Searching for that Dream Job?

I need to find my dream job.  The one with flexible hours and an option to work from home some, lots of autonomy, challenges me to grow and develop personally and professionally, doesn't waste time on pointless meetings, pays REALLY well, and everyone immediately notices the greatness I bring to the table so they ask my opinion on strategy and the future direction of the company.  Oh, and it needs to align with my personal and political views so I can feel like I'm changing the world through my career.  That job has to be out there, and it has to be just waiting for me to show up and start being the rock star that I am, right?

I don't need anyone to look over my resume to make sure it works--my resume speaks for itself.  I've done impressive things in college so far and I can do many more.  Nevermind I haven't actually been employed yet or ever bothered with an internship.  I'll just upload it to the Internet Cosmos and wait for the offers to come pouring in.  I don't need to waste my time with networking--none of those people could possibly teach me something I don't already know and certainly none of them are CEOs looking for their successor.  This stuff should all just fall right into my lap.

What do you mean I haven't demonstrated to you all these bold claims?  What do you mean, you want proof that I'll fulfill my commitments before you're willing to give me a shot at that amazing job I know I deserve now?  What do you mean I need to curb my attitude?  What do you mean I need to keep my mouth shut and learn something?  I went to college, after all.  What do you mean I need to start off with this low profile, grunt work that no one else wants to do?  What do you mean I need to EARN it?

I'm here to make my mark on the world and you should feel privileged I want to do it within your company.  I could just as easily go out on my own and make millions, I just want the stability of a good paycheck, social interaction with coworkers, and the safety net of being with a company that's not going to close up tomorrow.  I mean, I can't have all my accomplishments and genius go to waste.

Yeah, thanks for all that parents, coaches, and teachers who bought into the ridiculous crap about making sure kids never feel bad about not winning or doing well while growing up.  Somehwere along the way, these no keeping score, never grade in red, never tell them no ingrates became "adults" and now they don't understand the good life isn't just handed to you.

I hope they live with you well into their 30s and keep you from being able to retire.

The Mythical Perfect Childhood

I spent most of my blogging time last week obsessing about one post.  And it's still not up.  There is a reason for that--I wrote it, edited it, asked my husband to read it to give me some feedback, edited again, and sat on it.  Over the weekend, I had a bit of an epiphany--this post I was so concerned about, was written with the completely wrong approach.  I couldn't change it enough so that I didn't think it didn't come across as whiny.

This trait aggravates me greatly, and I'd hate to have my writing perpetuate it unless it's absolutely necessary.  I'll probably still post it at some point, but it's going to need a lot of rewriting before it's done.  It is very personal, it is a large piece of my motivation, even obsessive drive to write.  But if I have even one person say to me, "Oh you poor thing, that must have been so hard for you" I'll hate myself for it.

It did make me start to wonder, however, we all have "issues" from childhood--why in the world do we tend to spend so much time dwelling on them?  Why do we tend to focus on how we were wronged in our minds instead of taking into consideration how lucky we really had/have it?  Why is there a seemingly eternal struggle for creating or defining that "perfect childhood" and then comparing all the ways we were denied that experience?

Even the most noble of intentions can go horribly wrong; just ask Macbeth.  No matter how much you think your kids are like you, they're going to be different in many regards and how you would handle something is going to wind up upsetting them in some way.  Despite the well meaning actions of a parent, while possibly "traumatic" at the time, the kid usually grows up and starts to understand their parents better as people allowing us to see why they did what they did.  We're still allowed to disagree with it, but if you're holding on to some deeply embedded resentment because your mom wouldn't let you go on that date with the guy with 8 tattoos and a nose ring in high school, it's probably time to move on.

These are just life lessons that you can learn and become a stronger person or ignore them so you can continue to have that pity party.  The problem with the latter is that eventually, you're the only one left at that party.  After all, you heard your mother say countless times, there are starving children in Africa while you are complaining about meatloaf and not wanting to eat all your vegetables.

Reading myself complain about my childhood seemed so ridiculous after I stepped back from the post for a day.  I never had to learn how to cook meth after school and balance that with getting my homework done to escape the same future.  I never got left in a 3rd world country where I was either sold into human trafficking or as a child soldier.  I never had a family member do anything inappropriate to me that would scar me for life.  I could go on and on.

The bottom line is, I'm (for the most part) a responsible adult, I make enough to provide for my family, I occasionally have fun and act silly, and I generally like who I've become.  I wouldn't be who I am today if it weren't for my experiences as a child and on up through yesterday.  There's no such thing as "perfect" but I certainly can have what works best for me. 

Hopefully, I'll be able to do the same for my daughter and keep her from becoming a serial killer when she grows up.  She can be mad at me when I embarrass her as a teenager or not let her have THE outfit that all the other girl's moms said was okay because I think it looks like a $2 hooker dress.  She'll learn to get over it because I had her best interests in mind when she didn't.

I'm Long Winded

I would probably make a terrible professional blogger because I can't seem to keep things short and sweet.  I go off on tangents, get too descriptive, and I write like my brain thinks--bordering on just plain crazy.  Probably explains why I've always been drawn to writing novels.  I like making sure I can see just what I imagine as I read my writing, I like to plant those critical tiny details that make a story more real or inviting.

I can't think of an assignment or a contest I've entered where I haven't run up against the word limit.  I always have to cut things down.  And I'm glad I do because I can decide which details are most important and which ones after a 12th look are really superfulous.  Blogging requires learning to exercise self restraint.

