Total Perspective Vortex
What really happened to Trillian? Theories abound, but you can see what she's really been up to on this blog. If you're looking for white mice, depressed robots, or the occasional Pan Galactic Gargleblaster you might be better served here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/cult/hitchhikers/guide/.
Don't just sit there angry and ranting, do something constructive.
In the words of Patti Smith (all hail Sister Patti): People have the power.
Contact your elected officials.
Don't be passive = get involved = make a difference.
Words are cool.
The English language is complex, stupid, illogical, confounding, brilliant, beautiful, and fascinating.
Every now and then a word presents itself that typifies all the maddeningly gorgeousness of language. They're the words that give you pause for thought. "Who came up with that word? That's an interesting string of letters." Their beauty doesn't lie in their definition (although that can play a role). It's also not in their onomatopoeia, though that, too, can play a role. Their beauty is in the way their letters combine - the visual poetry of words - and/or the way they sound when spoken. We talk a lot about music we like to hear and art we like to see, so let's all hail the unsung heroes of communication, poetry and life: Words.
Here are some I like. (Not because of their definition.)
Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Smart Girls
(A Trillian de-composition, to the tune of Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys)
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
Smart girls ain’t easy to love and they’re above playing games
And they’d rather read a book than subvert themselves
Kafka, Beethoven and foreign movies
And each night alone with her cat
And they won’t understand her and she won’t die young
She’ll probably just wither away
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
A smart girl loves creaky old libraries and lively debates
Exploring the world and art and witty reparteé
Men who don’t know her won’t like her and those who do
Sometimes won’t know how to take her
She’s rarely wrong but in desperation will play dumb
Because men hate that she’s always right
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
Life(?) of Trillian
Single/Zero
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
I did something really wild on my lunch hour today. I've never done anything like this. It was kind of scary but a little freeing, too. But bad. Something so bad I feel compelled to confess, to lay my soul bare. Something I didn’t think I was capable of doing. Something I thought would take a lot longer than the few minutes it took. A moment of reckless abandon, a lifetime of regret. Something you rarely hear women talk about because of the shame and embarrassment of it. Something some of us desperately need but refuse to give in to temptation out of duty and honor and self-respect and reputation. We’ve been told, and believe, that men don’t like women who give into it. Yet other women, brave, fierce women, throw off the shackles of conventional values and see it as a necessary part of their lifestyle. I’ve heard there are women who actually want it so badly they crave it and even flaunt it, you know, out and proud sort of thing.
I’m feeling, well, disappointed in myself. Oh sure, I've had the occasional fantasy, I think most women do. I have wondered what it would be like, how it would feel. I've looked at a few photos online but that's as far as it's ever gone - just a deviant fantasy to warm up a cold night. So, yes, I’ve been tempted in the past but I’ve never given into it because, well, I’m just not that kind of girl.
Or, well, I wasn’t that kind of girl. I guess now I am.
What gets me is how quickly and flippantly I gave in to it. I can’t believe I was that weak. That, that, easy. I just gave myself over to the mad frenzy and got caught up in the intoxication of it all.
And now, well, now the sobering reality has hit, there’s no going back to the way I was before… before I fell weak and powerless under the power of desire. So weak that I would make a decision in the moment that I will probably regret for a lifetime. So much for my self-respect and dignity. I mean, what will my mother think of me? She certainly didn’t raise me that way. And my nieces…they look up to me and depend on me to set a good example…
I mean, no decent man will ever want me now. Even if I were able to manage to keep it a secret eventually he'd find out and know that I'm not the woman I seem to be.
I am now a woman with a secret. A secret that can only remain closeted so long because there's no hiding a secret like this forever, no way to explain it, no way to hide the obvious telltale signs or escape the subsequent shame.
(deep breath, it’ll be okay, lots of girls do it, it doesn’t make me a bad person, it’s okay, really, it’ll be okay, so what if people judge me, who cares what they think, live my own life, be my own person, some people might even respect me for it, it's okay, really, I am not a bad person because of this deep deep deep breath it's going to be okay)
Here goes.
I bought a parka.
I had to run errands and it’s like, I dunno, -24 no degrees outside with a wind chill of -1135 and there was this massive sale and all I really needed were tights but there they were, beckoning and yes, I have thought about it before today but I’ve always caught myself and stopped before I went too far, but I mean, they were there, they were on sale, it’s animal friendly synthetic down and cute, well, for a parka and oh my God what have I done?
I’ll tell you what I’ve done: I’ve become a Chicagoan.
All these years, all those Winters, all that scoffing at parkas…the best schools, church on Sunday, a good loving home, everything a girl could want or need to grow up well adjusted and successful and yet, now, now I’m an official Michelin Man Parka wearing Chicagoan.
And now I understand the Tao of the Parka: The huge hood drawn tightly around the face not only blocks the wind and the cold, it renders you nearly unrecognizable to people who know you. Add a pair of large dark sunglasses and Ta-dah! Big ugly jacket? Who cares? Yep! Pull up the hood, draw the strings tight and voila! No one will ever know it's you in that ugly cliche of an outergarment.
2:57 PM
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
I’ve never been one to assign weirdnesses, specific or general, to a gender. I just don’t buy into gender specific characteristics other than the obvious physical traits. Or at least I don't want to buy into that thinking. People are capable of a lot of characteristics, some good, some not so good. But I don't like to think that one gender holds the rights to a characteristic or way of being.
I have never seriously made any sweeping allegation starting with, “Men are…”
But, here I am nearing the end of 50 first dates. And that puts me somewhat in a position of authority to judge a group of people who happen to all be men. There have been some nice ones, a few “normal” ones and a few I wish I would have been more to their liking.
However, overall, my grand sweeping judgment as I am staring down the completion of 50 first dates is: Men are weird. Even the good ones are prone to weirdness.
And no. I’m not saying therefore women are not weird. Believe me, no one knows how weird women are better than I do. I hear you, fellas, I know, we’re really weird.
But.
Men have a few particular weirdnesses which I find contradictory and unexplainable and, sadly, frankly, makes me question the actual cranial capacity of the male gender. I’m not flat out calling men stupid, erm, “intellectually challenged,” if you will, but, if the behavior fits…
When I was 14 I knew this boy. An older boy. An intelligent boy by every measure of standardized scholastic achievement tests. A boy with a sense of humor developed far beyond that of his peers and their devotion to the Three Stooges. This boy and I were in orchestra together. We were also both in German Club and Lit Wits. Yes. We were dorks. But. Along with our intellectual pursuits we shared a physical bond.
No, we were not dorks in love sharing erotic pleasures only hinted at in AP biology class, or working our way through the human elements on the periodic table chart. This boy and I played on a sporting team together. I was by far the better athlete, and that’s not bragging, that’s just an obvious statement of fact based on his performance and stats v. mine.
I have never been a competitive person. It’s just not in my nature. I am not motivated by winning, especially merely for the sake of winning. I don’t have to be, and often do not want to be, first or best. In fact, I often see more merit in losing. Losing is good for the soul and makes you work harder next time. Losing is a fact of life and the more you lose, the more capable you are to deal with inequalities in life. Try your hardest, make your best effort, sure, of course. But if you’ve done that and you still lose, well, you don’t really lose, do you? You’re not the proclaimed victor, but, you’ve earned the rewards which come from working toward the end goal, whether it’s winning a game or getting a new job. There’s a lot to be learned while learning to lose with dignity. I’m all about the process. How the components interact to make a big picture. The process in infinitely more interesting and compelling to me than the event of winning. Sure, I can see the glory in winning, but it’s short lived. And really, what does it prove? Does anyone really measure success based solely on who “won?” The winner gets the trophy/money/new job/date, but have we learned nothing from reality TV? It’s always the people who didn’t “win” who end up with their own shows or endorsements. The winners end up on the talk shows the next day and then live their life in tabloids and guest appearances and often county jails. The second or also rans end up with less money but more longevity and usually more respect from their peers and the home viewing audience.
And when you win there’s always someone who wants to “get you.” There’s a lot of pressure on winners to maintain their status. I’d just rather use that energy to work on the process rather than hold my place in the winner’s circle. Which is why my parents made me endure years of team sports and group activities. They were hopeful the socialization factors and trying to get me to be a little more motivated to not feel sorry for the other players and let them win would be overtaken by a little more personal ambition and self esteem. Because at the time it was popular among school guidance counselors to blame every behavior a pre-teen exhibited on a lack of self esteem. Caught smoking? Low self-esteem fueled by peer pressure. Straight A report card? Low self-esteem fueled by fear of failure. School physchology: Slap a pop psychology Dr. Philian label on it and call it done.
