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, March 31, 2010 Dear Trill,
I have a friend who's been unemployed for over a year. She's depressed and sad and miserable. I'm not sure what I should or can do for her. I don't know if I should try to talk to her about what she's going through or if that would just make her embarrassed and more depressed. But avoiding the topic altogether, when it's obviously consuming her, seems like we're not talking about the elephant in the room. I don't want to upset my friend or do or say the wrong thing, but I don't know how she feels because I've never been unemployed so I don't know how best to handle her. You're unemployed, any suggestions or advice?
Ahhh, yes. I hear this a lot. Just the other day I heard one side of a cell phone conversation. "I don't know what to do for him. His severance will be gone with his next rent check. I don't have a lot of money, I can't help him with his rent. I hope he finds a job right away but that's not realistic...I feel horrible for him, I don't know what to do."
Yes. Unemployment is depressing. And scary. And sad. And a lot of other difficult emotions.
And it's also very isolating.
First and foremost, don't avoid your unemployed friends and family. It might seem like they're sending "leave me alone, I need some space" signals. And, you know, sometimes that's the honest case. There are very bad days when you're unemployed. Depressed days when you're full of despair and fear. Most of us unemployed people recognize these days for what they are: Bad days. When I have one, I know I'm a miserable, sad, horrible bore and yes, I prefer to be left alone mainly because I'm having a moment, a day consumed with "my situation." I combat those days by turning up the job hunt dial to 11. I force myself to turn over new possible employment stones and dig deeper into job postings and networking possibilities.
But during that day I really do need to a) be alone, b) work out my emotions in my own way, on my own time, c) focus on what I need to do to change the situation, and yes, sometimes d) wallow in it. BUT, that's just that day. Just because I have a day now and then where I'm funky and need/want to be left alone doesn't mean that's the new status quo.
Here's what happens when friends misunderstand that. They seem to think that's it, forever and always, until I find a job, they should avoid me because I'm in a bad mood and I'm sending the "leave me alone" signals.
Don't do that. Don't think that. Your unemployed friend is still your friend, still the same person they were when they were employed. Don't lose sight of that. I often feel that I'm nothing more than a statistic, a casualty of a zeitgeistic malady. And that was before I was unemployed. Add being laid off to my life and that brings the sense that I'm just a number to the fore. There's a lot more to me than unemployment. Yes. Unemployment is all consuming - I have very little money, I'm struggling to keep a roof over my head, and I'm no closer to finding a job than I was when I walked out the door of my former employer the day I was laid off. It sucks and it impacts every aspect of my life. Duh. Of course. But. Under all of that I'm still me.
And.
On those long, sad, petrified nights when I can't sleep and I'm wracked with sobs of despair and I think, "I'm a loser, I'm going to lose everything," even in that horrible moment, I rationalize with myself, "Whoa. Easy there, you will not lose everything. You have your family and your friends." It's a trite platitude that I would never in a million years attempt to console someone with, but, funnily enough I do find comfort in it. When I take a deep breath and remind myself that yes, I have my family and friends, I feel "better," at least slightly less alone, less panicked.
That's why it's very important that you don't avoid your unemployed friends altogether. They're just going through something really awful. Your patience and understanding do not go unnoticed or unappreciated.
Unemployment catapults people into situations and emotions the scope and depth of which they've probably never encountered. They're going to have bad days. And they might lash out at you either with snarky "Oh please, what do you know about being unemployed?" comments or with more angry and direct attacks. Even if the unemployed friend doesn't come out and say the snarky or angry comments, everyone knows they're just under the surface.
I prefer to be around positive people and do my best to avoid negative people - or at least wrap them in Snuggies of compassion. Yes. I have a natural sarcastic streak. And I try very hard to keep it on a short leash. But, there's a difference between sarcasm and cynicism. And as Conan famously imparted, cynical people are miserable people. I prefer compassion and sympathy for all, but over the past 10 years or so I've learned that a lot of negative, cynical people are not only bitter and angry, they're very, very selfish and self involved. I'm not. So I have worked very hard at distancing myself from negative people. Not that I don't care about them, but, I don't want to be co-dependant in their negativity. I'm no Pollyanna, but, I do try to be positive, roll with the situation and make the best of it. That which doesn't kill us and all that. Right now, in my situation, it's difficult for me to make the best of it because there is no best of it.
And it bothers me that some days I struggle to stay positive. I know the best assets I have, the tools that will help me survive this, are a positive attitude and open mind. But some days...some days are just...difficult. I know I probably come off as very negative and that bothers me. I'm not a negative person and I don't want to become one. And I don't want to burden my friends and family with my negative days. It's not me, it's not who or how I am and I don't want anyone to see me when I'm in that kind of mood. I'm struggling with it; I certainly don't want to make my friends and family struggle with it.
It's scary, okay? Being unemployed is scary. Really scary. The best thing you can do for your unemployed friend is know that. Understand that from the moment you're laid off fear becomes omnipresent in every aspect of life. Your unemployed friends are depressed, confused, frustrated, sad...and scared. Really, really scared.
A crisis does bring out the worst in people, but it also brings out the best. My friends are proof of that. Some are "handling" me really well, they've been surprisingly spectacular. People I never thought I could count on for anything have been incredibly supportive and helpful. People I thought would always be there for me are either avoiding me like the plague or say and do things that are insensitive and, well, just kind of mean. Probably out of ignorance, but still...it is surprising to see how different people react in these kinds of situations.
Okay. So.
You have an unemployed friend.
You don't know what to say to them.
I have a friend who starts sentences with a disclaimer, "I know I have no idea what it's like to be in your situation..." The fact that she acknowledges her ignorance right up front is good. Do that.
But what you say after that acknowledgement should be contained within that fact. No getting up on a high horse or judging or presuming you can fix everything. Avoid the phrases, "You need..." and "you should..." Strike them from your vocabulary. When you say, "You need..." or "You should..." your unemployed friend internally rolls their eyes and thinks, "You're going to tell me what I need/should do? Honey, I need to pay my mortgage and should eat something at least once a day, that's what I need and should do but it's getting tougher just to survive, you have no idea how close I am to being homeless or that I ration food because I can't always afford groceries, and you're going to blow in here and tell me what I should or need to do?"
Appropriate: "I know I have no idea what it's like to be in your situation...and I doubt I have any practical solutions or ideas that you haven't already pursued...but if you want to brainstorm or bounce ideas around, let's give it a try. Drinks are on me."
Inappropriate: "I know I have no idea what it's like to be in your situation...but why don't you try one of those professional networking sites, I saw that on Oprah!, a woman found a great new career just by chatting with some people online, she's super happy and making more money than ever, losing her job was the best thing that happened to her, she found her passion, she had her a-ha moment, that's what you need to do, find your passion. You should do more networking."
Both of those conversations were ripped from a dialogs I had with friends. The inappropriate example was from a friend who quit her job when she got married and hasn't worked in over 10 years. Before that she worked for her father's company. She doesn't know anything about being unemployed, or for that matter, looking for a job. She annoyed the crap out of me and didn't solve anything except to further depress and frustrate me.
The implication of those sort of comments is that the unemployed person isn't really trying very hard, not doing everything they can to find a job. No one wants to assume their friends are lazy, so they assume they're unemployed because of ignorance. A woman on Oprah! was unemployed, she networked online, found her passion and happily ever after commenced. She was smart and resourceful and look what happened! It's just that easy! My friend thought she was imparting grand, life altering information to me when she relayed this story to me. She even emailed me the networking site. "Hi Trill, this is the site I heard about on Oprah!. You should use it! You'll have a job in no time!"
The magic site? LinkedIn. Suffice it to say I've been on LinkedIn for a few years, long before I was unemployed. So this "advice" speaks to a lot of issues. My friend thinks I'm as out of touch as she is, she has no clue about my professional life (before the layoff), and that Oprah! can solve every problem. Which then calls our friendship into question.