This, however, does not translate well to blogging.  I've been reading up on how to make mine better, more interesting,  and how to improve overall and the one thing that's glaring in my eager little face is I write far too much.  Which is quite ironic given that I'm not big on talking.  I can spill thousands of words onto a page without trying, but when it comes to conversation, I'm usually the one listening.  I rather like this contradiction about myself.

So, in honor of Friday or my very merry unbirthday, I'm going to keep this one short.  Ha!  Take that contradiction!  I shall learn to temper you yet!  Probably not, but at least I'll try.

What Does a Good Night's Sleep Feel Like?

Because I honestly can't remember the last time I had one.  I'm not really complaining (okay, maybe a little or a lot) but I'm starting to wonder if this pipe dream is even possible or are we just lying to the rest of the world when we tell them we woke up completely refreshed and ready to tackle the day.  Clearly it's a problem in America, or I wouldn't see at least one article a week focusing on the subject when I'm not really seeking them out.

So let's commiserate instead of lie to one another, if only for a day.  These are just some of the things that contribute to my overall crankiness and general disdain for almost the entire human population:

I cannot turn my brain off at night.  I've tried all the tricks I've heard about or been told firsthand.  Imagine a clear blue sky and you'll pass right out.  After a  week of trying I gave up.  Avoid TV, cell phone, and computer for at least an hour before going to bed--I didn't get to sleep any faster AND I was bored.  Don't read books in bed--at least two books behind on my "want to read" list and still takes me at least 30 minutes to crash.  Warm milk?  That's just gross.  Who actually likes the way that tastes?  Avoid caffeine after 2 pm?  I really think that kept me up longer.  Go to bed and get up at the same time every day?  Is that even possible as a parent?  The list goes on and on.

I stress about work, I stress about trying to fit in going to the gym or at least getting some exercise (and I'm failing miserably at it currently).  What I didn't get done that day that I need to make sure I finish tomorrow; taking care of home repairs that have been put off; monthly finances, am I spending enough time with my daughter; with my husband; the amount of time wasted commuting and what I could be doing with it; again the reasons never seem to end.

My husband also tells me that I rarely sleep "well."  I toss and turn, groan, and generally give off the impression that I'm not comfortable or getting quality sleep when I am out.  That can't be helping.  Awesome.

Then, if I manage to get to sleep before 11, I have dreams that would probably make Freud do dirty things to himself in the corner of his office in shame.  Seriously, just this weekend there was one with a zombie apocalypse theme where I was the one who locked all the people who might have been exposed in a room to prevent the spread.  Someone else let them out, so it became this violent survival dream.  The other one I gave birth to a baby girl in a matter of minutes but then I had to get up and immediately walk around with a nurse and when I got back, the baby was a boy and my brother in law had swaddled him up and put him in a tub of shallow water to let him nap.  These weird ass dreams happen 2-3 times a week and they tend to wake me up and I can't go back to sleep.  They vary from dinosaurs setting up toll booths and eating the cars that don't pay up to a version of American History X's infamous curb scene.  They disturb me and I can't help but wonder why they're so twisted or if I need to see a professional about them.

Then let's add to the mix, just for fun, an almost two year old daughter.  Who ever came up with the term "slept like a baby" as a good thing is a damn liar and they owe me an apology. We go through our little transition periods when something changes, and I expect those.  But the poor kid ended up with my allergies, and the slightest change in weather usually means she wakes up once a twice a night coughing or sneezing.  Even if my awesome husband is the one who goes in to check on her, I'm still awake and again fighting my brain to shut the hell up.  Oh, and she does NOT sleep in.  Weekends are amazing if she sleeps until 7 before wanting breakfast.

Finally, if I didn't punish myself enough already, I get up between 5:15 and 5:30 in the morning.  I do this to make sure I can be at work by 8:00.  I personally find this completely insane but if I don't leave the house by 6:50 in the mornings, dropping off the kid at day care and cursing traffic would take an hour and a half instead of 45.  We moved to the burbs for the good schools and learned to deal with the cookie cutter houses with next to no individuality but for some reason our jobs think it's ridiculous to move with us.  How selfish.

Naps are out of the question--I've tried to take them on purpose and I feel worse than I did before I went to sleep.  They still happen sometimes on accident, with the same result. 

Yes, I know about half of this (or more) is self inflicted and part of my own crazy personality.  But I'm also convinced that people who say they're rested most of the time are lying.  And if they're not, I kind of want to punch them in the face.  So join in my Monday morning gripe-fest.  Make me feel a little less ridiculous so I know I'm not the only one in search of just one night of good sleep... if it even exists.  Tomorrow I'll go back to lying to myself when I say, "Sleep is over rated."

If You're an Ass Kisser, I Won't Like You

Today, I throw a monkey wrench in my whole customer service thing: here's where I tell you how much I loathe ass kissing.  To me there's a difference between good service and ass kissing, and my take on what those differences entail is, of course, very specific and thought out.  Your version will likely be different or you may be someone who prefers to back your rear up on a set of puckered lips.  If you're that person, you'll probably want to stop reading right now.

Since I've already gone over what good service is to me, there's no sense in spinning that wheel again.  Check it out if you haven't already--it will probably add to what I'm about to say.

