Annoyance and Anticipation: Or, A New Job for Me!

I've been woefully neglectful of this blog - and if there's anyone reading out there, I do apologize for being so absent. I could chalk it up to the holidays, though I've done little more for the holidays than sit in a car or stuff some food in my face. I've hardly even done any real gift shopping yet. Part of that has been due to the fact my schedule for the last few months has been a series of trips, for work and for pleasure, and so getting through each trip has been, in and of itself, a bit of a mini-project, and the accumulation of each of those projects has left me feeling that Christmas and New Year are both much further away than the calendar now shows me they are.

But it's all been a good busy, and it's led me to a good place: a new job. A couple posts back, I said I'd gotten an interview with a new company, and lo and behold, this company has now hired me. I could not be more thrilled to have a new challenge ahead of me and to learn a lot of new things -- not the least of which will be how a different company works. I was fortunate or lucky enough that my new company seems to recognize both some instrinsic value in me as well as the promise of future things to come. They offered me more money than I make today (always a plus), they have hired me into a position in which I will have no direct management responsibilities (always an enormous plus), and they have talked both seriously and specifically about the various options they see ahead for me in their firm. Alas, they could not meet my current vacation benefit, but I have to remind myself that vacation from an enjoyable job/company may be less of a necessity than it has been from a hated job/company, and something like this should not have been considered a deal-breaker. So it wasn't, and I accepted, and as of today, I tendered my resignation from my company of the past 10 years.

While I did not expect the walls to come crumbling down or for executives who barely noticed I existed before to suddenly call me, pleading with me to stay, I expected a little more than I got today. While my team and colleagues have not yet been informed of my departure, several executives with whom I interact daily have. And I got bupkus. My direct boss has been nothing short of fantastic, and because she and I have a very solid relationship, I felt free to talk to her about my resignation before submitting it. She was effusive about how very valuable I was to my company, and how I needed to take this opportunity, this power, that comes with having an offer in hand and design the job of my dreams -- she felt certain I'd be in a very strong negotiating position to get it and if the response from my company was negative, I still had this exciting new offer elsewhere to pursue. I spent the weekend thinking about it all very deliberately. I even sketched out my "fantasy" job.

And I could not do it.

I just felt like one more pitch, towards executives I do not respect, for a product I only feel half-heartedly about, for a new opportunity that may be far worse than my current one, was beyond my ability. I just could not stomach the process to get it -- much less the job it might have ultimately led to in the end. In sorting through my thoughts with my husband one last time on Sunday night, I explained to him how conflicted things were in my head. I heard myself explaining that I had a great offer from a company that did not know me from any other stranger applying for a job there (though hopefully after 9 interviews with various staff, they do know me a bit) -- and they saw enough promise and value in me to offer me more, on several levels, than I currently have in my job. And yet I was considering possibly begging (it wouldn't have been begging, but I saw it in those terms) for something better than what I currently had. I would have to beg for the job, the salary, the title, and the authority that should all have come my way through years of hard work, dedication, loyalty, and commitment to a job that offered none of these things in return to me. Why could this new company see my value and yet the company I'd been working for for over 10 years not? Hearing that come out of my mouth, I knew my decision had been made.

And as I've lay in bed for the past two hours, unable to sleep and feeling somewhat deflated on what should have been a momentous day of new beginnings and possibilities for me, I had another thought. I've resigned. I'm moving on. I'm the one who comes out of this one better. And I won't let my old company, the one in which I stagnated, and felt stifled, and felt disrespected on a daily basis, have any sort of control over my emotions, my mood, or my health any more.

Just writing that sentence has made me sit taller in my chair, made my shoulders relax, and made my breathing a little more smooth. Yes, this is going to be a very good thing for me.

Personal Trainers; Or, How I Learned to Follow Orders to Save Myself

I did it.

I got off my ever-expanding ass and took some action. I joined a gym on Saturday and actually setup an appointment with a trainer on Sunday. And on Monday, I could hardly move.

Almost.

And while I do hurt like the dickens in places I'd long forgotten could move much less have moved, it's a good pain. It's that pain that comes from knowing I'm finally doing something to make myself healthier.

