Post-work musings

Standard

I am not one of those unshaven feminist types. In fact, while I’ve always considered myself a feminist, I have only been able to lend wisdom to these tendencies recently. I think it’s because I’ve started taking WGST classes in college. Oh, and because I deal with blatant sexism on a WEEKLY basis at work. 

I’m going to write this now, because I have a week left and all this shit is basically anonymous. The things people do when they are rejected astound me. I have certainly been rejected, but I tend to just internalize things — not take them out on the person. No matter what you tell me, no matter what other reasons you claim to be treating me like shit, I am always going to think it’s because of personal problems. Maybe a personal bias, maybe some little slant that causes you to edit my pages last, critique every budget I send you and discuss the stories I write with everyone BUT me. 

I told you multiple times that I was not trying to hurt your feelings. I spent the majority of my life GETTING my feelings hurt and developing a tougher skin. I really recommend that you do that same. A tougher skin, mind you, not a hard and impenetrable callous. I don’t really want to write anymore because this is an issue that will NEVER be solved. I don’t ever want to be in that position again in my life. If I have to gain 50 pounds and wear a burkha to achieve that (because I am a brazen beauty, of course), so be it. I don’t find myself massively appealing. I am ok. I see girls around me who are both less and more attractive than me. And I don’t give a shit, because I don’t base my worth or merit on how I look. I know I’m not conventionally ugly, I suppose, and I’m fine with keeping things at that. But if I gain weight on birth control or out of STRESS from working with YOU, I’m not any less of a female. I want so badly to forgive you and even be your friend. But that is never, never, ever going to happen. 

From Hollie

Image

Oh these?

When you like someone, make sure they like you back before you fall head-over-heels for them. Or you will never, ever, ever shake that feeling of rejection. You might shake the attraction, but that shit feeling will keep resurfacing forever and you will remember everything.

Mr. P

Standard

I am always tired. I work hard because I expect others to do the same, and I am past the point in my life where I can delegate authority without giving myself an equal (usually larger) workload. I will relish the day when I am not constantly striving for more money, more respect, more time or more of anything, really. I walked Maureen’s kids down to Riverfront Park this morning. I rushed them along the riverside route behind Schoenberg and the Red Lion, yelling at them to hurry up and stop playing with their Legos.

Franz took off for a minute, hiding in brown shrubs bordering the river, shrubs taller than his 6 year old frame. An atrocity. I’m all about getting to the destination, getting on the ferris wheel, placing them onto the painted merry-go-round horses and breathing a sigh of relief when we finally do what we set out to do.

Kids cannot be corralled. As a testament to my impatience, the rides weren’t even open today. Confronted with the fact that I had rushed these tiny, young things for a mile to end up in a deserted wonderland, we had some halfhearted ice cream and toy shop perusing. I felt so bad that I had disappointed them. I was all set for some serial ride hopping, with stray dollars and three hours to kill.

Thank God, there is someone on my side. Paul ran down to the mall from school and entertained the crap out of those kids, running with them through the park and swinging them wildly by their hands. He helped me walk them all the way back to campus (no easy feat with a sleeping 2 year old on my shoulder) and refused to take any of the money I received from their mother. Paul then immediately drove me to my job interview for a lifeguarding position and slept in his car for half an hour while I was questioned by my (please) future employers. (I forgot the acronym SAFETY. Fuck.) I think that I am all alone in my struggles, but then that guy comes along and does a million things for me without complaint or even reason. Paul also needs to spend all of his free time studying, which he wasn’t able to do today because of me.

I realize that most of my posts are somehow about Paul. This probably makes me sound like one of THOSE girls; those girls who worship their boyfriend, have always had a boyfriend, and cannot imagine life without him/them. For my (expansive) reader base who has not known me in high school, know that I am the antithesis of that girl. I can easily imagine life without Paul, having spent most of my life without him or any love interest, for that matter. I envision that life to be a much hollower and duller version. Life is so much more exciting when you experience it in tandem with someone like Paul. Successes are ever so much better, failures dramatically lessened and adventures significantly, significantly more appreciated. He spends so much time studying and in class, I value every moment I spend with him.

Secondly, he is my first real boyfriend. I have always made fun of girls who boyfriend-hopped, and secretly considered myself undatable. I still kind of do, actually, so that makes this even more wonderful. One day, he might wake up and realize that I am insane, but until that day comes, I am going to enjoy this as much as I can. 🙂

Thirdly, I do not worship Paul. We getting irritated with each other all the time, and I will often kick him out of his kitchen because I am a particular cook. He took some initiative recently and taught himself how to make pizza. His pizza skills now rival my own, so I suppose I barely have the upper hand in cooking anymore.

I am not sure where this post is going because I am exhausted, my arms are tired from carrying Mr. Johnny and I have a Bulletin meeting in less than an hour. I guess the synthesis of this thing is that I really, really, really like that Paul. 🙂