Being Brilliant in a World of Idiots

I have decided is the working title of the book I am never going to write...Why? Because only narcassist's write books with this kind of title and I prefer other "friendlier" labels. Like from an artist's perspective "inspired" or from a feminist viewpoint "empowered." These words help one feel creative and wonderful instead of just feeling like an asshole.

In my line of work, they call this "compassion fatigue."  When you just don't give a crap that there is starving children in Africa or that the meat in your burger isn't free-range, organic to the max/this cow had a wonderful life before it became your dinner...This is a sign that it a time for a break/vacation, but when one is self-employed, this becomes tricky, because there is no paid time off, no sabbatical...damn corporate bennies are looking real good about now...

The "I'm Pretty" Speech

Despite my initial repulsion by "He," I ended up seeing him again. "Why," you ask? Because of my mother. The poor woman wants me to be happy (& grandchildren). So, when she advised me that I should give "He" another chance, even after I told her he wasn't Christian or white, coming from my mother, that's real desperation. Besides, a number of my friends didn't like their husbands at first either, maybe they sort of grow on you, like brussel sprouts or Chinese food.

So, "He" & I met for an afternoon stroll in GGP. I was late, oops, and he was antsy, but eventually we were on our way. It was nice, the conversation and the silly flirting. I even let him buy me a coke (GASP, I know;) But then the time came for the walk home and I was spent. It is hard work getting to know someone! And this being an unusually warm San Francisco day, I was wearing a sundress (sans tights, that never happens!), but my date was wearing a dark, long sleeved shirt so when he attempted to put his arm around me, it was too hot and I shied away. Plus, I have huge "birthing" hips, so walking that way doesn't really work for me anyway. Second attempt, "Look," I said, "It is hot today." To which "He" giggled. Then, the time came to say good-bye and "He" was standing a little too close. "My God," I thought, "He's going to try to kiss me! Even after I shot down the cuddling, walky thingy!" So, I decided to cut him off at the pass (or take him out at the knees, which ever saying applies here...) and English being his third language, I had to dumb it down - a lot. "Look, I'm pretty," I say. "And guys wanna sleep with me, but I'm not into that...I've enjoyed (some) of our chats, but I'm not going to kiss you today or any day soon." Verbal Smack. And again, "He" giggled...stating he loves my independence and my honesty and tried to set up a lunch date for the following week. "Sorry," I said, "Busy week..."

Back in the Saddle Again...

After a few years of intentionally not dating, I got back in the saddle on Friday with the first, of hopefully, many dates to come....

In typical city fashion, I met my date at a Muni bus stop. Faking idiot foreigner, he asked me questions about the direction and cost of the bus, then proceeded to sit next to me on the bus. My usual reaction to this sort of behavior is a look of disgust followed by changing seats, but something made me stick around this time...

"He" is a journalist visiting in order to familiarize himself with American culture to broaden his perspective (admirable) and work on his English. So, when I realized I was so interested in our conversation that I missed my bus stop, I gave him my card.

I had almost forgotten about him when a week later he called and apologized for not contacting me sooner due to an out-of-town research trip. Polite and considerate, I thought, I like that...

Being the good Eastern European that he is, he proceeded to ask me out for coffee, but being naturally anxious, I decided to up the anty and meet up for beers at my favorite beer garden.

The first hour of dissecting American culture was interesting, the second was downright boring. This was FRIDAY, I wanted to drink beer and talk shit with friends, but instead was stuck on my overly intellectual first date with someone who ordered Budweiser and french fries, neither of which were on the menu. When "he" proceeded to drink his beer, pinky raised, I began to nod obligingly while daydreaming about the possibilities of this date. Did this guy want a green card? I've heard of foreigners paying tons of money to Americans who marry them in order to get a green card. Or wait, was "he" secretly gay and wanted to escape the oppressive culture he lived in by "marrying" me while maintaining a secret life on the side? So sneaky! These conspiracy theories helped me make it through the next hour before life took us in other directions.