Even if it hurts. Oww.

Hillbillies and Rednecks; Or, Why Kentucky Does Not Suck

I am from this area. I'll just get that out there right away.

I was born in Northern Kentucky to parents who lived in Cincinnati. A fluke, I suppose, as they might just have been in Cincinnati at the moment my mother went into labor and - poof! - I would have been born a Cincinnatian. Shortly after my birth, we moved from Cincinnati to Northern Kentucky (Latonia, to be specific), and I spent the next 18 years of my life living in different parts of Northern Kentucky. And miracle of miracles, I think I turned out as an adult who is not toothless, shoeless, overall-clad, redneck, prone to outbursts of "Golly Gee!," cornhole-obssessed, nor married to a cousin.

So it annoys me like nothing else when people in Cincinnati talk about Kentucky like it's the hinterlands or like everyone in Kentucky is a stupid redneck and the whole state is some vast backwater that takes you hours and hours to get to from your precious homes in the vast Cincinnati metropolitan area. Kentucky is all of about 2 minutes from downtown Cincinnati (depending on which bridge you're crossing and how fast you're driving), so it's hardly any further than driving from downtown to any trendy neighborhood in the outlying areas like Oakley, Hyde Park, or Mt Adams.

The distance issue aside, what I find most frustrating when I hear people disparage Kentucky or Kentuckians is that it puts me in a position of suggesting Cincinnati is no better - or even worse in some ways. And I like Cincinnati. I live here, for Christ's sake, and I live downtown for the very reason that I care about and want to support the growth and expansion of this city.

I really want to understand why Cincinnatians think so little of Kentuckians. We're co-mingling all the time in this area because we're so close, and from my perspective, we're really pretty similar in most ways. Yet I saw comments online this week about the people in the Newport Kroger being dumb and toothless. Really? I wasn't there, so maybe there were some dumb and dentally-challenged people there. But it seems like when Cincinnatians have any interaction in Northern Kentucky, issues like this come out as supposedly pithy comments. Nevermind that maybe the grocery store is in a very economically depressed neighborhood and maybe some of the people in the grocery store can barely afford the groceries they're there to buy much less extensive dental care (I am taking this one example too far, and I will stop).

I've been lucky enough to travel a lot for my job over the years. I've been around this country many times over to places I'd never otherwise have known existed much less been able to visit. What I've seen is everywhere has its share of idiots, geniuses, hillbillies, cosmopolitans, and the people who fall somewhere in between each. And somehow most of these places are the richer for it...it's sad to me that Cincinnatians, for all their promise, don't seem to be so open-minded about their neighbors.

Anticipation and Annoyance; Or, Why Putting the Cart Ahead of the Horse is a Bad Idea

I need to be reined in.

I took the plunge and did submit my resume to one of my company's direct competitors. I reasoned that I was doing it mainly to see if I got any sort of response and also to give myself the peace of mind that should come from knowing there are options out there, I am not entirely trapped, and that it's conceivable some other company might find me worth hiring.

It also helps that at this particular competitor, I know at least two people (with whom I worked with previously when they were at my current company), and I suspected they'd both be willing to put in a good word or two on my behalf.

Nearly a week went by and....nothing. I was starting to get depressed that I couldn't even get hired to do essentially my own job. But lo and behold, I got an email --- an interview request! Granted, this is just the first interview. And I've hired enough people in my day to know this first interview is essentially the HR-screening interview. I won't likely be speaking to anyone except the recruiter, so I think it's a thumbs-up/thumbs-down meeting to see if I'm worth scheduling for an actual interview.

Nevertheless, I am now imagining the suit I will wear should I be flown in for an interview, the negotiations in which I angle for the extensive vacation I now earn, and the glorious joy I will feel turning in my resignation.

I need to cut it out.

Because I am so excited by the prospect of leaving that I am tuning out on my actual.current.job. That job that is currently paying the bills and generally providing food and shelter for my cats, my husband, and me. I was in a management meeting this morning and could barely summarize for you 5 things that were discussed. I was a little snappy with my boss (whom I do like but who does frustrate me). And I am generally not the friendliest of people with whom my colleagues can interact these days (this is probably not a significant change to them -- but still, not good).