Ass kissers are trying to overcompensate for the fact that all they're really trying to do is getting something out of you.  They're not trying to build a long term business or personal relationship--they see being associated with you as a way to move up in the world or weasel their way in to something they couldn't otherwise.  They're not approaching the exchange as a give and take based on trust and mutual respect--ass kissers are trying to float your ego high enough in hopes you won't notice they're taking something from you without reciprocity.

No one's a perfect judge of character, and as confident I am in my abilities to read most people I'm positive I've been wrong before.  This isn't an ego trip for me--I just genuinely dislike being showered with attention I can tell is completely fake.  It's a set up and they're trying to create a false sense of trust. I find manipulative dishonesty extremely insulting to one's intelligence.

It's the car salesman that won't talk to a woman unless a guy is there with her.  It's the restaurant manager or waiter that makes some big production about a "special" something that really costs them nothing in hopes of a 30% tip on a nice dinner.  It's the retail sales person that completely ignores you when you indicate the need for help until you flash a platinum card.  It's the sales person or account manager that you can never get a hold of once they got that initial sale after promising to follow up regularly or be hands on during the transition.  The examples are abundant.

And if you are a person who enjoys this kind of attention... why?  Are you so insecure that you need validation of your importance through false sincerity?  Do you enjoy having people bow down and serve you to acknowledge that you are a higher class of person?  Are you so lonely that you will take any kind of attention, even if it's fleeting?  Is ass kissing just how you define good service?  Is there some sort of psychological scar that makes you want to chase those kind of people and "fix" them?

I hold honesty and being genuine in high regard, so it really is difficult for me to see the other side of this coin.  But there are so many good people in the world, I just don't see the point in wasting time with the sleazeballs.  Why bother wondering if/when they're going to turn on you for a better deal?  Hell, why encourage bad behavior by enabling them?  Certainly these ass kissers wouldn't stick to it if it didn't work on enough people to make worth their while.

A Good Look in the Mirror

Women have this weird, slightly creepy habit of staring at themselves in the mirror for extended periods of time, categorizing their faults, finding new wrinkles that have appeared since their last stare session, and generally focusing on their flaws to assess what can be improved and what they need to learn to like or live with.  As a very atypical woman, even I do it.  I think it's ingrained in our genetic code.  I'm quite sure that men find this practice a little bit insane... and I don't disagree.  But it happens anyway.  Go ahead, judge me.

It's not like I can magically turn back the clock to be 22 again and wrinkle free.  I currently find plastic surgery too extreme to be a viable option, and yet I find myself staring in that mirror contemplating what can be improved upon, what I might be stressing over that's not really worth the effort, and what is a permanent change that I need to learn to accept.  What the hell is going on with my skin?  Why do I look like a teenager going through puberty this week?  Is that a gray hair?  Ugh.  With my hair in front of my shoulders I resemble a cocker spaniel.  I really need a haircut.  And so on.

I also take inventory of my personality this way.  Was I too rude to someone at work?  Should I consider changing the way I interact with another person in an attempt to get better results?  Am I really doing all the things I think I am to accomplish my goals or am I slacking and not being honest with myself?  Do I really understand the personality of an individual or am I missing an important piece that's hindering my interactions with them?

Perhaps it's my introverted nature and need for self evaluation.  Perhaps it's my competitive drive wanting to be the best "me" I can be.  It's often not a fun and affirming process.  I often find that it's not the other person that needs to adapt, but I could be doing more to make the relationship more rewarding for both sides, more effective in a professional capacity, etc. Sometimes I decide it's worth the effort to work on myself, sometimes it's not.

It's never kind to one's ego to admit you're in need of improvement.  But unlike wrinkles or the fact that your left ear is a little bit higher than your right, making your sunglasses always appear crooked on your face, you can always improve your interactions with others... if you're willing to admit you might not be doing it right. 

Admittedly, it's much easier and more convenient to place blame on others.  Especially if you're already accomplished in life, you've enjoyed a position of power for any length of time, etc.  History tells you that you've done a lot right and you've earned your position of having others ask you what to do.  But if you look at a broader history of the world, arrogance is usually a contributing factor to the downfall of leaders, civilizations, empires, governments, etc. 

I'll be staring in the mirror tonight.  Will you?

I am NOT a People Person

I have an uncle who has an amazing gift for gab.  He can walk up to anyone in a room and within 15 minutes they're best friends.  People feel at ease around him, and he genuinely seems to enjoy being around a wide variety of personalities.  I watch in awe as he walks around a room, engages complete strangers, and walks away with new friends that genuinely want to see him again.  It's a talent that eludes many of us, and is virtually impossible to explain how one goes about doing it successfully.

I can say without a doubt I do not share that characteristic.  In many ways I'm envious (benign envy?) of his obvious talents.  Professionally and often socially, I am at a disadvantage.  And no matter what self help articles or professional networking advice types tell me, it does NOT get easier with practice.

Unless I'm paired with an extroverted, inviting person, there are many awkward silences.  Conversation does not flow freely, and I know it's evident that my attempts at asking polite yet interesting questions is labor intensive.

I suppose I'm more British than American in that I am terrified of asking that one seemingly safe question and getting the bear trap answer.  I see a wedding band, so I think to ask if they're married and for how long, but I don't because I'm afraid they're going to respond by telling me their spouse died in a horrific car crash two months ago.  Or if they have any kids to hear that their teenager just got hauled off to rehab for the third time yesterday.