But I was left pondering, who is this man? What does he want from me? What do I want from him? Do I want anything from him? With the unusual sunny weather I haven't seen him without his sunnies, and what does that poet say about eyes being the windows to the soul? Do I like him? Well, I didn't have to wait long to find out. The very next day when I turned on my phone, I had missed two calls and one text from him and felt nothing, not excitement or longing to reconnect. Actually, I did feel something, annoyance at having heard from him so quickly and in such hasty fashion. "That's it," I realized, "I'm just not into you..." Ahhh, sigh of relief, after realizing I won't have to sit through more "Americans are this way" speeches.

So, to "He," you are lovely, intelligent and I'm sure will make some woman (or man) very happy, but I'm not interested, no not even in friendship...Good luck in life and love.

NEXT! 

Requests From an Intern

Having been a registered intern for the past few years and worked in a variety of settings, I am surprised @ the amount of supervisor horror stories I have, both heard, and personally experienced.

The following is a list of requests for supervisors to consider:

1) Remember when you were an intern...
And working a number of odd jobs in order to support yourself through that unpaid internship? Yeah, I'm doing that right now. So, please take that into consideration when you text me @ 9:40pm about tomorrow's 7:30am meeting and don't act shocked when I am unable to make it...

2) I'm not 22...
And this isn't my first internship (or even career), so have someone else (or God-forbid, you) pick up the new plant for the office, 'cause hauling a lemon tree on Muni would be a bitch...

3) I know you have plenty of money...
And not just because you drive a BMW, but also because of the two months a year you take off for  vacation and those pictures of your trip to Bali you showed me on your iPad. So please don't charge me $60 a month for tea, 'cause even if you do spend that much (your fault), that's a week worth of groceries for me...

4) Seek out your own therapist (or consultation group)...
So I don't have to hear about your home foreclosure, asshole husband or how my friend's suicide affected you.

5) Help me find my own words...
Not try to make me a mini you. I get it, you're amazing & I should probably just refer all of my clients to you, but they can't afford you. And I only cost slightly more than a night out at the movies...

Thanks. 

Turning 30 (Serious & Spiritual…Hey, I warned you :)

I turned 30 yesterday and have been having mixed feelings about it…Not so much about turning 30 itself, but being 30 and in my current situation (i.e. a single gal, with no hope in sight/credit card relying intern…really, need I say more?). My pity party lasted the good part of a week before I got over myself and realized how fortunate I am to be healthy/living in a wonderful city with amazing friends and a supportive family (…not so bad after all, aye?)

So to celebrate the big 3-0, a dear friend and I hiked out to the beach to have a little lunch and enjoy the beautiful weather (tank tops and sunshine in October!?!? Yes please :).  As I contemplated the last ten years of my life and all that took place, I began to think about my future too; hopefully a husband, some children, winning the lottery (the big one, not just a scratcher) and aging gracefully (think Demi Moore).  It was during this fantasy that an old belief popped up (an excuse really), something that I had been telling myself and others for a long time… “I’ll find a partner when I am leading the kind of life I want to be leading.” Variation “I need to be the person I want to be before I will find the husband/love I want.” Well, fuck that…

While standing at the mighty ocean’s edge, I began to think about her power and grace. Then it dawned on me, the ocean didn’t create her own water…it had to come from sky! (And I might add, sometimes travel a long way to get there…) Then once its time on earth is done, it returns to the sky only to be reborn again and become part of ocean once more. Repeat. A wave of relief washed over me as I applied this concept to my own life…it is part of the life cycle to be incomplete. Then we find friendships/relationships that feed us energy and provide us with that little something special that fulfills us so we can do our work and live our best life. A new belief began to take form, “I don’t have to wait until I am complete within myself/career/financially, but can continue to receive “rain” growing stronger, brighter and more me in a relationship.”  Well obviously, this new belief feels right and true…Now if I can only keep that old one from popping up again, as my dad would say, “Then, I’ll be in business…” 

Tales from the Nanny

After realizing how much money the government takes for taxes, I decided to work “under the table” as a nanny until I can get back on my feet (Don’t get your panties in a bunch IRS, this is a few hundred dollars we are talking about here).  But boy, I had no idea what I was getting into…

Finding gigs was actually pretty easy. With it being summer and all, families were in desperate need of coverage for nannies out on vacation, busy with summer internships or just because they needed a break from their own damn kids.

