I'm feeling like a total idiot lately and it's to the point where I almost don't even care anymore. I'm so uninterested in what I'm doing that I can't even pretend to care. I don't want to be here and I'm completely checked out. My only incentive right now is to keep my job so I don't end up homeless.
If I wasn't doing this, what would I be doing? I wish I knew the answer to that. I wish I was doing something where I felt like I was actually making a difference in someone's life or the world or a dust speck for that matter. I wish I was creating/destroying/changing something... anything!
Instead I sit in meetings for hours discussing such riveting topics as: how to submit a request form, a meeting to discuss making meetings more efficient, and what is meant by the term "complete."
[sigh]
I guess this is what consulting is supposed to be and why it's so difficult to define. Regardless, I think I'm over the hype.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
the self hug
I don't talk a lot but I over think things... a lot... pretty much every second of the day. So much so I often get lost in my own head with little regard for what's happening around me.
I like to think about the drops of water left in the sink after washing my hands and wonder if they miss each other. Or what happens to the breath that exits one person's lungs and enters another and if it's innately altered afterward. Or if its some sort of cosmic balance that you laugh on the inhale and I snort when something is uncontrollably funny.
I have this habit that anyone who has spent more than a day with me has picked up on. I can't really explain why I do it, why I need to do it, why I breathe to do it. I'm horribly self-conscious about it and can't explain it in the slightest.
I tell people it's "the self-hug" and it is. It happens when I'm about to burst out of my body with happiness and I'm too embarrassed to say anything about it because I fear it's too strange to mention.
Would it be strange to tell you that your one gray hair makes me giddy? Or that watching a brewing pot of coffee makes me tingle in anticipation? Or that I rehearse you saying, "Give me your little paw," over and over in my head because I secretly love it?
I'm weird. I know.
[self hug]
I like to think about the drops of water left in the sink after washing my hands and wonder if they miss each other. Or what happens to the breath that exits one person's lungs and enters another and if it's innately altered afterward. Or if its some sort of cosmic balance that you laugh on the inhale and I snort when something is uncontrollably funny.
I have this habit that anyone who has spent more than a day with me has picked up on. I can't really explain why I do it, why I need to do it, why I breathe to do it. I'm horribly self-conscious about it and can't explain it in the slightest.
I tell people it's "the self-hug" and it is. It happens when I'm about to burst out of my body with happiness and I'm too embarrassed to say anything about it because I fear it's too strange to mention.
Would it be strange to tell you that your one gray hair makes me giddy? Or that watching a brewing pot of coffee makes me tingle in anticipation? Or that I rehearse you saying, "Give me your little paw," over and over in my head because I secretly love it?
I'm weird. I know.
[self hug]
Friday, January 16, 2009
11 dollar mark
"Thank you for flying with United today. The current temperature in Chicago is 0 degrees." Ouch.
I turned my cellphone on and within 10 seconds I received a call from my sister. While I was in mid-transit, my grandmother had died. Double blow.
I waited 30 minutes for my suitcase. I was cranky and felt horribly alone. I plopped into the next available cab, which happened to be a minivan. The cab driver was a personable Indian who had a nicer cell phone than I did. The traffic was stagnant and I knew I was locked in for the long haul. In cab situations I don't tend to be much of a talker but I kept making eye contact with him in the rear view mirror and since he led, I had nothing else to do other than follow.
Without any hesitation he proclaimed that he is the happiest he's ever been in his entire life. Although unsolicited, I felt obligated to inquire why.
"Let me tell you Miss... when I came here I was 20 years old and I had 11 dollars in my pocket. God has blessed me Miss."
He then proceeded to go into a tale that began in India where his mother would cut an apple into 12 pieces: 1 for herself, 1 for his father, 1 for his grandfather, 2 for his grandmothers (his grandfather had 2 wives) and 7 for each child. His journey brought him to America through varying odd jobs and eventually his story caught up to his present.
"So you see Miss... as long as I have more than 11 dollars in my pocket, I am blessed."
Being the ever-skeptic, I started to wonder if he was doing this to bump up his tip.
There was some brief silence that was interrupted with another story about his sister. She had married a man that had a nasty habit of chewing loudly with no consideration for anyone around him. They were at a party and people began to notice and laugh, which horribly embarrassed her. She was afraid to say something to him because her husband was not a kind man. So his advice to her was this:
"She must make him a private meal. Make him his favorite dishes and when he starts with the [smack smack smack] she must tell him that they are partners and that they are here to protect each other. And that his loud chewing draws attention not only to him but to her as well. You see Miss, you cannot bend steel with a fist. You must bend steel with slow, steady heat."
(wow)
Eventually the cabbie turned his attention to me and the current status of my love life. He advised me that, "Women here give themselves away too easily. You must make a man work to be with you, if he is to truly value you. Do not pick a partner for the physical beauty. Pick someone who can know you on this inside because it is the inner beauty where you will find happiness."
After 2 hours of sitting in traffic we finally reached my destination and I did not have enough cash to pay the cab fare in it entirety. So I told him I could tip him in cash but I would need to put the rest on my credit card. He turned to me and asked how much cash I did have and I told him, "Thirty-seven dollars."
And he replied, "Then that is all you owe me."
I insisted that I put it on my credit card and tip him in cash and he countered with, "And a million times I tell you no."
In the two hours I spent with him, this guy managed to break my skepticism and really got me thinking... What's the point in my life that I measure my life's happiness against? What's my 11 dollar mark? And will I recognize it when I surpass it?
