LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You’re focusing more on your past than you would like, possibly because of a visitor or off memory. It’s a good time for you to just chill out and let yourself go a little, or you might become obsessed!
Laura’s Log:
Nice to have a long weekend, even if it comes just after starting a new job. Wouldn’t say I’m worn out from work, but it is stressful trying to adjust to a new job environment, learn the ropes, figure out everyone’s quirks, dodge Derrick at all costs.
How weird is it to have a flashback to my job from hell? No one told me my local Starbucks would turn into a triage area where old wounds would be slashed open. As I stood in line, I heard my name called from behind. I knew that voice. Instant shivers. Ernesto.
I offered a polite, yet dismissive wave which he mistook as a signal to butt in line beside me. “I got this,” he said. “It’s the least I can do.” You have to understand how cheap Ernesto is to realize the magnitude of his gesture. Kind of like Perez Hilton inviting the Black Eyed Peas for a slumber party. I suppose I was in a state of shock when I agreed to sit with him.
“You live around here?” he asked. I nodded. “Terrific! I just moved to a place near Fir and 13th.” He said it like we were going to become best pals just because we were both in walking distance from the deli counter at Meinhardt. Too many close encounters and I was going to have to start driving to East Van for groceries.
“Had to downsize,” he explained. “That’s one of the unfortunate circumstances of being fired. Still looking. How ’bout you?” No surprise he was still out of work. No doubt he wasn’t given a glowing job reference from Hunter Keene. I vaguely spoke of my new job as an assistant in a firm. Fortunately, Ernesto was too self-absorbed to probe further. He went on: “I’m suing them, you know.”
“For what?!” I didn’t mean to blurt it or to sound so astounded, but didn’t Ernesto, as thick as he is, have at least one self-reflective bone in his body?
“They totally screwed me over. My work record was impeccable.”
OK, apparently not. Apparently snakes are born without the self-reflective bone. He was no longer my boss. He had been the reason I got canned. Guilt by association. I was suddenly peeved to be having coffee with a man who still felt entitled. I decided to be frank. “You seriously need to get a grip. They had dozens, maybe hundreds, of reasons to fire you. Porn on your computer at lunch?! You weren’t even discreet. Had to have the volume turned up to get off on the moans.”
“That’s the best part!” he clarified, sounding indignant that I’d bring up a harmless leisurely lunch pastime.
“Ernesto, you played Scrabble online while the rest of us scrambled with deadlines.”
“A good boss delegates.”
“You asked at least ten of us for our bra sizes.”
“Just making small talk.”
“You subjected all of us to rants about filing systems, Oprah, Stephen Harper and Mike McCardell that were so loud and so long you lost your voice.”
“I’ve always had delicate vocal cords. You can ask my doctor.”
I got up. “Forget it. Sue ’em. Good luck with that.”
“I may contact you as a character witness.”
No ability to assess the situation! Good thing my latté was free. It was utterly tasteless.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
THERE’S THAT STREISAND SONG FROM SOME MOVIE FROM THE ’70s WITH THE LINE “WHAT’S TOO PAINFUL TO REMEMBER, WE SIMPLY CHOOSE TO FORGET.” HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE?
CHECK OUT MY HOROSCOPE FOR TODAY, MAN. TALK ABOUT COMING @ LEAST 6 MONTHS TOO LATE. “CHILL OUT & LET YOURSELF GO.” YEAH, LIKE THAT’S ALL IT TAKES TO ERASE ALL MEMORY OF CLARA.
SERIOUSLY, HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO TOTALLY WIPE OUT EVERYTHING CLARA W/O SOMEONE TO FILL THE VOID? AREN’T I SUPPOSED TO FIND SOME TRANSITION PERSON? AND, IF I EVER DO FIND ANOTHER WOMAN, IS IT THE HONORABLE THING TO TELL HER UP-FRONT, “HEY, YOU’RE JUST MY IN BETWEENER.”
