Time to Catch Up

I've kicked around the idea of getting back on here and catching up on what's been going on in my life. But when I log in and look at the date of my last post -- more than TWO YEARS AGO -- well, my motivation goes south.

The recent death of Mr. G. in June 2010 inspired me to write an entry that I quickly took down. While my ruminations on why he chose to end his life were honest and, I feel, accurate, I felt it was bad form to be critical of one of the only people who checked this blog on a semi-regular basis and could not defend himself. A couple of you found it anyway, and for that, I apologize.

My last entry found me on my second day of employment as a public information officer for a large local government. I was excited. I was elated. I thought I had found the perfect job, but it quickly turned into something of a nightmare.

Shortly after I started working there, I was under siege by investigative reporters responding to tips of wrongdoing from employees of the agency to which I was assigned. These employees were quite unhappy with the new director, hired to "clean up" the agency and who quickly dissolved divisions, created new ones, promoted people with questionable credentials and hired people who were in her "circle of trust." Soon came a tidal wave of wrongdoings and scandals I had to deal with, in addition to developing a robust internal communication program, increase public awareness about programs and services, etc. The job was intense. And I walked into it with no media relations experience. I made plenty of mistakes. But I also did a lot of good there. I worked 50-hour weeks. I cranked out an enormous amount of work, doing a job that, historically, was done by two people.

The economy tanked, sales tax revenues plummeted, and because local politicians don't know how to balance a budget, I got "riffed." In government speak, it's "Reduction in Force." So here I am, unemployed again. I was told that there's a team of 10 people carrying out what equaled maybe half of what I did there. And they can't keep up with it.

It's been a little over four months since I left. I've had seven in-person interviews and five phone interviews. Nothing has bore fruit thus far, so it's hard to say how long I'll be out.

Meanwhile, as I was working my a** off only to eventually get canned, my boyfriend and I decided to do something completely crazy: purchase a house. The crazy part wasn't buying the house, really. After all, prices were low and we would qualify for the tax credit because we weren't married (my bf was a first-time home buyer). What was crazy is that I saw this layoff coming at least a year before it did. And I still owned a condo. So, in essence, I was choosing to make a 30-year financial commitment while a) I was uncertain about the future of my job and b) I already had a mortgage to pay.

Fate intervened, and after spending a couple thousand bucks to get my place ready to sell, we put it on the market. Our realtor was a miracle worker. Exactly one week after I was told that our department's budget was being cut in half and 13 of us were going to be laid off, we got an offer. So I had "real estate euphoria" to distract me from the inevitable fact that I was probably one of the 13 being let go. And sure enough, come May 18, the axe fell and I got my RIF letter. My last day was to be June 29, 2010.

Little did I know at the time that if I worked through that date, I would lose an opportunity to qualify for the COBRA subsidy, which pays 65 percent of the premium. So, fortunately, I was given the option to leave before May 31, making me eligible to pay 35 percent of my COBRA premium. Whew!

So here I am. Life could be worse. Life could be better. We have a great house in a fantastic neighborhood. Granted, prices continue to drop, but there's no doubt we made the right choice with location. Provided we stay put, we'll definitely see a return on our investment in a few years.

I'm getting a lot more interest in my resume than I did last time I was unemployed, so I suppose my two years wasn't wasted. The house keeps me busy.

But I feel a bit rudderless. The wind has gone out of my sails with regard to searching for jobs, applying for jobs, networking, etc. I hate constantly selling, selling, selling myself -- particularly since my last two jobs has rendered my self-esteem a smoky pile of ashes.

For my reader(s), I can't promise a blogging revival, but I'll make more of an effort to check in more often.

OB

Gas Piggies

So for some reason no one quite understands, there's a massive short of gas where I live. Supplies are 30 percent lower than normal. It's nuts. I filled up two weeks ago when Ike hit the gulf coast, and I've been sitting well below "e" since Monday. On my way home, I passed at least three cars that were stranded on the road.

People have been waiting more than four hours, only to find the pumps are empty by the time they finally get there.

I was lucky. After three days of searching for gas, the Citgo near my house was selling gas, and it only took me about 20 minutes. I put $30 in my tank (the limit the station asked for, but didn't mandate).

The lady next to me, however, filled her gas-hogging SUV and had the NERVE to pull out a GAS CAN! Un-freaking-believable. I took this pic with my camera phone.