Rule of thumb: If it's on the news, a daily chat program or on Yahoo/MSN/etc. it's a darned good bet that your unemployed friend has tried it/uses it/read/saw the same piece. I know, I know, you're just trying to help. I know. But. Don't insult your friend's job hunting skills by comparing them to someone on Oprah!.
If you have truly new and different wisdom to impart, say, insider info on a company that just signed a huge deal with a new client, that's helpful. "Trill, Jim said XYZ corp signed a deal with ABC Inc., you might want to check to see if they have anyone on LinkedIn." See how that works? It gives helpful information about the companies involved and presumes that the job hunter is using LinkedIn. There's the a-ha moment. It's helpful, viable, real. Not condescending and abstract.
Okay. Maybe you're doing okay. You still have a job and you're, you know, doing okay financially. Great. Awesome. You go, you.
You have a lot going on in your life. You're going on vacation, driving a new car, buying a new house, eating three meals a day...
Your unemployed friend is probably happy for you. Your unemployed friend is probably even interested in what's going on in your life.
So don't avoid talking about what's going on with you. Some of my friends are doing this. They don't feel they can talk to me because by talking about what's new with them, they feel they're bragging, flaunting their success and money at me, an unemployed person about to lose her home.
They don't know what to say because they suddenly feel guilty around me. Funny how that never happened before I was unemployed. They'd go on and on and on and on about their vacations and homes and cars and shopping trips, never once taking a minute to consider the fact that I couldn't afford to do any of those things and couldn't relate on any level. But still, you know, at least now they have the decency to take a minute to consider the feelings of those less fortunate.
The thing is, it brings into sharp focus how every aspect of their lives revolves around money and lots of it and how they spend it. And then what comes into focus next is the fact that since they got married, quit their jobs, moved the suburbs and started spending the money their husbands earn like there's no tomorrow, we have very little (if anything) in common.
They have nothing to say that doesn't involve a conversation about how they spend money - be it a vacation, a charity auction, classes for their children, a new kitchen table, an entire kitchen renovation...everything they do involves spending a lot of money. And they now feel guilty talking about it in front of me. And they certainly cannot relate to what I'm going through, and they don't want to know, they don't want to know how bad it really is. They watch TV and listen to their husbands talk about cutbacks at work, that's all they want to know about unemployment and the job market. So they avoid me. That's not conjecture. That's what one of them told me. "It's not that I don't care, Trill, it's just that I have no idea what you're going through or how to help you and I feel guilty talking to you about what's going on with me because it feels like bragging."
Alrighty, then.
Here's the rundown. If you're going on vacation, tell your unemployed friend. I'm sure they're happy for you and don't begrudge you your vacation. Do tell them about the cute baby sea turtles and the interesting gallery you found. Do NOT send a gazillion photographs and go into exhausting details about the food, the lavish resort, the shopping, the food, shopping, how you sat next to Meryl Streep in first class on the plane, the shopping...There's a line between sharing the highlights of your fun adventure and bragging about expensive travel luxuries. Don't cross it. Your unemployed friend will be happy and even interested in the baby sea turtles and gallery. They'll be bored and kind of annoyed with lengthy details about how much money you spent.
If you're taking advantage of the buyer's housing market, great, good for you. And you have to tell your unemployed friend you're moving. Trust me, they'll find out eventually so you need to be honest and open with them right up front. It's like the vacation thing. Just do not go into lengthy detail about the new house. Tell your unemployed friend the highlights and what you love about it and save the rest of the details for when the Better Homes and Gardens editor visits.
A few words about foreclosure:
If your unemployed friend is facing foreclosure you might feel embarrassed and guilty about your new home. Understandable. But. Your unemployed friend is happy for you. Really. Just don't feel offended or slighted if they don't race over to see the new place the second you lay down the welcome mat. Again, it's not that they don't care, they do care about you and your new home. They don't want you to feel guilty or embarrassed. They want you to be happy in your new home.
But when you're looking at the very real prospect of homelessness the last thing you want to do is go gush over your friend's new house. I know this because it's happened to me three times since October. My friends are snatching up houses like they're playing Monopoly. And it is a great time to buy.
But. It's also a great time to go into foreclosure. I'm truly thrilled for my friends' new homes and success. I wish them well and wowee, those are some nice houses at great prices. I thought I was totally cool with it, totally excited for one friend's new home purchase. She asked me to help choose paint color for two of the rooms, she wanted to have them painted before moving day so the day after closing I went with her to see the new place. It's awesome. And she was over the moon giddy about their new home. Her enthusiasm reminded me of how I felt when I bought my condo and couldn't wait to paint it and move in. Complete and total emotional breakdown in 3-2-1. At first it was just a little mist in one eye, but within seconds it turned into a snot soaked, choke throated, gut heaving crying jag. It's not my friend's fault, of course it's not. And I thought I was okay, thought I was totally cool with the whole thing.
But it's hard enough being unable to find a job that will pay your mortgage and knowing that you are a few months away from losing your home. Watching your friends upgrade to a bigger, nicer house and all the excitement and plans for a new home is a knife in the heart.
I don't blame my friends, I don't hate them for their success, I'm not jealous. But. I am going through something. Something really awful.
Consequently, after that little episode, that friend never calls and rarely emails. I didn't get an invite to the housewarming. I know she thinks it's best to avoid me. That she's doing me a favor by avoiding me. And maybe she is. But it kind of hurts. She's someone I thought would be there for me. And she's not. I think because after that snotty crying jag she feels guilty around me. I understand that. But. Still. I mean, you know, c'mon, snot-filled, choked, gut-heaving crying jags happen. And that's precisely when you need the support of your friends.
There's one subject area that's taboo. Do not, I repeat, do not allude to or speak directly to the issues of weight, appearance or grooming. Unemployment means you cannot afford the gym membership. It means you can't afford organic or even the healthiest food. (Mac and cheese = cheap. Spring greens salad with balsamic and fresh pear and walnuts = expensive.) So diet and exercise take serious hits. Some of us try really hard to maintain some semblance of nutritional food and exercise, but it's not easy. And. Depression, stress and fear tend to do drastic, horrible things to your body. I'm eating less, way, way, way less, and I walk a couple miles every night and I even do some of the YouTube tone and weight sessions. Nonetheless, I've gained weight in weird places. How is this possible? (Cookie dough? No. I've been off the stuff since November.) Stress, depression, anxiety and chronic fatigue. All will ravage the body in a very short amount of time. I'm shocked by it. But. There it is. I know someone who gained 30 pounds in two months, her sister lost 20 in the same time frame. Neither changed their diet or exercise. Both lost their jobs.
Unemployment also means a lot, and I mean a lot of sleepless nights. That, too, will wreak havoc on the metabolism. And also make your friend look 10 years older with sunken eyes underlined with dark circles and what my mother affectionately calls: A sickly pallor. Chronic fatigue is a huge factor of unemployment. I go for nights upon nights of a couple hours of fitful sleeping, to the point I look and feel and sound and act like a heroin addicted zombie. Then, I'll sleep like the dead for a couple nights, then back to the fitful sleepless nights. It's a horrible, vicious pattern and if I knew how to break the cycle I would. Obviously I don't. And other unemployed people tell me they have the exact issue.
Unemployment means conserving everything. You're not going to like this, you don't wanna know, but, here it is: If I don't have anywhere to go, no interviews or outings, I don't always, you know, shower. Am I lazy? Gross? Sick? No. I'm cheap. I'm saving shampoo and soap. Ditto laundry detergent. If no one is going to see me, if I'm not leaving my cave and no one's entering the cave, well, I figure that's a day of shampoo and soap saved for when I really need it. If anyone happened to drop in unannounced I'd be mortified. So. Don't drop in on unemployed friends. You might be disturbed by what you find and your friend will be mortified.
And for the female unemployed friends? Yeah. Forget makeup. It's way too expensive to waste on anything other than a job interview or outing with friends. I've started to break the carnal sin of womanhood: I've ventured to the grocery sans makeup. I know. I know. But it's a financial issue. I have to save the stuff for the days that matter. Makeup is expensive. Ditto hair cuts/color.
