Why I hate negitiations.

Its not really negotiations in general that I hate, its more of salary/benefits negotiations. I feel skeezy, dirty, and conniving.
Why?
Because I totally am. I am attacking every aspect of that counter offer like a rot tearing through a t-bone. Yes, I checked with experienced people, I talked to everyone that could possibly help, even brez gave me wording help so i wouldn't screw myself over.
I feel gross. I will never understand why these things can't be fair, and why I had to turn into a nepotist. Later, I will rationalize how being a nepotist isn't really that bad. Stay tuned...

being a girl is a blower.

my back hurts, and I feel like a Mac truck was driven through my lower half. It's awesome. I'm lying. it totally sucks.

Review of the past week.

When I was a child, no one ever said to me " Girl, you will come to a time in your life when you are tired. Tired of helping everyone else, counselling, teaching, and generally worrying for them. You, girl, are the kind of person that will not know when to say no. You, girl, will so want to help protect those you love, that you will take beatings for them, you will tell them the harsh truth, and you will even work to protect the country from harm. "

If God had given me a manual on day one of time in the womb, I would have studied that manual and asked, why can't you do all this? Why will I feel so compelled to help? Doesn't that seem like a waste of my minuscule abilities when you could do these things o much better?
I'm not sure if God would have answered womb-girl, but I think I would still give it a shot.

I suppose when I get old and reflect on my life's progression, I will be proud of the girl that still felt that she could change the world. That she could (at a ripe old age of 23) manage to prove that ageism, sexism, and every other social mores could be forgotten. That republicans and democrats can be friends. That 16yr old girls can learn something that isn't about boys or cars. That the shy little girl that was only recognized for reading hundreds of books in a 5Th grade summer, could work through life and move on to jobs where a large part of her worth is based on negotiating skills between "challenging executives".

I took my grandma and mother to the white house yesterday, I often wonder what she thinks of her life, but I've never had the gall to ask her. Does she regret fighting with my grandfather constantly? Was she okay with having to raise her younger siblings? How did she keep from crying all the time when her child died? Or when her son went off to Vietnam? As much as we didn't get along earlier in my life, we have both matured, and grown to a mutual tolerance and respect. So Sunday when I made sure she was protected, I didn't really mind. She is the reason I told the jerk-off guy that followed us along where he could go. I didn't mind that although I was sleep starved, thirsty, and walking blocks upon blocks to something I didn't care about, I was happy to carry her. To wrap my arm under hers and hold her up so she could keep up, to walk 8 blocks out of my way to get her water, and to maintain a smile all the while. It was her birthday wish, and I owe her. If it hadn't been for her toughness, I never would have been born.

Somebody once said to me...

"Why you? Because to put simply, I think you are beautiful in every
possible way. & who knows, things may be different one day. "

WOW. That, was a reply to a "I just want to be friends" speech I once gave. He was one of my best friends, who even though I was committed, believed that if I only knew how he really felt I would abandon my serial-monogamy lifestyle and become his.

Granted, as cold as I often may seem, I tend to be a bit of a guarded romantic, so this statement caused me to rethink the speech I had just relayed. The fact that someone was first open about something like that, even when I had just (nicely mind you) rejected him, made me wonder how one could go through life without the reciprocation of affection.

Brez told me the other day that he didn't date anyone after el diablo and before me. He of course knows that I dated everyone and their grandfathers... (j/k) so I was taken aback. All this time, I had pictured him out with a billion girls just like I was out with guys. I was so consumed with myself, that I didn't even notice that he never mentioned a girls name, told me about a date, or even laughed at how some girl had some random idiosyncrasy... because I was so wrapped up in me.

In me, in the hippy, the hot old guy, the other old guy, the ball player, my ex, and then brez. The brez was the one I called at 4am on my way home from a too-long party. And oftentimes he answered at 4am. And when he called me at 4am, I always answered, because I frankly adored him. Although I never mentioned it to him, that is until I told him that when he had drunkenly mentioned that i should visit, i had bought a flight. :) he he:) oh, and did I mention that I told him I loved him like 20min after our first kiss. ugh.

Looking back, I think I am retarded in love. I am amazed at how I loose all bearings on normalcy and just shoot straight from the hip. I suppose that is one part of my life that is better when it isn't regimented, organized, and critiqued.

For once in my life.

For once in my life I have someone who needs me
Someone I've needed so long
For once unafraid I can go where life leads me
And somehow I know I'll be strong
For once I can touch What my heart used to dream of
Long before I knew Someone warm like you
Could make my dream come true
For once in my life I won't let sorrow hurt me
Not like it's hurt me before For once I've got someone I know won't desert me
I'm not alone anymore For once I can say
This is mine, you can't take it
As long as I've got love I know I can make it
For once in my life I've got someone who needs me.