Or worse, I get stuck talking to someone I can't stand within five minutes.  As terrible as I am at forced social interaction, I'm even more terrible at hiding my feelings.  If I think someone is arrogant or egocentric, or just plain dull then my facial expressions and follow up questions are guaranteed to give me away.  I'l  let you imagine how that works out at industry functions.  I don't mind people disliking me, in fact many times I prefer it.  I just don't like potentially costing my company business because I can't fake a smile at the appropriate time.

I hate the open setting more than any other because I have zero clues to guide my conversation until I start talking to them.  If I meet them at their office, I can cheat and look for family pictures or evidence of hobbies, etc. and I can swing those meetings pretty well without looking like an inept buffoon.

Alas, I continue to put myself in situations where I end up leaving an event sweating, completely drained of energy, and very much wanting to crawl into a cave to avoid all human contact for at least a week.  I have an alumni event later this month that I'm forcing myself to attend.  I keep hoping that something eventually clicks and the whole process becomes a little bit easier.

Because in the end, I can't do this job or even my dream job successfully without being able to cleverly fake my way through a room full of strangers and leave convincing at least one of them that I'm personable and charming.  I keep watching my uncle in awe, but I can't take him with me to these things--I know I'd let him take the lead because it's so much easier.  And that will get me no where.

I don't have to start enjoying it--that would be unrealistic because dealing with people in general will always be "work" for me.  I just need to get to the point where people can't tell that it's work.

Great Customer Service

I really am a low key person when it comes to service.  All I expect is someone to do their job without making the customer feel like he/she's a burden.  They are getting paid, after all.  So when someone goes above and beyond my expectations I remember it.  I genuinely appreciate it.  As quick as I am to write a letter about bad behavior, I'm even quicker to do so for something extraordinary.

I had a meeting yesterday with an individual who did just that over three years ago.  He was fresh out of college and doing group sales packages for a minor league baseball team.  I called wanting to put together an employee night at the ballpark.  It was the usual interactions, all by phone and email.  So when game night came along, I wasn't expecting to see him at the door of the suite waiting specifically to introduce himself personally and make sure everything was satisfactory.  I saved the business card he gave me that night to call him directly for future events.

Fast forward 2 months.  Out of no where, I get an email from the guy letting me know he'd seen a magazine ad that featured my dad, his wife, and her new 7 series BMW and wanting to congratulate the company on the publicity.  First, thoughtful of him to remember that many details about a customer he'd worked with one time.  I asked him which magazine and if he knew where I could get a copy to get the ad framed for my dad.  He said he'd send me the copy he had.  Really didn't expect that and I was incredibly impressed.  Turns out, he didn't just mail it.  He took the time to drive it over to the office personally--I'd been out when he stopped by, but wow, that's amazing service.

I sent him a thank you email immediately, and I connected with him on LinkedIn not long after that.  This guy clearly had some excellent sales and customer service qualities.  Where ever he ends up, he's a great person to stay in touch with.

As luck would have it, a few months later my company was looking to hire a sales person.  I sent him an email right away.  He was flattered I thought of him, but he'd recently changed jobs and was really excited about the new one.  I understood and we talked briefly to see if there was a way we could use his services.  Unfortunately, the field he went into wasn't compatible with mine.  He understood, didn't press, and we agreed to keep in touch in case either of us ran across something.

Last week he sent me an email about a job fair.  I get emails like this ALL THE TIME.  "Advertise with us!  Reach over 500 prospective employees!  Blah, blah, blah."  I work in a strange industry and recruiting people isn't as simple as participating in a job fair.  Most people we recruit have never been in our industry, never realized it was an industry, and when they tell their networks where they moved they get asked why.  It's a great industry, very robust, and lots of money to be made by good people--it just doesn't scream glamor and excitement.  And it takes a very unique skill set to be successful.  Mass appeal need not apply.

Anyway, I responded back to this guy specifically because of everything he's done building up to this point.  And I'm discussing it with our HR people today to see if it's worthwhile for them.  And I'm going to get back with him quickly with a real answer.  He's done so many things for me without me ever asking, I owe him at least that much.  And THAT'S what great customer service is all about.  If you treat everyone like they really matter, and aren't just a means to an end, it will pay off.  I still want to recruit the guy for sales for our company.  With the right tools and support, he could make a major impact on our bottom line and be a stellar representative on the company's behalf.

I think it's sad how difficult it's become to find people like this.  But I do have a handful of these stories and I remember the people.  I stay in touch with them, and as a general rule I don't like many people.  I'd like to think I've helped a few people in a similar way over the years and they remember me for it.  I know of two people and one company that remembered me for work I'd done for them in the past.  That's really what it's all about.  It's almost too simple yet so hard to find in practice.

Bad Customer Service

I shop on the Internet.  A lot.  I don't know how I survived before it.  Shopping is not a social event for me--I want to get stuff quickly, quietly, and without complication.  I don't particularly like wandering around from store to store aimlessly looking without purpose to try things on in a space where 10 other women are doing the same thing while having private conversations with their "girlfriends" in the stall next to them.  I don't want to hear about your husband's foot fetish porn addiction.  Whatever happened to keeping certain things private?

The one downside to this otherwise glorious method of avoiding human interaction is returns. Unless I want to pay to have it shipped back (thank you Zappos for being the exception), I must still visit the brick and mortar store to handle most returns.