Your unemployed friend knows how bad they look. And as bad as they look? Trust me, they feel at least three times worse. They don't need anyone pointing out how tired/sick/fat/scrawny/old/un made up they suddenly look.
If things are, you know, really bad, like, they're visibly dirty and smell awful, aren't brushing their teeth, if they go out in public that way and then yes, I mean, yes, you need to intervene. There's something serious going on there.
But if it's just what you would expect from someone who's been sick or slacking for a few days, say nothing. Think of your unemployed friend as an elderly aunt or sick cat. They know they've let their grooming, uh, lapse but they're doing the best they can under the circumstances. Cut 'em a little slack and give them compassion, respect and dignity.
Okay. So.
You have an unemployed friend.
You don't know what to do for them.
We already covered holiday gifts. The same guidelines apply to birthday or other holiday gifts. You got it, right? No gift cards to Neiman Marcus, Restoration Hardware or posh salons.
Some of my friends think they're being nice, helping me, by "treating" me to expensive luxuries. They invite me to get pedicures or go for meals at nice restaurants or "nice" treats like name brand shampoo and soap from a luxury store or salon.
Let be very clear: I'm not ungrateful. It's really nice of them to think of me and offer me these nice luxuries. But here's the thing. It makes me feel...embarrassed. It's not a pride thing, it's a practical thing. A $50 pedicure...a $25 lunch...a $17 bottle of shampoo...that's $92. $92 is a lot of money to an unemployed person. $92 keeps the phone and internet working another month. $92 buys two weeks, or more, of groceries.
When you're unemployed the priorities are: Mortgage/rent. Phone/internet. Food. Water, heat, electricity. Bus/train fare/gas money. In that order. Everything else is frivolous. If, by some freak stroke of luck, after the mortgage/rent, phone/internet, food, water, heat, electricity, bus/train fare are paid there's money left over, it goes in the kitty for next month's expenses, or, maybe a matinee or cheap bottle of wine. Yes. A matinee or cheap bottle of wine, $10 each, are crazy wild extravagances when you're unemployed. A $50 pedicure? A $25 lunch? $17 shampoo? Are you kidding?
I know, I know. The genuine intention behind giving an unemployed person a fancy treat, a luxury to boost their spirits is appreciated. Truly. But. Turn up your empathy intuition dial a few notches and try to imagine yourself in your unemployed friend's situation. Causes a shudder, doesn't it? It's uncomfortable. Scary.
The situation forces practical living. Everything except the most crucial expenses are cut. For people like me who weren't exactly living la vida luxury before being laid off, it comes down to basic necessities. I cringe when I hear or read about people surviving layoffs by "cutting back" on Starbucks, salon trips, not eating out as often and trading in their car for a cheaper one. I never went to Starbucks, I always stretch the time between my hair appointments waaaaay too long, I rarely go out to eat and haven't owned a car, any car for over 10 years. For people like me who were already managing on a meager income and cutting every corner possible, cutting back means, quite literally, not eating. Everything, everything is reduced to its basic requirements. It's practicality on steroids.
So.
When a friend suggests a pedicure or fancy lunch or gives me an expensive luxury like salon shampoo, it's, well, complicated.
It's nice. I am grateful. Really. I am. But. It's difficult to enjoy those things when you have serious problems. Unemployment is all consuming. I realize friends hope to lift my spirits for a few hours, take me away from my problems and give me a treat. I know that. But there is no escape from the stress and anxiety of unemployment. It doesn't take a break and let you forget about it while you enjoy a pedicure. And do I really need a pedicure? No. I do not. No one really needs a pedicure except professionally employed foot models. And no one needs a $25 lunch. Or a $17 bottle of wine. They're extravagances. Nice treats, sure, but for an unemployed person they're silly and, well, kind of insulting.
I mean, what other people do with their money is their business. I'm not judging. But. When a friend "imposes" their extravagance on someone else, especially an unemployed friend, it's kind of, well, insulting. It's nice to share the wealth, yes. And if the intentions are in the right spirit, you know, it's a very kind gesture. But try to take a step back for a minute and think about how frivolous and absurd it is to give someone who's unemployed and facing foreclosure a pedicure. I mean, it's just, well, offensive.
I know, I know, but not as offensive as giving them $50 cash. I know. And I am very anti-money-between-friends.
I would never let a friend go without food or medicine or heat, I'd help a friend as much as I could if they needed money for vital necessities. Of course. We all would. But. Just be really, really careful with cash between friends. S'all I'm saying about that.
What you can do is offer to help in practical ways. Here's what some friends have done for me.
Got a warehouse club membership? Invite your friend to go with you and offer them some of your bulk quantity items. "We'll never use 12 quarts of rice milk, but it's a great deal, do you want a couple quarts?" "Seriously, where would I store 24 rolls of paper towel? Do you want a few rolls?"
Belong to a gym that has no hassle visitor passes? Invite your unemployed friend to go to the gym with you, or take a spinning or yoga class. "I want to try the belly dance class at the gym but I'm too intimidated to go by myself, want to come with me?" Gym memberships are expensive and unemployed people spend a lot of time sitting in front of their computers trolling company and career websites. A little physical activity is good on a lot of levels. Do NOT, under any circumstance, imply that your friend is getting soft and doughy since losing their job. They probably are and they probably know it, so they don't need you to call attention to it. Keep the offer for gym time light and fun. Avoid phrases like, "The physical activity would be good for you."
Pay for a few months of Netflix. Not that your unemployed friend is just sitting around watching movies all day, but, just like employed people, evenings and weekends can be long and boring, especially when you have no money to go out. Netflix is inexpensive and it's super easy to give a friend a few months of membership. It's a little thing that will be hugely appreciated by your unemployed friend.
Ask your unemployed friend if they would like to do something you normally pay someone else to do - not chores, not laundry or lawn mowing - things that benefit your unemployed friend without insulting them. Babysit your kids, house sit while you're on vacation, make your husband's birthday party invitations...something your unemployed friend would actually enjoy. In return, you can offer them a gift card - someplace practical like Target - or offer them something in return. They babysit your kids, you let them borrow your car for a job interview. They make your husband's birthday party invites, you help them schlepp stuff to the charity donation center. It's basically just trading favors, but think about the things you pay other people to do if your unemployed friend might actually enjoy doing it. It's a little tricky. A) Don't assume your unemployed friend has nothing but time on their hands (we're actually very busy, job hunting takes a lot of time and effort), B) don't get offended or incensed if your unemployed friend says no, and C) be very careful about "paying" your friend in trade. I love spending time with my friends' kids, and it's something I couldn't do very often when I was working - the schlepp out the suburbs was time prohibitive during the week and on weekends I was busy doing the stuff I couldn't do during the week because I was working. Now I can make the time to spend a few hours with my friends' kids and it's a win-win. It gives me a purpose, something to do that I enjoy, and my friends get a babysitter who doesn't spend the whole time texting and ignoring the kids.
This is another tricky one, tread cautiously. If you help on a charity invite your unemployed friend to help, too. But. Only, only if your friend has expressed some sort of interest in said charity. Offering an invite to a super fancy fundraiser is probably not the best way to involve your unemployed friend, but asking for their help with some part of planning it, especially an area of their expertise, can be a nice way for your friend to feel involved and viable. And never discount the networking possibilities of charitable activities. Again, do not just assume your unemployed friend has oodles of time to volunteer or that they want to use it on your charity. But. Politely ask, "Hey! I had a committee meeting last night and we need a banner for the podium at the auction. Don't you know a printer who does those? Do you want to help us with that? We can't pay you but we'll give you a ticket to the event..." If you sense even a flicker of hesitation drop it. Just drop it and move on. If your friend agrees, great, but don't hound them. See above, job hunting takes a lot of time and effort.
Offer to bring a pizza, a bottle of wine and uninterrupted couple of hours to them one evening. Cheap pizza, cheap wine. And no cell phone. Send the strong message that you value your friend and want to spend time with them. This should go without saying, but it's the whole avoidance thing - some people tend to treat their unemployed friends like social pariahs. I don't think it's intentional, I think they just think their unemployed friends don't have money to do anything and that they're depressed and don't want company. And, more to the point, they don't know what to say to their unemployed friend. The uninterrupted time thing is crucial.
