My So-Called J-O-B

The headhunter says the job is mine and that I start on Monday. Huh. Weirdness. I'm not understanding the Universe and the mixed bag of signals its been sending me for the past two weeks, but I guess I'll stop questioning the whole process called LIFE.

So many closed-door H.R. meetings! So many people barging around in a snit, charting things, writing things in my file, having meetings about me, sending off drug tests to two different labs to determine whether or not I have a drug problem! It's just too much to even think about. I know these giant companies have to protect themselves, especially these days--what with the economy all topsy-turvy--but come on! Innocent until PROVEN guilty.

This is going to stress me out! I'll feel like I have to be the best employee they've ever seen, ever. In the history of the company. Or else this last two weeks will have been for NOTHING. Not one thing.

So, I have many mixed feelings about starting this gig. I guess I will just do my best and see what happens. That's all I can do.

But I'm still irritated.

Two Weeks of NONSENSE

This is utterly ridiculous. And I mean UTTERLY.

Two weeks ago I interviewed for a job and was accepted. No problem.

I passed the background check just fine.

I failed the drug test. Big problem.

It was a prescription drug that dinged me. Something my doctor believed would really help (and it has). I got a copy of the prescription. I got a note from my doctor on letterhead.

Not good enough.

Every single day, this company (a drug company, no less!) wants something else, something more; more documents, more pieces of paper, more tests... finally today they got the results from an independent MRO (I believe that stands for Medical Records Officer, or something similar) and just called me to say that someone from "Verification" will be calling me and that I need to answer some questions about this drug: how long I've taken it, blah blah blah.

TWO WEEKS of this nonsense. It's like something out of that awesome movie BRAZIL. I feel like the poor Tuttle or Buttle, or whichever it was, who was killed because of an administrative mistake. I love that movie; it makes my Top Ten easily. I love how the administration makes things so difficult on everyone and the bizarre things the people do to make their lives easier... like put giant magnifying glasses on tiny TV screens so they can see them better, etc. LOVE THAT commentary on desk-jockeys everywhere. The scene where Jonathyn Pryce tries to keep his half of the desk in his office is brilliant.

But a real-life BRAZIL? That I don't like so much.

Crazy hair-splitting freaks who want to make sure they don't get sued for discrimination? Do I really want to work for them? Not really. Do I have a choice in this "economic climate"??? No. I do not.

So, here I sit, frustrated, BLOGGING about my emotions, freaking out a little more every day. Add in to this mix a beleaguered headhunter (who found me) who has a thick Indian accent, and who talks very fast and is incomprehensibe, put a pinch of ass-backwards bureaucratic nonsense tinged with irritation, and you have my daily life for the last two weeks.

I'm tired of this!

And I'm still waiting for the phone to ring.

Maybe I'll blog about this when it's all resolved. I may be employed; I may NOT. If I am, they want me to start TOMORROW.

I don't think so.

More later, if I'm not too irritated.

Some Momentum

FINALLY!

My life is slowly but surely starting to move in a positive direction. IT'S ABOUT TIME! Months, years I've been waiting for movement, and now it's here with a vengeance!

I got a job. Sure, it's just a three-month contract (which could lead to more months or perhaps another job within the same giant company). BUT it gives me solid money for my summer trip to Peru. I wanted to go last year when a friend asked me, but I had no cash. So my friend and I planned for July, 2009, to head to Peru for the trip of a LIFETIME. More details on Peru as I get them....

A literary agent FINALLY wants to read one of my manuscripts. Years I've been writing query letters to agents and editors. Years of postcard rejections. Cold, impersonal. No real person on the other end to give any feedback. Just rejection after rejection from everyone. And now, an excellent agent wants to actually read (and perhaps comment on, or perhaps agree to represent) one of my manuscripts. HALLELUJAH! It will be so much easier to create books with an agent talking to editors instead of me knocking blindly on doors with my little query letters in my hand. Sure, it's just a children's book. That's how I plan to start: small. Then get bigger. And better. And keep learning and upping my game.

This is just the first step in a series of steps.

When I got my acceptance letter last night, I almost threw it away. I could see another impersonal postcard inside the Self-Addressed Stamped Envelope I'd provided. No, I thought. ANOTHER rejection.