The irony here is that back then I had no self esteem issues whatsoever. That didn’t manifest itself until much later in life, after many, many emotional insults and criticisms from: Men. Back then I lived in this idealistic world of empowerment where all things were possible for all people if we just refuse to judge others and instead cooperate and work together. I know, I know, I know, but hey, I was 14, okay? I mean, if you can’t be misguided and idealistic when you’re 14, when can you? Obviously I learned, adapted and got over those ridiculous notions and became the success I am today.
Right. That boy. Well. We played on a team together and to put it politely, he sucked. Which is why a girl two (and a half) years younger than him was called upon to “coach” him. That girl was me. And I was enthused. It never occurred to me to be embarrassed for him or myself. We were friends, I had a little crush on him and he seemed to like me, too. There had never been any weirdness or competition between us. We had the same interests and everything was as hunky dory as it could be in the high stakes volatile world of teenage relationships.
And then, well, then everything changed.
After a, well, just plain bad play which cost us a victory, our coach had had enough. He pulled the boy aside after the final time buzzer signaled the victory for the other team. The coach was red in the face with a vein protruding on his forehead. He was motioning and pointing and clearly humiliating the boy by going over the minute details of all his errors and inabilities. As the rest of us made our handshakes with the other team and talked about what we might do next time and pretended we didn’t notice the scolding and berating our teammate was getting, I heard my name being yelled. I didn’t quite realize who was yelling my name until two of my teammates said, “Oh crap, Trill, coach wants you.”
“Oh crap” was an understatement. More like holy swutting mother of a swutting supreme deity.
I made my way to the coach and my friend who was looking, well, pretty bad. I was embarrassed for him because his eyes were wet and we all knew it wasn’t from exertion during the game. I was embarrassed for him because he’d been called out and ridiculed in front of his teammates and peers. I was embarrassed for him because it was obvious what was going to happen next. The coach was going to use me, a younger girl who by the quirk of DNA and an older brother happened to be a better athlete, to humiliate and emasculate him.
That is the first time I remember being acutely aware of my gender. That is also the first time I remember being acutely aware of the power of emasculation and the role I, as a woman, played in that. It didn’t feel good, it didn’t feel powerful, it didn’t feel exciting.
It felt wrong.
Or, rather, it didn't feel right but I wasn't sure why. At the time I wasn't actually sure what the real issue was. I didn't think, or want to think it had anything to do with me being a girl. But, looking back on it, I am sure that in that moment, at that time, I knew there was something different between us and that something was not just anatomy.
Our coach was a lot like the reindeer game coach on Rudolph and the Island of Misfit Toys. A no excuses, win, win, win! ex-marine kid of guy. The kind of guy who would thinly veil threats in the form of commands like, "I can be your best friend or your worst nightmare." He made us call him Coach. Just "Coach." Not Coach Smith or Coach Bob, but, all omnimpotent: Coach. He had a flat top brush hair cut at a time when no one, even active duty Marines, was sporting that haircut. If he wasn’t at work he was wearing shorts and sneakers. Every day. Even in the middle of Winter. He’s the kind of guy who was the leader of his platoon in Korea. He’s the kind of guy who took bullets for the squadron and while injured and bleeding, carried his fallen comrades stacked on his back while yelling at those still alive, barely, to get up and walk out like a man, like a soldier. He didn’t talk, he yelled. Even in regular conversation he yelled. There was omnipresent spittle between his teeth and tongue. He was a coach’s coach. He wasn’t keen on the idea of girls and boys playing on a team together. He also very vocally did not support Title 9. But, these were the days after the women’s movement, NOW, equal rights and bra burning, and by golly, the school districts and local sports centers felt it necessary, crucial, even, that boys and girls play on sports teams together. No matter what. Us girls were not just encouraged to participate, we were at times made to try out for sports in which we had no ability or interest. And our coach was told to deal with it or lose his extracurricular income as a coach. This position was made even more difficult because the coach happened to know my dad from work. Okay, well, that’s putting it politely. My dad was the coach’s boss.
Ooooooooo. That’s awkward.
Yeah, yeah, whatever. I was idealistic at the time, remember?
I was also one of the star players on the team and had been for several years. The coach knew this and I like to think I helped build a bridge of understanding for him regarding women’s athletic abilities.
Maybe it was because my dad was his boss that he dealt with me better than you might expect a coach like him to deal with having a 14 year old girl on his team of mostly 16 and 17 year old boys. But I don’t think so. There were other girls, too, and he treated us all fairly. And no, no it wasn’t because we were teenaged girls and he was a middle aged guy. Unless something was going on that I completely didn’t understand or recognize (possible), he put up a fight, lost and then took orders and dealt with his co-ed team. And in fairness to us girls, we were as good or better than the boys. The coach recognized this and clearly saw championship banner potential.
And so it came to pass that I was put on special coaching duty of my heretofore older and male friend and activities partner. At the time I thought, “hey, okay, maybe I can help him and we’ve always gotten along well so it’ll be fun.”
I think we’ve just found the beginning of the end of innocence and idealism.
What I didn’t realize at the time was that the biggest challenge we had before us was not skill or athletic technique, but how to re-masculate my friend who’d just been humiliated in front of his peers and friends and family. The mere fact of my gender was causing him embarrassment. There he was, a 16 year old boy, a dorky 16 year old boy, at that, and the coach had called in a braces wearing dorky 14 year old girl from orchestra and lit wits to help him improve his athletic skills. I’m not a guy so I can’t understand the extent of his humiliation, but years later I told this to a male friend who said the coach might as well have just cut off the boy’s testicles and dressed him up in a tutu.
The boy and I had always gotten along well together. There was a little spark of teenaged “interest” in each other. And yet, within a few minutes, all that changed. He resented me and my abilities. We set up a practice schedule. I was looking forward to it. He bothered to show up because the coach was going to be there helping some other kids, too. But every time I’d offer an idea or show him a new technique, he’d purposely do the opposite of what I showed him. The coach saw this and told him if he didn’t start shaping up he’d be off the team. And let’s face it, that would have really been the best case scenario for everyone. There was not scholarship money riding on this boy’s athletic abilities, and as far as I could tell, he didn’t really enjoy the game. I suspect it was pride or his parents that kept him on the team. He eventually started making small improvements. But. He also started making fun of me. Not during practice, no, this was a smart boy. He knew better than to lip off during practice, especially in front of the coach. But in orchestra he’d blow his saxophone right in my ear so I couldn’t hear the rest of the band and would miss my cues. In Lit Wits he started hanging out with the kids from modern novels class. You had to be at least 16 to take modern novels class because they read some racy stuff. Those kids loved to tease us younger kids about our inability to drive or read Helter Skelter. In German club he publicly ridiculed my inability to reach my quota of Gummi Bear sales. (My mother’s friend finally came through and bailed me out of that nightmare by purchasing my entire range of the candy. Whew. That was close.) I was old enough and intuitive enough to understand the boy’s sudden change in temperament toward me. It still hurt my feelings, but I understood. I understood all on my own that it was embarrassing for my older friend to have to be coached by a younger person. What I didn’t understand was that my gender had anything to do with it. I thought we were all enlightened and equal, right? (Idealism, remember?)
Finally, one day after a bad session of Lit Wits my mother asked me what was going on and why I was so upset. Yes, this was like an After School Special unfolding in my own life and the awareness of that cracked me up, even during the moment. Fortunately my mother has a good sense of humor about that sort of thing. She told me she’d been concerned about the boy and I since the special coaching sessions were invoked. “Trillian, he’s a 16-year-old boy. 16-year-old boys are difficult under the best of circumstances. And these are not the best of circumstances. 16-year-old boys do not like younger girls telling them how to do anything, especially athletics.”
“Oh, mum, this has nothing to do with me being a girl, he’s not like that.”
To this day I remember my mother’s reaction with a smirk and raised eyebrow.
Later that night my dad had a little talk with me. But I don’t think it was the little talk my mother had in mind when she told him to have a little talk with me. My dad scoffed at the boy’s inability to play and told me no one could teach that kid how to play. He told me to think of it as extra refinement of my own skills, practice never hurts, and I enjoyed it, so look out for myself and if the boy didn’t want to learn or improve it wasn’t my fault.
He didn’t say anything about 16-year-old boys having issues with girls telling them what to do. And since my dad had once been a 16-year-old boy and my mother had not, I laid to rest any concerns about gender being an issue.