I turned my cellphone on and within 10 seconds I received a call from my sister. While I was in mid-transit, my grandmother had died. Double blow.
I waited 30 minutes for my suitcase. I was cranky and felt horribly alone. I plopped into the next available cab, which happened to be a minivan. The cab driver was a personable Indian who had a nicer cell phone than I did. The traffic was stagnant and I knew I was locked in for the long haul. In cab situations I don't tend to be much of a talker but I kept making eye contact with him in the rear view mirror and since he led, I had nothing else to do other than follow.
Without any hesitation he proclaimed that he is the happiest he's ever been in his entire life. Although unsolicited, I felt obligated to inquire why.
"Let me tell you Miss... when I came here I was 20 years old and I had 11 dollars in my pocket. God has blessed me Miss."
He then proceeded to go into a tale that began in India where his mother would cut an apple into 12 pieces: 1 for herself, 1 for his father, 1 for his grandfather, 2 for his grandmothers (his grandfather had 2 wives) and 7 for each child. His journey brought him to America through varying odd jobs and eventually his story caught up to his present.
"So you see Miss... as long as I have more than 11 dollars in my pocket, I am blessed."
Being the ever-skeptic, I started to wonder if he was doing this to bump up his tip.
There was some brief silence that was interrupted with another story about his sister. She had married a man that had a nasty habit of chewing loudly with no consideration for anyone around him. They were at a party and people began to notice and laugh, which horribly embarrassed her. She was afraid to say something to him because her husband was not a kind man. So his advice to her was this:
"She must make him a private meal. Make him his favorite dishes and when he starts with the [smack smack smack] she must tell him that they are partners and that they are here to protect each other. And that his loud chewing draws attention not only to him but to her as well. You see Miss, you cannot bend steel with a fist. You must bend steel with slow, steady heat."
(wow)
Eventually the cabbie turned his attention to me and the current status of my love life. He advised me that, "Women here give themselves away too easily. You must make a man work to be with you, if he is to truly value you. Do not pick a partner for the physical beauty. Pick someone who can know you on this inside because it is the inner beauty where you will find happiness."
After 2 hours of sitting in traffic we finally reached my destination and I did not have enough cash to pay the cab fare in it entirety. So I told him I could tip him in cash but I would need to put the rest on my credit card. He turned to me and asked how much cash I did have and I told him, "Thirty-seven dollars."
And he replied, "Then that is all you owe me."
I insisted that I put it on my credit card and tip him in cash and he countered with, "And a million times I tell you no."
In the two hours I spent with him, this guy managed to break my skepticism and really got me thinking... What's the point in my life that I measure my life's happiness against? What's my 11 dollar mark? And will I recognize it when I surpass it?
Sunday, November 30, 2008
the great thong incident of 2008
Thongs. The word alone sort of skeeves me out. It reminds me of strippers and wedgies and fills my mind with images of girls in jeans that are too tight who unapologetically walk around exposing their underwear to the world. Nonetheless, I frown upon pantie lines even more and have learned to accept thongs as a necessary evil.
Back in October I was in the middle of a traveling stint between Chicago, Buffalo, NYC and back to Chicago. I refuse to travel with a suitcase that needs to be checked and so I was forced to find somewhere to do laundry along the way. A guy friend of mine with a washer/dryer at his disposal offered the solution. I washed every article of clothing I had with me and I was on my way.
[Fast forward one month]
I was out at the local bar in Buffalo after the latest Sabres victory over the Penguins. After a few beers I went to the bathroom and received a text from the aforementioned guy friend that said, "I am wearing the thong you left at my place." I brushed it off and fired a text back that said, "What?! I am assuming this is meant for someone else."
When I returned to my drinking buddies, I told them about this text and immediately I was pulled aside and informed that I left a thong in the dryer and for the past month the infamous underwear has been floating around the greater Buffalo area (or at least among my group of friends).
I was drunk, I was heated and there's no stopping me at this point. So naturally, I stormed across the bar, pushed the thong-thief and politely said, "What?! You think you're cool sh*t for showing people a thong that belongs to a girl you're NOT hooking up with?!"
His response was confusion and shock and I told him to look at his cell phone for the text that set this whole thing off. Although the text did come from his phone, the author was actually another girl at the bar, who had also been exposed to the thong.
Embarrassed, he retreated to a seat at the bar and several minutes later sent me a shot. To add to his humiliation, I told the bartender to send it back.
This story should end here. I mean how could this possibly get any worse? But it wouldn't be a good story without even more drama.
That night I brought my sister out to the bar and she got involved in trying to resolve the thong incident. During her investigation the story only got better.
The dryer where the thong was discovered was in a shared washer/dryer belonging to my friend and his neighbor in the condo above him. The neighbor, a 20-something year old with a two year old child, had been doing laundry, and discovered the thong that clearly did not belong to her. In response she placed the thong on my friend's doorknob to return the mystery underwear.
Several hours later, stumbling home from the bar, my friend saw the thong hanging on his door waiting for him. His drunken, freshman-like thought process led him to the following conclusion: my neighbor totally wants to hook up with me. It is only natural that the thong bandit then attempted to break into his neighbor's condo, thong in hand, to cash in on the invitation.
What ensued next was screaming, a threat to call the police, and severe embarrassment. Now imagine everyone at our local hang out witnessing this entire thing unfold.
Lesson learned: you should have just mailed me my f-ing thong!
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