The soon-to-be ex-spouse was standing at the kitchen counter eating tacos from Taco Bell. "Just open it," he said.

"It's just another effing rejection," I said. "I'm just gonna toss it."

"Just OPEN it. Don't be a baby," he said.

So I opened it and read, with utter surprise: "...We were pleased to receive the letter describing your book and we invite you to submit the entire manuscript for consideration...."

WOW! It was even addressed to "Dear Author." AUTHOR! Finally someone besides myself is calling me an author. It all feels a bit late in the game, but I'll take it!

"You go, girlfriend," shouted my friend today. "You're getting jobs, talking to agents. Quick, sign something so I can sell it when you get famous! Oh, and buy a lottery ticket. It's your lucky time!"

Meanwhile, things on the B front continue to improve. My heart is not the same, though, and that influences my head (of course) and while I'm happy to be communicating again, I'm not over the moon like I was. Things are in perspective. FINALLY.

Momentum is good. Good-bye to sprawling on the bed watching hours of Law & Order, petting the cat, folding laundry, poking around the house, reading books, writing in my journal. Hello, momentum!

I might just go buy that lottery ticket.

Compliments Are A Girl's Best Friend

How nice. Finally. No skeevy weird Grampa fantasy... a real compliment from a so-far normal guy.

I'm in the e-mail stage of forming "relationships," because, frankly, I don't want another man telling me what to do. Had that for 20 years. NO THANK YOU. So I'm taking my time, sticking a toe in the dating pool. Just a toe. Just e-mail. No plans to meet any of these guys. No coffee. No drinks. No dinner. No NOTHING. I am upfront and tell them that, and most of them stomp off the Internet in a huff.

Usually, after e-mailing for a bit, they want, inevitably, to meet. Which is understandable. I get it. I'm just not invested in meeting anyone in person right now. Maybe never. These dating sites are full of bizarre, lonely nutjobs. Among these nuts are some nice men. Everyone seems lonely, which I understand. I'm just not the woman for them.

Sometimes the e-mails are funny, often they are nice, occasionally they are salty. I like the nice, funny ones; the ones that are smart, well thought-out, well-written, and humorous. Like this one... now, this man has never met me. He's seen a black-and-white photo only. He's read a short profile. C'est fini. But this little gem cracked me up:

"I don't get enough replies from women in my own peer group...especially not exceptionally sexy ones with that "naughty intellectual librarian" persona (please don't take offense as this is intended as a compliment)... :) Being in publishing, I have no doubt you've heard it all before, but you definitely project a unique Jane Seymour/Angelina Jolie aura that blends just the right quantity of 'smart' and 'mischievous' with a touch of 'repressed English teacher yearning to break free and dance with reckless abandon on the tables of a Greek restaurant'. I can't quite put my finger on it...but I'd like to...(sorry...sentence ending in preposition...shame on me). Well, you were warned by Mae West, yes? "Give a man a free hand and he'll run it all over you." We're loathsome vile creatures, yes?"

Ah, a funny man who compliments me is priceless. I've never been compared to Angelina Jolie before, and I'm not sure I want to be, as I have no desire to adopt the entire world...but the dancing on tabletops in a Greek restaurant? How did he know? :-)

He quotes Mae West and pokes fun at his male species. Also priceless.

This e-mail made my entire day, especially now that B has left the Internet completely. He closed his profiles on Facebook and MySpace. Nothing left of him anywhere. The e-mails from him have ceased completely, even though he wants to be my "friend." Sorry, B, friends don't leave friends in the lurch during a trying time. Friends are there to listen and console and laugh and celebrate and commiserate and SHARE life. Not run away for reasons unknown.

I'll probably never be friends with these e-mail dudes, even the funny ones who compliment me, but B was different. I thought we'd always be friends. I was, sadly, very very wrong.

Life is funny. I don't appreciate it most of the time, so days like this, when I get a silly complimentary e-mail, I get just a taste of fun and my spirits lift and I think that life is pretty good.

Kinky stuff

First, a B update. This is bizarre. Totally. B got back to me and not only wants to remain good friends, but he wants to communicate regularly. Like before. So why put me through all of that? He was worried about his own heart, because my divorce seems "stalled." Worried? Stalled? Huh. I must think about this, because my heart is different now and trust is an issue. Parts of me still love him. I must grow UP.



