you're scared of it." I think that's where I am at the moment. I'm at a fork in the road and one direction is starting all over and pursuing new career dreams, not settling for misery, just because the security is appealing. No more being talked down to, no more passive aggressive digs that are absolutely not okay from someone who doesn't know how to do their own job and therefore looks to tear others down. No more backstabbing. No more muddling through. START ANEW and take the plunge. I'll make sacrifices; I'll work really hard and get cray-cray stressed. But I'll be working toward something I actually care about.
The other direction is going back to what's familiar and never really making an effort to see what's on the other side of that door. It's so tempting to plant yourself back in the middle of stability and complacency...but I'm hoping I have the strength to walk as far away from that as possible because it's just not me. The greatest risks produce the greatest rewards.
Of course, these are all "hypothetical phrases," but let's just say I never want to hear any of the following from someone in authority again:
"I could be in a meeting with 'the big man,' but instead I'm here with you guys."
"No seriously, no one cares what you think."
"I know you guys have put in a lot of hours on this project, but we're just going to present this, so you don't need to come to the meeting today."
"You focus too much on what everyone should be doing."
"You need to learn how to care less about your job."
"I've already heard this -- I don't want to hear it anymore."
"Sit down and shut up."
"You work for me."
"You speak with so much confidence -- I don't know where it comes from."
"Maybe you should ask your husband what you should do with your career. You seem a little lost."
I'm not saying I've ever had such ridiculousness spouted at me in a meeting with other people as witnesses, nor in a private conference room in an effort to hide the potentially lawsuit-friendly nature of these types of comments. (Of course not! Who would be stupid enough to say such horribly reprehensible things to their employees???) Of course, there are plenty of leaders who would never ever say these things. And there are a handful of people out there who even conduct themselves with integrity in the workplace because they know it's completely unnecessary to step on others or to lie just to get ahead. And I've had the good fortune of learning from a bunch of folks who prove that every single day they go into work (my dad probably being number one). I've learned tons of valuable anecdotes and skills from them and just as many crucial lessons of how not to conduct myself from people at the opposite end of the spectrum. But over my admittedly somewhat brief career, I've come to the conclusion that I just don't have enough seconds in my short lifetime to waste on people who, despite being full-blown adults, still haven't figured out the definition of integrity. And I'm not going to work for, nor with them.
But I digress. This entry really isn't about the bad behavior of others from past hypothetical jobs. It's about my new, fresh start and the beauty of having a blank canvas in front of me to paint however I choose.
My mind is a little cloudy at the moment because I'm bored and, frankly, pretty tired of not using my brain much during the day (needless to say, watching reruns of 90210 on SOAPNET and folding laundry or unloading the dishwasher doesn't exactly giving my synapses a trip to Jazzercize.). But my boredom is tempered by my gratitude for not having to take another potentially mismatched job that doesn't fit into my greater career goals. I'm taking my time in the hopes that I will find the perfect (or at least enjoyable) job. Let's hope it's out there! Because, in the end, no matter how great the company is (and there have been some...), you can't fit a creative peg into a Brooks Brothers hole. (But if you can figure out how to still collect the BB paychecks, let me know because that part's great!)
Side note: Just did a little research on General Nathan Bedford Forrest, for whom our neighborhood is named. Apparently, he made a shit ton of money selling other human beings and running his plantation. Like $1.5 million waaaaaaaaaaaay back before the Civil War. Then he was a General. For the Confederate Army, of course. And he slaughtered a bunch of African American soldiers. And then he was an early leader in the KKK. Outstanding choice of a person to memorialize through little boxes made of ticky-tacky.
Thus far, every single person I've encountered here -- and I do mean every single person -- has been incredibly nice. People thank one another about ten times in a single transaction. It was a little bizarre to me at first, but now I'm falling into it and it's almost becoming second nature. Don't look for any Southern accents in this household anytime soon, but maybe living in the South will make me a nicer person??? (Mom, I can hear you laughing.)
I have to say that it was a strange realization last week when I went, "Hmmm...maybe I can do the South. I might even like it this time." (A large part of why I didn't like it before was most likely thanks to the fact that we moved at the beginning of my seventh grade year, when I was sporting big glasses, big cheeks and frizzy hair. Seriously, Mom, I'm sure there was no polite way to transform my look without giving me an eating disorder, but holy guacamole, Batman! Nerd alert!!!
My life is really different at 30 than it was at 12 - thank hey-zeus. I (willingly) live in the suburbs (Never thought I'd say that.); I'm married; I'm trying to spend less time being so self-conscious; I'm no longer concerned with being "cool" or making tons of friends. I'm happy with the people I have in my life and anyone else who comes along is just a bonus.