Not my favorite song of all time, but its damn good. Its scary as hell, but kinda nice to realize that if I were to give myself a chance at the looming forever, it would be okay. The love is there.

When life throws you a curveball.

When life throws you a curve ball, what do you do with it?

It is an anomaly, not necessarily bad just unexpected. Everyone sees the fastball coming, but the curve... it requires finger placement. A good pitcher can laugh while you stare the pitch down, waiting to destroy it- straight into right field... and then grin with satisfaction when he sees that moment of realization.

In that split-second, you see it. You can't quite believe that fastball has morphed so convincingly, and is currently plummeting whilst you are mid-swing.

You aren't quite quick enough to react and save that last strike from pushing you further into the grip of OUT!

You know that if that red-laced, round-faced, little ingrate that has nothing but stitches holding it together could talk, it would be belittling, deriding, and discrediting all those hours of excruciating practice, dedication and persistent toil.

Which further infuriates you. The ump yells OOOOUUUUUUTTTTT! You throw down your Louisville Slugger in disgust, turning to him -in his not so infinite wisdom- and scream, kick, and curse your way to being thrown out. Never mind that this little tantrum is going to have repercussions, you don't care. Its not fair. Not fair that something that was so perfect could then be questioned, glanced at, and then forced from your grasp.

You can convince yourself later that you didn't care about that pitch, that out. Everyone knows that is a lie. But its fine.

Do you ever wonder ???

What the soundtrack of your life would be? Obviously it would be long, but have you ever really broken down your life like you would a movie?

Each segment or mini-plot line having its own theme, and therefore its own genre?

Okay, I commute. Today it took me 4.5 hours to get to work. Since this is obviously such an extreme expanse of my 24hrs, it should get a genre. How about...alternative rock. The kind of music that can range from slightly poppy to I-want-to-kill-myself-or-someone-in-the-car-next-to-me-because-their-music-sucks.... theme.

Then work, should be teen-beat style pop, (now channeling Britney and Lindsay) like :FCUK me...i am so hot and you want my job, don't worry, I'll become an addict because of the pressure and you can take it while I shave my head in a salon and chain smoke then do lines off of a skanky dude.....

Followed by vball, which should be angry, like... She F*ing HATES ME... and then mixed with Jay-z's 99 problems, or perhaps Danger Mouse's version...

Moving to family time, which would be oldies, maybe a nice Herman's Hermits tune... Henry VII?

Ending finally with sleep, bf and gf drama/interaction, and showering.... hum... perhaps “First Day of My Life” by Bright Eyes.

Yup, that seems like the best way to end my life soundtrack; with a song so hopelessly hopeful that one who has actually lived has nothing left to do but laugh at the implied irony, and one that is still awaiting life will smile and tear up a bit in anticipation.

Oh the spring...

Spring time in the city. Beautiful. Cherry blossoms surround the waters of the Potomac, the birds chirp, and the tourists appear in droves. Yes, tourists, this posting is for you.

You, fine people, are the Rolex on our already established city. We, the locals love that you come to our city, steeped in history which we have no time to appreciate, to spend your money. Other than your "hard-earned family vacation spending money", we don't like you. We tolerate you, and oftentimes not well.

You further clog our already teeming streets with your touring buses violently expelling your country-bumpkin attitudes: obviously disregarding pedestrian traffic signals, calling for cabs when you alone weighing 600lbs could not fit in the grand marquis-much less your two 300lbs 6yr olds and 700lb wife, and becoming the inevitable cherry blossom snarl in which you insist that parking lot is free thus you must park there; god help us locals just trying to get home around your mini-vans from Arkansas.

You folks, are the reason other nations hate us. Your blatant disregard for all laws, social graces, and cleanliness push our fair city into the dark ages for the warm months of spring and summer. Those of us who live/work in the national capital region prefer to mind our own business, not answer your directional queries. We are not lifeguards to save you from the hunger pains of our vast metropolis; we prefer in fact, to maintain our definitive stroke, speedy and uninterrupted by your negligence.

If you visit the NCR, please plan accordingly. Make a plan. Know the difference between the inner and outer beltway and what that implies to your trip to the African American history museum in Anacostia. Don't drive 2mi/hr and photograph monuments/landmarks (you could be plotting a terrorist attack, and we would recognize that fact and warn the appropriate authorities).

Avoid walking into the street in front of our cars. Most of us have been in them for hours or will be, thus we will have no problems scaring the hell out of you, capping you, or mowing you over for the points we paint on the fender to show off to our friends. Beware, the faster you move the higher your point value.

Finally, when on the metro, stay out of our way. We are going to make that train arriving, and if we have to take you with us lineman-style, we have no issues with that. In fact, if you land on us we might sue you. When you head up/down the escalator, stand with all your crap on the right side. Do not mosey over to the left. This is for serious commuters who have an SOP, and will refuse to take any of your ambling bullshit.

Just a friendly FYI from your NCR workers.