Somewhat in the same vein, but not really, a 60-year-old man (the same one who offered to spank me) sent me his erotic fantasy starring me... ewwww. I know 60 is still young and vital, but COME ON. Even though the Internet is a chance to remain physically anonymous, what ever happened to good manners? WHY did he think sending me an explicit "slut" fantasy would be a good idea? How does that happen? And why send such a skeevy fantasy? To me? Without knowing me? After just seeing a picture and reading a short profile? Nothing about that profile indicates I'm into ANYTHING kinky, so where did he get the idea that would be OK?

I don't think he'd have the guts to say it right to my face. And why would he? He actually signed it, "Can't wait to explore all of this with you." !!!!! AS IF! Guess who is getting reported to the website the e-mail came through? Yes, Grampa Kinkster. He is not technically old enough to be my grampa, I know; he is not even really old enough to be my father, but STILL. I demand and deserve good manners, and whoring me out in some bizarre slut fantasy is not mannerly. Or even that enticing. It featured appalling writing, too. At least WOO me with some good flashy writing if you're going to try to be kinky and SCORE.

For God's sake.

Yes, everyone has their fantasies and I know that. I'm just not used to having blatent sexuality shoved in my face. I wasn't looking for it and certainly didn't ask for it. So now not only am I reporting him, I'm taking my profile off of that particular site so similar things don't happen in the future. No part of me is flattered. No part of me is enticed or interested or even curious. I just feel like I need to take a shower. I wish I knew his real name; I would try to file some kind of police report, too. I wonder if that's even possible in Internet matters like this?

Is THIS what I can expect after I'm divorced? Creepy behavior from older men and lots of general interest from men half my age? Where are the men who are my age? I understand that the male libido is a powerful thing, but these youngsters! They almost seem like children: 22, 25, 28 year olds contacting me because they want to experience an older woman? What am I, a Mrs. Robinson figure? What makes them think that a) I'd be interested and b) that I'm available for that type of thing? I'm no COUGAR (or whatever that term in) and have no interest in sleeping with someone 20 years younger than I am.

My friends joke that the young men have "lots of energy" and "endurance." I ask them how they know and they shut up pretty quickly. I'm not all that interested in my friends' sex lives, and if some or all of them have sampled Generation X or Y or Next or whatever that generation IS, I don't need to know about it.

I am finding out that the older I get, the more Puritanical I seem. I think that whatever consenting adults do together is fine.

I just don't need the details.

As for fantasy talk, that should be a two-way street, as well. That's DEFINITELY not a one-way type of communication. Keep it to yourself, Grampa! If I want to know, I'll ASK.

Or advertise.

They Say It's *My* Birthday...

Today I officially become middle-aged.

45.

I caught a bit of the movie "Terms of Endearment" the other night, and the scene that struck me was an innocuous one and not at all any of the famous scenes from that movie. Not Shirley MacLaine shrieking, "Give my daughter the shot!!!" or Jack Nicholson smirking that Jack smirk, or Debra Winger dying, saint-like, from cancer, but rather a dining room scene where Shirley MacLaine's character is celebrating her "50th" birthday.

There are three men, suitors, I believe, and there is one other woman at the table. (Since I read the book I know the backstory of all of these characters, but the movie chose to exclude them, so I will, too.) It's Aurora's birthday and they are celebrating. They toast to her 50th birthday and one of them says that she looks young. She simpers and preens and beams until one other man says, "You turned 50 two years ago. You're really 52. Why are you trying to hide it?"

The thing that struck me was that Aurora did indeed look kind of old. The way she was dressed, her hair, the way she held herself... all matronly trying to look younger. I can't remember what year that movie came out, but fast-forward to today: 50 is still HOT. And smart. And wise. And usually kind. At least women are. Men are usually freaking out and dating women half their age, and while a few women do the same thing, the women I know sometimes sit around and rue the lack of available men.

But one thing these women do not feel is old. They don't shave two years off of their age. They don't look matronly. They kick ass. They feel vital and special and are looking forward to the second half of their lives more eagerly than they did the first half. Most stupid decisions are behind them, and they learned from their mistakes and grew... so I guess where I'm going with this is that I don't feel old, either.