What I "need" more than anything is moral support. I know most of my friends have never been unemployed, or, if they have, it's been years ago. I know they don't really "understand" what I'm dealing with. I don't expect them to understand and honestly, I don't want them to understand, if really understanding means that they, too, would go through what I'm going through. I wouldn't wish this on anyone. I feel sorry for anyone who does understand because that means they've been where I am and that's a really horrible place. I don't need that level of understanding.
But it's reassuring to know my friends and family still care about me and still like me for me - and that they remember there's more to me than the unemployed label. Most of my friends are married and have kids. Their time is limited and precious. I understand that. When I was working they couldn't make a lot of time for me. And I couldn't make a lot of time for them. I worked 10 - 12 hours a day and a lot of weekends. But now that I'm unemployed I can make time for them, work around their kids' and husbands' schedules and spend time with them.
One of my friends and I had drifted, I mean really drifted. I hadn't even seen her in over a year. Well over a year. We were email and Facebook friends, at best. And yet, two weeks into my unemployment she called and said she was on her way with pizza and booze. I was shocked and kind of dreaded it because she's one of those cell phone crazed people who interrupt face-to-face conversations when their cell phone rings. I foresaw her spending an hour holding up her "just a minute" finger at me while she talked on her cell phone. Shockingly, she set it to vibrate and never took it out of her purse while we talked. I mean, that's huge for her and meant a lot to me. She's done this a few times since. She can't help me find a job, she can't pay my mortgage, she can't really do anything for me. But, she's been a huge help. She gives me her time and support and doesn't treat me like I have a contagious and terminal disease. See what I mean about peoples' behavior? She's the last, and I do mean the very last person I ever would have thought would be "there" for me, and there she is, behaving cooler and more there for me than the people who, well, I thought I could count on.
My brother (I know, roll of eyes), my brother has recently turned pretty decent. He's been calling me a lot more lately, just to talk. Siblings. Pfft. It's complicated. But lately he's been really cool, the brother I like. The brother I thought was cooler than Jesus after the actual Jesus stopped being my imaginary best friend. The brother I can reduce to tear splurting fits of guffaws in 5 seconds flat just by saying a few choice words about our family or something from our youth. Again, it's the gift of time thing. The uninterrupted 15 or 20 minutes just to talk. And with my brother, there's an added bonus, if I feel a need to go off on a rant, it's okay. He has to love me anyway. I've certainly listened to plenty of his rants and seen his angry outbursts. We know just how bad it can really get because we've seen each other at our worst. No surprises there. And, yes, he's my big brother. Deep, deep, deep within him there's that "don't mess with my little sister" thing. It doesn't surface very often, but, he's quick to defend me. Will he pay my mortgage? No. Can he help me find a job? Probably not. But. He recognizes that I need a friendly voice and an open ear now and then.
Which is true whether you're unemployed or not. But. Being unemployed can be very isolating. I spend days trolling job board and company web sites and networking sites and sending emails and making phone calls...but...I feel very, very alone. Ultimately it's my life, my job, my income, my mortgage, my groceries. It's just me. Single/zero. Without the daily forced social interaction at work I feel very apart and alone - isolated - not part of anything. Me against the world and all that. Add the huge amount of fear and anxiety that are part of my life, now, and it's a disturbing existence.
So the best advice I can give about what to do or say to your unemployed friends is this: Just be there for them. Listen to them, console them, and never, ever forget there's more to them than unemployment. Treat them like viable, respectable, intelligent, interesting people and respect their dignity.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Woo hoo!! We have our first contender for understatement of the year:
"It started out as a Christian thing," said Donna Stone, 44. "You go to church. You pray. You take care of your family. I think David started to take it a little too far."
Donna Stone is the mother of "Captain Hutaree," David Brian Stone Jr., who is among those indicted in Detroit for plotting to fight the Antichrist by making bogus 911 calls luring police to an address, the killing the officer(s) THEN setting off bombs at the funeral.
Your son is stockpiling munitions to fight the Antichrist and plotting to kill police officers in an effort to overthrow the US government and you "think" he started to take it a "little too far?"
I know, I know, I know. I try really hard to not go all ranty about news, especially sad, disturbing news. But once again Detroit's the center of attention for the religious zealots with an axe to grind (literally) against law enforcement and the government. So I feel obligated to say: Not everyone in Detroit (or Michigan) is a religious zealot gone-wrong or a conspiracy theorist with a cache of weaponry.
This is disturbing on levels I cannot articulate:
"We believe that one day, as prophecy says, there will be an Anti-Christ. ... Jesus wanted us to be ready to defend ourselves using the sword and stay alive using equipment."
Oh, so this is Jesus' fault? Jesus? Jesus the peace-loving supreme Lord of forgiveness and compassion? That Jesus wanted us to be ready to defend ourselves using the sword and "equipment?"
I'm no Biblical scholar, but even, even if Jesus alluded to swords and "equipment," given that he was alive, and died, 2010 years ago, 500 -1000 years before, you know, gunpowder, bombs and the like, I'm guessing by "equipment" He wasn't thinking bombs, AK47s, M82s, and Howitzers. Just conjecture on my part.
WWJD? I'm not sure, but I'm guessing plotting mass homicidal schemes against police and governments wouldn't top His list of ideas for battling an Antichrist.
(Sidebar: Religious question that got me put in detention in confirmation class: If Christ and the Anti-Christ stand next to each other wouldn't they just cancel each other out? Both ceasing to exist? Like matter and anti-matter? Poof! Gone into nothingness like an amazing technicolor Gamma Ray? And if that's the case (and I suspect it would be) why wouldn't Christ, who's used to making supreme sacrifices, just, you know, do it? Anti-Christ shows up, mortals get all scared, Christ sees his scared flock bleating and running around like, well, scared little lambs, and steps in, right next to the Anti-Christ, and poof. Problem solved. Oh. Except. If Christ no longer exists then, heh heh, a few religious-based businesses are going to fall on hard times. Lot of people looking for a new line of work. (Insert Catholic priest joke of your choice here) And without Christ or the Anti-Christ apparently we won't be able to discern between right and wrong. Because we're stupid, scared, bleating lambs running around like paranoid idiots with a herd mentality.)
And here we go. Trillian gets all up in a snit about religion. How is it humanly possible for people to get so enthralled with their religion that they skewer and twist and mangle it to suit their insane, violent needs and then do things, say things, that are in direct opposition to the religion they're "defending" and worse, not see the hypocrisy of their words and actions? And far worse, justify horrific behaviors with their deity?
I'll tell you how: Fear. Abject paranoia. And more fear.
Someone please, for the love of God (literally), please explain this to me.
2:35 PM
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
One minute I was 27, a newly promoted art director dating a guitarist in a bona fide signed rock band. I had a great apartment in a great city, a decent car, loads of interesting friends, a gallery interested in showing some of my art, and I traveled to far off places every chance I got. The next minute I found myself standing at a bus stop on a bitterly cold night, in an increasingly craptastic city, unemployed, about to lose my home, no friends who understand me or my life, and a dwarf humping my leg.
What the Hell happened?
Really. What the swutting Hell happened to me?
Think it's time for a little re-evaluation of where things went wrong? Is it possible to get them back to right?
Or should I just roll with it?
I mean, it's not every night a girl gets humped by a dwarf. Oh, sorry, "little person." I don't mean to be politically incorrect or offend anyone. Though I think once a guy, any guy humps a woman's leg at a bus stop, on a first date, he relinquishes all rights to respect and politically correct vernacular. I mean, a guy should at least wait for the third date to hump a woman's leg at a bus stop, right? Or am I old fashioned, prudish?
Never in my wildest 27-year-old dreams could I have imagined, even heavily imbibed and guffawing with friends, that I'd go to bed, you know, me and the next morning I'd wake up, you know, me now. With a dwarf humping my leg. At a bus stop.