And while it was a hugely important time in my life that I wouldn't trade for anything, I realized something about my NYC days: I loved it, but maybe it wasn't always good for me. I'm not going to elaborate too much on that because there were lessons learned that probably wouldn't mean anything to anyone but me. But it hardened me and threw me into a fast-paced frenzy that's lasted for quite a few years. I left that city in 2005 and I think I'm just now starting to shake that -- mostly because I've never wanted to until now. I think my blood pressure went up and just stayed there for 7 years. On the positive side, though, that city taught me how to be self-sufficient, the importance of being direct (people who don't like honesty are hiding something about themselves), and that if you want something in your life, you have to go get it yourself -- no one's going to bring it to you. They were the best days of my life, but maybe I need to create those days all over again, this time under the banner of being a 30-year old who's somewhat found her way.
Which brings me to my next point: I'm paraphrasing this, but I recently heard the following saying, "Decide you want something more than you're scared of it." I think that's where I am at the moment. I'm at a fork in the road and one direction is starting all over and pursuing new career dreams, not settling for misery, just because the security is appealing. No more being talked down to, no more passive aggressive digs that are absolutely not okay from someone who doesn't know how to do their own job and therefore looks to tear others down. No more backstabbing. No more muddling through. START ANEW and take the plunge. I'll make sacrifices; I'll work really hard and get cray-cray stressed. But I'll be working toward something I actually care about.
The other direction is going back to what's familiar and never really making an effort to see what's on the other side of that door. It's so tempting to plant yourself back in the middle of stability and complacency...but I'm hoping I have the strength to walk as far away from that as possible because it's just not me. The greatest risks produce the greatest rewards.
Of course, these are all "hypothetical phrases," but let's just say I never want to hear any of the following from someone in authority again:
"I could be in a meeting with 'the big man,' but instead I'm here with you guys."
"No seriously, no one cares what you think."
"I know you guys have put in a lot of hours on this project, but we're just going to present this, so you don't need to come to the meeting today."
"You focus too much on what everyone should be doing."
"You need to learn how to care less about your job."
"I've already heard this -- I don't want to hear it anymore."
"Sit down and shut up."
"You work for me."
"You speak with so much confidence -- I don't know where it comes from."
"Maybe you should ask your husband what you should do with your career. You seem a little lost."
I'm not saying I've ever had such ridiculousness spouted at me in a meeting with other people as witnesses, nor in a private conference room in an effort to hide the potentially lawsuit-friendly nature of these types of comments. (Of course not! Who would be stupid enough to say such horribly reprehensible things to their employees???) Of course, there are plenty of leaders who would never ever say these things. And there are a handful of people out there who even conduct themselves with integrity in the workplace because they know it's completely unnecessary to step on others or to lie just to get ahead. And I've had the good fortune of learning from a bunch of folks who prove that every single day they go into work (my dad probably being number one). I've learned tons of valuable anecdotes and skills from them and just as many crucial lessons of how not to conduct myself from people at the opposite end of the spectrum. But over my admittedly somewhat brief career, I've come to the conclusion that I just don't have enough seconds in my short lifetime to waste on people who, despite being full-blown adults, still haven't figured out the definition of integrity. And I'm not going to work for, nor with them.
But I digress. This entry really isn't about the bad behavior of others from past hypothetical jobs. It's about my new, fresh start and the beauty of having a blank canvas in front of me to paint however I choose.
My mind is a little cloudy at the moment because I'm bored and, frankly, pretty tired of not using my brain much during the day (needless to say, watching reruns of 90210 on SOAPNET and folding laundry or unloading the dishwasher doesn't exactly giving my synapses a trip to Jazzercize.). But my boredom is tempered by my gratitude for not having to take another potentially mismatched job that doesn't fit into my greater career goals. I'm taking my time in the hopes that I will find the perfect (or at least enjoyable) job. Let's hope it's out there! Because, in the end, no matter how great the company is (and there have been some...), you can't fit a creative peg into a Brooks Brothers hole. (But if you can figure out how to still collect the BB paychecks, let me know because that part's great!)
Side note: Just did a little research on General Nathan Bedford Forrest, for whom our neighborhood is named. Apparently, he made a shit ton of money selling other human beings and running his plantation. Like $1.5 million waaaaaaaaaaaay back before the Civil War. Then he was a General. For the Confederate Army, of course. And he slaughtered a bunch of African American soldiers. And then he was an early leader in the KKK. Outstanding choice of a person to memorialize through little boxes made of ticky-tacky.
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