What I didn’t realize was that my dad was not especially “good” at sorting out anything remotely having to do with his daughters and “boys.” My dad takes the “what dad doesn’t know about his daughters’ romantic life which could in any way have anything to do with her sexuality won’t hurt him” approach. He’s old school that way. Plus, the bigger reason for his “go gettem’ girl” attitude is that my dad is just one of those men who has never seen women as weaker, dumber or in any way less capable of anything and has always whole heartedly supported everything all of his kids have endeavored.
So I kept on dealing with the special coaching sessions and the increasing aggravations from the boy. And I kept assuming he had issues other than my gender plaguing him.
Finally the season ended, we made a pretty good run for the championship banner but fell a few games short of district victory. Life went on but the friendship between the boy and I never resumed.
What does any of this have to do with anything, especially 50 first dates? Well, what I should have concluded, and dismissed the boy with was: Men are weird.
Instead I gave him credit and respect for intelligence and enlightenment which, at 16, he probably could not have possessed. And in doing so I got hurt. I thought better of him, I thought he was above being “emasculated” simply because someone was better than him at something, and worse, that that someone was a girl. I refused to accept that this otherwise intelligent, funny, nice friend of mine would be so, so, banal, as to be affected by something so inconsequential as gender. Would it have been “better” if the coach had called in a 17-year-old scholarship offers galore boy teammate to bully, I mean, coach him? I can’t see that it would have been, but, in the eyes of the boy, yes, it probably would have been a lot “better” than having to have special sessions with a girl, even though that girl was heretofore a friend and possible romantic interest.
And now, here, all these years later, almost 50 first dates later, I am finally throwing in the towel, admitting defeat and admitting that yes: Men are weird.
Proof of this to follow in the coming days. I don't even care about insight or rationale anymore. I merely observe and report and draw appropriate conclusions.
3:02 PM
Thursday, January 25, 2007 It is a small world, after all…
I’ll just jump right into this.
If you are trying out online dating, good for you. It can work. Don’t use my abysmal results as proof that it doesn’t work.
Over the past few years I’ve given out some tips and techniques culled from my experiences and observations.
When I first began this adventure one of my concerns was that someone I know in real life would see my profile. I wasn’t concerned about good friends or some family members because I told them I was going to do this. Some of them even helped me choose men to contact. But. I was concerned about coworkers, colleagues and clients stumbling across my profile. Not that I have anything to hide from these people, not that I would advertise deviant sexual kinks or questionable hobbies on a dating profile anyway, but, you know, I mean, I have to work with these people. I don’t have a lot, but, I do have a pretty good and credible reputation among colleagues and clients. I work hard to keep that reputation untarnished. I am professional and reliable and I want to appear professional and reliable. It matters to me and to the people who hand over large sums of money to me and my company to provide work and services for them. I do not want so much as one raised eyebrow when my name is mentioned in board rooms or offices of clients and colleagues. “Dude, you should see her online profile! There’s a photo of her doing Jel-Lo shots and getting freaky in a hot tub and she says she’s a naughty girl who needs to be disciplined!” If you don’t think it matters who knows that sort of thing about you, guess again.
Right. So. I’ve been careful with my profiles and about whom I contact. I don’t post suggestive or weird photos of myself. And it’s not as if I’m a wild freak with bizarre and perhaps illegal fetishes or kinks anyway. Well. There is that one thing. But. I don’t spring that on men until we’re in an established relationship. So really, no worries.
But.
Still.
Running through the back of my mind is: This is online. On Al Gore’s internet. The worldwide web. Anyone could see this. Anyone. Even my parents. So. You know. There is an ever present element of danger, the fear of “getting caught.”
I try to think of it like I think of resumes: Some pertinent details, a few words which will hopefully separate me from the others and offer insight into my personality and a few basics about what I’m looking for in a job. I mean man.
Long enough to cover the topic, short enough to keep it interesting, as they say in composition 101.
But.
Still.
There is a risk, a very good chance, rather, that someone I know will see my profile. I’m okay with that. I wouldn’t be embarrassed to have my parents or the head of my company read my profile. I live my life and don’t lose sleep over the fact that it’s reasonable to assume someone I know has seen my profile.
But.
Still.
The thing is, I don’t expect, or want, someone I know in real life to contact me via an online dating site. Well, I mean, maybe it would be okay if they were just saying hi and giving me a high five or advice on my profile.
But.
Not okay to have them contact me in that “special” way. Especially when they are the barely legal son of a coworker. Or the creepy guy in the IT department. Or a friend’s brother-in-law.
Those are real-life examples. By the way.
The last one, well, that’s a special case. There are exceptions to be made. We’ll get back to that one later.
The first two, however, are inexcusable. I have been struggling with the first situation for over a month. This has been very difficult for me on a lot of levels. This is a kid, a college freshman, the son of a woman I’ve worked with for several years. I first met him at a company family picnic. He and his sister and his mother and I were paired up as a team for one of the fun events. He was just starting to get into music and I gave him a few suggestions for bands he might like. After that picnic whenever he came to the office with his mother she would bring him to my office to say hello. We’d talk about bands and concerts and his ever changing career choices. All very innocent.
Until last month when he “winked” at me via an online dating site. I normally delete “winks” and emails from 18-year-old boys without a second thought or musing. (If you haven’t tried online dating you may not realize how many young men and women have some serious mommy/daddy issues and “go after” much older dating prospects. It’s staggering to me how many 18 – 20 year-old boys truly want to hook up with a much older woman to gain “experience.” I’ve heard men say the same thing about young girls, although many of the girls are also looking for money to go with the experience. Lucky for me I’m a woman and all young boys want is sex and alcohol.) As I went to hit delete something about the photo attached to the wink caught my eye. He looked familiar. I chuckled over the coincidence of this kid looking so much like the young man whose mother works down the hall from me. I momentarily mused about how sick/funny it would be if someone’s young son contacted me on a dating site. (Insert Psycho shower seen sound bite here.) Okay. Yes. I did it. I was the one who was curious and looked at a young boy’s profile. That is my fault. But he started it. He “winked” at me. I never, ever would have known about his thing for older women if he hadn’t winked at me. But he did. And I looked. And yes. It is the young boy whose mother works down the hall from me. The kid from the company picnic. This Ladlita has an extensive profile and many, many photos. Many photos I think would embarrass his mother. And if the photos don’t embarrass her, the profile certainly will. Or. Well. I would be embarrassed if it were my 18-year-old son. Maybe I’m uptight and Amish.
But. Somehow I don’t think most mothers are really open minded enough to think it’s totally cool that their 18-year-old son is trolling online dating sites looking for “older, uninhibited, experienced women for discreet, passionate and animalistic encounters with a well endowed young stud who can go for hours at a time without Viagra.” He claims he likes older women because they know what they like and are not getting what they want from men their age. He feels he can fill a void in our lonely love starved lives. Oh. And. Go to concerts, travel and enjoy fine wines. Apparently at the ripe age of 18 he’s developed a palate for bold Cabernets and zesty Chardonnays. And indie heavy metal. And yearns to see the world. Oh yes. He’s quite the renaissance man.
Obviously he recognized me when he “winked” at me. Why would he do that? Why would he a) want to “come out” to a woman he knows, and b) want to risk having a woman show his mother his profile? Well, because, that “wink at this member” button is just so gosh darned easy to push. You’ve got loads of profiles spread out in front of you and with the simple flick of the finger you can let these people know you’re interested and send them your profile, your resume, and introduce yourself to them. It’s just too easy sometimes. And this is one of those times. Maybe he thought it would be funny. Maybe he thought I’d think it was funny. Maybe this is a cry for help and deep down he’s hoping I’ll show his mother.
And maybe he has been harboring a crush on me for a few years. I certainly didn’t see any signs of this, but I wasn’t exactly looking, either. As far as I knew he was just a regular kid whose mother works with me.
Any of that is possible.
None of it matters.
He’s put me in the position of learning things about someone I know. Things I didn’t need to know or want to learn. About a boy. A boy whose mother works down the hall from me.
Ewwwwwwwww. Ick. Scream like little girl.
True enough, I did ask for this by posting my profile on a dating site. If I can’t stand the heat I never should have ventured into the kitchen.
However. This kid, disturbing and troubling as it is, is nowhere near as bad as having a coworker contact you via a dating site.
Yep. A guy from work contacted me via an online dating site.
What. Was. He. Thinking?
That after all the years we’ve worked together I’ve been lusting after him but didn’t know how to approach him? That I’ve been coming up with ways to make my computers malfunction just so I could have him come to my office? That I’ve been waiting for him to make his move and now, finally, this is it?
