When The Smoke Clears

My company hired me to do...... What? No one can answer that anymore. I thought they hired me to become a contractor. I thought they liked that I had experience running an office in the Navy, so I could help get the new branch office up and running while learning the ropes of the contracting world. But I have yet to see any kind of contracting work in the six months that I have been working here. I have been under the impression that this has been due to the fact that there has not been any contract work for me to do. The contract that I was supposed to become a team member of has been in a budget head-lock for the entire six months I've been here. So I've turned into something less than a secretary. A business degree from a top five school, three years work experience, and I make travel arrangements and email my friends all day to fill in the time gaps.

Then, a week and a half ago, a contract was brought to my attention and I could hear the angels singing. It had my name written all over it - database management. A huge chunk of my degree in college was dedicated to database management. If there is a person at my company who is anywhere close to a subject matter expert in this field that can get my company into this arena to compete, it's me. I may not have the work experience, but I have the knowledge. But I was not even considered for this team. So I emailed my boss and asked why, and promptly told him that my degree gave me a hell of a lot more knowledge and skill than anyone who learned Microsoft Access by "fooling around with it" on their home computer. He immediately put me on the team and we put in the bid. We've been waiting for the last week and a half to find out whether or not we were going to win this contract. This is fast in the contracting world, but the client wanted to get it in before the fiscal year ended. I had a great feeling about this. I knew this was going to work out. I have my resume together to send to other companies, because I can't sit around here anymore and do nothing. But I haven't sent it out, because I knew this was going to work out. This was my chance to do real work - work that I love to do. Programming. My gut was telling me that we were going to win this contract, and I was going to be the go-to person and prove to the people in San Diego that I am not a secretary.

I think the only thing my gut was telling me was that I must have had indigestion. We didn't win the contract. In fact, the entire contract was pulled for budgetary reasons. So I have no work to do. I'm writing this blog while I'm at work. In fact, I write all of my blogs while I'm at work. So when I finish this, I'm going to finish updating my cover letter to go with my resume and send it out. I like the people I've met at this company, but I like my sanity better, and right now, the latter is in question.

I inherited a wonderful gift from my father - the gift of reading people - their thoughts, their emotions, their reactions to events and other people. Some people learn how to do this by sitting in a classroom. Others of us were blessed with the gift from God. The ability comes from forming an unspoken connection with someone - it can even be a stranger - but it is most strong with someone you know that links you on such an intimate level that no one can ever see or most likely break. Great friendships can develop from these links. But even when you don't become the best of friends, there is the unspoken connection. People are drawn to you like a moth to a flame. I'm not trying to build myself up here as some rock star that groupies fawn over. I don't have an entourage. I have a small group of very close, great friends, but I have a very large circle of good friends that spans the country, all of whom I would fly to at the drop of a hat if they need something, and vice versa. It's that unspoken connection.

So why am I telling you about this? I actually had this blog written earlier, but there was an error posting it, so I've had to re-write it, and now it's of course longer. So I hope you're not already bored. But as a big reason I started this blog was because it was cathartic for me, not for your entertainment, I could really give two shits. Pardon my French. And please read on if you like. :)

This gift I received from God has allowed me to help a lot of my friends over the years. It has also caused some problems for me, I won't deny it. But that's another story for another time. Being so connected to people means that you feel what they feel. The good things that happen in their lives have a tremendously profound affect on your life. On the flip-side, though, the bad things that happen to them can bring your world to a crashing halt, too, without any warning. They may be feeling the emotions of one person, while you are feeling the emotions of many. I'm sure this is sounding weirdly selfish to anyone else reading this unless you are the same as me, but when you are feeling your own pain and sorrow, plus a little of his, and a little of hers, and a little of that guys, and it all starts to build up - it's pretty overwhelming. And if you don't have an outlet, it can be downright dangerous.