 There are two traits that I absolutely cannot stand in another person--stupid and lazy.  And lazy has permeated the local store that I happen to frequent most.

It started out innocently enough, I walk up to the counter with my bag of rejects and ask to return them.  The girl immediately informs me that I can make returns anywhere in the store.  I politely say thanks, even though I already knew this but I come to the customer service department because its what I prefer.  I walk through the store on my way to the "customer service" department--I rarely see someone on the floor who's not already helping someone else.

I get this routine from 2-3 girls at the counter of the next couple of months.  Finally, I push back a little.  Immediately trying to send this return to the floor, I tell her that she's told me this three times now and that I prefer coming to this counter.  I thought maybe if I pointed it out to her politely, she'd figure out that part of customer service is handling this stuff?  I'm not entirely sure, but if someone did that to me I would step back and remember that is part of my job and be a little bit embarrassed I'd represented the company I worked for so poorly.  This was not the case for these girls.

The past two visits, I've been told by girls who were on the phone (one might have actually been helping someone, the other was very obviously having a bitch-fest with a coworker in another department) that if I wanted to return something I'd need to see a sales associate.  The first time, I was a little shocked and just stood there and stared at her for a moment before leaving.  The second time, you would have had to been a complete moron to not notice I was perturbed--this was the bitch fest.  Ironically, the same floor sales associate handled the returns for me on the floor both times.  She was incredibly polite, very helpful, and even stopped the restocking she was doing once to help me out.  So the second time, I asked her what the deal was with their customer service department employees turning people away with returns?

I know it was a little unfair, but she handled it brilliantly.  She apologized, didn't throw them under the bus, and even tried to offer an excuse for them to make sure the company's reputation wasn't tarnished.  If she was having a bad day, I would never know it.  If she ever wants out of retail, I would hire her on that basis alone.

So, why am I writing what was is basically a long-winded whine session?  Well, this particular company is world renowned for its eagerness to help and please a customer.  In most cases they live up to that reputation.  And I have some returns that I've been putting off because I really don't want to deal with the chance of getting one of these lazy girls.  If I have to deal with one of them, my politeness has run out and I know I'm going to say something tacky and crass.  I'll ask specifically for her name, write it down in front of her so she knows I won't forget, and then I'll write a letter to the store manager letting him/her know how poorly this person represents their brand.

I've hit that point where social decorum no longer matters to me and I'm going to be the bitch that gets them in trouble.  I strongly dislike people who work in a job with "customer service" in the description and decide it's at best an afterthought.  I realize it's probably not their dream career, and that's fine.  I know it's not the only thing they do all day.  I'm not expecting them to jump over the moon and kiss my ass, just that they not make me feel like I'm inconveniencing them by walking up.  I'm merely asking that these ladies not be employees who put more effort into getting out of work than it would take to do their job decently.

What's the saying--for every good experience you have, you tell three people and for every bad you tell ten?  Tomorrow, to balance things out I think I'll discuss the people who've gone above and beyond when they didn't have to, and how it's impacted my business relationship with them.  I can't be a bitch all the time, right?  (Please don't answer that.)

I Wrote Haikus

So weird things happen in email sometimes that lead to hilarious things--and yesterday my coworkers and I got off on a random tangent of haiku writing.  Then I posted it to Twitter and said I'd take requests.  I got four.

On Baby Feet:
Scamper about you
Little toes curled and happy
Covered in vomit

On Elephant Ears:
Giant, round and grey
They hear the roars of lions
But can't run away

On Staples:
My Swingline is best
Binding makes me quite angry
I could burn this place

On Malbec:
French grapes make great wine
Argentina found this true
Nazis drink it up

I was quite amused writing them.  I managed to make a great Mike Judge reference, WWII escapee reference through wine of all things, and even one that was intentionally a little profound.  You want me to write for you now.  I can tell.  I promise I'll only be offensive if given expressed permission. 

I'll write a few more if I get another topic suggestion in the comments.  The more obscure the topic, the more fun it will be.

Writing Groove

I typically write these the night before I post them, give them a final once over the next day, and then click publish for my adoring fan.  I have only a limited time to devote to writing each day, after my daughter goes to sleep but before I have to at least attempt to sleep so I'm not a worthless zombie at my paying gig.  But I'm making time for it on a daily basis and I know that's important to evolve as a writer.

Tonight I used most of that time working on a short story for a competition. The deadline is August 31st and I got into a groove.  I have a plot outline, character introductions, and even a pretty good idea of how I want to end the story to give the feeling I really want to impart with my potential audience.  I really enjoy writing like that, but I know it's worth more to force yourself through the moments when the words just don't flow.

I wanted to stay up and keep going--one of the things I like most about writing. It doesn't matter what time/day/place you're at, you can write. That bodes well for me when I wake up at 2 am and can't go back to sleep. I think it might be a better outlet for me than watching replays of WRC on Speed Channel.  I'm not one of those people who can just "shut it off" at a designated time, and I've always found the traditional business career limiting in that regard.  I know many people prefer such an arrangement and I understand the appeal of it--I'm just not wired that way.

I'm really looking forward to this submission. Whether I win anything or get published, I'll get some genuine feedback from editors. This will be my first opportunity to take something I've worked hard on and see if it's worth a sh*t.  It makes me a little anxious, but excited at the same time.  While I'm incredibly grateful to the support and encouragement I've received thus far (and the understanding I'm given when I commit just a little bit more time to something other than my little family), having someone read my work who has no emotional attachment to me, and doesn't have to deal with the repercussions of hurting my feelings will teach me far more than anyone I know personally.