I kind of feel like Freaky Friday. If I can figure out how it happened, when the switch occurred, I can undo whatever it was and resume my life. Maybe a little wiser, but back in my life.
Well. My life minus that rock star boyfriend. He turned out to be totally wrong for me. And that job turned out to be a pain in the rear end and the gallery offer was only because the gallery owner wanted to get to know my boyfriend. But the apartment was nice. The car was decent. My friends were great. And the travel was inspiring.
So. Yeah. How the heck do I get back where I started, undo whatever was done so as to avoid ending up on a date with a leg humping dwarf? Sorry. Leg humping "little person."
I suppose we need to back track, right? Isn't that how it's done? Start now and back track, review what I did in an effort to glean a detail or two that I missed when I was on my way here.
The humping dwarf. (Which, if I ever make it out of this nightmare, is what I am going to name the bar I'm going to open. Or maybe the humping troll.) I'm up on the shelf. Collecting dust. I'm lonely, sure, but, as the Mayor of Singleton I know it's better for me (and everyone else) to be on the shelf collecting dust instead of "out there trying."
But every now and then (rarer all the time) someone will say, "Hey, Trill, I have a friend who has a friend/brother/coworker/rehab roommate you might like. You're single, he's single, what have you got to lose? No pressure, just get out, have a drink, meet someone new...and hey, you never know..." Usually I list all the things I have to lose (sexual appetite, bus fare), and have already lost (dignity, self-esteem, will to live).
Okay. So a few months ago a friend said, "Hey Trill, I have this friend. I was telling her about how you're trying to find a job. She doesn't have any job leads. But, we were talking about her job and she works with this guy, and he sounds decent, she says he's nice, funny, intelligent, professional...and I told her about you and, you know, why not just get out, have a drink, meet someone new...hey, you never know..."
"No."
"C'mon, Trill, just get out, it'll be good for you to just get out."
"No."
She mentioned him at regular intervals for the past couple months, suggesting I meet her friend's coworker and I kept saying no.
Then one day I just said, "Okay."
I dunno. Really, I dunno why. I just did.
My friend called her friend. The wheels were set in motion. A few nights later, late for my friend to call, she said, "Okay Trill, he's really interested. There's just one thing..."
Of course there is. There's always just one thing.
"...turns out he's, um..." my friend continued.
I cut her off. "Married? A registered sex offender? Dying from a terminal disease?"
"Short."
"Short? That's it? Short?! That's no big deal. You know I don't care about that. Sheesh, why are we even having this conversation?"
"Because he's, um, apparently really short. And you're, you know, not. Short. You're tall. Taller than average. And with him being below average height it might be, you know, awkward."
(Oh, honey, awkward doesn't even begin to cover it. But I didn't know he was a leg humper at the time.)
"If he doesn't have an issue with taller women then I don't care."
"Okay! I thought that's what you'd say. I'll give my friend your email to give him and you two can take it from there!"
Yadda yadda yadda I found myself sitting at a bar next to a 4'8" man. (Reminder: I'm 5'11".)
Okay, you know, really, I don't care about height. Or looks in general. Intelligence, humor, kindness, sincerity...not-a-jerkness...those are the qualities in a man that I find attractive.
Unfortunately what he lacked in height he made up for in jerkness.
Okay look, I'm sure dating can't be easy for him. I know how women are. I know how people are. I feel for the guy. I understand that he might be a bit defensive or insecure or feels a need to exert his personality. I understand. So I gave huge consideration and compassion to him (a very snug Snuggie® of compassion). I overlooked some of his, erm, behaviors, gave him benefit of the doubt and a free pass on a few things.
A few things that normally would make my spine stiffen and make my "get me out of here" antennae tingle.
Like ordering for me - I mean literally taking the menu out of my hand before I had a chance to look at it and then ordering food for me. Okay, he has young children (oh yes, before you feel too sorry for the guy, know this: He's twice divorced and has three children), maybe he's just so used to being in Daddy mode that it seeps into his adult relationships. Maybe he's just so used to choosing and ordering food for his kids that he forgot that I'm actually a grown-up capable of selecting food. It's one thing for a guy to ask the woman what she'd like to order and then relay the order to the waitperson. I don't love that, but, with certain men who are truly, genuinely polite and not harboring control and domination issues, it can be, can be okay for a man to order for a woman on a date. But there's a very, very, very thin line of gray area on that one. And never, under any circumstance, is it okay for anyone to commandeer the food selection without at least asking, "Would you like to try..." or "I had x here once and it was great, you might really like it." or "Oh, that sounds interesting, do you like x?" But never, without any conversation or previous knowledge of the date's food preferences is it okay to choose and order for a date.
Fortunately my friend told her friend that I'm vegetarian so he was aware and at least thoughtful enough to choose meat-free selections.
It also should be noted, in fairness to this guy, that we were at a wine/tapas place, so the food was all small plates and mainly accompaniments to the wine flights. It wasn't as if he was ordering a full seven course meal for me.
But the thing is, this wasn't a date-date. In the couple email exchanges we had I made it very clear that my life is in serious flux at the moment and this was to be just a casual get-together, an un-date. He said he was down with that, that it would be nice to just get out for an evening. So I thought we were on the same page. When he suggested the venue I was a little concerned about the expense. I'm unemployed (which he knew) and I don't have money to go out and I certainly don't have money to go out to swanky wine/tapas places. I budgeted for two glasses of wine. The introduction of food was completely blowing my budget. A couple olives, some nuts and berries and a few bites of cheese there could easily cost more than my entire weekly grocery budget. As he rattled off the order to the waitress I was trying to guestimate the cost (because the menu had been taken away from me I had no idea what the actual cost was) and how I was going to pay for my half.
Okay, I know. I know. If the guy is going to go all "I am in control, here" and order food and drinks without even asking me what I want, then he should pay for whatever he ordered. I know. But. This was an undate. And I really wanted to pay my own way. I didn't want this guy to think I owed him anything.
Our wait person was very nice and knowledgeable. She suggested a few wines for a wine flight. The guy dismissed her completely, negated every wine she suggested and arrogantly said, "Let's keep the wine selection to the paying customers, shall we?"
I kid you not.
He chose three wines and naturally, when she poured tastes for him he made a big stinking production out of tasting them. Only one was up to his standards. (Reminder, he chose all the wines.) The wait person obliged him and graciously (far more graciously than I could have been in her situation) suggested a few other options. Which of course he didn't accept.
And then he started unabashedly flirting with another waitress helping the couple seated next to us at the bar. He asked her what her suggestions were. She suggested two of the exact wines our waitress suggested. "Okay,if you say so, let's give them a try." He lapped up her ideas and chugged down the tastes and gushed to the other waitress (not ours) about how good they were and what great suggestions they were. I kid you not. He was being all cute and cheeky and charming with the other waitress, right there in front of me. Okay, sure, I made it clear this was an undate, a casual thing and if sparks were flying between him and the other waitress who am I to care or interfere with kismet? But still. Rude.
Our waitress briefly rolled her eyes and softly asked me, "First date?"
"Meh. Kind of. A casual undate."
"Think he has any idea how incredibly badly he's blowing it with you?"
"Nope."
So while my undate was ignoring me and flirting with a waitress, I started up conversation with our waitress. Turns out she's training and working toward becoming a sommelier.
My undate heard the word sommelier and was pulled out of his chat-up with the other waitress. He interrupted our conversation by saying, "You can't call yourself a sommelier unless you've studied in France. Unless you go to France and learn about wine you're just a steward."
I don't use this term very often. I don't like it. At all. But when it's appropriate, well, asshole.
The waitress said, "Actually, I'm saving up to go to France this Summer."
That didn't shut him up, though. He started rattling off all the regions of France and how impossible it is to truly know them in just a few months.
And then he started flirting with the other waitress again.
You know a date is bad, really bad, when your waitress leans over and says to you, "You seem really nice. I wish I knew someone to set you up with."