I have been dangerous lately. I recently lost a friend of mine, and I haven't found my outlet. I empathize with Mt. Etna. - steaming all day, bubbling with fire and heat, waiting to explode. You may think I'm talking about anger, but I'm not. That's what most people refer to when they make a volcano comparison. I'm talking about raw emotion. My closest friends and family have always known me to be a very emotional person. When I was a senior in high school, about once a month, I'd lay on my bed and have a good, long cry, and my mom would hold my head and stroke my hair. You may think that this just sounds like silly adolescent girly hormone problems, but it wasn't. This tradition was carried over into college, where my friend Shae took over where Mama left off, though she didn't stroke my hair, but rather she'd sit on my bed and give me a hug when I was done. Why did I do this? Because when I was done crying, I felt a massive surge of release. All of the stress that had been building up inside of me, any anger I had been harboring, any sadness I was feeling - it all came flowing out of me onto my pillow in that 30 minute sob-fest. I don't know when I stopped this tradition, but I think I need to bring it back into circulation. It used to be my outlet, and a very healthy one at that. Much better than alcohol or punching a wall or screaming or something. And so much better than Prozac. I've just been on the verge of crying about anything and everything - and I mean everything since my friend died a week and a half ago. I'm exhausted. I've been angry and wanting to yell at everything. So if you'll excuse me, I think I may leave work early today, go home, and soak my pillow for a little while.

Well, at least the option. I didn't partake.... of the beer, that is. Last night I attended a very interesting Bible study. The first part was a Bible study, anyway. We all met up at this warehouse bar - very cool joint that is unfortunately located no where close to anything - and ordered from the $2.95 Monday night bar menu. My friend Anna and I were a bit late as we hit some "I'm from Virginia so I have no idea what to do because it's raining!" traffic, but we caught the majority of the Bible study. It was very interesting. We talked about the origin of evil, but not in a heavy "I'm going to hell" sort of way. A lot of people were engaged in the discussion. I enjoyed it. And the wings weren't bad, either. Especially for $2.95!

After the Bible study, we all headed downstairs for the second half of the evening - dance lessons. Yep, you heard me right the first time - dance lessons. I had my first swing dance lesson last night. West Coast Swing, to be precise. To me, it seemed like a cross between East Coast Swing and Country. When we were just learning the steps, I had no problem, but when we first started with the music, I kept trying to two-step. My poor partners! But I got it down. I got in a little trouble with the teacher, though. She was calling out the different moves we were supposed to do so that we could stay together and she could watch our progress, and my partner and I were doing the wrong ones, and then we couldn't get back in with the group, so we just started doing our own thing. She had her eye on me the rest of the time. She had us rotate through partners, and it was as if I was contagious - no matter who I danced with, we always got the moves mixed up. I was the black sheep!

Finally, the lesson was over, and they just played music for us to dance to. They mixed in swing music with salsa and other types. They played a lot of salsa. I'd been waiting for this all night. See, being that I'm from Texas, I've been exposed to a lot more salsa dancing than swing dancing. My old roommate and I used to go to a salsa club in Austin where more than half of the men didn't even speak English, and they'd grab you and spin you around on the dance floor before you even had a chance to find a table and set your purse down. I was pretty rusty last night, but Anna and I vowed to find a good salsa club somewhere in DC to go to. I even met a cute partner last night. But we'll save that for another blog. :)

To those of you who read my blog, please keep the family of my brother-in-law, Joel, in your prayers. They live in Houston, TX. At this time, their homes in Houston are in the path of Hurricane Rita, which last I heard has been upgraded to a Category 4 storm. Joel is pretty worried about them. They are heading up to Dallas to get out of the storm's path. Their homes will more than likely be hit, though. So please keep them and their friends in your prayers, and pray that they are able to get out of Houston in time. Thanks!