Now to get the first draft done, so I can move on to the part that always makes me craziest: editing my own work.

My Own Contradictions

An old "version" of my closet--the clothes have changed but the order has not.

I'm sure I have many, but the one that I'm most acutely aware of after this past weekend is my compulsive need to have a neat and sparkling house--but I absolutely loathe the act of cleaning.  If there were ever something I wish I could afford to pay someone else to do, it would be this.  Despite more than one person comparing me to Monica from "Friends," cleaning does nothing to soothe my soul. 

But I can't NOT do it.  When I see clothes lying all over the floor or dishes piled up in the sink, my left eyelid starts involuntarily twitching.  I see a ring in a bath tub and I start to cringe.  I see water splash on a bathroom mirror and my upper lip begins to curl in disgust.  Clutter of any kind makes me want to grab a trash can and just start chucking things into it.  This makes things a little tense when I have a husband, a toddler, and a dog with a shedding issue.  I volunteered for each of them, and I wouldn't trade them for anything.  It's just a difficult adjustment for me.  I'll admit, there are things I still won't "adjust" on.

Clean rooms make me happy.  Patrick Bateman's apartment described in "American Psycho" makes me happy.  A gift card to The Container Store and two days with nothing to do but re-organize drawers make me happy.  My closet is a beautiful site to behold and I could be blindfolded to pick out a specific article of clothing.  My CDs (the ones I have left over from a world before iTunes) are alphabetized. 

I just don't want to have anything to do with scrubbing toilets, baseboards, mopping, or sanitizing the shower.  I hate that so many things stain a white porcelain sink.  I do, however, go back to that eyeball twitching thing if they're not done.  But once I start, it almost becomes an exercise in futility--I meticulously start doing one thing but while doing it, I notice at least two other things that really need to get done so I put those on my list.  By the time I've finished a basic clean, it's turned into me wearing a HAZMAT suit walking around with Q-Tips and peroxide to get every dirty nook and cranny.  I move furniture to vacuum under it.  I lift up electronics to dust between or under them.  I've vacuumed the dog.  She still runs from the Dyson.  Human beings were not meant to spend their time this way!

And being lenient on or understanding of those who don't put things back in their designated spot immediately after use does not come naturally to me.  It's so blatant that my not-even-22-month-old daughter has gotten in the habit of closing doors all the way that were not.  She brings me shoes that someone has left out.  She puts clothes in the laundry basket that were on the floor.  She's really good at picking up all her blocks and putting them in the bag when I tell her it's time to clean up.  She thinks it's fun to carry around the microfiber dusting tool and clean stuff with it.

I struggle with this insanity week after week.  I dread it each time, but spend far more time than I want to completing the tasks.  And I've been thinking all day that I didn't vacuum over the weekend, so I absolutely have to get it done after work tonight.  It's going to cut into my writing time again, but if I don't do it I'll just be annoyed.  Do they make a pill that fixes this yet?

Fab Friday

What the Camaro looked like before it went all Frankenstein's Monster

I think I might have gotten a little carried away with yesterday's post.  Sad part is I cut it down and left out several details in an effort to make it more blog suitable.  Whoops.

So in an effort to not make any one's brain melt today, I'll try to keep it short. Annnnnnd click "publish."  Ha!  Lame joke, but I couldn't resist.  I'm feeling especially Monty Python-ish today; maybe it's all the John Cleese commercials I see during evening Olympic coverage.

Today's a great day for me.  A personal project of mine is entering the final stages of completion, and after almost 7 years I'll finally have an outcome.  It's a car--yes, I know it's not the typical project for a chick but I think I've established by now I'm far from normal... bordering on insane.  I'm okay with that.  More importantly, it's a 1969 Camaro.  I started out with a 15 year old's dream to turn one into something amazing--looking classically restored on the outside, and a modern monster under the shell.  I'd like to think I was able to somewhat stick to that dream, but the monster side may have been more prominent than I originally intended.  The roll cage, 12 gauges, multiple switches, and 5 point harnesses fitted to stock seats will give it away to someone who knows cars, but oh well.  I'll just have to do my best to act like an F1 team and prevent people from looking/photographing under the body or hood to hide the rest.

Everyone has one of those projects, either personally or professionally, that starts off simply enough and then before you know it, it's barely recognizable as the original idea.  This one is mine.  Looking back over it objectively, it would have been a LOT smarter and cost effective to buy a crate motor, drop it in, and be done with it.  But I held on to my idea of having something unique a little too hard.  If this were a business project, the NPV, IRR, and whatever other financial tool one can think of to evaluate the worth of a project would have been dripping with red ink.  I probably would have shut it down, redirected it, or put it aside to revisit later had it been business.  But emotions got the best of me.

Of course I can say all this because it's not 100% complete and I haven't driven it yet.  I'll probably change my mind once I crank the engine for the first time sitting in the driver's seat.  I've sunk more money into this car than I care to admit, my dad has advanced birthday and Christmas presents for me well into the 22nd century, and at least 5 different shops have had their hands in it.  I'm eternally grateful for their help because without them, it'd be at least another 7 years in the making.  Probably several more.  Time and money are precious commodities, and I couldn't be more humbled that so many have shared theirs to help make this absolutely ridiculous dream a reality.

