Now I know why my Mom was so pissed…

…when we didn’t do our chores.

My Mom worked in the Emergency Room in a hospital outside of Detroit. She worked the standard hospital schedule. Seven in the morning until 3 in the afternoon, or three p.m. to eleven p.m.. She was that irritating lady who asked for your insurance and did all of the necessary evil paperwork to get sick and injured people back to see a doctor. After spending a day with delightful people yelling at and bleeding on her, she headed home sweet home.

My Granny and I were responsible for the household chores while Mom was at work. Granny cooked, I had the dishes and k.p.. After enduring a meal with four Hellions (my brothers and I having dinner contests involving not using our hands) my Granny deserved to not have to pick up another chore. Granny affectionately called us “the Devils from Hell”.

I wasn’t the best at cleaning the kitchen. I had other interests in mind. Listening to the radio, stealing and smoking cigarettes, general unspecified teen angst and getting out of chores. I hated to clean the kitchen.

Mom would come home and, whatever the hour, she would express her displeasure at my horrendous cleaning skills. I thought she was just being a bitch. My Granny gave me the nickname of “Ambitious”. I didn’t appreciate her sarcasm.

Still, it was better than my brother’s nickname of “Snake in the Grass”

Now that I am a grown up woman, I know the importance of a clean kitchen. It is both symbolic and hygienic. Why or when it became a perceived womanly art, I can’t answer. I have girlfriends who keep either an exceptionally tidy kitchen, and I know others whose dinner invitations are politely declined.  Truth of the matter? Yes, I judge. I know it’s not right, but I can’t help myself.

So, this grown woman now has a job that is keeping me away ten to twelve hours a day. And guess who is pissed when the kitchen sink is covered up in dirty dishes? Karma comes around and bites me in the ass, and deservedly so.

Sometimes, it’s little ways that we show our appreciation. I know that I show my family love when I cook and keep a clean house. When I have their favorite things waiting for them. It would have been such a small gesture on my part to have done as Mom would have if she didn’t have to work. Maybe Granny didn’t need to witness “No Fork Friday” .

The lesson that I learned is you can’t metaphorically beat people into showing their appreciation for you. Throwing things across a room is only momentary gratification, (oh so gratifying) and no one likes to do things for a bitch.  It has taken me many years to realize that I can be am a bitch.

Sometimes people show appreciation in different ways than me, I have to learn to see them.  And hire a maid.

disclaimer: not my kitchen. You can’t handle the truth

Phil Brody’s ESC,

Today’s post was made possible by my local county court system. I was able to download and begin reading the book I am reviewing due to the fact that I had to spend the better part of Wednesday in the jury pool room. I was not selected and never saw the inside of the courtroom. I was forced into a state of peace and quiet, without children, television noise, or housework. In short, I chose to do whatever the Hell I wanted (within the confines of that room, kind of). I read without interruption.

A couple of years ago, I picked up “The Holden Age of Hollywood” at my local library.  A book that’s so original, it seems to need its own genre to define it. It is one of my favorite reads from that year.

ESC: a nostalgic guide to breaking up with the corporate world to pursue what you love

I was curious when I saw that Phil Brody’s new book was a memoir, because it is a departure from his last book. Again, I was not disappointed with ESC, because it takes the memoir genre and twists it into a different kind of ball game. This book winds in, out and through time, without chronology. We meet Phil Brody at different intervals in his life. Sometimes he’s a child, sometimes a naive young adult, a jerk (or a dick, if I want to quote the book), or Carefree Phil.

Sometimes he lies. More aptly, brings you into some cool Walter Mitty imaginary scenes. The best lies involve the scenarios where he escapes from the shackles in his cubicle and the world of advertising. Quitting a job looks like so much fun through his imagination. Pulling a Peter Gibbons* and ditching those damn TPS Reports*. Breaking up with the corporate world to pursue what you love. Damn It Feels Good to Be a Gangsta.

ESC is also a love story, a tribute to Brody’s hometown. Chicago’s character is present everywhere. When he reminisces about his youth, he brings his reader back into his Mid Western World: a world filled with dodge ball games, recess, break dancing and Haiku writing. ESC is book is for every adult who feels constricted by the conventions of adulthood, who longs for the simplicity of 7th grade, a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors,  or a first apartment. Escape is possible because Phil Brody brings us there with this book.

Bonus Haiku Tribute to ESC:

Brody Ee Es See

Read during jury duty

Read, read, read this now

* and don’t even tell me that you haven’t seen Office Space

Dancing up and down Maslow’s Heirarchy of needs

Due to recent life changing events, I find myself pondering what it is like when you go from the lofty goal of self-actualization and find yourself mired in the lower levels of Maslow Heirarchy of Needs. An perceived ring of Dante’s Inferno. Fortunately, that is only as far down as I’ve gone.  

Let’s Make A Deal: my automotive consultant career in a day.

As promised…my new job!

I responded to an ad, fixed an interview and got hired on the spot. So, what’s with this? What am I doing? I can tell you that it is not the dream job of a few blogs ago, they passed on me.

On Tuesday, I was hired for a job in car sales. According to my trainer, Mister F, my title would be “Consultant in the Automotive Industry”. Because, you know…car salesman? The connotation is not good. The ad stated that only honest and ethical people need only apply.

and then the thought occurred to me…

If you read my layoff notice post yesterday, you know that I’ve got a little something going on. But today, it suddenly dawned on me that, while on the surface, this seems to be a setback, it may very well be the jolt to get me out of my comfort zone. It may be the beginning of something big and wonderful that I’ve wished for but forgot.

Angry and I know it. Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle with it, damn it.

A couple of days ago, I began writing a post dealing with women and anger. On how many of us deny it or don’t succumb to it’s temptation, how it is unladylike, unproductive and leaves us in a state of regret. And I’m not sure who is to blame, or that blame should even be an issue. Can anything good, anything productive come from that state of feeling?

Yesterday, it happened.

Don’t worry…be…uh…worried?

As I’m typing this, I am listening to “Jump in the Line” by Harry Belafonte. It is part of a playlist of upbeat, familiar songs that has become my first line of defense. I’m having a great little chair and typing dance.

Quite accidentally, after most make their New Year Resolutions, I’m working on mine. Last September, I decided that my…um…job career wasn’t going where I needed it to. Don’t worry, Reader, I wasn’t a nuclear scientist or anything, I was working as a Sales & Operations Manager at a hotel. (Do you like how I validated my position with Capital Letters?)