I had a perfect opportunity to catch her standing there, listlessly waiting as she filled her monstrous tank, wearing her bright pink Providence Day School sweatshirt with a gas can on the ground next to her. I would have sent that to all the news organizations.

But the local paper scooped me. Check out this asshole, shot by the newspaper's photographer.

People can be so freaking selfish. :-(

Why I Love Charlotte

I don't think it's Charlotte, per se, that I'm attached to. What I am attached to, however, is the fact that over the 10 years I've lived here, I have met so many people -- some of whom have become close friends, but most of whom are merely friendly acquaintances.

After much trial and error, I have finally found the best place to buy a last-minute gift (Paper Skyscraper), the best place to get a manicure (Aloha Nails), the best place to get a quality inexpensive haircut (Aveda Institute), and best hamburger (Sir Edmund Halley's).

I have also forged relationships with folks whose services have come in handy at a fraction of the cost and hassle of other folks. Photographers, graphic designers, writers, travel professionals, caterers, pastors...if you need something done, chances are I know just the person to do it. And I'm not shy about referring them to complete strangers.

Case in point is yesterday. I hopped in my car to run an errand when--"yugh yugh yugh....clacker clacker clacker" -- my car wouldn't start. I checked to see if I left my lights on, but they were off. I was only slightly puzzled. Fortunately, there was a young 20-something woman sitting in an SUV in the parking lot waiting for someone. So I asked her if she'd give me a jump (since I always ALWAYS carry jumper cables in my car). It worked like a charm. Started right up. I thanked her and went on my merry way, but not before driving around a little bit and then parking near my house and cutting the car off to make sure it was OK.

It was fine.

Fast-forward to an hour-long trip to Costco, where I stock up on cheese, beef, chicken, fish and paper towels. When I tried to leave, "yugh yugh yugh....clacker clacker clacker" -- my car wouldn't start again. Saddled with trunk full of chicken, ground beef, and tilapia on a 94-degree day, priority one was getting my groceries home. So I called Scott to come over and give me a jump. About 10 minutes later, I tried and the car hesitantly started up. So I called off Scott and immediately rang my trusty, wonderful mechanic Steve.

I love Steve.

Steve's garage is in a seedy, dangerous part of town and his lot is littered with old Datsuns and Toyotas. I don't quite understand how he's able to make a living if what he charges me is any indication. He'll talk me out of any repair that's going to cost more than, say, $200, because, unless the repair means the difference between the car driving or turning into scrap, it just isn't worth investing that much into a car that's 10 years old and has 170K miles on it.

I love Steve.

So I called him on my way home to drop off the groceries. He told me, "Well, if you're looking to save some money, I'll sell the battery that's in my Camry for $20 and I'll put it in for you." I said, "SOLD. I'll be right over."

It took Steve all of three minutes to put in my battery. Whilst he was working, he informed me that I could probably get at least $1,000 more for my car today than a year ago because cars with great gas mileage -- even old ones -- are in huge demand. If you're stuck with an SUV, you're totally f**ked.

I replied, "Well, that makes sense. Times are tight for everybody, I suppose. I'm not working right now so I'm feeling pretty squeezed."

After installing my battery and making sure everything was working properly, I grabbed my checkbook to pay him. He said, "Tell ya what. When you get a job, pay me that $20 next time you're here."

See what I mean?! There is absolutely no way in hell I could move to, say, Houston, and receive that kind of grace coming out of the gates. That takes years of building a rapport, and, more importantly, sending referrals.

I say all this to express my hesitancy to relocate. I have been unemployed for almost three months and the job market here in Charlotte isn't looking so good. I might be better off, professionally, moving to Raleigh or Atlanta.

But I can't get a free car battery there....

Mr. G.: 29 June 1968 to 26 June 2010

On Saturday night, June 26, my dear friend "Mr. G." shot himself in the head in the midst of an argument with his on-again, off-again girlfriend of about three years. I found out on Friday while on vacation.

I had received a missed call and recognized the number, but it wasn't programmed in my phone. When I Googled it, his parents' land line came up. I assumed it was Mr. G calling to catch up, so I planned to call him when I got home since chatting with my ex whilst sharing a vacation house with my boyfriend's family probably wouldn't be exercising the best judgment.

Later that day, however, I received a friend request on Facebook from a nurse who worked with Mr. G. in Bethel, Alaska back when he and I dated. I accepted her request and checked out her profile to see the following update: "Found out today that my friend XXX passed away. My prayers go out to his family. Lesson of the day. If you think something is wrong say something."

