~Friday, July 25, 2008


This morning I opened the freezer door and finally decided I was never going to eat the bag of blueberries from the 2006 crop. I tugged the bag out from the back corner and deposited it in the trash with a heavy, frozen thud. Then I opened the refrigerator door and yanked out the chocolate cake that once had Good Luck Sarah! scrawled across the top in baby blue icing. My coworkers got it for me my last day of work, three weeks ago, and all that was left was a lonely Luck in the upper right-hand corner. I grunted as I put the cake on top of the trash and drug it to the door.

"What are you doing?"

I turned around and saw a sleepy Scott tie the terrycloth belt around the robe he "borrowed" from me a year ago.

"It's trash day. The valet is going to come by in a half hour to pick it up; I'm just putting it by the door for him." I grabbed my tea and my purse off the kitchen counter. "Sorry, I didn't think I was being that loud; I didn't mean to wake you."

"You want me to walk you out?" he asked, his hair still disheveled from sleep.

"Yeah, that would be nice! Wow, I've never seen you awake at 7:30 in the morning before." I chatted as we left the loft and headed into the parking garage. Scott was barefoot and still in his robe. The Femme Fatale trotted a few paces in front of us without her leash on. As a family, they were seeing me off to work. It was the very first time and it felt great.

As we entered the parking garage, the Femme Fatale ran full speed to her patch of pine straw where she takes her morning pee. I turned right and got in my car.


I looked up and saw Scott standing a few paces away from me with a camera pointed in my direction. I bought a new car last night- late last night. The dealership had stayed open an extra two hours just to ink my deal, and when I was handed the keys to the biggest purchase of my life, it was dark out, the lights had all been turned off, and they were trying to shoo me out of the lot so they could lock it up. I turned to Scott, placing my old truck keys in his hand, and said I was sad no one could take a picture of me with my first new car.

Scott must have taken the moment to heart because here he was, standing barefoot in front of me with my pink camera clutched in his hands. "Smile!" he said again.

I held up my car keys and gave him the biggest grin I had.

~Thursday, July 10, 2008

I chose poorly

(Click for big)

~Monday, July 07, 2008

Breaking Up: Work Edition

As a writer, I felt like a total hack plagiarizing my letter of resignation from about.com. Granted, I replaced the County Library System with my own place of employment, and I tweaked it so as not to sound as airheaded as Dr. Tammy Powley ("I consider just about everyone I have met here to be friends of mine now," really? Just about? So there are people you don't consider a friend? Is it the person you're handing the letter to? And what's with the superfluous "now"? You have a PhD and you're seriously using that sentence?) Most people I know take a delicious pride in their resignation letters, carefully inserting such phrases as "previously unattainable opportunity" and "aptly rewarding compensation," and then deliver the letter with a broad smile and jazz hands. However, I was scared. I like the people and the commute and I'm safe here. Changing jobs is risky, so I wanted my letter to remain neutral to possibly receive a counter offer.

Instead of a counter offer, I got "You don't have to come talk to me about this," and "if you do stay, I'll know you're looking for another job," and finally, "When you put your two weeks in, that's it. You can't take it back and you'll be gone even if you change your mind." I sat in my boss's office dumbstruck. She didn't give me one word of encouragement whether I should stay or go. She told me to take the weekend to think about it and I walked out of her office with my resignation letter still in my hand.

I walked straight into my co-worker Dan's office and pointed to my boss's direction with tears rolling down my cheeks. I told him how I was threatened . "I'm sorry I'm crying," I said. "I'm just so frustrated. I didn't even quit yet!"

"You were caught off guard," he justified. "It would have tripped anyone up. I certainly didn't see her reacting like that."

I checked the clock. 4:45 p.m. "When are you leaving today?" I sniffed.

"Right now. Let's go." He stood up from his desk and we both walked out of the office 45 minutes early. On my way out, I passive-aggressively shoved my plagiarized resignation letter in the CFO's mailbox. We went to a bar and ordered 24 oz. cans of Miller Lite, the happy hour special. I sat at the table, tears still streaming. I was so hurt and embarrassed that I put in 2-1/2 years at a company that didn't give a damn about me. My stomach was in knots over my quitting, because I felt like I was screwing the company and leaving them without an editor and web guru. I cut my summer vacation short so I could give them more of my two weeks notice, when the July 4th week had been my scheduled vacation for months. And they didn't care. I never felt so small in my entire life.

I was assured that I am winning in the long run. That I'm getting this great new job, writing print advertisements for a major global company. This job will open so many new opportunities for me, not to mention my Big Fat Raise. I found out about my current loyalties sooner rather than later, and it all just proves that I made the right decision.

But I still regret not going in there with jazz hands.


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