Passed to me by Katherine the Great....
Don't let the fun stop here.... :)

7 Things I Plan To Do Before I Die
1. Live in England.... again
2. Learn how to ice skate
3. Become fluent in Italian
4. Learn to play the guitar
5. Find a job I really, truly love to do
6. Keep a fish alive for more than a week
7. Sing at an open-mic night - karaoke doesn't count

7 Things I Can Do
1. Drive a stick-shift
2. Change a tire
3. Design a web page using nothing but code
4. Drive a 684ft long Navy ship
5. Smoke a Cuban cigar, drink straight scotch, and like it
6. Understand and translate what Boomhauer on "King of the Hill" is saying
7. Pick up and sing almost any harmony line without ever seeing a sheet of music

7 Things I Cannot Do
1. Smell.... Anything
2. Fry bacon - the smoke detector always goes off
3. Wake up in the morning with my alarm
4. Keep a plant alive
5. Understand a French accent
6. Sing a first soprano line anymore - damn cigarettes!
7. Go for more than 24hrs without crying over something...genetics are a bitch!

7 Things that Attract Me To The Opposite Sex/Another Person
1. A strong Faith in God
2. A sense of humor - appreciation of my sarcasm and an ability to laugh at yourself
3. Common Sense
4. The ability to carry on an intelligent conversation, whether educated or not
5. A kind, open heart
6. Generous with time, not just money
7. An inability and unwillingness to put on false airs

7 Things That I Say Most Often
1. What's shakin' bacon?
2. What's up, chicken butt?
3. I'm bored!
4. (I don't know - my friends will have to fill in the rest here)
5. (Sorry I can't be more creative on these - guess I don't have a lot of sayings)
6. (Y'all can contradict me in the comments section, if you like)
7. (Or freely admit that I'm boring to talk to.... up to you)

7 Celebrity Crushes
1. Brad Pitt in Legends of the Fall (my dream man...ooo-la-la)
2. Colin Firth
3. Owen Wilson
4. Sean Connery (senior citizen's category)
5. Ron Livingston
6. Paul Rudd
7. Mark Ruffalo

7 People I Want To Do This
1. Rebecca
2. Joel
3. Paul
4. Mike
5. Justin
6. Running out of friens who blog who haven't done this already
7. Besides, the only friend above who'd do this is Becca. :)

I'm reading a book called Can You Keep A Secret? by Sophie Kinsella, one of my favorite chick-lit authors. She's the British authoress who wrote all of the Shopaholic books (four in total) that topped the New York Times Best Sellers list. You should read them. Great entertainment for a Saturday afternoon. And you thought I loved shoes! She's completely hilarious. Anyhoo.... I just started reading Can You Keep A Secret? the other day. It's a story about a girl my age who ends up spilling all of her worldly secrets - everything from the fact that she waters her office mate's plant with orange juice when she pisses her off to the fact that she hates G-strings - to the stranger sitting next to her on a very turbulent flight (she's deathly afraid of flying, thus the verbal diarrhea). In her hour and a half gut-spill of private information, she spilled one bit that changed her entire course in life. She's never been in love. She and her boyfriend were the "perfect couple". They were supposed to move in together, but instead, a few days later, she broke up with him, much to the shock and horror of everyone (including him).

So I know that it's just a stupid story in a stupid book, but it got me to thinking about the decisions we make in life, and why we make them. I am the only person on this planet that knows my heart's true desires, and only God knows them better than me. But is it enough for me lie in my bed at night, praying to God that my wishes and desires will come to fruition? Do I even realize what they are unless I share them? Or am I like the character in the book, holding on to what I have because it's the "perfect this" or the "perfect that", when what I really need is a little turbulence and some verbal diarrhea so I can spill my guts and say what I really feel?

I think we all need to share a little more. Maybe we shouldn't do it on a plane ride to a complete stranger when we think we're going to die. Maybe we should share with our best friend or our sister our our spouse. Maybe we shouldn't lie about enjoying jazz music, only to suffer for it for the next 20 years because we don't want to hurt someone's feelings by fessing up to the lie. Maybe if we all opened up a little bit more, instead of trying to be perfect.... maybe if we just acted like ourselves, sarcasm, pimples, cellulite, and drunken photocopies of our faces and all, and all laughed about the fact that we all have these things - all of us - we could move on and enjoy the time we have together. So my answer to the question is to share.

