Mean girls too (two)

Today I attended the wedding of a male colleague. I went out of obligation rather than free will, as did my three other colleagues.  The gentleman who  married is a kind hearted fellow, a little dorky, but he means well. However, we think he married a total wingnut or winky, a euphemism one of my friends uses to describe the two cups of crazy that is the fiance.

We have overheard (even when trying desperately not to) multiple daily phone calls throughout the courtship and then the engagement. Most of the time we were unsure if the gentleman was her betrothed or the police negotiator trying to talk the young woman out of jumping off the edge. In addition, there were the ridiculous demands placed upon our male colleague, that made us, his “work wives”, cringe with embarrassment for the female sex.  [i.e. Work wives -- all the nagging without the benefits]

Needless to say we were expecting quite the spectacle of a wedding day, full of tantrums and fruit loops.  And we, the mean girls, were ready to mock the event mercilessly from beginning to end. We were positively frothing over the potential fodder we were to be fed … only to find there was none.

Okay, there were a few items, but they were too easy to pick on – not worth the effort on our part really. But I will say the part of the minister on that day was played by Doogie Howser. Nuff said.

Just keep moving forward …

I had coffee tonight with a friend I have known for almost 30 years (holy crap, I am old). I haven’t seen this friend in over a year, talked to her in seven months, or communicated in any way in a long, long time … and I am okay with that.

I don’t like to backtrack much. I don’t feel the need to talk about the good ‘ole’ days or do things the way we used to. I don’t need to rebuild relationships with people I have lost touch with. Not because the memories are bad or I dislike the individuals with whom I was previously engaged, but because life is meant to ebb and flow like the tide.  And as a stick thrown into a lake may make its way back to shore from which it was launched at some time, it may very well end up somewhere completely different. I neither want to wait in the original place for it, nor am I going to follow it where it goes. Its path is its own. Mine is where I take it.  It is much the same with friendships; we move in and out, launch, return or float along to something else.

It was nice to get together and hear what has taken place in my friend’s life since we last spoke. But I don’t miss those conversations, or the time we hung out. It was fun, encouraging and a good place to be in those moments.

I remember when the mister and I first returned to our home city from the big smoke. I was so angry about returning, because it felt like a step backwards. That we returned because of new career opportunities rather than failure at what we had been doing didn’t seem to matter. It was backtracking. I am not angry anymore for we have moved on to a pretty good life on our own terms. I do occasionally think we missed out on the complete freedom of being someplace fresh.

The loss of particular friends or family or careers or hobbies or interests or whatever is the not the end of line, but the first step to something else.  Rather than stop and wait for what can to catch up, we just keep moving forward in the direction of our choosing unencumbered by the baggage of what was and enjoying what will be.

… and good grief that all sounded ridiculously clichéd, but such is the rambling meanderer.

Road Trip

The borderline personality disorder, the narcissist, the narcoleptic, the nice one and me, the toxic one stuck in a small car for a cross border business trip.  Terror has a new name, its Advancement Services.

Toxic

Ever had the person with the toxic personality in your office? The one where everything is negative, and they spin a small event into something mean and sorted. Where their face crunches up while they spew forth their petulance.  Yeah, well that’s me.

Generally speaking, I am a pretty nice person, sort of self-involved, but not to the point of failing to recognize the presence of others. Yet give me a subject with a limited amount of information available that I can take off on and look out, bombs away. It happens without me even knowing. I need some sort of audible or perhaps painful signal, to tell me that I am entering the red zone.

To top it off, most of the subjects have nothing to do with me directly.

While I don’t want to become Miss Mary Sunshine, pretending like everything is fine with me.

• You want to cut our pay by 2/3 and force us to clean the  jam out of your toes. Sounds great. Sign me up. I am a team player.
• You just drove my only vehicle into the canal on a whim. No problem, I love public transit.

I do need to see that not everything is a conspiratorial plot to piss me off or screw me over. The powers that be, are not sitting in their offices, or behind the wheel of their cars figuring out new ways to make my life miserable. That criticism may be constructive and be given with my best interests at heart.

I don’t need to make acerbic remarks every time the big D or  one of the lemmings make a comment.

I do need to stay out of the business of others. If they feel screwed over, I don’t need to encourage them. But a angry mob is alway more fun than a single grumbler.

Frak it. It all sucks anyway may as well go out in a toxic sludge of glory.

The Emperor is, indeed, naked

Monday ended on a low note (like Monday’s have an option). Our direct boss has resigned.  The AD was only member of management who didn’t drink the kool-aid.  She was open and honest, and not afraid to be the lone voice in the wilderness.

Admittedly when the new AD arrived, I wasn’t thrilled. It took a year before I really came to appreciate the skills she had to offer.  Once she dropped the micromanaging and I slowly learned to let go (bit of a control freak, I am) things went smoothly. I have come to really value her insight into our industry.

The boss understands strategy is not just a word, but a direction with thoughful action. I whole-heartedly believe if she had run the current project directly, our institution would have exceeded its goal by the end of the project date.