If you’re a guy and you’re sitting there thinking, “Way to go, dude!” you need more help than I can give you. Trust me on this one. Even, even if a woman is interested in a coworker, the last thing she wants is for him to contact her via her online dating profile. Yes, I’m sure there are exceptions, but for the most part, credible, professional, sane, respectable women a) do not want to date men at work, and b) do not want men they know in real life to contact them via a dating site. If you like us in real life, don’t hide behind a keyboard and the internet to let us know. If you wouldn’t let us know in person that you like us then there is no logical reason why it’s okay to tell us online. If you've been playing cat and mouse or just doing a little flirting in real life, taking it online to a dating site is a huge step backward, not forward. The whole point of dating sites is to meet people and eventually meet face to face. Dating sites are just a way to broaden social horizons - the end result is still a face to face date and hopefully a connection that leads to time spent together and ultimately decrease the lonely and isolated hours formerly spent, well, alone and isolated. If you're already flirting with someone face to face why take a backwards step and put cyber barriers between you? This makes no sense whatsoever. (This goes for all relationships - I for one am getting really weary of email and voice mail. Cyber barriers are causing a lot of loneliness and isolation. Yes. We're all busy. Yes. Email and voice mail do help communication efforts, especially at work or in families and friendships where people are scattered across the world. But. If you're friends or potential romantic friends, the point is to spend quality time together building long term closeness and bonds to help alleviate some of the loneliness in life. There's a guy I "met" online who's been emailing me for almost a year. He lives one mile from me and works two blocks from me. We've yet to meet in person. I completely lost interest after six weeks. I like him, I think, he seems nice, professional, intelligent, all those things, but if he's so busy or not interested enough to find time to meet for lunch or a drink after work, clearly he's either a liar, married, not interested in me, or literally does not have time in his life for a relationship. In his case I honestly believe his job demands and consumes almost all of his waking hours. He writes me emails when he's on airplanes or in foreign hotel rooms or unable to sleep at 3 AM. I feel for the pressure in this guy's life, but until he is able (or wants) to make time for personal relationships I'm not interested. Point is: Email is okay, but it's no substitute for the real thing. Too much email and not enough face to face time cause suspicions and disinterest and isolation and loneliness. Don't hide behind it.)
Right. So. You see a woman you already know in person on an online dating site. And you contact her via that site. Huge step backward, dude, and thanks for putting the woman in a very difficult position. Yes. Think this all the way through. By contacting us online you put us in several very awkward positions.
Scene 1: We actually really like you in real life. We’ve been wondering how to make a move and wondering if you will ever make a move. Trust me. If this is the scene, you probably have some hint that she likes you. And you’ve probably dropped a few hints that you like her. Keep the flirting in real life and in real time. I do not recommend office romances, but if Cupid’s hanging around your office, just keep cool, don’t annoy other coworkers and set up a date for one night after work. Do this in person. Not via an online dating site. If we like you and you contact us online, you’ve put us in the awkward position of having to make the first, yes, first move – either reply to you online or bite the bullet and do it at work. You are being a coward and forcing us to respond. Why not be a man and decent human being and confront your hopes and feelings face to face? Don’t risk anger or resentment becoming factors in your workplace and perhaps dating situation.
Scene 2: We don’t “like” you and you know it. We never send any signals whatsoever and in fact go out of our way to avoid you. Sending an online message or “wink” to us will not sway our opinion of you. If we don’t “like” you “that” way there are probably good reasons why. Or we’re simply not interested in you. Or we refuse to be interested in anyone at work. Whatever the reason, if you have never had any real life signals or hints that we’re interested in you, taking it online is not going to spare you any embarrassment or pain of rejection. It’s only going reinforce our lack of affection toward you and worse, it’s going to make us feel gross/weird/embarrassed/creeped out to learn that a coworker is not only watching us online, but thinks we want to go out with him. Why put us in that awkward situation? If you like us so much, respect our feelings and leave us alone. Continue to worship us silently from afar, or, better yet, keep scrolling through those profiles until you find a woman who might really like you, too. A woman who doesn’t work with you.
Here’s the thing. By contacting us on online dating sites, no matter the situation in real life, you force us into the position of acknowledging you. If we ignore your contact we’re being rude and callous. If we send you a “thanks but no thanks” response we’re rejecting you. If we respond because deep down we like you we’re forced to confront the issue, maybe before we were ready to do that with you. Any every case, you force us into the position of acknowledging your desire to know us on a level other than work. This is not usually a comfortable thing to know about a coworker. And by forcing us to respond or ignore you, you are manipulating the situation and making a power play. Every time we see you there’s going to be that, “I know she knows I know” thing between you. There’s no going back to wondering what if. It’s all going to be obvious and in most cases I’m guessing it’s going to be obviously painful and awkward. Don’t do this to a coworker. Respect them and your company. And speaking of your company, no matter what the situation, check the policy on interoffice dating before you make any kind of move.
Fortunately I don’t have to come in contact with my coworker online lothario very often. I might see him in the hall once a week at most. After a few days of ducking and dodging and avoiding common areas, I finally grew up and dealt with the situation. I confronted him. Yes. In person. I printed the email he sent me and went to his office. I put on the best, sweetest, most mature and understanding demeanor I could summon and told him: Hooo boy, this is awkward. You put me in an uncomfortable situation, here buddy. Thank you, but, sorry, I’m not interested in you. I hope this won’t affect our working relationship.
I think we’re cool. I think it’s okay. I don’t think he was really that interested in me anyway. I’ve certainly never seen any signs of it until the online contact. I think maybe it was just a late night musing and he hit that “contact this member” button a little more swiftly than he normally would have and got caught up in the moment of a lonely, bored night looking at dating profiles.
But that doesn’t let him off the hook. There will always be that thing between us. I resent him for forcing me into that position and I’m sure he regrets sending the email. We’ll get over the feelings but the weirdness of the aftermath will always be there.
Okay.
Now.
Here’s a slightly different twist to this issue. I have a friend. Several, in fact. But I have a friend who has been trying to set me up with all kinds of men for a lot of years. She’s well intentioned and some of the guys have been really terrific. But they weren’t interested in me. She got married a few years ago. I went to her wedding. La la la, what fun to be the only single woman at a small wedding with a bunch of couples in attendance. Her groom’s brother was at the wedding, with his wife and young children. The night before the wedding some of us gals took my friend out for a drink. The groom’s brother’s wife came along with us. No one except my friend knew this woman. She proceeded to get very, very, very, very drunk and loudly aired some pretty dirty family laundry about my friend’s soon-to-be in-laws. The next day, at the wedding, the groom’s brother and his very hungover wife showed up at the wedding. 15 minutes into the reception the groom’s brother had to take his hungover wife to their room because she was very ill. He returned to the reception. He and I were now the only unaccompanied guests. We ended up talking and had some laughs and danced a couple of dances. He went back to his room to his wife, I went to my room alone, and we never saw, spoke to or emailed each other again.
Fast forward to now. My friend and her husband are still very happily married and are expecting their second child. The groom’s brother, on the other hand, divorced his loud drunk wife shortly after my friends’ wedding. He’s been single for a while and trying to “get back out there.”
My friend suggested that he try online dating. He wasn’t convinced this was the right thing for him. She said, “There are some nice normal people on there. My friend Trillian, you remember Trillian, from our wedding? She’s been trying online dating for a while. Look! Here’s her profile! See? It’s not scary at all!” So she helped him get a profile together and yadda yadda yadda he contacted me.
He asked my friend to not say anything to me about this, just see if I responded to him and go from there.
He didn’t let on that he knew me in his opening email. But I liked what he said, short, succinct, mentioned a few things about my profile that he liked, a little bit about himself and that was that. I looked at his profile and thought he looked really familiar but couldn’t place him. I responded with an email, he wrote back and then my friend called me and broke the news and jogged my memory about the at the time married man I met at her wedding. She “came clean” about the whole prodding to get him to try online dating. I was a little miffed at first. I’m not sure why but something about the whole thing bugged me a little. Nothing drastic, nothing I could articulate, so no big deal.
He’s a great guy, intelligent, professional, funny, kind, charming, compassionate, the whole deal. And he likes me.
The problem? Because you know there’s always a problem.
We live 6,000 miles apart.
Complete. Total. Nonstarter. He has children and cannot/does not want to be away from them.
I am unwilling to enter into anything which could turn into a long distance relationship. Period. Been there. Done that. Never again.
And that’s what was bugging me about this. It was a total nonstarter from the get go. My friend knew this. He knew this. They know me. She knows me. She knows what I’ve been through and she knows this is not what I need in my life. Yet she encouraged him to try online dating and he went along with it and used me to test the water. And I don’t mean “use” in the malicious sense, but, if it had all been light and carefree they both would have come right out and said, “Trill, brother-in-law here is thinking about trying online dating. You do it, maybe you could talk to him about the pros and cons and help him get set up with a profile.” Instead there was a surprise sneak attack. “Let’s see if she remembers me” kind of thing. Not a big deal, right? Right. It’s not a big deal at all. And after all, I did respond to his email knowing full well he lives waaaaaaay too far away from me.