So between now and Monday (when this call is now scheduled), I need to refocus on the job at hand and pretend like this call next week is nothing more than an initial chat with someone. But oh, the possibilities!

Perms; Or, Why I Should Not Be Allowed to Make Haircare Decisions

So I am not a vain person. But I do care enough that I am fairly diligent about my hair - I do always get it colored and highlighted (or else I'd have been a grey-haired 19 year old; I kid you not). And I take care of my hair, so it's generally pretty healthy. So I have healthy hair sitting on top of an entirely not healthy body, but so be it.

And while I have a lot of hair, it's very fine. To make matters worse, I am descended from a long line of women who seem to have a serious thinning problem at the front of their head (thanks mom and grandma!). The past couple of years have seen a few experiments in hairstyles to find various ways of masking this thinning, but essentially they've been variations on the same theme...that theme being some variant of the Jennifer Aniston "Rachel" cut...or that's at least what I see when I look in the mirror.

Or at least it used to be.

Because I had the brilliant idea to get a perm - lovely waves of full hair! Yes, a perm it would be! I decided to put away my Falco cassette and strip off my legwarmers for the night and actually get a permanant wave put in my hair (yes, I realize how very 80's this makes me - and not in the cool 80's way either). My hair stylist has been doing my hair for the past few years. And she's also a member of my family (by marriage, so...). Anyhow, so she did my color on a Monday and on the Thursday of that same week, she did my perm. Yes, dear readers, I was that stupid. And apparently so was a family member since she is the hair care professional and did not seem to register what a horrific mess two massive chemical processes would create of my hair when applied in such close proximity to one another. Once she started drying my hair after the perm rods were removed and the chemicals rinsed away, I knew something was not right. And I quickly realized something was very wrong. My hair was very wrong. And it was very fried, and it was very gnarly (and not in the cool gnarly way either), and I was not happy. In fact, I busted out with a "I HATE THIS! I HATE MY HAIR!" rather abruptly. She quickly whipped into action with a curling iron and much dexterity. It helped make the immediate mess slightly salvageable, but overall, it was a disaster. She even had to utter the phrase "Please do not cry" at least once, but maybe twice, and I soon thereafter spun into a whirling dervish in my head ("How can I leave here with my hair like this?" to "What in god's name will I do to fix this?" to "Is it a defensible action to kill a hair stylist for such an atrocity?").

The duration has been all-hair-all-the-time if you were to ask my husband, my mom, my sister, my BFF, or probably the dustbunnies collecting in my office. I had a couple of extremely non-helpful email exchanges with my family member who basically abdicated any responsibility in repairing my hair. I consulted with a new stylist. Her advice: do nothing. The hair is so damaged (or "singed" was the word she used repeatedly...lovely) that there's nothing to do at this point that might not cause further, and even worse, damage. Well, she did suggest some extensive overnight hair mask procedures, which after one night, have seemed to elicit some noticeable, however slight, improvement. So I will keep up her recommended hair regimen to see if my hair returns to some semblance of normalcy again. Who'd ever have thought I'd long for the days of my out-of-date, unflattering "Rachel" style. Oy!

Almost as frustrating as the hair itself has been my hair stylist's/family member's role in all of this. She is the professional after all, not me. Why did she not warn me about the potential damage of the two treatments? Why did she not accept some responsibility for correcting what was obviously a mess she (quite largely, in my opinion) contributed to? Why did she just not tell me no one gets perms anymore because they're bad for your hair, your self-esteem (when they go so awry), and probably the penguins in Antartica and the puppies in the pound. These things are evil!

So I promise this will be the last (public) tirade on the current, tragic state of my hair. But if you see a girl with a giant mop of frizzy, overprocessed, and over-chemically treated hair walk past you, send a kind thought her way and take pity on her frizz.

Mentoring; Or, Trying to do Something Good

So after groaning about how meaningless and unfulfilling my actual job is for years and years (I wish I was exaggerating), I'd given some thought to finding a volunteer opportunity that might help me feel like I was less of a waste of space. My thinking was if I found some great outlet to "do something good," then I could work my craptastical job in order to keep paying the bills, but I could have this other outlet to help me feel like I was contributing something back to the world.

