Tuesday, March 25, 2008

i hate the "mom card"

so this past thursday i resigned from my current employer. after 4 years of frankly kicking ass and rising through the ranks, i gave a heartfelt resignation speech to my boss (even broke my own record of never having cried in the workplace -- it should be noted i did start my flow the very next day). anyhoo, i have accepted a position with an agency about 10 minutes away as opposed to the current 45 min-1.5 hour commute. certainly that was a carrot. but more alluring is the role itself: big fish/small pond, entreprenuerial, part of top tier management, exciting creative, and the natural loft light make my eyes pop. awesome opportunity coupled with being ready for a big change made it the natural choice.

so, now that i have resigned there is quite the buzz around the office. not only have i been here eons, but.....i am pretty fucking good at my job. so there is some spinning at the senior levels going on to keep the peace. what pisses me off is not that there is spinning, but what the spin message has become.

certainly no one would officially leak that the reason of my departure is due to the fact that my boss is bipolar, the work is stale, and the agency is now a big political machine. but, rather than simply state that i am ready to move on to a different challenge, or a smaller agency, etc, (all that have worked very well for other sr. folks who have left in the past), they are pulling the "work/life balance" card: "kdawggyO has accepted a position at an agency much closer to home in order to spend more time with her family and find more manageable work/life balance."

fuck that.

i leave every gawt damn day when i need to leave in order to be home see my lil peanut eat dinner, read books, and get attacked with kisses. he gets bath, book, and bed all with my rapt attention. we are happy with the current arrangement. my ass is not sitting at my desk until all hours. i have set pretty substantial boundaries and am proud to have done so.

my commute on the other hand blows. not just the timing, but the crush of either entitled or ruthless people who can NOT understand how to position their bodies in such a way as to allow more folks to get on the train. i feel like michael douglas in falling down. i am filled with r-a-g-e. if i have to body check one more chucklehead who blocks the door as i enter the train, i will become undone. further, i have to leave work about an hour earlier than i would like in order to have my lil peanut time.

so, i am looking forward to not spending precious time on public transport with assholes. and, i am also looking forward to being able to actually spend more time at the office. yes, you heard right folks. more time at the office. this employment decision was not made as one to spend more time with my family. that time has not yet and will never be compromised. not one bit. so, let me be clear:
  1. i want to be more effective and productive at work by being able to get 2-3 hours back
  2. i want to commute less to avoid potential jail time
  3. AND i love the opportunity this role promises

not only am i annoyed that the mom card is being played (mind you it is never played with men or childless women...ever), BUT it is setting a bad precedent for women here that are considering having kids. many women looking to have children look to me as a role model. they see i have set up boundaries and am successful at balancing my work/home time. when they hear this message they will feel fooled. they will feel it's a lie. that pisses me off. i worked too hard to let them down.

needless to say, i have begun my own spinning campaign. the term bipolar may have accidentally snuck it into my messaging....toonces suckers.

Monday, March 17, 2008

it's a bit too soon to call...

...but i am DIGGING this season's Bachelor.

6'7", British (won't hold that against him), banker (also won't hold that against him), relaxed sense of humor, lips are a bit thin, they can't all be jeff goldblum.

of course nothing is set in stone until i get my first gratuitous six-pack gut shot.

[is it weird that when he says he is looking for a "genuine girl" i shout at the tv screen, "i'm genuine, i'm genuine!!"....or is it worse that my hubby is sitting right next to me and hasn't even bothered to lift his head from his triump-the-dog you tube searches]

Saturday, March 15, 2008

fish outta water

tomorrow i am taking my little peanut to the local YMCA for his mommy & me swim class (2nd one ever). last week, was our first class. in under 45 minutes (not to mention the weeks leading up to it) i dealt with every possible insecurity a woman (and mother) works hard to avoid:

2 weeks prior: do i wear a bikini? a one-piece? do i have to shave my legs? worse yet, my dredded (not dreaded) bikini line? should probably be a one-piece otherwise i will look like a whorish mom strutting her shit at the local Y...her ill manicured shit at that. one piece it is.

1 week prior: do i buy a speedo or a basic black suit? speedo makes it seem like i am a swim team poser. faker. basic black it is. old navy, hear i come. try it on at home for the first time. hubby's reaction: [chirp, chirp]. even my age old excuse "i have a long torso" isn't making up for the horizontal butt-crack fat fold created by the elastic digging into my squishy tooshi. too late to get the speedo.

that morning: YMCA dictates anyone who enters pool must have shower cap. great. when call to inquire about requirement learn that they sell them: one size fits all. how is that possible?

20 minutes before class: arrive later than had wanted. realize i am filled with anxiety. arrive at counter to check-in. holding lil peanut in one arm (squirming like an eel) and digging into bottomless pit of a diaper bag for Y badges [WHY DO THEY MAKE THESE BAGS SO FUCKING COMPLICATED?] stab my finger on car key. find badges. then i realize, i have no idea where the locker room is, the pool, etc...(first time to YMCA as a member). in fact i know nothing (the carpicorn in me is usually well-planned -- i feel like I am swirling). lil peanut has decided now is the time to get his raisins. *right* now. line starting to form behind us. "ok and swim caps are mandatory?" "can i get them here?" "oh the shower caps are 6 bucks?" "I have no cash, can you take credit card"? line gets longer. lil peanut screaming for raisins louder. sign receipt [god i am such an asshole]. begin to sense my bathing suit wedge is now far up my ass and not suprisingly, my bits. sweet. feel sweat formin' in between cleavage. "RAISINS!!!". perfect. "where is the locker room?" i am told to use the family locker room with barely audible directions (that i wasn't really listening too anyway),.an eye roll and a brisk wave off (love that) send me on my way.