I THINK WHEN YOU’RE DUMPED YOU DON’T GET OVER THE DUMPER UNLESS YOU DUMP SOMEONE ELSE OR YOU CONVINCE YOUR BRAIN THAT THE DUMPER WAS A TOTAL BITCH. PROBLEM IS, I DON’T GET MY KICKS OUT OF DUMPING PEOPLE & WHAT KIND OF MINDFUCK BS IS IT TO TELL YOURSELF THE WOMAN YOU SPENT YRS W/WAS A BITCH? WHAT’S THAT SAY ABOUT YOU FOR STICKING AROUND ALL THAT TIME?
SO, YEAH, I’M STILL IN THAT OBSESSIVE PHASE. MAYBE THAT MAKES ME PATHETIC. BUT ISN’T THAT BETTER THAN BEING SOME ASSHOLE HURTING ANOTHER WOMAN JUST SO HE CAN MOVE ON? ISN’T IT MORE HONEST THAN RETRO-BITCHIFYING MY EX? THERE’S NOTHING NOBLE IN WHERE I’M AT THESE DAYS BUT @ LEAST THE ONLY 1 I’M HURTING IS MYSELF.
Showing posts with label breaking up. Show all posts
Showing posts with label breaking up. Show all posts
Monday, April 5, 2010
Friday, January 29, 2010
IF YOU LOOK TOO CLOSE, YOU MIGHT NOT LIKE WHAT YOU SEE
January 29, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You’ve been using a magnifying glass, when what you need is a microscope.
Laura’s Log:
Hmm. Magnifying glass? Microscope? What I really need is a bottle of sleeping pills. Oh, relax. I’m not thinking of an overdose. Sure, getting fired sucks but, truth is, my job wasn’t going to lead me anywhere. It was a dead end position and I needed a kick to get me thinking about a career rather than a job. (Just wish the kick hadn’t come with bionic force from steel-toed boots.) That said, I’m not sleeping well without a little assistance. After hours of tossing and thoroughly confusing Tupper, I got up at three in the morning and took some Nyquil. That put me out of commission, STAT, but then I awakened at 6:30, sweating profusely in soaking wet sheets. I always think that THIS TIME Nyquil won’t give me the nighttime sweats, but it always does. Three plus hours of sleep…it’s a step.
I’m going to take the magnifying glass/microscope advice as a nudge that I need to use technology to assist me in my career search. I certainly don’t want or need to more closely examine my getting the axe or that toxic work environment with Ernesto and the girls. Will not just comb the classifieds in The Vancouver Sun today. I’ll go online. Not sure where to look, but I’m ready for the journey. (Might wander over to an entertainment website or two—you know, for a break. Heard on the radio that Bradley Cooper is getting engaged to Renee Zellweger. The woman goes through engagements like Liz Taylor goes through marriages. Don’t care, but methinks it’s an opportunity to drool over a few more posted pics of his amazing abs.)
Had dinner with Lucy and Carl(a) last night. Carl(a) went with “Carla” for the entire evening so that made things less awkward than usual. Still not thrilled with their incessant PDAs. A hug is fine, but it gets embarrassing when the waiter has to wait for them to get their tongues back in their own mouths. Naturally, it was a vegetarian joint, The Foundation, since the two of them seem to think they’re accomplices to murder if there is meat on the menu. (Still can’t block that ugly incident last time when they walked out of Stepho’s because there was lamb on the menu. A Greek restaurant serving lamb…shocking!)
Lucy, of course, thinks I should sue Hunter Keene’s ass. Carla volunteered to send Ann-Marie a package with a mysterious white substance just to freak her out. As if a terrorist would ever target Ann-Marie. She IS the terror-or, not the terror-ee.
Lucy and Carla then switched gears and tried to persuade me to join their anti-Olympic protests “since you’ve got extra time on your hands”. Yes, a stint in jail would make my résumé stand out from the rest, I suppose. Still, I don’t think it will help me jump from “job” to “career”. I realize there are career criminals, but I feel bad even when I find someone’s quarter in the coin return tray of a vending machine. Somewhere someone has to downsize from a venti to a grande.