But. Having now been put in this situation, in hindsight I can advise that it’s better to just be upfront about it from the get-go. I’m not harboring resentment toward either of them, but, I do feel a little like I was ambushed.
So if you’re in a similar situation, rather than ambush someone you already know on an online dating site, drop them an email and say something like, “I heard from our friend that you have been trying online dating. I’m thinking about trying it, too. What sites do you recommend? Would you preview my profile and give me some feedback on it? Do you mind if I look at your profile? Our friend said it’s really good and I’d like to learn from it.”
The way my friends opted to approach this situation very nearly put him in Creep of the Week territory. Had they been honest about it from the start I wouldn't feel "not quite right" and a little deceived by both of them. See how a little honesty can keep a person well out of that Creep of the Week danger zone?
3:16 PM
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Words are cool. Communication. It rocks.
It's incredible how letters and words strung together can convey universally understood messages.
They can completely change the course of history. Four score and seven years ago...
A few words put together can invoke great joy and elation. I love you.
Or they can heal deep wounds. I'm sorry.
Or they can launch great dreams. Do what you love, the money will follow.
Or bring a smile. A horse walks into a bar...
Or change lives. Congratulations, you're hired.
Or they can set off a lifetime of therapy. You're ugly.
Or they can kill a soul. I hate you.
Or they can strike fear in the hearts of mankind. The building's going condo.
Yep. There are words which are scarier, sure, words like: this is war, George Bush, fire, we're going to crash. Those are scary words.
But. To the normal Joe or Jane living in a city where affordable apartments are growing more scarce every month, few words strike fear deeper in their hearts. The building's going condo means: Cough up a lot of money to buy a condo which is currently an apartment occupied by one of your neighbors, yes, even the creepy smelly guy in 719, or move.
My building management is being "nice" about this process. We've all been offered "generous" buy-in prices. We've been given three weeks to decide if we want to buy our current apartment or another apartment which may become available after the generous buy-in offer ends. The second option comes with some risk, of course, because if we don't want to buy our current apartment but want to get in on the generous buy-in offer we have to commit to plunking down money for an apartment, erm, condo without knowing where it is or its condition. We could end up in 719 with a suspiciously loose tile in the bathroom and an odd odor permeating the whole apartment.
If we choose to opt out of the generous buy-in offer (or can't afford it) we have a generous leasing option to stay in our apartments through one year after the end of our current lease cycle. Most of us have April 1 leases, so most of us have ~14 months to find another place to live if we decide to opt out of the generous buy-in offer. Or if we can't afford or qualify for a mortgage high enough to rub shoulders with the new Trump Tower. Believe me, if I could afford the price of the "generous" buy-in offer I a) would already own a home and b) certainly wouldn't buy an apartment in that building. For the same price there are much nicer, larger and newer condos readily available throughout the city.
I have befriended a few single women in my building. We all have similar situations: Professionally employed but not professionally salaried enough to pay rent and save money for a down payment. We're all "older," and we don't rely on our parents to pay our bills or bail us out of financial problems. One of these women is far more financially savvy than I am. She knows about real estate. She gets it. She can speak the language. She's set up a savings situation which will put her in a mortgage in 2009. This plan was based on her staying in her current apartment until 2009. Unfortunately she is now forced to re-evaluate and revise her plans. The building's going condo news has forced her to take that fateful step, some more universally symbolic words: she's going to have to move back home to her parents' house in the far-flung suburbs, commute an hour and a half to work every day, for a year, so she can save up enough money for a qualifying down payment.
The other woman just moved in last month. Had she known the building was going condo she would have moved into a different building. She's moved three times in the past five years. She's no stranger to the building going condo situation. This is third time it's happened to her. She doesn't want to buy a condo. She travels a lot for work and is gone for extended periods of time and doesn't want the responsibility of a home sitting empty much of the time.
And then there's me. Sure, I'd love to buy a place. The tax savings would be tremendously helpful. And knowing exactly what my monthly living expenses are going to be every year for the next 30 years is not without a strong appeal. It would certainly make arranging and sticking to a budget a lot easier. But I pay rent. And I'm a middle income single zero so I'm taxed at the highest rate possible for a US citizen. So most of my income goes to paying rent and taxes. The small amount left over is what I use to pay utilities, medical bills, and if there's anything left after that: Food.
I've done the numbers, gone to all the web sites, talked to financial planners and mortgage brokers. And the answer is always the same: You don't make enough money to qualify for a low down payment loan. You need a higher down payment. But. I can't save more money than a meager amount because a huge chunk of what's left of my salary after I pay taxes goes toward rent. And I'm currently paying rent which is lower than the average price for rent in my area.
Well. I was paying lower than average rent.
That generous ~14 month leasing option we've been given? Well. Yeah. There's just one thing. If we opt to sign a lease for the final year our rent is increased by $160/month.
The message in those words is clear: If you're not buying into the building as a condo, GET OUT NOW. WE DON'T WANT YOU HERE.
Unfortunately my parents live five hours away and that would make commuting difficult. The job market is horrible where they live, so finding a job close to them would be difficult, too.
Wait a minute. Wait a stinking minute. I'm an educated, experienced, professionally employed person. Why am I forced to even consider the pros and cons of moving home with my parents to mooch off them while I save money for a down payment or simply because I can't afford to live on my own? When did this become the accepted norm?
And yes. It is a norm. The building's going condo news has emboldened me to ask a lot of people questions about how they either afford their rent or were able to save money for a down payment on a mortgage. Overwhelmingly the answer is: Parents. Parents either loaned/gave them the money, offered a basement or old bedroom to live in rent-free while money was saved for a down payment, help subsidize monthly expenses, or died and left them enough inheritance to bankroll a mortgage. There are also more trust funds out there than I realized. I have two friends whom I knew had trust funds. By casually asking, "How'd you get into your first place? What was your secret to finding a way to save money for a down payment?" I've learned I know seven people who have trust funds. I found that to be a startling revelation. There really are a lot of rich kids out there.
And there are a lot of poor kids out there.
My inquiries also netted some startling results on the other end of the scale: A lot of people worked low paying jobs - low paying enough that they qualified for special housing assistance for low income families. The operative word here is family. If you work a low paying job and have at least one child you qualify for a lot of programs designed to help low income families get out of the never ending rent cycle and into home ownership. They were also receiving tax breaks for those children and were paying a low percent of income tax, so percentage-wise they had more working capital in each paycheck. Turns out I work with two people who figured out it was to their advantage to work low paying jobs for a few years in order to qualify for government assistance and tax breaks so they could buy a house. Once they got their first mortgage they moved to better paying jobs and soon sold their first house and moved to a bigger, nicer house. One of my coworkers laughed and scoffed at the process and US government. "They never once questioned why a guy with a master's degree in finance would be working a minimum wage data entry job. You gotta learn how to work the system, Trill. Make it work for you. I lived with three friends and borrowed cash from my parents for two years. When I got my low income mortgage grants and loan I waited a few months, got a better paying job and gave my parents back the cash they gave me while I was 'low income.'"
Ahhhh. The American dream. Working the system. I guess that's what people learn in graduate courses in finance.
Another woman simply didn't bother to marry the father of her three children. As a lower income earning single mother of three she qualified for a mortgage as a low income single mother. Never mind the fact that her man was pulling in a hefty salary as, get this, a bank manager and the five of them were not exactly struggling to survive on his salary. But it was in their best financial interest for them to remain unmarried until after she secured a low interest mortgage with nearly no down payment. And she pumped out three little tax deductions which further helped her down the road of lower tax rates and higher priority mortgage assistance. They may not bother to get married until their kids are grown because she's getting such generous tax cuts and assistance as a single mother that it's better value for him to take the tax hit as a single zero than for them to get married and lose out on their government benefits because of his high salary.
Oh yes. The American dream at work. Working the system.
I don't happen to have a bank manager boyfriend who wants to have children so that's problematic for me. And I also value the institution of marriage and parenthood enough that I don't want to mock it to get extra tax breaks or mortgage assistance. And I don't happen to have single friends to roommate with for a year or two. And I don't happen to have a trust fund. Or a low enough income job.
I am, as ever, a single zero.
If I could find someone willing to have sex with me I discovered I do have a low enough income to be eligible for housing and food assistance should I become pregnant. I can't adopt or foster a child, though, because I don't earn enough money.