I was stunned. So I called his parents and his father answered the phone. Honestly, I don't remember much of the conversation, but his dad said that he was struggling with the recent heat wave we've had after having lived most of the past year or so in Alaska. He was also having a difficult time finding another travel nursing assignment, which surprised me given that nursing is generally considered recession-proof. But his dad said, "Well, he really didn't like to get his hands dirty."

Sadly, he's right.

Which leads to my pontification of why all this happened and my feeble attempt to make sense of it.

In The Road Less Traveled, one my favorite books of all time, M. Scott Peck starts off with his book with a simple sentence: "Life is difficult." Life kicks us around. It's often unfair. And it is full of heartbreaks, losses and crushing disappointments. Most of us fill it with things that make us happy: family, kids, friends, hobbies that fulfill us and make life more bearable and give us a sense of purpose.

Mr. G., for reasons no one will ever really understand, filled it with stuff.

In the two years I dated him, he purchased dozens of phones, laptops, digital cameras, tons of clothes and shoes. When we met, he was driving an Xterra, which he traded in for something else. Then something else. All told, he purchased seven or eight vehicles, each one dragging him deeper in debt, even after he had filed for bankruptcy several years earlier. He also purchased thousands of dollars worth of high-quality gear for hobbies he'd try once (if that) and abandon: camping, kayaking, rock-climbing.

Once he graduated from nursing school (by the skin of his teeth), he took a similar approach to his career, hopping from job to job every couple of months. Our relationship, as chronicled in this blog, was as unstable as the rest of his life. I think we broke up three times, the last time being when he met the woman who would be the last person to see him alive.

So while I was shocked to hear that he took his own life, I can't say that it surprises me now. What shocks me is what led him to pick up that gun and pull the trigger. He hit his girlfriend: something that goes against every single cell in his body.

He had a strict, bone-deep rule against raising a hand to a woman, and in the two years we dated, he never once uttered a cruel word against me. His girlfriend was bipolar and prone to violent mood swings. She was probably fed up with his traipsing across the country and stringing her along, to be honest. Maybe she hit him first. Maybe she threatened to kill herself and he hit her to distract her from harming herself. All I know for sure is that there is no way it was unprovoked. And the sequence of events probably took place in a matter of seconds.

I am saddened by all of this. He and I were always -- above everything else -- friends. We probably should have never dated because I knew he wasn't relationship material and probably never would be. But he was kind. He was funny. He was one of most intelligent people I have ever met in my life. He accepted me fully, understood me when others didn't, and always had a kind word for me.

I will miss him terribly.

My hope is that wherever he is, he has found the satisfaction he never could find here on earth.

Rest in peace, my dear friend.

OB

Before & After

I have been out of work since April 2. It probably isn't a stretch to imagine how relieved I was to be "kicked off the island" of that dreadful, awful place. For the first two months, I was practically euphoric. With my newfound free time, I decided it was the perfect time to give my life a makeover. I took advantage of six free nutritionist visits through my soon-to-be-stupefyingly-expensive-but-for-now-still-paid-for health insurance carrier. By complete dumb luck, I was able to hire a life coach-in-training for only $10 per session. I had every intention of spending my days sweating at the gym, creating succulent yet healthy recipes, catching up on my reading and transforming myself into an athletic, healthy domestic diva -- complete with spotless baseboards, mildew-free tiles in the shower, organized closets, and a spiffy new coat of paint in my kitchen, bathrooms and living room.

Well, that didn't exactly happen. Sure, I cleaned out my closets. I even scrubbed my shower stalls free of mildew (Magic Eraser...you're the bomb!). And I certainly expanded my cooking chops beyond grilled chicken and salads.

But I haven't worked out for two hours every day. At best, I make it to the gym three times a week.

I haven't judiciously recorded every item I ingest in a neat journal and tallied up my calories every day. I don't eat my recommended three servings of fruit and five servings of veggies each day. And in no WAY have I been able to shake my habit for drinking really good beer....really high-calorie beer.

So, in essence, I have lost maybe 1.5 pounds in the four-plus months since I became unemployed.

But I have slept outside more times than I can count.
I have developed more endurance for hiking than I thought I ever could (granted, it still isn't great, but far better than before).
I have triceps.
I have a pretty good tan.

And, ladies and gentlemen, I have awesome kitchen cabinets!

BEFORE

AFTER

Just wanted to share. I really needed to have SOMETHING to show for all this freakin' free time!

OB