Of course the food was not up to his standards and of course he asked the other waitress what she suggested to eat, of course she suggested a lot of animals, of course he ordered cow and fish and lamb small plates and made a huge stinking production about how good they smelled, how good they tasted and that vegetarians be damned, he was a carnivore.
I did the whole, "gosh will you look at the time" routine and politely excused myself.
"Yeah, I gotta get going, too," he said, which surprised me. I assumed he was going to hang around all night wooing the waitress. I was leaving not just out of boredom, but also because I felt like a third wheel on his date with the waitress.
He got the bill and I pulled out every dollar I had on me. I knew it was nowhere near enough to cover the couple glasses of wine and small plate I had but it was all the cash I had on me and far more than I can afford. In a voice and with sweeping gestures that were impossible for anyone in the restaurant to miss, he said, "Oh come on, now, you're unemployed and this was very expensive wine," patting me condescendingly on the shoulder, like, "Oh, what a cute little naive girl, you don't even realize the amount of money you gave me is insulting compared to the tally of the bill."
That's not me being overly sensitive and defensive. The couple seated next to us (who were reallllly sick of the asshole intruding on them by way of flirting with their waitress) flinched at his loud statement calling attention to my poverty and the cost of the wine.
He took the money, though. Made a very loud pronouncement that sounded like he was not going to accept my money, so the entire restaurant could hear how gallant he is, but he made no effort or move to return my money to me. I expected to get an itemized bill for what I owed him the next day.
And then he hopped down off his bar stool. And the absurdity of our height difference was blazingly obvious. We looked like a comedy sketch. I've dated shorter men. It doesn't "bother" me. And one of my friends scrapes in at just over 5'. I'm sure some people think we look "silly" when we're together, a study in extreme contrasts. But so what? I don't go around thinking about height, mine or other peoples'. I mean, why? What's the point? What difference does it make? But after the couple hours I'd just endured with this guy, and the loud attention he called to my poverty and alleged naivete, the fact that the top of his head barely reached my armpit (and unfortunately put his face smack at the underside of my boobs) was the finishing touch on yet another two hours of my life I regret spending in the pursuit of "getting out there."
So, I said my good-bye on the sidewalk. He asked how I was getting home. I gestured toward the bus stop.
What do you know, he was going to take a bus, too. We could wait together.
Oh boy. Won't that be fun.
You know how when you're on a date with someone you really like? You're having such a good time and the conversation and laughs are flowing you're and feeling so warm and gooey and connected that you don't want the night to end? And you make all sorts of lame excuses to linger with them just a little longer and you keep saying good-night and then starting to talk again, and you know you look unabashedly, shamelessly uncool in your obvious interest in your date? Yeah. I vaguely recall those kinds of dates. It's been a long, long time but I recall feeling that way once or twice.
Yeah. Well. This was the antithesis of that kind of feeling. I was really annoyed that he was taking a bus and that I'd have to endure one more second with this guy.
We walked the few yards to bus stop. There were a couple women, a few years older and a few drinks drunker than me waiting in the covered bus stop. My "date" and I took places a few feet away from them. He made comments about the cold and how he couldn't wait to get to (name of exclusive resort) in St. Baarts in a few weeks. (Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that, the guy does travel a lot, I know this because I endured a lot of information about the far off resorts he likes to visit every couple of months.) You know, people might say, "Whooo, boy, I've had it with Winter, I cannot wait for vacation!" You know, that's a normal thing to say. But this guy is the kind of person who makes a pointed effort to drop names of places and things. Everything is mentioned, pointedly, affectedly, by it's full place or brand name. Status, and status products, really matter to this guy and he wants to be sure everyone knows he has status and buys status products. (Yet he, ahem, rides the bus. Just sayin'. Observing. Reporting.)
Yeah. Not the guy for me. Obviously.
So, finally he saw his bus at the light a few blocks away.
He said, "Ah, there comes my chariot. It's been great, really nice to meet you, let's do this again soon."
What? Huh? Did I miss something? Were we on the same undate? What part of it was great? The part where he wouldn't let me choose and order my own drinks and food? The part where he ignored me and flirted with the waitress? The part where he embarrassed me for not having enough money to pay for my drinks and food (that he chose and ordered)?
And then, oh crap, then it happened.
He reached his arms around my waist, stuck his head in my boobs and "hugged" me. Given our height difference I can excuse the face-in-boob. I mean, there's no way for him to hug me while we're both standing without him getting a face full of boob.
However.
What can be avoided is him straddling my thigh while leaning into the hug and then, well, mashing his penis into my lower thigh. And I mean mashing it into me to the point that I can make an informed guess at what religion he is. I suspect he wanted me to know, leave me with the parting "thought," that he's height challenged but he's big where it counts. The possibility exists that this was just an unfortunate happenstance of our relative heights. I'd be willing to give him the benefit of that doubt were it not for the fact that he straddled my thigh and hugged me a little too long. And swayed his hips as he tightened his grip around my waist.
You heard me.
The man swayed. He swayed his penis into my thigh.
And then his bus arrived and he blew me a kiss and boarded the bus.
As the bus pulled away the two women giggled. One of them, the louder, drunker one, blurted out, "OH MY GAWWWD!!! Was he HUMPING YOUR LEG??!!!!"
Lady, you took the words right out of my mouth.
I just sighed and said, "I think so. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt but if it was obvious to me and you then, yeah, he was probably humping my leg."
She guffawed, "I thought he was your son, a little kid at first but then when I saw him going at your thigh I realized he's an adult."
The other woman said to me, "Blind date?"
"Obviously," I said, with a sisterly knowing tone.
"Come on over here and sit down. You came to the right bus stop. We've both been divorced longer than we were married. Men. Assholes."
"I mean, my GAWWWWWD, I know he can't help it but can't he at least pick on someone his own size?" the drunker and louder of the two commiserated with me.
I mean, you know, it was nice that I had these two women as witnesses and that we could bond over a thigh humping dwarf, and I'm grateful for the timing, that they were there.
But. I mean. I can't help but think it's time to re-evaluate my life's choices.
But wait, there's more.
My friend called to ask how the date went. I told her merely that he didn't seem interested in me because he spent a lot of time chatting up a waitress. I did ask her what she thought about the whole ordering issue and she agreed with me. She feels more strongly about than I do. She labeled him a control freak and arrogant pig because of it.
Then a couple days later I got an email from him. He told me we were going to dinner Friday night. That's right, he didn't ask me, he told me he made reservations for dinner Friday night and that I should "wear something nice."
Uh.
Huh?
I know I should be flattered, excited, even, that a guy wants to go out with me on a second date. Or, undate, or whatever it is, but, um, huh?
And what's with the presumption and commanding? What about asking or politely suggesting, or even coyly hinting about going out again? What about asking if I have plans Friday night? I mean, there are all manner of ways to broach the topic of a second date, none of them include presuming the person is free, wants to go out with you and just forging ahead and making a dinner reservation.
I tried to think of anything I might have done or said to indicate that I wanted to see him again. I'm still coming up with nothing.
I truly did have plans (I know, shocking) and so I said, "Thanks for asking (think he'll get the sarcasm?), but I have plans Friday night and some friends coming into town Saturday. And I think right now, what with my job and life situation, it's just better if I keep my focus on employment and keeping a roof over my head. I'm just not in a good place emotionally right now."
Does that sound legit? I mean, at the worst I'm letting him down easy, right? And that's not even it, what I wrote is completely true. Even if he were Mr. Perfect for Me, now is not the time for me to be embarking on a romantic entanglement. My life is a complete and utter mess.
Well, of course he didn't take it in the spirit in which it was intended and told his friend that I'm a shallow, superficial bitch and no wonder I'm single because I had a chance with a great guy but I was too hung up on appearances to get past his physical shortcomings.
Turns out he's not a dwarf. He's a troll.
His friend told my friend what he said about me, my friend defended me and relayed the ordering and flirting behaviors, her friend said he would never behave that way, refuting my account of the undate, and now my friend and her friend are all pouty and testy with each other.