There's a lot of irony packed into those words.
Government agencies deem me unfit to adopt or foster care a child solely because I do not earn enough money. Or own a home.
But this same government will give me housing and food assistance if I get knocked up and give birth to a child without the benefit and income of a husband.
Someone please explain this to me.
Back to the issue at hand. Because I can't find anyone willing to have sex with me, and because of those pesky morals and ideals of mine regarding bringing a person into being, birthing a child is completely out of the question. So I have to figure out a way to pay rent or qualify for a mortgage the old fashioned way: Borrow money from my parents.
Or continue to move every time the building goes condo or the rent increases beyond what I can afford.
Apart from the tax advantage and relative security of a fixed monthly living expense, I really don't want a mortgage. But those are powerful enough motivators to make me need a mortgage. And yes, I do resent throwing money away on rent while landlords laugh all the way to the bank.
But.
Given equal taxes I'd choose to rent. It's just me and a dying cat. I don't need a lot of space or a yard or a huge showplace to entertain loads of friends and family. It's increasingly apparent I have no need for a "home." "Homes" are for families, couples and children. I don't have those things. Apparently I won't have those things. So I just need affordable elbow room, a roof, indoor plumbing and central heat and air. A place to exist and survive against the elements, a place to hang my hat and try to sleep for a few hours at night.
But I do need a tax break and a way to set a reasonable long term budget. And the only way to do that is to get a mortgage. Until then it's the renter's life for me.
Rent is a fact of life.
Unfortunately an expensive fact of life.
And getting more expensive all the time. Because a lot of buildings are going condo. This is not a new phenomenon. But this time it's personal. My building has 820 apartments. Let's generously say half of those people will take the generous buy-in offer. That's still 410 displaced renters out on the streets looking for apartments. Multiply that by the high number of buildings going condo throughout cities across the country and what you've got is a landlord's market where the landlords can name their asking price because there are a lot of renters who, for whatever reasons, can't afford or don't want a mortgage. But for this discussion there will be at least 410 renters in my neighborhood who've been displaced. Presumably they will want to stay in the same or adjacent neighborhood. Are there at least 410 apartments available? What if more than half the current tenants decide to pass on the generous buy-in offer? That's even more displaced renters looking for a place to live. And landlords just sit back with their sadistic "come to papa" smiles permanently spread across their faces.
Understand the fear and concern those words evoke?
I don't care what Oprah! does with her money. It's hers to do with as she pleases, wherever she pleases.
But I was thinking. Maybe she, (also a single zero, by the way) or someone like her, could fund a program to help single zero people who have middle income jobs buy their first mortgage.
I know, I know, this is really cavalier thinking, here. We're talking about people who can't find a spouse. And you know how weird and unreliable those people are. *Losers.* But on the other hand, they also take their jobs seriously. They're earning a middle income salary, very likely college educated, and pay a lot of money in taxes. And no, they don't have children because they've carefully refrained from having children because they don't want to be single parents or feel a child deserves a fighting chance at two full time parents. (Or they can't find anyone willing to have sex with them. *Losers.*) So they pay even more money into the tax system. Many of them pay taxes which directly support schools and educational programs for other peoples' children.
And yet they can't afford a mortgage because they can't save money for a down payment. Because they are cash cows to the US government. Which is why there are no programs to help this huge sector of the population get mortgages. Give single zeros a tax break? Are you kidding? And lose all that money to fund low income housing assistance? And lose those tax dollars for schools they will never take advantage of because they don't have children? Preposterous. If you haven't considered this aspect in the gay marriage debate, think about it now. Forget the debates on morality and Constitutional rights. There are a lot of financial reasons why it's good for US and state governments to ban same sex marriages. Allow otherwise lifelong single zeros to marry and qualify for tax deductions? That's a lot of tax dollars to lose. Think about all the tax dollars gay people have paid over the years because in the eyes of the IRS they are single zero. That's a lot of money being paid into the system with very little payback. HUGE cash cow to the IRS and state tax base. Allowing heretofore single zero gay citizens to qualify for marital tax status could take a lot of money away from the government. Can't have that, now, can we?
Okay. Right. Back to my idea.
You know the whole "it takes a village" philosophy? Well, let's apply it here. Except in a sort of reverse situation. It takes a village to raise a child. It takes a child to get a tax break. So how about using the child to give back a little something to the people in the village who don't have a child?
What if every person who has children in a public school contributed $5/child to a fund to help middle income single zero people get a mortgage? That would be a lot of money in the kitty for single zeros, right? Why should parents cough up $5 to some loser who can't find a spouse or get knocked up? Well. Guess what. The average US tax payer contributes $2,500 to K-12 education.
Parents, on behalf of single zeros, I say: You're welcome. I hope your child is the one who solves the world hunger problem or brings about world peace. That would be the best $2,500 I've ever spent.
You're also lucky we don't have a choice. And that we like children. And that we see education of all children as a vital need.
But. Still. It seems like you could give back to the community of single zeros who so selflessly contribute their tax dollars to the education of your children. Just $5/child. Or, if it's easier to swallow, how about giving single zeros a tax break for not having children? I'd happily contribute $1,200 of my taxes to education. Happily. I want to help fund the education of complete strangers' children. Call me crazy! Really, I don't mind paying into public education. Just not the staggering amount I pay. Give me half that $2,500 to save toward the purchase of a home and guess what?! Property tax revenue! Woo hoo!!!! Even better than income tax because in many areas property assessments tend to increase faster than income and in many communities property taxes are linked directly to school funding! Woo hoo! Everybody wins! Single zeros get a tax break to help save for a down payment on a mortgage, then, they pay property tax to help fund the schools in the community where they have that mortgage! It's genius in its simplicity, right?
I know, I know simplistic and idealistic and not in keeping with democratic or GOP fundamental philosophies. Both parties know the cash cow tax revenue value of middle income single zeros and therefore do not fund or promote programs to aid this segment of society. There's nothing to be gained by helping single zeros. We don't earn enough money to be of any clout or value when it's campaign contribution time. Yet we earn too much money to be of any altruistic value when it's campaign time. We're too poor to contribute money, too rich to invoke sympathy for a social cause. But when it comes to paying high tax rates, we're juuuust right. Clowns to the left, jokers to the right, here we are, stuck in the middle. Alone. And broke. And soon to be homeless.
There's a guy at my company who recently got "caught" living in his office. He went through a divorce a few years ago. There were no children and the settlement was to split the combined assets equally. They sold their condo and split the profit. After paying the fees and taxes involved with the divorce and profit of the condo he didn't have enough money to buy a home so he used his portion of the settlement to pay off his share of the credit cards, buy a used car and move into an apartment. This is a person who has been living a married, two income life for about 10 years. After a year of being single zero he couldn't afford his rent increase and was struggling to live on one income. He couldn't find a new less expensive apartment before his lease expired, so for three months he lived at work. Some of us suspected it. A few of us saw this happen to another coworker a few years ago. Once you've seen it happen once you recognize the tell-tale signs. It's not as uncommon as you might think. Adjusting to the higher taxes and increased expenses after living la vida married is difficult. Very difficult. It's why a lot of people don't get divorces. The marriage stinks but the taxes and expenses of single zero-dom stink worse.
But how can someone live in their office? Really very easy. Our office has a gym, so he simply made sure he was in the gym very early in the morning, about the time the security shift changes, worked out, took a shower, changed his clothes and went to work. At night he'd leave the office, go to his $50/month storage unit, repack his gym bag, hang out at the library or laundromat or drive around the city, then head back to his office about the time the night security shift was coming on duty. He'd catch a few hours sleep and start the process again. Occasionally he'd spend the weekend with friends or go out of town to visit relatives. And of course security was "onto him" for quite a while but apparently they, too, see a lot of this and he wasn't hurting anyone so they turned a blind eye and kept quiet about it. But charades like that can only go on so long before someone blows the whistle. So compounded with his already difficult situation he's had to deal with the embarrassment of everyone knowing he's homeless. All I can feel for the guy is sympathy and empathy. In a few months that could easily be me. Because my building's going condo.
8:50 PM
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Sorry about the technical difficulties with the music downloads. I think I've got it sussed out and functioning properly. In honor of the new season of Pop Machine, I mean, American Idol, I've loaded a couple versions of Blinded by the Light. Tune in, tune out, drop in, drop out, rock on, whatever.
9:42 AM
Thursday, January 04, 2007
I haven't actually been fired yet. But it feels immanent. There have been hints and allegations. I've done nothing to ingratiate myself with them, I haven't put forth any sycophantic energy. Oh. And. I've been causing trouble again, too. Trouble in the form of raising topics which are uncomfortable for senior management. Trouble in the form of a sarcastic comment or two slipping out at rather unfortunate timing for my boss. And so I'm starting to sense it shall come to pass that I will be fired.