Besides, I’d like to see Canada finally win a gold medal at home. And if has to be in luge, I’ll have no problem pretending luge matters.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via Blackberry):
BOOKED ANOTHER SESSION WITH MY THERAPIST AFTER WORK. I DON’T KNOW THAT IT DOES ANY GOOD, BUT I DON’T SEEM ABLE TO WORK THROUGH MY CLARA ISSUES ON MY OWN AND I’VE BEEN LEANING ON SARA AN AWFUL LOT. SHE DOESN’T SAY IT, BUT I FEEL AS THOUGH I’VE BECOME HER FIFTH KID. SHE’S GOT HER HANDS FULL AS IT IS WITH JERRY OUT OF TOWN MORE THAN OFTEN THAN NOT.
PAYING TO VENT IS PATHETIC, BUT—REALITY CHECK—I HAVE BECOME THE PATHETIC SORT. SOME OF MY GUY FRIENDS, LIKE MARTY, DON’T GET MY SUDDEN EEYORE PERSONA. OF COURSE, WHAT DOES MARTY KNOW ABOUT A RELATIONSHIP? I THINK HIS LONGEST WAS A WEEK & THAT WAS JUST B/C SHE TOOK HIM ON A CRUISE SHE’D WON. SUPPOSE HE COULD HAVE JUMPED SHIP BUT MARTY SAID THE FOOD MADE UP FOR HAVING TO BE COMMITTED FOR SO LONG.
“WHAT’S THE BIG DEAL?” JACKY ASKED AT WORK YESTERDAY. “IT’S NOT LIKE YOU WERE MARRIED.” EIGHT YEARS. I ALWAYS SAID WE DIDN’T NEED A FREAKIN’ MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE. AND EVENTUALLY CLARA GOT HER HEAD AROUND THAT. WHEN SHE LEFT, SHE WAS ALL SMILES AND “HAVE A NICE LIFE.” I’M THE ONE WHO FEELS LIKE I’M MUDDLING THRU A DIVORCE. DIDN’T SEE THAT ONE COMING, BUT THEN I DIDN’T SEE HER LEAVING.
MAYBE IT’S GOOD THAT NO ONE’S NIPPING @ MY WORM ON PLENTYOFFISH.COM. MAYBE I AM NOT READY TO MOVE ON. ALL I KNOW IS, I GOTTA STOP THINKING ABOUT CLARA. WLDN’T BE SURPRISED IF MY SHRINK HAS ME COMMITTED. WLDN’T BE SO BAD…AS LONG AS I CAN CATCH THE CANUCKS ON TV.
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You’ve been using a magnifying glass, when what you need is a microscope.
Laura’s Log:
Hmm. Magnifying glass? Microscope? What I really need is a bottle of sleeping pills. Oh, relax. I’m not thinking of an overdose. Sure, getting fired sucks but, truth is, my job wasn’t going to lead me anywhere. It was a dead end position and I needed a kick to get me thinking about a career rather than a job. (Just wish the kick hadn’t come with bionic force from steel-toed boots.) That said, I’m not sleeping well without a little assistance. After hours of tossing and thoroughly confusing Tupper, I got up at three in the morning and took some Nyquil. That put me out of commission, STAT, but then I awakened at 6:30, sweating profusely in soaking wet sheets. I always think that THIS TIME Nyquil won’t give me the nighttime sweats, but it always does. Three plus hours of sleep…it’s a step.
I’m going to take the magnifying glass/microscope advice as a nudge that I need to use technology to assist me in my career search. I certainly don’t want or need to more closely examine my getting the axe or that toxic work environment with Ernesto and the girls. Will not just comb the classifieds in The Vancouver Sun today. I’ll go online. Not sure where to look, but I’m ready for the journey. (Might wander over to an entertainment website or two—you know, for a break. Heard on the radio that Bradley Cooper is getting engaged to Renee Zellweger. The woman goes through engagements like Liz Taylor goes through marriages. Don’t care, but methinks it’s an opportunity to drool over a few more posted pics of his amazing abs.)