And I feel bad about it. My friend tried to do something nice for me, introduce me to someone new, it backfired, badly, and now she has a friend all pouty and mad at her. The "blame" here is of course on the humping dwarf/troll, but my friend's friend has to work with the guy (I think he might even be her boss) so the high road is obvious: Keep my mouth shut about the horrible other behaviors (and humping) and hope my friend and her friend get over it and resume their friendship.
Meanwhile, I need to backtrack and figure out where and when I screwed up my life so badly that it would end up at a bus stop with two drunk women and a dwarf humping my thigh.
Unemployed! Facing foreclosure! Everything must go!
Fertile, reproductively healthy female w/eggs to spare.
Mother/producer of eggs is:
Recent and direct British (mostly Scottish) and Norwegian lineage
Tall (5'11")
Natural hair color: Chestnut brn.
Natural eye color: Green/blue/amber flecked
Large breasted (natural 36 DD)
Average build
Non-smoker
Above average IQ (school IQ testing records avail. on request)
97%tile SAT (pre-1995 scoring scale; test records avail. on request)
College educated (multiple bachelor and master degrees; transcripts avail.)
High aptitude in arts and sciences.
Above average language skills
Professional
Creative
Interested, curious, aware, responsible, civic and environmentally conscious (Girl Scout merit badge sash and school citizenship marks avail. upon request)
Family health history: Above average life span and healthy. (documented)
Potential BOGO bonus!! Long documented history of twins on both sides of family!
Ancestral gene pool includes: Doctors, engineers, editors, biologists, chemists, botanists, business owners, sea explorers/captains, pilots, musicians, designers, collegiate level athletes and a few farmers.
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Price negotiable; u pay harvesting expense and all affiliated medical fees. Commit to purchase before March 31 and we'll throw in a 19" Sony monitor and HP laser printer!
Also selling: blood; bone marrow; kidney; spleen; appendix; all healthy and in good working order.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Unemployment does weird things to your perspective. I mean, duh, of course. Unemployment affects and has an effect on every aspect of life. I've made a lot of changes, adjustments and every day I deal with something new I have to navigate on the ever-changing torrential sea of unemployment. I know. That adventuresome metaphor adds an air of excitement to the whole thing. It's an adventure, all right.
The whole sea thing keeps occurring to me because I spend a lot of time at home, while I still have one, that is, and my windows offer a view of Lake Michigan. It's been a rough and stormy Winter on the Lake this year. Lots of chop to the swells. It's also been a very gray and bleak Winter on the Lake. Which is appropriate because it's been the Winter of my discontent. The rough and bleak Lake is in perfect symbiosis with my life and mood. All too often this Winter it's been very easy to look out at the Lake, and, if you squint a little, envision Poseidon himself rearing up and commanding mayhem.
I swear, I truly swear, I saw something out there one foggy night a few weeks ago. Something big, something scaly, something not man nor beast. I tried to blink away my overactive imagining of the visage, yet it remained out there bobbing and reeling in the mist of the evening doom. All Winter I've been thinking that Poseidon is Wintering in Lake Michigan and is for some reason pissed off at me and thwarting every effort I make to get my life back on track.
Yes. I feel like hapless Odysseus (minus the hubris and Penelope and Telemachus) fighting a war I don't believe in, just trying to get home, back to normal, but have a giant sea God angry at me.
I'm not saying my life has taken on epic proportions, but, lemme tell ya, there are days...issues...when it feels pretty darned epic-like. That occurred to me in the second month of unemployment, so I suppose that's why the whole Poseidon thing has been harping at my imagination.
Funny thing, unemployment. It messes with your head. And when you're single days, or even weeks, can pass without face-to-face human interaction with other people. Which can really mess with your head. I scare the bejeezus out of myself sometimes because I can't discern between understandable ("normal") emotional issues related to my "situation" and what are manifestations of disturbing psychoses. eg contemplating the most painless forms of suicide v. seeing a sea beast through the fog in Lake Michigan.
What seems weird to other people doesn't even occur to me. My friends and family are mad that I'm not angry at my former employer. Yes. There are people who are angry that I'm not angry. (Speaking of psychoses.) They think I'm either not letting on that I'm angry or that I'm in denial and repressing it. But I'm not storming around my condo rallying angry outbursts and issuing umbrageous rage filled diatribes punctuated by jabbing fists in the air or hurtling breakable objects at walls. Nor am I repressing the desire to do so. Though I suppose if I am in denial I wouldn't realize it and therefore wouldn't realize what's lurking within me, repressed, itching to get out. Perhaps the sea-being visage is a manifestation of my repressed umbrageous rage. (I like that word, umbrageous, by the way. It's a good one. It's so apt to so many societal issues right now that I'm truly surprised we don't hear it used more.)
Still. Of all the things I have felt, and feel, anger has yet to make an appearance. And people just don't understand that. Which I think is weird because I'm generally not an angry person. So I don't understand why people think I should, or would, be angry about "all this." I generally don't harbor hostility or even (much) resentment.
I get hurt, oh yes, I get hurt. I'm pretty thick skinned, but, I am sensitive enough to get my feelings hurt. I have developed a strong suit of armor man-wise, but my family and friends, people I like and respect, can hurt my feelings. I try not to brood or let those hurt feelings fester, but, you know, I am human. I do have a heart and I do actually bleed. Accept. Forgive. Heal. Peace. Love. Duh. (It works. Most of the time.)
I have a friend who so strongly believes that I'm unhealthily repressing anger that she thinks I can't (won't) fully recover and move forward until I start ranting and lashing and truly feeling anger. She even suggested faking it as a way of unrepressing it. "Just start yelling and screaming and doing angry things, fake a tantrum, and then maybe you'll really feel angry and then you can work through it and move forward."
She minored in psychology in college. The one thing she remembers from those classes is the Kübler-Ross stages of grief. She fancies herself as an authority on emotional management. She thinks every negative emotion is really just a form of grief. And in many ways, in lots of situations, she's right. I can't deny that the Kübler-Ross stages are typical responses to many life situations. But. My friend...she's very Kübler-Rossian. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. She believes those stages are crucial to any difficult situation, not just grief. She "works through" the Kübler-Ross stages when her children have meltdowns in the toy aisles. She "works through" the Kübler-Ross stages when she tries a new souffle recipe and it falls. (Apparently she grieves over less-than-fluffy eggs. Don't we all.)
She and I clash a bit because my model of dealing with stuff begins with acceptance instead of ending there. She thinks I'm leaping way ahead of myself by starting with acceptance. She thinks my model is flawed because you can't possibly Forgive. Heal. Peace. Love. until you Deny. Get Angry. Bargain. Brood. Accept. Her model would be: Deny. Anger. Bargain. Brood. Accept. Forgive. Heal. Peace. Love. Duh. I'm all about cutting straight to the chase and just accepting. Maybe that's denial. Maybe I'm actually just stuck at Phase 1. She thinks that's the case. I don't agree, but, see above, perhaps I'm just so deeply in denial I don't realize it.
But I don't think so.
Why?
Because of Sunday nights.
My Sunday nights are sacred. Or. Well. They were when I, you know, had a job.
Some people have ritualistic Sundays. They go to church, pray, praise, read some scripture, sing hymns, pray, feel filled with glory and hope, have coffee and donuts and go home. My Sunday ritual is very similar.
Put on the comfy sweats, do laundry, sort out clothes for the work-week, apply a deep conditioner and moisturizing face mask, watch the Simpsons, review client files and projects for the work-week ahead, prepare agendas for meetings, have hot bath and glass of wine, go to bed early.
Typically about 4:00 or 5:00 on Sunday afternoon I'd start to feel the pangs, the pull, the need to "end" the weekend. Often, especially the past few years, I felt some relief that the weekend was over. When I stopped dating, when the last of my friends left the city, weekends started to feel really long. Too long. I tried to fill them with activities, chores, excursions, but, when you're on your own the Friday night - Sunday afternoon stretch can feel cruelly long. The to-do list is completed by Saturday afternoon.