Today, it rolls out of the last performance shop under its own power and heads to the body shop for paint, glass, and seals.  I'll need a pre-flight checklist to go through every time I start it, but there really will be nothing else like it on the road. 

Every once in a while, one of those ideas that shouldn't happen because it doesn't make sense does happen.  And the end result can force even the biggest skeptics to take a step back and wonder if maybe they should try something crazy, too.

Walking Around Upside Down

Me and my partner taking 5th at Nationals for synchronized trampoline

The Olympics' coverage of women's gymnastics is always bittersweet for me.  I enjoy watching it because it's rarely given decent coverage the other 3 years (seriously--I think they only air it on ESPN "the Ocho") and I spent 11 years within its depths.  I see the mistakes that the average viewers miss, I know the proper names of the tricks, who they were named after, and I know the track record and medal count of many of the gymnasts going back to Nadia Comaneci in the 1976 games.

Gymnastics is a unique sport.  It's highly individual, yet they force a team aspect out of it.  It's incredibly repetitious yet constantly asks you to take huge risks.  It's physically brutal yet the mental aspect can cost you more than a failed joint.  It's full of contradictions, snap judgments, and double standards.  Coaches, gymnasts, and judges can play extremely dirty and the stories about children being put through what many might consider a form of torture are rampant (and often not unfounded).  Countless kids have had genuine breakdowns by the age of 12 under the pressure of competition, leaving the sport for good, cursing the lasting emotional torment it's left in their lives.

And yet, for 11 years I absolutely loved it and was engrossed in the life.  I didn't leave because of an injury, a mental breakdown, or even because of the time I got screwed out of medalling in my first Nationals.  I left because I somehow lost the favor of my coach--he began taking his personal problems out on me and over the course of 6 months or so I began to seriously question whether or not I was prepared to make the personal sacrifices necessary to get to that next level.  Because that next level was to move into that world of the Elite gymnast--where home schooling is the norm to work around 8 hour a day practices, compete not just around the state and country, but around the world, and compete against girls who could sometimes be 6-8 years older than me with the same extra years experience in competitions.

To this day, I often wonder if things would have worked out differently had my coach not found a new "favorite" on the team.  Would I have questioned how much farther I could realistically go?  Would I have started wondering what a "normal" life would be like?  Would I have lost my passion and dedication?  Would I have to wait for that career ending injury and following surgeries to make my decision for me?  I'll never know, but these questions still linger.  Unfinished business.  Possible life altering mistakes that I have lived with for almost 20 years.  No, the questions don't fade with time.

I do know that I put all my medals and ribbons in a shoe box and didn't look at them for a couple years.  They're still in that same shoe box today.  I took down all my posters of other gymnasts I idolized.  I put every reference to the sport out of my room, and I refused to watch it on TV for a while.  The decision to leave tore me up inside, the way very few things in life can do. I defined myself as a gymnast and now suddenly had to start from scratch on figuring out who I was as an individual.  I was 14 years old and didn't know what it was like to not immediately go to the gym almost every day after school.  I had only a handful of friends who weren't gymnasts.  I had very little to relate to my peers with because I was behind on movies, music, cute boys, and even the cool stuff to wear because all of my focus was dedicated to gymnastics or getting good enough grades so I could keep doing gymnastics.

The kind of gymnastics I flourished in wasn't your traditional all around with beam, bars, vault and floor.  Although that's where I started at the age of 3 in a program called Kinder-lites with my first coach Mrs. B.  My parents were looking for an outlet for my energy--and I found sanctuary.  We moved three years later and found a local gym--the head coach had been a former assistant to Bella Karolyi.  I was star struck--a real link to Mary Lou?  How could I not be?  I still remember try outs to make the competitive team at 6 years old.  I made it--and the prize was my very own "belt" with my name in purple, the color of the mighty Titans to which I now belonged.  I cherished it and wore it proudly EVERYWHERE.  I remember various coaches--Cheryl, Ed, Kelly, and Raymond, the team head coach.    One of them was not so nice in their coaching style and made some of those torture rumors ring a little bit too true.  But that coach got results and quickly ruled out the mentally weak--so it's difficult to say it wasn't effective.

I competed, I placed, and I got to a point where I wasn't going to advance anymore in that gym.  So, not being too emotionally attached at that point, I left for a year and started playing soccer.  Turns out I wasn't very good at it.  I didn't have the natural ability like I did in gymnastics.  So fate intervened a little--I attended a soccer friend's birthday party at a gymnastics center.  But this was something called Power Tumbling and sanctioned through the ATTA (American Trampoline and Tumbling Association--and now seems to have become a part of the USGA).  Instead of a square floor, there was a bouncy strip you tumbled all the way down--no dance moves.  Instead of bars and beam, there was a trampoline you did a routine one instead of tested new tricks.  The coaches hosting the party were coaxing me to do some of my old tricks and I was like a duck in water.  They asked me to join their team that day.  How could I refuse?  I was reinvigorated.  I was a mediocre soccer player at best, and I knew I had the chance to be truly great at this.

In the span of two competition seasons, I managed to move from Novice to Advanced.  I was having fun.  I had learned more new tricks in two years than I had in 6 years of all around.  This was where I belonged.  My mom diligently took me to fabulous destinations like Lawton, OK for meets.  And then, in 1992, I qualified for my first Nationals.  There I lived a gymnast's worst nightmare.  I fell on my face in my first event, killing any hopes of being on the podium.  But I still had two more events to go and I had to pull it together for those.  I pulled off my routines, but they weren't good enough to medal... or so I thought.