Smarter, sure.

Wiser, of course.

I'm kinder and more willing to cut everyone, including women half my age, much more slack. I don't see those women as competition. I just see them as half as smart as me, half as assured, half as confident, in essence: half the woman I am now.

I'm not all that grateful for the trials I've been through. Most of them did NOT make me a better person; neither did they make me bitter or hateful. But they were personal trials, all the same, and shaped who I am now, for better or worse. Mostly for better, but that's because of the way I responded to the trial rather than the trial itself. I did learn to rise above (mostly) what was thrown at me to prevail. Mostly. I'm sure that I still have much more to learn. And that life will throw more trials at me, but 45 years of living on this earth taught me a lot and the biggest lesson is (corny as it sounds) that there is no one I can depend on except myself. Not a spouse. Not siblings. Not family. Not friends. All of those people have been there for me in the past, but not all together and not when I really needed them.

Just me.

But I'm grateful for the women who came before me. They are paving the way for me now in all ways, the way that I will pave the way for women behind me. They look great at 50, 55, 60 and up. They all smirk at my obsession with 45 being middle-aged. Age is a state of mind, again corny but true. All of these cliches are turning out to be TRUE. Argh.

But the biggest one: that women are somehow less womanly as they grow older--is just wrong. Our bodies may change, but that just means our brains get bigger and our hearts grow, too.

So as I sit here, getting ready for my full day of birthday fun, I guess I'm not that worried about turning 45 today. I'm still here: against ALL odds. And I'm still me, but improved. And no matter how many times gorgeous, sexy men break my heart, I will keep putting myself out there, because the experience matters. Breaks me down sometimes. But it matters. All of it.

I just hope that, when I get to 52, that I don't feel the need to lie about my age.

I'm sure I won't.

Don't Go Breakin' My Heart

I'm a foolish woman. I gave my long-unused heart to a man and he just broke it. I didn't think my heart was still breakable, because it felt brand new, somehow, and better than ever. I felt better than ever. Walking on air good. Head in the clouds good. Everything was lovely, lovely, lovely because some parts of me, like my heart, were in LOVE.

You have to understand that I've been married for 20 years to the same man. We are in the process of getting a very civil, non-acrimonious divorce. The divorce is taking too long, so the man who had my heart (but who played no part in the dissolution of this marriage at all) just bailed. Two days ago. Via e-mail. My heart was cyber-broken.

This man, whom I will call B, and I reconnected a little over a year ago. We'd dated briefly in college and I had broken his young heart for reasons I no longer recall. He bore no ill will and was more than happy to hear from me last year. We struck up an e-mail correspondence. He had a girlfriend, so it was all very platonic and friendly. But we e-mailed every day, sometimes twice a day; even three or four times.

Reconnecting meant we discovered that we shared all the same likes in books, food, movies, life experiences. A full quarter-century had passed and there we were, formed and informed by all of those years of experiences. It was delightful. And I mean that. Full of delight. We both felt buoyed by each other and we connected very strongly.

He asked me to go to Egypt with him. I didn't go, because I was still married, but how romantic! He e-mailed me every day from Egypt and shared that trip with me. We both felt really young again. How great it felt to feel 19 again! All of those emotions! All of those hormones!

Our e-mails veered into a new direction about six months into our reconnection. They became much saltier in tone, explicit, even, very sexual and very erotic. It was wonderful. Here I was, getting the kind of attention I hadn't had from my spouse in YEARS. Getting a lot of attention from a handsome, accomplished, funny, smart, sexy and sexual man. Both of our sets of hormones went into overdrive.

And the phone calls. Three hours. An hour-and-a-half here, an hour there. Always wonderful and happy and sometimes sexy. Not phone sex, though, because neither of us were or are fans of that. But straight, open, honest talk about sex. Likes and dislikes. Limits. What we each loved and liked and couldn't wait to do.

You may be wondering how the girlfriend fit in. I did, too. I assumed it was a casual thing, not intense at all, because he had said that when he and she got together, they did because there "was nothing better to do." So he couldn't feel all of that for me, and express it the way he did, while involved with another woman, could he? I could barely wait to open my e-mail each day and I did so with butterflies in my stomach, because each e-mail confirmed that his feelings for me were deep and intense, and mine for him were deep and intense.