Illinois is an "at will" state which means employers can fire anyone for “a good reason, a bad reason, or no reason at all.” Employment is entirely at the will of the employer.
Depending on who you are, there is a bad reason and a good reason for me to be fired.
The bad reason for me to be fired is that after a glowing review, the highest degree of accolade possible, I was granted a mere 2% annual pay increase. Since I've lived in Chicago I have never received a raise that has covered my rent increase. This year will be no exception. In fact, this year is going to be one of the worst years in my Chicago history in terms of the rent increase:pay increase deficit. And so help me Ty Pennington, if one, just one person suggests I buy a home instead of renting I will go off on you like you cannot imagine. Believe me, if I could afford a down payment and a mortgage I would have one. But because more than half my salary goes toward rent and utilities (and now a lot more than more than half, I estimate in 2007 about 67% of my take-home pay will go toward rent) saving even a few pennies is a pipe dream. Oh. And. By the way: I didn’t get the one room studio apartment. I’m on the list for the next available, but, get this, the rent is increasing on them so if I am lucky enough to downsize to one room I’ll be paying almost what I pay for my current slightly larger compartment.
And thus begins the downward spiral of fear and despair. I hate that when you really get down to it everything really is about money. No, it doesn’t buy happiness. But. It buys a roof and warm bed and medicine and hospital visits and if you’re lucky: Food other than peanut butter and macaroni and cheese.
I try not to think about money, it’s just not my focus in life. But. I’m forced to think about it because I don’t have enough of the stuff. And I don’t mean enough money to buy a new pair of boots or go on vacation. I mean I literally do not have enough money to pay my living and medical expenses. It makes me realize my inadequacies – I am a university educated professional with several years of solid and impressive experience in demanding jobs and yet I cannot even afford rent much less the things other people consider basic necessities like: a car and nutritionally balanced food and health care.
I always devour articles on ways to save money. They always make me laugh. They list things like cutting coupons, downsizing to basic cable, wait for best sellers to go to the bargain table or use the library instead of buying books, shopping at bulk warehouse clubs, scaling back vacations, and using generic medications. Cut coupons? I don’t just cut coupons, it’s elevated to a high stakes game of bargaining. Wanna see my coupon swap account? I’ll trade you a $1 Milk Bone for a 50¢ Crest. Cable? Huh? What’s cable? You mean there are more channels than the four local ones my television shows? People actually pay full retail for books? As for warehouse clubs, I’ve got such a racket going with that it’s probably illegal. Five people. One membership. The savings we’ve garnered by splitting the expense and multi-jumbo-packs is staggering. Vacation? Vacation?! I haven't had more than a long weekend since 2001. Those long weekends have been spent in hospitals and nursing homes and veterinary offices and doctor offices. Generic medication? I’d be thrilled if all it took to reduce medical expenses was using generic medication. Shame they don’t have generic lab tests or generic equipment. I’d gladly take my chances with a generic x-ray or generic MRI. I realize these might be innovative cost cutting measures for some people, but what I (and I suspect a lot of other people) need are innovative ways beyond scaling back and scrimping on modern "luxuries." I never see articles about how to live on a salary which doesn't cover basic housing and medical expenses.
This is my glamorous life. And yes, I have it better than a lot of people. I recognize that and I try to not dwell or complain about my financial difficulties. But. 2 swutting percent pay increase? Again? I mean, is it worth the crap I deal with and the long hours I spend in the office? No. It is not.
Sure, I could move to a slightly less expensive apartment outside the city. And I’d have to buy a car and pay car insurance, and pay commuting costs, and at that point I’d be paying more than what I’m paying now just to keep a roof over my head and get to and from work every day. So, no real financial savings there. Again, believe me, I’ve done every kind of possible math on this. I’ve looked at apartments in almost every zip code in the city and yes, even some outside the city. Rent isn’t cheap. And it isn’t fixed. It increases every year.
My part-time job has ended so I’m not rolling in an extra $40/week like I was for a few months. And that’s when the personal meltdown occurred. That’s the point of realization that I am failing at life, badly. I have reached the point that I cannot live on one full-time income and the lack of an extra $40/week from a back-breaking moonlighting job is causing me to consider bankruptcy. This is it, folks, the bottom of the barrel has been scraped.
Yes, I’ve had a ridiculously staggering amount of medical bills and veterinary bills in the past six months. Yes. But. I was barely scraping by before all that. The additional medical expenses for me and my cat are unexpected and enormous. I drained my 401K to pay them. So now not only can I barely afford rent, don’t own a car and have a mere 2% raise to manage a rent increase, I also have no paltry savings for retirement, and I had to pay a huge penalty for using it. I know, bad money management. But there simply was no other way apart from bankruptcy. It was the last possible resort, the "worst case scenario" and I was there. It had to be used to pay mounting medical bills for tests, procedures and medications my health insurance doesn't cover.
Something’s seriously not right here. I kept thinking it was me, I must be bad at managing money or stupid or something. But. No. The answer is simple: I don’t earn enough money to sustain myself. As I learned from unexpected medical expenses: a few hospital visits and trips to the vet can bring a person to their financial knees. And, even if I had been lucky enough to stay healthy the cost of living steadily increases and my salary doesn’t keep pace with that. And of course the final nail in the cost of living coffin: I am a single person living in a two-income society. I am a single/zero without real estate and consequently I am taxed at the highest rate possible. Not quite poor enough for a tax credit, not rich enough for a tax break. Not married, no kids, no real estate, nothing to "allow" me an income tax credit. In the eyes of the IRS I am a cash cow.
I was stupid. I should have: Married young, bought a house as soon as our two incomes would allow it and either lived so dangerously that if I got ill or hurt it would have been terminal and fast, or, lived in a bubble wrapped anti-germ bubble. At least I would have died or, if I'd stayed healthy and the marriage ended in divorce (and it probably would have if I'd married young) at least we'd have money in real estate to split and roll into a new singles pad.
The financial burden I’ve been carrying has been weighing me down for a long time. Money, or lack thereof, is a daily and constant stress factor in my life. I try to not think about it, I try to focus on intrinsic things, look within myself and all that, try not to let it get me down or color my perspective on life. Give of myself rather than of my wallet, help other people, all that stuff. And that does help keep the focus off money. But when I've got $9 to live on for 8 days, the whole giving of oneself intrinsic priority thing is a little hard to hold onto.
I keep applying for new, better paying jobs but so far the few nibbles I've had are from far flung suburban based companies which would require me to have a car to commute to work - even if I moved to the suburbs I would need a car to get to their gleaming industrial compounds in the cornfields. The expense of a car would eat up the salary increase. So. So far I have not been able to make a big new viable opportunity for myself. And I'm really going to need one soon because I may be fired any day.
I'd really like to know what other people in my situation do to make ends meet. And I mean people who are self sufficient and do not rely on their parents or a spouse (or anyone else) or credit cards for financial or housing assistance.
I was feeling hopeless, afraid and otherwise depressed about this whole cost of living issue. So, seeking a way to reconcile my negative feelings about my low pay increase I went seeking wisdom. I generally avoid those salary calculators on employment websites. I avoid them because they depress me. When I enter my zip code, years of experience, level of education and my profession the salary calculators indicate I should be earning at least double my salary. Minimally.
Yes. Really.
But. Those calculators, I always assume, are inflated so that you sit there feeling all bad about your puny salary. Then you’re supposed to get all ignited and excited to find a new, better paying job, and since you're already on their site, why not use their online employment service to find a new and better paying job? (Working in marketing is such a buzzkill. Knowing the behind the scenes mindset of these seemingly benevolent help tools really saps the innocent joy out of everything. Jaded? Cynical? Work a few months in advertising and let's see how cynical your sneer is.)
Right. I avoid those salary calculators. But After receiving news of yet another paltry to the point of insulting wage increase, I turned to those calculators for support. I printed several of them and attached them to my performance review. In the comments area, just above the signature area, I wrote, "I achieved all the goals set for me by my supervisor and senior management, as well as my personal stated job related goals. I also went beyond the set goals and accomplished more assignments. I researched new technology and saved the company money and increased revenue by re-establishing lost business. I have been granted the highest rank possible in this performance process. And yet I have been granted a salary increase of only 2%. Attached are figures and charts depicting local average salaries for my level and job assignment. Also attached is data on this year's increase for Social Security recipients and inflation statistics. Senior management should note both the local salary averages and Social Security benefit increase are far more significant than a 2% increase in my current salary."