One afternoon a few months back, I just happened to be reading http://www.nky.com/, which I typically do not read, since I live in Cincinnati and, like most Cincinnatians, I tend to tune out anything that happens south of the stadiums (not actually true, but I do think that's how most people in Cincinnati act - as if Northern Kentucky is the hinterland or at least someplace where people wander aimlessly and barefoot while eating road kill, drinking moonshine, and marrying their sister - but that's a topic for another post). However, on one particular day, I noticed a blurb on this website about an information session on mentoring programs in the Covington Public Schools. That was it - this was the volunteer opp I was waiting for!

So I trotted off to the information session - as did about 20 other retirees. While I was a little confounded to be the only under-40 in attendance, I still decided to submit my application. I've now gone through what I think has been a pretty impressive process of application, pre-mentoring education, and background checks aplenty. I am struck and saddened by the extent to which the school district has to screen its mentors - but it's a necessity, I am sure, and I would far prefer to spend my morning being interrogated, being fingerprinted, and giving people too much personal information than what the alternative might bring (really - my weight? - am I going to be disqualified for being too fat? Eegad.).

In any case, I have one last hurdle - an in-home visit and some final training before I am matched with a student. That will happen next week. I'm sure I'll chronicle my mentoring escapades here to some extent -- but I also wanted to do a quick plug for mentoring programs around the area. If the statistics I've seen in my trainings are any indication, we have a lot of kids in this area who really need the good influence, support, encouragement, and stability of a mentor in their lives. In some cases, it really could make the difference between life and death for some of these kids - and for others, it may just make their lives a little less painful.

I hope I live up to this.

Overkill; Or, Packing on the Pounds

So I had to go to the doctor yesterday to see if I was in the midst of having a stroke or some other serious vascular disturbance (several days of a seriously painful vein in my leg, random, and a pounding headache had me worried). Fortunately, my doctor thought it was nothing more than early-onset vericose veins (sexy!) and residual sinus headache from a sinus infection I didn't realize I had last week. Good news aside, that wasn't the big takeaway from the doctor visit....I had to get weighed while I was there.

And while it was not surprising that I gained some weight, the total amount of weight I had gained was stunning. I thought I might have gained 5-7 lbs...maybe. Nope. Maybe 10 lbs. Nope. Try 15 lbs since my last appointment in February! Holy moly! And this means I've gained a grand total of 20 lbs since my wedding last October. I gave myself a bit of a pass following our wedding since we had a long honeymoon planned in Hawaii, and by the time we got back, we were sliding right into Thanksgiving, then Christmas, then New Years. And somehow 10 months later, 20 lbs had found their way on my body (and I'm one of those lucky people who gain weight only in her midsection).

Ick.

And I am a lucky girl because my husband has not made a single comment about my ever-expanding girth. And when I've whined about it, he's only been supportive and said he'd go along with any food changes or exercise plans I wanted to work into my life. Nice. And yet I've done nothing.

What's a particularly cruel irony (and an obvious explanation for this little predicament I find myself in) is how very much I enjoy food. I read copious amounts of food blogs, restaurant reviews, chef memoirs, you name it. I love to eat out (and do so frequently). I really like to cook. I even have a food blog here in Cincinnati. But I need to make some changes. But I'm not interested in going on a strict diet, and I'm not interested in becoming a gym fanatic. But I have to do something. If nothing else, I have to stop the weight gain. And I need to be mindful that my weight, combined with my serious hatred of my job and the seemingly endless stress it causes, is going to lead me to some serious health crisis sooner than later. While I was driving to the doctor yesterday, I couldn't help but think I'm now only 5 years younger than my dad was when he dropped dead of a heart attack at 41. I really need to make some changes.

And the food and exercise is something I can try to make some inroads on immediately. I'm not going to go crazy or drive myself crazy, but I need to get a healthier perspective and act on it. And then I'm going to have to tackle this job drama and find something that doesn't counteract my efforts. Oy.