My spouse does not come into this at all. We began the process of a collaborative divorce long before B came into the picture. So my marriage had no bearing on my relationship with B, which was always just e-mails and phone calls. We hadn't seen each other, except for updated photos, for 25 years. It was delicious. And enticing. And so much FUN. We both needed some passion in our lives and here was a significant amount because we'd found each other again!

The original plan was to meet at a nice hotel for a Weekend. That's how we referred to it: The Weekend. We were going to talk, watch old movies, have as much sex as possible, have fun, hang out... a whole weekend of being together. But B's schedule was very busy, and The Weekend, which was planned for sometime in the Fall of '08, never came to pass. It almost did. Several times. I was dying from sexual frustration and could NOT wait for this Weekend. But it never happened.

What happened instead was B decided that we should spend a long weekend together at his house (we live about three hours apart) and hang out, watch old movies, have as much sex as possible, and do all of the stuff but in real life, not at a hotel. Fine with me! My marriage was over in my mind, and it didn't feel like cheating, although I really wanted to wait to be with B until I was divorced. I was raised Catholic, and the guilt was getting to me. He agreed to wait, broke up with the girlfriend (whom I later found out he was in love with! and part of me had been half in love with him the whole time; I felt like a chump. But he broke it off with her...)

So we began IMing through Facebook. Sometimes the IMs were very hot and intense and sometimes they were just regular conversations, but they were always wonderful. The phone calls continued. All was well in my world. And then he started to withdraw. Just gradually. Less phone calls. Hardly any e-mail, but there were those hot IMs... I thought I was giving him his space. I was hardly in a position to be needy, and I knew it, so I let lots of things slide. I was married and so didn't feel I could complain that he never called or e-mailed anymore. He was sliding away from me, slowly, and I knew I couldn't keep him... so I steeled myself for a kind of breakup. But it never came.

And then the "relationship" morphed into something unhealthy. I had been living in Fantasyland for months regarding B, and it was starting to become toxic for me. I didn't know how to change things so I just let them continue on and they did, until there was little air left in the relationship at all. It didn't go anywhere. My life wasn't moving. I've been having trouble finding a job in this economy and so started to slide into complacency (same house, same soon-to-be ex-spouse, no momentum in my own life... every day the same as the one before: Law & Order episodes, laundry, pet the cat... all of it the same, every single day).

And then, two days ago, an e-mail. Part of me was expecting it, and ending this was the right thing to do, but still it hurt a lot and I felt shame and embarrassment that I had given my heart to this for SO LONG, had let it CONSUME me for MONTHS... so I cried, and felt like a teenager, and cried some more. This quasi-relationship had taken over my entire life. I lived and breathed B. I knew what he was doing, and he knew my life, too. We shared a lot and it was very intimate.

And now it's over.

I can't go on Facebook except when I know he will be busy, because I don't want to "run into" him there. I don't want him to IM me like nothing happened, but I don't want to be cyber-disssed, either. I sign on, and if I see he's on, I sign out right away. It's only been two days, but this is already problematic. I deleted my status because I don't want him to know anything about how I am or how I feel right now. I don't want Facebook to become a bulletin board we both look at to see how the other one is doing. His life appears to be doing just fine. His status posts are upbeat and positive, and he seems to be spending longer and longer amounts of time there, posting photos, commenting on other people's posts and photos--something he rarely did before.

I should grow up. But he hurt me. It was a necessary hurt, but still it hurts a lot. He was a big part of my life for well over a year. We had contact every single day and now it's over? No more contact? Ever? Because he can't wait a few more months for my stupid marriage to end? Because, as he so rightly pointed out, I have to build a life for myself and have nothing going for me NOW, and he can't be anything more except "an occasional platonic e-mail." He's oh so sorry about it. But he's already moved on and there's an absence of B in my life now. A missing B, a missing part, a sliver of my heart gone forever.

I forgot how much this stuff hurts.

I forgot how fragile a heart is.

I forgot myself and got lost.

I miss my B. Now we will probably never meet. And again he is out of my life.

Maybe in 25 years he will be back and we will both be old enough and mature enough and single enough to handle it.

Maybe.

My heart will never be the same.