I've yet to have a response from anyone regarding my comments and back-up data. I am left to assume I will take my 2% and shut up about salary. Which is the response I expected. I know I did the "right" thing by pointing out the huge and embarrassing gap between my salary and the average salary. I know in terms of standing up for myself this was the "right" thing to do. But. This is the sort of thing which makes senior management uncomfortable. Every time we have a meeting or pass in the hallway they will have to look at me and feel something. Something embarrassing. An "I know you know I know" kind of embarrassing something. The kind of embarrassing something which gets people fired.
Well. Maybe not that in itself.
But.
When the same source of the embarrassing something (which, by the way, I think is a great band name) to senior management also hurls insubordinate sarcastic remarks, well, that gets people fired. And that's the "good" reason to be fired. When the embarrassing something starts lipping off it's never good for senior management. Which usually equates to someone being fired.
The School for Oprah's! Girls (SFOG) is causing a lot of talk in Chicago, and a lot of talk in our office. People in my office really love Oprah!. Well. People who are not me. People who deliberately don't invite me to a department lunch. People who have formed a gang called “Nordies Girls” – named for their lunchtime shopping trips to Nordstrom. The Nordies Girls just love Oprah! and they follow her every word. Consequently Africa is the topic of a lot of the socializing in my office lately. What with Oprah!'s school and Madonna's Justify-My-Existence-and-Maybe-This-Will-Make-Everyone-Forget-about-the-Ridiculous-Songs-I’ve-Recorded Baby there's a lot of sudden charitable interest in Africa. Instead of the usual gossip and talk of long exotic vacations and the latest "it" skirt or shoes or bag and color trends, it's been impossible to be in a break room or conference room without people affecting that somber "oh, I really care deeply about Africa now that Madonna and Oprah! care" look and tone. That "it's time to get serious and forget about all the celebrity interviews and massive overpriced luxury goods Oprah! promotes on her show and in her magazine, forget about all the over the top sex and money themed songs, videos and books Madonna bestowed upon the world, forget all that and take these two very important women seriously" tone.
Charity is the new black for the fashionable girls in my office.
We were getting settled around a conference table with other staff and two clients when, once again, my boss and her merry band of Coughuppalottabucks guzzling, Charity is the New Black Nordies Girls were all serious and affecting this somber reverie when one of them announced, presumably to impress each other and perhaps the clients, she was going to donate money to Oprah!'s school. My boss, never one to be outdone, then said she and her husband were thinking about adopting an African orphan. She announced this with such affected mock humility that the only thing missing was an overaffected weird fake British accent and the Tanakh spread open in front of her. For a few moments there I believed, I believed she was Madonna.
I've been really good about keeping my mouth shut through all of the past weeks of the Let's All Save Africa Now that Oprah! and Madonna Give it their Approval hysteria. Apparently a lot of something wasn't quite repressed enough, or maybe there's been too much repression and too much depression and fatigue and illness. Whatever the reason, during the somber pause of reverent awe over my boss' African baby adoption news I heard someone say, also in a somber tone of total seriousness, "I'm thinking about adopting a Canadian baby."
Then I realized it was me who said that. And that everyone in the room was staring at me, well, actually, glaring at me. All except two people: Our clients. One of them was cracking up and the other was giving me a conspiratorial smirk.
My boss said, in what I think might have been sincere confusion, "Why would you do that? Is there a problem in Canada?"
That was too funny on too many levels for me to ignore and burst out laughing. As did our clients.
After we stopped laughing one of the Nordies Girls, one of the brighter ones who was able to detect a hint of sarcasm in the remark, told me I should be more charitable. She said this with, "because it's cool to be charitable now" strongly implied, the way I have so many times heard her say, "You should get the new Kate Spade bag” Yes. This admonishing came from a woman who wears head to toe designer logo embossed clothing, brags about it and the fact that her fiance bankrolls her Nordstrom habit, looks down on anyone who doesn't dress in her version of affluent suburban chic, and won't contribute so much as a can of soup to our holiday charity drives. This is the same woman who never, ever contributes to group flowers, cards, gifts or pot-lucks. And she has the nerve to tell me I need to be more charitable?
Save it for Madonna's next appearance on Oprah! darling. Meanwhile the rest of us will continue on with our unhip volunteer organizations. Fortunately one of the clients and I have worked together on a fundraiser for several years. They're very aware that I am a charitable person and that I do a lot more than talk the affected fake accented talk. And they were the one who spoke next.
"Trillian's very charitable. She's out there doing the work. I've seen her. But I've never seen you volunteering your time."
Ooooooo, ouch. That's gotta hurt.
Yep. It was getting ugly. Real ugly. And while I appreciate the support from our client, I knew when the meeting adjourned and it was just me, my boss and the "Charity is the New Black" gals it was going to be even worse than it already was. I knew this. I know this. And I was really mad at myself for not keeping my mouth on a shorter leash. We quickly started the meeting and accomplished some business.
But.
After the meeting, after the clients were gone, as predicted, the real ugliness began. I was unpopular before this, but now it's open hostility against me. My boss went out of her way to avoid me while the Nordies Girls made a Coughuppalottabucks run and tried to make me feel bad because they brought back something for everyone except me. Which is another total joke because I don't even drink coffee and I certainly don't need or want a $5 cup of tea. I'd rather give that money to charity. Or pay my rent.
So. Now I've switched from wondering if to wondering when I'll be fired. Happy new year. Thanks Oprah! and Madonna. Either of you want to send me to school or adopt me or just pay some of my medical expenses?
11:17 PM
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Chicago, Chicago, what a wonderful town...
Our tax dollars at work. Yep. Chicago, Cleveland, American Samoa and Mandan, North Dakota.
American Samoa and North Dakota I can understand. Not a huge tax base in either place, I'm guessing they're doing the best they can with what they've got.
Cleveland. Well. We've all heard the jokes.
But.
Here in Chicago millions of us who live here, along with millions of tourists, are taxed at premium rates. We've been told a large chunk of those tax dollars are going toward security, Homeland and otherwise. Daley loves to show off his snazzy Batcave-esque video surveillance room. Yep, we've got this "state of the art" video surveillance room hidden somewhere under the Blue Line, cameras watching all of us, all the time. And yet, go figure, we're still ranked at the bottom of the list in emergency communication. Apparently Mayor Daley didn't think beyond the big showy video monitoring room when he was spending those Homeland Security dollars. Sure, they can watch terrorists in action down in the bowels of the hidden urban surveillance lair, but apparently they can't communicate with the security officials up top to tell them where, who and how.
I'm having visions of Keystone Cops on all those monitors down in the secret surveillance bunker.
But hey, at least the bars and 7-11s are heavily monitored. Drunks and people buying Slurpees are of course highly suspicious and their every move should be tracked and recorded for later use. It will have to be later because apparently even if a drunk or Slurpee guzzler are up to no good the video surveillance folks can't effectively communicate with authorities up top, in the real world, on the streets, to tell them to spring into action.
Sure looks cozy down there in that hidden urban surveillance lair.
I've had two severely skeptical eyebrows arched over Daley's Homeland Security farce for the past few years and now I'm feeling vindicated in my skepticism. Hands: On hips. Sneer: Smug. I told you so.
And, darn the luck, this news of our lack of communication skills comes on the heels of Pat Robertson's prediction that a mass killing will occur in major US cities after September 2007.
Daley might want to tune one of his monitors to the 700 Club and have some of his guys who haven't yet been indicted check into this emergency communication report. Robertson's accuracy track record is far better than Daley's.
I just love how these two seemingly unrelated stories hit at the same time. Somewhere in an evil underground lair someone's thinking, "hmmmmm, bad emergency communication capabilities...American Samoa, Cleveland, Mandan, North Dakota...no...no...no...Chicago. Hmmm. Yes. Chicago. Big. Gleaming. A new Trump Tower. An idiot mayor who continually claims he doesn't know anything! American Infidels! Chicago! Yes! We will attack, 'something like' a nuclear attack...it will be so simple! These stupid Chicagoans don't know how to set up emergency communications! As long as we stay out of after-hours clubs and 7-11s we can have the city on their knees begging for mercy!"
Actually, I should be thanking Daley for this one. This time his underhanded dealings and stupidity could pay off for me. I'm thinking I might not bother to pay bills. When collection agencies start calling I'll just tell them Pat Robertson says God told him "something like" a nuclear attack in large city in America will happen after September and since Daley doesn't have sufficient emergency preparedness, it's a fair conclusion that I won't be around long enough to pay off those bills anyway, so why bother making any attempt?
9:55 PM
