We've Got Spirit, Yes We Do!!!

Ok, so I've reached a new low.  I just spent the first hour and a half of J's absence watching "Making the Squad."  Let me clarify.  Making the Colt's squad. 

Back in junior high I actually was campaign manager twice for two girls both "running" for cheerleader.  (Could you have predicted my bachelors being poli sci at this point, not so much, but the irony is funny.)  They both won. 

As I watched the girls "interview" post dance routine (aka, shaking their booties and flipping their hair in time to the hip hop), I was astounded.  Not by their answers like, "Oh my god, I just want whirled peas," but more by their names.  I actually watched the end to see who made the team and what their daytime profession is.  Hillari, Stacee, Megin, Destini, Tiphanie...well, you get the point.  Most "Destini's," "Celestial's," and "Nevaeh's" (heaven spelled backwards) I know are allegeded sexual assault victims, not cheerleaders.  I almost fell off the couch when one of them claimed they were a social worker.  Most of them were office managers, interior designers, senior property managers, or students.  I noticed a few of them actually tried out in their sorority sweat shirts, after all, DePaw University in Indiana has the largest Greek system in the Nation.  It also happens to be the birth place of my sorority, Alpha Chi Omega.  Two of them had Delta Gamma sweat shirts on...the known "prettiest" sorority on campus at the U of Utah.  Could we ever get away from this popularity contest?  What was worse, I apparently somehow identified with them as I was in a sorority and I was a social worker.  Good hell, please tell me this is a nightmare!!!

I thought when I had made it to my professional career, all of that was behind me.  Not a freekin' chance.  One of the health unit coordinators was trying out for the Utah Jazz squad.  She considered me a friend.  One day, when it was slow, she did her try out routine in the middle of the hallway between patient rooms.  All I could do was say, "Wow."  Not because it was horrible.  Her plastic surgeon would have been proud the way she moved her chest and thighs.  I said, "wow," because on some level I was jealous.  I would never want to be her.  I would just like to be able to move like she did (and I suspect all of my ex-boyfriends and fiance would have liked me to have been able to move that way too.)  It was sexy routine and not at all appropriate for a children's' hospital.  Moreover, I couldn't understand how her husband (a Notre Dame grad) was ok with her trying out showing her moves to thousands of horny men staying actually watching the half time show at games with binoculars vs. making the most of the time in between sports time and running to the loo.  It wasn't too far from the male domestic violence offenders group I once ran when the guys were getting together after the judicial mandatory group to go to a local strip club to watch one of their wives perform. (I'm so not kidding about this...I actually got invited to come along.)

Will high school ever end? 

Me, Myself and I

There are things that, although great, tend to lose their luster when you are by yourself.  (Now, now, children, please get your mind out of the gutter.)  Perhaps this entry is just because I'm a bit lonely, but then I really think, "I'm not THAT lonely."  I'm betting its just anticipatory loneliness.  Tonight is one of three nights sans my love. 

I'm back in Indy for some stupid physical.  Can you believe that they actually want to make sure I'm a Nancy Reagan wanna be with "just say no" and have absolutely no illegal substances in my system before handing me a multi million dollar budget to manage and a large staff?  Crazy thinking, I know.  However the fact remains that I'm still using all of my paid time off that was supposed to be saved for my wedding time off only to be here in Indy.  Which, again, would be fine if only my lover were here with me.  Ah no, he is off working the night shifts (or shits, as I like to call them) at our local neonatal intensive care units. 

Tonight I made myself a large dinner.  It was the first time I'd cooked in weeks seeing that I'm now with ma and pa for the interim.  I roasted lemon pepper chicken and did some thyme/rosemary potatoes.  It would have been a lot more fun if he would have been here to enjoy the meal.  Instead I found myself not at the table with an elegant place setting, but standing up picking meat off the carcass with my fingers and chugging a beer while watching some re-run of Raymond.  Good hell, I've lost my manners.

Well thought out meals alone really aren't a bowl full of cherries.  Come to think of it, neither is splitting a dessert.  I've tried this to con myself into thinking I'm saving myself 1/2 of the calories, but then I end up finishing it off then and there realizing that I'll just eat it later.  Even wearing matching lingerie isn't all that fun unless someone else discovers that it was done intentionally.  Its not like you can surprise yourself when you undress (that is unless you have dementia or something like that.)  Like I said, some things lose their luster when you are by yourself.

What's in store now?  I have movies I've rented, but they aren't much fun without at least a dog to snuggle up with.  I could take a bath.  I could read.  I could call friends.  All of these things don't push the inevitable...that I could be in Salt Lake just as easy as being in Indy because tonight, I'm going to bed solo.  Bummer. 