When I went to check my posted scores to see how I did, my mom noticed the math didn't look right on one of my events.  She pulled out a calculator to double check, and yes, they had shorted me two full points and the correct score would have put me in 2nd place and qualified me to go to the World Competition in that event.  She went to the judges, argued, was denied, argued some more, found the people running the event, argued with them--and all of her effort went in vain.  The math error cost me a medal at my first Nationals and a chance to compete representing Team USA.  I was devastated, angry, and determined to not let it happen again.  I felt cheated--so much more so than I ever did in all around where they would deduct points if your hair got out of place during your floor routine.  Because some idiots couldn't double check their math, I missed out on the opportunity of a lifetime.  It was my equivalent of an Olympics and I'd been robbed.  Now I'd have to wait two years for a chance to make Worlds again.

1993 led me back to Nationals and my first international stage, the Indo Pacific Games.  But that's also the season where it fell apart.  My coach at the time, Chad, started having relationship problems with his girlfriend, pretty serious financial issues (the gym even closed a couple years later), and came to practice frequently taking his frustrations out on the team.  My teammates were no longer my best friends thanks to various changing social structures from joining the world of teen angst and what I can only assume self preservation to stay out of Chad's cross hairs.  If the negative focus was on me, then it wasn't on them.  From all sides, I was an outsider trying to claw my way back in while trying to maintain my focus on my events and routines.  It was exhausting.  I cried after going to bed many nights--I didn't want anyone to see or hear me.  I started dreading going to practice because I knew I'd get yelled at, ignored, or even ridiculed sometimes outright, with the coach joining in.

Somehow I managed to fight through it to end up finishing 5th in one event and 9th in another in Nationals--and 7th overall in one event in the Games.  I was, by definition, one of the top gymnasts in the country, part of Team USA, and the thought of going through all that another year made me physically sick.  Surprising both of my parents, I told them during the off season I wanted out.  They asked me to think about it, asked if I wanted to find a new gym, but I told them I had been miserable for months and that I didn't love it anymore.
Reluctantly, they helped me cut all ties with Chad, the gym, and they put up with my senseless drama about not knowing what to be for a while.  My mom convinced me to go through the certification to become a judge--I had to have been one of the youngest judges ever, but they allowed it because of my years of experience.  I hated it.  If I wasn't out there competing, it just felt wrong to be there at all.  Plus, seeing how subjective other judges were and how open they were about it only made me more angry about my years of being on the other side, wondering if I was being purposefully kept off the podium.

So what did I get to take away from all this once it was all said and done?  I avoided any massive, life altering injuries, which I still consider myself lucky for--it was very common to compete hurt and nothing I ever did turned into something serious.  I came away with one of the biggest competitive drives that still influences me greatly today.  I have a "never quit" attitude--which has helped me push through some tough times and made me better, but I've also stayed a part of things far too long, thinking I'm obligated to finish it simply because I started it.  I have yet to be put in a situation that I've felt was more stressful than competing on the world stage--so I'm either in massive denial or I handle stress really well.  There's good and bad that carry forward--same for the memories when I look back.

Now I'm starting to get asked if I'll get my daughter into gymnastics.  I want to let her try because, honestly, she does show some aptitude for it already.  But I'm not sure I want to let her get as involved as I did.  The one simple reason is that I still can't answer that fundamental question, "Was it all worth it?"

Way to Go!

So I started this thing and posted diligently... and almost immediately took a hiatus for a vacation.  That shows true dedication, right?  And now I'm completely distracted each night by the Olympics.  Who doesn't love watching sports you never pay attention to but once every 4 years?  Sure, I may cheer for *insert non US citizen pro athlete here* on a daily basis, but this is my chance to call them dirty foreign scum, beat my chest for no reason, and chant USA! over and over again.  I can almost hear the eagle cries in the background now.

But I digress. 

The point of this post is to get back in the swing of things and not falter so quickly on this whole writing idea.  I need to do a slight reset before I dive back in (sports pun!).  After reading a couple of the ones I posted, and a lot of what I've been writing and not posting is, unfortunately, quite negative and far too angry for what I'm trying to accomplish.  While it's honest, I don't need to let myself become this snide, bitter bitch on wheels with only mean things to say.  I'm much more capable than that, and I need to do a better job of showing it.  Plus, writing angry only makes me more angry and the whole point of writing is to do something I enjoy and escape from the things in life I can't change but irritate me so.

All it took was a week without a computer, a drop of about 20 degrees in average high temperatures, amazing beaches, and watching my daughter play on said beaches to gain a little perspective.  We'll see how long it lasts.  But for now, I'm working on re-editing a few things, coming up with some new material (that hopefully hasn't reached dead horse status yet), and entering my first short story competition (hopefully I get it finished in time).

Fear not, my almost dozen readers!  I shall carry forth into the fray and bring wit, attitude, and quirk back into your reading lives!  And yes, there will probably be an entire post on gymnastics--even though it's been almost 20 years now, it still took up a major part of my life and influenced the person I've become in SO many ways.  I might even throw out a few hot sports opinions on some of the "famous" gymnasts from years past I had various interactions with.