But nonetheless, on Sunday night I'd feel sorrow for all that I didn't accomplish over the weekend. Sunday Night Syndrome, it's called. "Another weekend gone and I'm still single/trying to figure out my purpose in this world/wondering about the best placement of the couch." There was the requisite Sunday night feeling of unfulfillment, longing for just a little more time to make it a successful weekend. Before I stopped trying to date, and when I had friends around and up for adventure, the weekends were woefully short. I'd be all, "4:00?! Sunday night? Already??!!! How did that happen? So unfair!! I was having so much fun!!! There's so much more we wanted to do! Oh crap, I didn't finish all the chores on my to-do list!" Then I'd force myself home, begin the ritual, shift gears and go into work/career mode, and by (early) bed-time I was ready to start the work week.
Every Sunday night since I started working M-F jobs that has been the ritual. It's sacred. It takes serious temptations to lure me away from that ritual. It has to be a really good concert, a fabulous movie or a super hot date to persuade me to abandon my sacred ritual. When I do abandon that ritual, even a portion of it, Monday mornings feel "off." I feel like the work-week just didn't start properly, like I can't quite get into gear and hit cruising speed. Which I always find odd because I'm not really a creature of habit - you know, generally. It's only the whole Sunday night thing where I am devoutly regimented.
I suppose it started back in school, getting ready for the school week, making sure my homework was completed and studying for the tests and lessons for the next week. My parents didn't allow a lot of television but Sunday night was Wild Kingdom and Disney and that was must-see TV when I was a little kid. I suspect it's no marketing accident that the Simpsons airs in the time-slot where us kids raised on Wild Kingdom and Disney tuned in every week. I was allowed to watch both shows but only if: Homework was completed, math problems and spelling lists were compiled, reading assignments were up-to-date, hair was washed, body bathed and clothes for Monday morning were discussed and laid out ready for donning Monday morning. If it was an especially riveting Disney presentation my mother prepared a special Sunday night treat. Cake, cookies, or the mother-of-all-snacks: Cheese, peanut butter and crackers. If it was a really special Sunday night (or if my parents hosted a party the Saturday night before) French Onion Dip was involved. (Can I get and Amen to that?)
Now that I'm unemployed (and not going to school) my Sunday night ritual is pointless. I have no reason to unwind from the weekend and gear up for the workweek. Sure, the Simpsons, yeah, they're on, they're there. But they were just a fortunate coincidence to my work-week-prep routine. I don't need to stay home and cool it on Sunday nights. There are no clients, no projects, no meetings, no clothes to launder and iron for work...I can deep condition and moisturize any time I want, and for that matter bathe and imbibe any time I want. I don't have anywhere to be on Monday morning, so there's no need to go to bed early. I know, that sounds liberating and fun. I'm unshackled! Not bound by work-place demands and schedules! Woo hoo. For a person who's not generally a creature of habit this sounds like a free pass to Happy Land, right? No schedule, no demands, no social decorum, no convention, no accountability whatsoever! I mean, that's the Holy Grail of spontaneity.
Well. Yeah. True.
The thing is, though, that Sunday night ritual was the one self-imposed disciplinary routine I had in my life. I could survive without it, I managed plenty of Mondays without the benefit of the Sunday night ritual. But. I felt better, even virtuous, if I adhered to it. If I felt like I lacked self-discipline and structure I assuaged my fears by reminding myself of my Sunday night ritual. "See, Trill? You can exercise discipline and structure, that whole Sunday night thing is very grown-up, very responsible. You take your job seriously, so seriously that you start prepping for it on Sunday night."
So it was more for reasons of self-discipline and responsibility than habit that I continued with the Sunday night ritual when I was first laid off. I thought maintaining a sense of normalcy would help me feel more in control.
But.
What I eventually discovered is that without a job the Sunday night ritual lacks purpose and meaning and therefore there's no discipline and responsibility required. The routine, the desperate quest for normalcy I was clinging to, is a sham. My entire life requires no discipline or responsibility. I mean, I have to pay the mortgage and phone bill, but with each passing month that becomes more difficult...it won't be long before I'm in foreclosure and even the mortgage responsibility will be gone. Which makes me face the sad fact of my life: Without a job I am unaccountable. There's no job requiring my sharp, focused, prepped, rested and creative mind. I don't even have to bathe or launder my clothes because it's just me. There is no significant other owed a clean and freshly laundered partner. Not only do my Sunday nights lack purpose for self-discipline, unless I happen to have a rare interview, my entire life, all of it requires zero preparation or discipline.
That disturbs me on levels I cannot articulate. Hence the scary sea-being in the fog, I suppose.
The problem is that I still feel the Sunday afternoon pang of "welllll, it's about that time, I need to head home, got a big week ahead of me." So deeply entrenched in my psyche is the responsibility for work that even now, all these months of unemployment latter, all the anxiety and anguish over not having a job, I still have the Sunday afternoon feelings of weekend let-down and work-week gear-up. Don't get me wrong, I'm not in denial, I know there's no job and no need for the Sunday night ritual, but, the pangs of "it's about that time..." still persist.
And the problem with rolling with it, keeping at it for the sake of normalcy, is that when Monday morning rolls around and I wake up early, often jumping out of bed and starting the Monday morning getting ready for work routine, the disappointment of having nowhere to go, no purpose for discipline and structure, hits hard. Really hard. Sometimes, when I was younger and more, um, "active," ahem, I used to kind of resent cutting my weekends short for the sake of work. It seemed like the best bands played Sunday night gigs. Even some of the best bars used to show the Simpsons on Sunday nights, thus luring me like a siren to stay out and have a drink rather than go home, watch the Simpsons, have a quiet glass of wine and a hot bath and go to bed. Temptations, temptations. And usually I triumphed over them, more concerned, mature enough, to focus on my job responsibilities. But I kind of resented it a little, kind of hated that I was responsible and career focused and mature.
Now I miss the need for that responsibility. I resent the lack of purpose instead of the need for it. The Sunday night ritual is the benchmark of that.
And I'm not alone. Going bonkers at home on Sunday nights, knowing I have nowhere to be Monday morning, gets to me sometimes. A few times I've tried to calm the nerves by getting out. Except I can't afford to "get out" in the traditional sense so I do what everyone else does on Sunday night when they have no money and it's too cold and rainy to just go for a walk outside. I go to Target and wander aimlessly up and down the aisles. I have one or two items I need - a can of soup or toilet paper, something vital - but spend as long as I possibly can wandering around looking at anything and everything.
And I am not alone.
I notice a lot of people who have the same shell-shocked look in their eyes that I have. The "what happened to me? I used to have someplace to be on Monday mornings" look. We don't have to go to work on Monday morning and we're going bonkers and home but we have no money for recreational activities and don't know what do with ourselves on Sunday nights so we...wander around Target. Carrying our one or two necessary for life-sustainment items we're the zombies of the new millennium: the unemployed. Sunday night at Target is the Night of the Living Dead.
When I discovered that I felt kind of comforted. Safety in numbers. I felt like I belonged to a group. It's not just me, there are lots of people like me. That sort of thing.
Now I just get more freaked out. I'm not angry, I'm scared. Horrified, mortified, petrified, actually. And those zombies of the new millennium wandering around Target on Sunday night only serve to make the whole Sunday night ritual issue worse. "What am I doing here? I should be home getting ready for the work week. Oh wait, there's no work. Monday morning is the same as Friday night is the same as Wednesday afternoon..." A zombie of the new millennium version of Groundhog Day.
Niiiiice.
All because of the Sunday night ritual.
They don't tell you this when they lay you off. They give you a letter outlining your "disengagement" details. They hand you a box to pack up your desk. They tell you your last paycheck will be mailed to you. But they don't tell you that you'll be experiencing a lot of strange and unusual behaviors. They don't tell you that you'll still get the Sunday pangs of responsibility about the job you no longer have. They don't tell you anything truly useful. And no one left behind at that old workplace could ever comprehend how lucky they are to still feel the resentment of a weekend coming to a close and feeling far too short to accomplish all the fun and activities they wanted to cram into the weekend.