I have never before worked at a place that ignores the facts because they don’t like them.  The AD provided empirical evidence on a regular basis on the status of the project and its participants, but instead of using the data to evaluate, redirect or evolve the process, they asked her to remove data from the report.  At this point the report may only have a title and date. Ignoring the data doesn’t change the story. The Emperor (project) is, indeed,  naked (failing). Everyone can see it, but no one else will say it out loud, except the one solitary voice who has had enough and is moving on.

I wish the boss well, and will truly miss the professionalism, wisdom and humour she has displayed daily.  Good luck and take us with you.

A little advice

Let me tell you how much I “love” getting parenting advice from my sister … It’s not that I won’t listen quietly to her  opinion, I just may not always agree with it and heaven help me if I don’t.  Ironically, the very things SS picks out about me are the same things she does. When she does it, of course,  it is the “appropriate” way in which to act or respond.  A little introspection please!

I like my sister, she is smart, funny, beautiful and generous. She is determined and as a result has succeeded in her career. She is a single mother to a great kid.  I wish she would just enjoy her life and stop trying to get everyone to live their life like her because SS’s life is fine for her but doesn’t work for me.

The mister and I are well aware of our failings as a parents, we are rather lenient on somethings and ridiculously uptight about stupid stuff. However, our kid is funny, intelligent, creative, athletic, friendly and an all around good guy – so we can’t be screwing up that bad. Is he a momma’s boy? Absolutely, but so is his dad. Does he need to realize the world doesn’t revolve around him? Sure — but as we are his world at this time, it does in fact revolve around him.  He has a great deal of self confidence (or over inflated ego depending on your perspective) — humility on the other hand is a work in progress.

My son and my nephew fight quite a bit, they seem more like brothers than cousins. One pokes at the other, the other tattles on the one. Over and over and over. I am unsure why the one pokes and why the other can’t just suck it up and ignore the one. I suppose my sister and I were the same. Okay, I know my sister and I were the same. I would poke and she would beat the crap out of me. Now that the nephew is the poker, I don’t think telling my son to beat the crap out of him is the answer, though it might work. *Note: I am not truly condoning violence as an option.

Moron, butthead, loser — I want to say so what, they are words without meaning, they are used in the wrong context and therefore inaccurate. Well maybe butthead applies anywhere, who knows. A young boy does not get it though, everything is absolutely literal. He is an straight A French Immerion student; he plays AAA rep sports; he has a boat load of friends;  he has a hilarious sense of humour;  he is a tall good looking kid: yet these things never come to mind when someone calls him a name. To quote Julia Robert’s character in “Pretty Woman (oh come on you’ve seen it too), “The bad stuff is easier to believe.”

You’re great and we all know it – so snap out of it buttercup and so will your dad and I.

Oi vey!, I am a meanderer

Good lord, I picked the right title for my blog, as the first late night post was a bit much. Note to self, do not blog past midnight.

Classic

Bird do it, bees do it, even educated fleas do it … so I am doing it too. Blogging nonsense that is.

Obviously the lyrics from Cole Porter’s “Let’s Do It” will date me as older than the average blogger, but technically I am a Gen Xer. I  should  be able to come up with  something more contemporary than Mr. Porter but I was born old or as I like to tell my kid, born classic.

Growing up, I had the benefit of sharing lots of quality time with my grandparents.  Inevitably many of their favourite things became mine over time.  I enjoyed their music, films and books collections. I would accompany them to pipe and drum tattoos and concerts given by war time crooners still touring. We enjoyed wonderful films on the evenings I would stay at their house. Mrs. Miniver remains one of my all time favourite films.

My ‘grampa’ was a ferocious reader, a trait I happily have adopted.  He was patient and kind. He had an absolutely thunderous laugh which was only to be outdone by his explosive sneezes, which were always followed by the phrase, “Shatter my bloody nerves.” Whatever that meant.

Grampa was also exceedingly good with money. For every $1 spent, $2 was saved. Unfortunately, I didn’t pick up that skill.

My ‘gramma’ was our family’s heart. All things centred around her. She was very generous and very loving. She was also the most determined person I have ever met. She wasn’t afraid to do what had to be done, when no one else would do it.

Every Sunday the family would get together for  dinner. I had assumed for a longtime that every family did this. I was terribly surprised to find out that Sunday dinner with your grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, etc. was not a regular occurrence for most.

Gramma made at least three deserts in order to make sure there was something everyone liked. Lemon meringue pie, butterscotch pie, mystery cream cheese pie, angel food cake with real whipped cream and strawberries, carrot cake, etc., etc. I come by my sweet tooth honestly. I have never met a dessert I didn’t like.

My grampa had very bad arthritis from an early age, and while it slowed him down, it didn’t stop him. We still went fishing andworked on the cottage together. He didn’t mind not having a grandson, because he had a granddaughter who enjoyed just about everything he did, with perhaps the exception of football. He might find it amusing to know that I now  regularly attend university football games each fall, though I avoid the local professional team. I still think they should turn their field into a parking lot.

I realize I idealize both my grandparents, but I have no reason not to. They were wonderful and I miss them. I can’t help but think how much they would enjoy my son and my nephews. Ironically they had four granddaughters, and thus far those granddaughters have had four boys.

I have lots of beautiful memories of gramma & grampa. I am thankful.