17 minutes before class: head down to family locker room. feeling deflated......no wait, that door says "Women's Room"...was it the 3rd right or left? up stairs or down them?? RAAAAAIIIIISSSSAAAAANNNSS! "ok, baby, almost there, you will get to swim like fishies and walrus do, alllllmost there baby" [i am sooo not loving motherhood right now]. decide to enter into "Women's Room" after all. turns out it is the family locker room. what the ef? start to get pissed assuming it's cause only moms care for their kids. probably wrong but stay quietly belligerent.

12 minutes before class: look for a place to set lil peanut down and put stuff in locker. all have locks but a few [damn it, why didn't i think to bring a lock? shit.] no time to fret. take my chances. lil peanut is now more amused with the mirrors and his own reflection than raisins [should i be worried about the new found narcissism my child has been expressing of late? naw. no patience to think about it, cause would mean less time thinking about me]. strip to suit. pale as a priest's ass...bordering on jaundice. locker lights. suicidal. [wait, where is kid?]. "boobies!", i hear shouted a couple rows down. my 22 month old son pointing and giggling at a woman's exposed breasts. am i humiliated or proud? will reflect on that later, no time now. rip him away apologizing meekly. shove everything in locker and focus on getting lil peanut ready. suit on, cap on..[gasp...no baby sandals!]. ew. staph infections. ew. [gasp...no flip flops for me!]. look around. everyone else, children included in this family locker room have flip flops. i am a HORRIFIC mother. there it's settled. pressure's off i guess. now i will have to run to the pool so as to avoid the 'hot zone, level 4 breach' looks. ok, so no sandals, but suit, check; cap, check. towel?. towel??? FUUUUCK!! brought no towels. wait. i am at a gym. they provide them! woooo hooooo! ask a woman (booby woman? not sure...bad form kdawggyO], "where can i get towels?". "have to bring your own.," she replies. no light hearted humor can get me out of this "hey i am THE asshole" moment. great staph and pneumonia. well pressure was already off, so may as well get a move on.

6 minutes before class: final touch -- place swim cap on head. abominable. time to head home. i'm callin' "uncle". swimming is overrated. let's get you some of those raisins after all kiddo......[lil peanut begins singing "WAAAATTTERRR" in a gleeful sing-sing voice. aaaaw shit]. pick wedge from out of ass and bits, turn to pool door with confidence sans flip flops, and promptly enter...sauna. SHIT! Where is the GOT damned door to the pool??? oh right, the one with no sign. naturally. enter pool and glare of surgical lighting. want_to_die.

2 minutes before class: ease into water with lil peanut and other moms/dads. they all have towels and flip flops. they all look remarkably well suited for swim caps. figures. as lil peanut feels the water wash over him he is exuberant. "WAAAAAAAATER!!!!", he cries with pure, unadulterated happiness. he is in heaven.....grinning ear to ear. i am in love. i am always in love.... can't wait for next week [this time with towels and baby sandals]. :)...and did i mention how amazingly adorable he looks in his one size fits all swim cap? pretty damn adorable.

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

My hubby...in case you were confusing him with some other B-level celeb


Resonated

as a mom, this passage about a daughter got me:

"I do not know what she smells like, she is like a perfume you have been wearing too long, she is still too close to the inside of me. So I can not smell her, quite, but I know that her smell is there as I lie down with the thought of her beside me. I want to run my hand down her exquisite back, and over her lovely little bum. I want to check that it is all still there, and nicely packed, and happy, that my daughter's muscles agree with her bones. I want to find the person that I built from my body's own stuff, and grew on ten thousand plates of organic sausages and sugar-free beans, and I want to squeeze every part of her tight, until she is moulded and compact. I want to finish the job of making her, because when she is fully made she will be strong."

-Anne Enright, 'The Gathering'

Left Field

i have just decided that i would do ryan seacrest. in fact, i would do him twice.

Irritating Ad Guy Metaphors of the Day

i swear i do not make this shit up. as quoted directly from my newest Account Partner heard *just* today:

"Let's keep running the ball down the field..."
"We really need to get our skin in the game here people..."
"Let's just dress this crap up, like lipstick on a pig..."
"We are in OT people. It's go time."

[checking to make sure i haven't actually poked my eyeballs out. that would be a horrible knee jerk reaction cause i am waiting to allow myself that sort of sweet release for a truly sexist metaphor...or worse, a soccer metaphor]

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Query

What is the biological rationale for enjoying the smell of one's own gas?

Animal Cops

This is what my life has come to. My DH, sitting on the couch in front of our newly purchased massive TV. Stoned. Watching "Animal Cops: Houston". Really. Oh, wait now we are watching how car bumpers are made. Mouth agape. Half eaten chips sitting on his belly hoping to be finished off.

"Look at that babe. Someone thought, 'I need to make that to protect my car'...and someone went and made it. Like what the fuck? This is what these people do everyday.

I need a peanut butter and jelly sandwich....I hate cold bread.

Would you be cool if I went to a call girl for a blow job 1 or 2x a month? Just need $4300."

I promised my DH I would not write about him. ah well.

Monday, March 10, 2008

Post #1...the very first one...soooo

...i guess i will just start with the stats
  1. mom (ew. sounds old)
  2. wife (ew. sounds old)
  3. working stiff (i peddle consumerism)
  4. capricorn (trust me, it matters)
  5. grease over sweet (preferably coagulated)
  6. obsessed with eyebrow maintenance
  7. need to be more obsessed with lip brow maintenance
  8. have zero hobbies (but can identify 17 out of 20 celebrity baby names if pressed)
  9. reality tv junkie (more Bachelor than Rock of Love, though Season 1 rocker chick Jess is my biggest chick crush currently)
  10. if compared to a celebrity some drunkards might say Uma, most (sober) would say Blossom