The Price of Self-Worth

Today has been like Mr. Toad's Wild Ride.  I knew I had last round interviews for my position here in the afternoon.  Talk about a sinking feeling.  We had the top three candidates come back to sit with the staff and answer their questions.  Already there was a strong bias due to some unpolitically friendly lobbying by senior staff members, and so as much as we made the rating sheet objective, the personal glare was obvious.  Again, this team demonstrated once again that although they are change agents, they themselves hate change; they believe tenure = entitlement; and they still hate there is a business aspect to health care.  They want someone to "understand" them, perhaps not do what's best for them.  It was fascinating as an observer who isn't putting a vote in, to witness the group process.

Perhaps I was dissociating from it.  I listened to their percieved challenges and vision and heard a lot of white noise.  Mostly it was because I was offered a job in Indy this morning.  As I listened to their answers (some canned text book, others genuine) I thought of myself in this process just a week ago.  How did I sound?  Do I really know what I'm doing?  Will they understand that I feel like a fraud as in, "Don't pay attention to the man behind the curtain," Wizard of Oz syndrome?  I remember thinking once my answer came out of my mouth, "Holy cow, perhaps I do know what to do in this situation."  And other times I felt like I was faking it.  However, by the end of the 10th round of interviews, (yes folks, you read correctly, 10), I didn't care one way or another.

This morning when they extended the offer I asked one very important question:  Is that the best you can do?  They told me to name a price and I did.  Surprisingly they called me back within 30 minutes saying they would match my number and also agreed to my start date after my honeymoon and week moving time.  It was all said and done so fast I couldn't believe it.  Was I really worth that much?  I never thought, "Gee I should have asked for more!"  Nope, I thought, "Holy cow, how am I going to prove I was a good investment?  What if I fail?"  I never had negotiations go that easy before.  Typically, I found companies not really willing to agree.  It was a fight to get my current salary and even here, I feel like a fraud at times (although thefrequency is becoming less and less.) 

They say that women have a hard time putting a price on their worth.  Even when we can and do put a price on things, we still doubt if we're worth it.  Yup, that feminism hasn't really pushed us that far ahead...

Deja Vu Reruns

I must have moved in and out of my parents' house about 9 or 10 times since I was 18.  Either I was fiercely independent and sponsored my own rent in the dorms or sorority house, or I was coming back home because the semester ended.  Once, I was literally abandoned by an ex-boyrfriend of mine.  It was his way of breaking up with me by leaving me with dust bunnies and my furniture still in the apartment.  My father moved me out in 2 hours.  Go Dad!  After being on my own for 7 years, I am now living once again at my parents.

My house rented to a very nice couple from the U.K..  Both are physics professors.  I handed over the keys to them yesterday.  Moving is such a sad experience.  Seeing your stuff packed in boxes, watching the movers shrink wrap the couch for storage, and watching "your" house become empty absolutely sucks.  On the other hand, it gives great cause to purge.  I had a whole Jeep filled with things for charity and 3 garbage cans to the brim with stuff.  Even Edgar was depressed and moped around.  My fiance always pauses to ask if I am the one who is depressed and moped, but I assure you, it was the dog.  He just sat in his bed (which he never does), ears back, and looking forlorn.  After one day of this I took him to my parents' to play with the other dogs.

My mother has been a saint through this.  She was the one who got the bids from the movers as I was either interviewing in Indy or at work.  She was the one who helped me pack in 100 degree heat one solid Saturday.  She was the one who came over moving day bright and early with bagels to direct the movers while I ran to a meeting.  I owe her the world.

My father has been rather controlling.  He saw no reason to move the bed downstairs and that if I was staying at their house I could stay upstairs in the bedroom next to theirs.  My brother helped me disassemble the bed and haul it down two flights of stairs as my father watched TV in protest.  I now live in the basement.  Sure, I have a few wolf spiders to deal with, but I get my own bathroom and my own living area.  Another interesting fact is that my pseudo-bedroom is my mom's pilate room so I have one whole wall floor to ceiling mirrors.  All I need is a glitter ball and some smooth disco and I think I'd have a set for SNL's The Ladies Man.

My parents knew I would be home more, but they weren't counting on my brother.  He apparently moved recently and hates his new place so 9x out of 10 he is hanging out at my parents.  We've actually had more family dinners the past few days than we have in years.  My delusional fantasy is that he's hanging out more with me before I move, but then I just have to remember a year ago when he moved in with me and it was an utter failure.  Delusion.

We'll see what the next 40 days/nights bring.  Perhaps I'll bond and appreciate my parents more. Perhaps I'll be wanting to drive to Indy so fast it will make heads spin.  What I am hoping is that it will be absolutely the very last possible chance I will ever live at home again.