My first family had a little girl I will refer to as Boo-Boo Daddy (BBD) because she was just learning to talk and everything was BBD…I mean EVERYTHING. There would be times the precious little creature would be screaming BBD only for me to find out later that all she wanted was a glass of milk. Or another time when she decided she didn’t want to poop in her diaper, so she took it off and shit on the floor. Awesome, really fucking awesome.

I ended it with BBD because after four hours with the kid I would be so stressed out that I would have to immediately go home and smoke a cigarette then take a nap…The damn kid was just too overwhelming!

So, for my next family, I decided to try to take it down a notch. Something more mellow and more like my upbringing, so I set up a time to meet with a couple who are both therapists like me. I had a little bit of trouble finding their house and arrived about 5 minutes late (obviously not a good sign for someone you are thinking about hiring, but I was late nonetheless). Dad Therapist answered the door and lead me down a very cluttered hallway filled with boxes and I casually inquired, “Did you recently move in?” “Oh, no,” he replied, “We’ve lived here for years.”  As we turned the corner into the living room, I began to notice a smell, something like kitty litter and all that comes with it. “Do you have cats?” I inquired. “Oh, yes,” he said, “We have two. They are our other babies.” And proceeded to bore me with the names, ages and special talents of each critter. (Don’t get me wrong, I love animals and have lovely little fur ball of my own, but I think I was too overwhelmed with the stuff and smells to really take it in).

I tried to make my way to the sofa, but had a little trouble getting over/around the glorified play pen that had been set up for the little bundle of joy. “Probably to keep her away from the cat piss,” I thought.

As I waited for Daddy T to go get the rest of the crew, I took in the room and all of the stuff in it, ‘cause man, there was a LOT of stuff…probably not like a “Hoarders” amount of stuff, but pretty damn close. To make matters worse, none of the blinds or windows were open adding to the already claustrophobic feeling of the place and the smell.  “How do people live like this?” I wondered. Open a freaking window! Let some light in… The rest of the interview didn’t go any better and when I left, I didn’t even inquire as to when we would be speaking again. The thought of having to spend 8 hours a day in that room made me a nauseous…I was fucking outta there…

Luckily, not long after, I landed a gig with a wonderful family. Their little boy, who I will call Frog, is the sweetest, most lovable little boy on the planet…No joke, I just wanna hug ‘em and squeeze ‘em and kiss ‘em, but the kids gotta sleep and eat…so we just kick it. I find myself filled with gratitude on my early morning walks over to Frog’s house. Although we won’t be in each other’s lives for long, we will have spent just enough time together to make an impact on each other’s lives. I’ll teach him how to sneak on the back of the bus and his mommy will pay me enough money to pay my rent J  

Polk-a-Dot Undies

While out for dinner last night with my gorgeous friend, Molly, I noticed we were getting some attention from a table with very decent looking guys at it. Hanging out with Molly, this is the norm because dudes always stare at her because of her goddess-like good looks and long, blonde mane; but this time, the one of the guys was looking at me! I mentioned to Molly that she just might be my good luck charm...

But then to my horror, I discovered why I, not my friend Holly was getting all the attention…

The Sitch: Molly and I were grabbing a little pre-concert din din before going to see our favorite bluegrass band...thus, dressed for the part, I was wearing a nice little dress and boots. But, being summer in San Francisco and FREEZING, I was also wearing tights. What I failed to remember was that they were not leggings, but the see-through kind. So, when I slid off my boots and hiked my legs up Indian style to enjoy my tortilla soup in comfort, I was actually giving this table of dudes a full frontal view of my crotch donned in bright green underwear with gigantic white polk-a-dots. (Now that things have gotten really personal, let’s just add that unlike my jeans, which get worn out in the thighs, this particular pair of tights is actually ripped and has a decent-sized hole in the crotch…)

So, I’d like to apologize to you, long-haired, jewish-looking boy eating a burrito with your buddies last night…I’m not sure what you saw, but I’m damn sure it wasn’t pretty. Oh, and that hole in my tights, that was an accident, sicko…I don’t usually go around wearing crotchless tights…