Had dinner with Lucy and Carl(a) last night. Carl(a) went with “Carla” for the entire evening so that made things less awkward than usual. Still not thrilled with their incessant PDAs. A hug is fine, but it gets embarrassing when the waiter has to wait for them to get their tongues back in their own mouths. Naturally, it was a vegetarian joint, The Foundation, since the two of them seem to think they’re accomplices to murder if there is meat on the menu. (Still can’t block that ugly incident last time when they walked out of Stepho’s because there was lamb on the menu. A Greek restaurant serving lamb…shocking!)
Lucy, of course, thinks I should sue Hunter Keene’s ass. Carla volunteered to send Ann-Marie a package with a mysterious white substance just to freak her out. As if a terrorist would ever target Ann-Marie. She IS the terror-or, not the terror-ee.
Lucy and Carla then switched gears and tried to persuade me to join their anti-Olympic protests “since you’ve got extra time on your hands”. Yes, a stint in jail would make my résumé stand out from the rest, I suppose. Still, I don’t think it will help me jump from “job” to “career”. I realize there are career criminals, but I feel bad even when I find someone’s quarter in the coin return tray of a vending machine. Somewhere someone has to downsize from a venti to a grande.
Besides, I’d like to see Canada finally win a gold medal at home. And if has to be in luge, I’ll have no problem pretending luge matters.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via Blackberry):
BOOKED ANOTHER SESSION WITH MY THERAPIST AFTER WORK. I DON’T KNOW THAT IT DOES ANY GOOD, BUT I DON’T SEEM ABLE TO WORK THROUGH MY CLARA ISSUES ON MY OWN AND I’VE BEEN LEANING ON SARA AN AWFUL LOT. SHE DOESN’T SAY IT, BUT I FEEL AS THOUGH I’VE BECOME HER FIFTH KID. SHE’S GOT HER HANDS FULL AS IT IS WITH JERRY OUT OF TOWN MORE THAN OFTEN THAN NOT.
PAYING TO VENT IS PATHETIC, BUT—REALITY CHECK—I HAVE BECOME THE PATHETIC SORT. SOME OF MY GUY FRIENDS, LIKE MARTY, DON’T GET MY SUDDEN EEYORE PERSONA. OF COURSE, WHAT DOES MARTY KNOW ABOUT A RELATIONSHIP? I THINK HIS LONGEST WAS A WEEK & THAT WAS JUST B/C SHE TOOK HIM ON A CRUISE SHE’D WON. SUPPOSE HE COULD HAVE JUMPED SHIP BUT MARTY SAID THE FOOD MADE UP FOR HAVING TO BE COMMITTED FOR SO LONG.
“WHAT’S THE BIG DEAL?” JACKY ASKED AT WORK YESTERDAY. “IT’S NOT LIKE YOU WERE MARRIED.” EIGHT YEARS. I ALWAYS SAID WE DIDN’T NEED A FREAKIN’ MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE. AND EVENTUALLY CLARA GOT HER HEAD AROUND THAT. WHEN SHE LEFT, SHE WAS ALL SMILES AND “HAVE A NICE LIFE.” I’M THE ONE WHO FEELS LIKE I’M MUDDLING THRU A DIVORCE. DIDN’T SEE THAT ONE COMING, BUT THEN I DIDN’T SEE HER LEAVING.
MAYBE IT’S GOOD THAT NO ONE’S NIPPING @ MY WORM ON PLENTYOFFISH.COM. MAYBE I AM NOT READY TO MOVE ON. ALL I KNOW IS, I GOTTA STOP THINKING ABOUT CLARA. WLDN’T BE SURPRISED IF MY SHRINK HAS ME COMMITTED. WLDN’T BE SO BAD…AS LONG AS I CAN CATCH THE CANUCKS ON TV.
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