For your love of Guinness and all things Irish (including potatoes).
For champagne, candles, and your hidden romantic side.
For smoking Cubans under the stars off of the coast of Africa.
For a man who can admit that he loves to watch Sex and the City.
For introducing me to frozen White Castle burgers at 3:00am.
For giving me a weekend home all summer when I didn't even ask.
For having my coffee waiting when I woke up, hung over on the couch.
For suggesting we all drive to Atlantic City at 2:30am - my favorite road trip!
For continually trying to find me the perfect man, insisting that I deserve him.
For singing James Taylor songs with me every time we went to The Reef.
For your shoulder to cry on when my nervous breakdown came from nowhere.
For never telling anyone about my nervous breakdown.
For never saying no to a friend, no matter how big or how small the favor was.
For having one of the biggest hearts in the world.
For my friend, Charles A. Henderson, better known as Charlie... a.k.a. Hen-dog
You have touched more lives than you will ever know.
You are loved and missed.
Rest in peace, dear friend.

This one's for you, Mike!

Last night was my first Texas Exes Happy Hour. I was a little excited and a little nervous, so I extended an invite to my extended family up here in the DC Metropolitan area. Most of my pals couldn't make it b/c of work or other reasons, but two could - my new friends Anna and James. The three of us walk into the bar together, expecting to hear whooping and the banging of shotguns going off as the Texas Exes are gettin' rowdy and havin' a grand ol' time. Nope. Nothin' but a bunch of young professionals in suits in a chrome and polyester bar with a bunch of TV's that is in no way "Texas". So after about a minute, we leave. As luck would have it, the bar that my little brother works at was only about a 10 minute walk from where we were, so we went there instead. We ate, we drank, we were merry. When we were done eating, we decided that since we didn't want to go home yet, we'd go back to Old Town and go to this karaoke bar where the locals are very entertaining.... You know the kind - "Tonight I'm going to get my big break into the music industry!" Colin (little brother) tossed me the keys to his truck and told us he'd catch a cab when he got off work, so we hit the road.

We reach the karaoke bar early, so we snag a prime table - I'm talking $1000 front-row seats at a Garth Brooks concert prime. We can see the singers, we can see the words on the screens, and we're right next to the dance floor - oh yes, people, there's a dance floor. The first subject of my diatribe here is Michael Jackson. This little short white man with a long pointy nose and spiky hair got up onto the stage about 2 songs into the entertainment. He was off key, yes, but he sang, he danced, he jerked, he moon-walked, he screeched, he hopped on his toes, and finally, he groped himself. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, he groped himself in true Michael Jackson form. And what did this get him the rest of the evening? This got him the competition of two ladies, vying for this attention. All Anna, James, and I could do was stare at each other, laugh, and say

WHITE PEOPLE ARE CRAZY!!!!

But wait.... There's more. As we were getting ready to leave later in the evening, I got up to go to the rest room. I left Anna and James sitting at the table. As I was washing my hands, I heard the next "artist" begin. Someone was trying to immitate DJ Kool with "Let Me Clear My Throat", and he wasn't doing too bad a job with it. Sounded like the crowd was getting into it. The bar was half-way packed by now, I guess. It was about 11:30. I figured it was this tall black guy who had done DMX pretty well earlier in the evening. Props. So I walk out of the bathroom and look up to the table and Anna and James aren't sitting there - they're out on the dance floor. I look up to see who's rapping. It's not DMX. Nope. It's pasty white guy with one of those half-boot things you wear when you hurt your foot who's been singing country music all night long who looks like he works the grave-yard at the 7-11 down the street. And he doesn't miss a beat in that song. Not one single word. Pasty white boy tears it up! All I can say is,

WHITE PEOPLE ARE CRAZY!!!!

Once again, my sarcastic, smart-ass nature got the better of me this week, and I put my foot in it. Luckily, it wasn't too bad. I came in to work Tuesday morning and thought that the one demeaning job I have to do in this hell-hole of a job I currently have had been circumvented by a man who I assumed had decided that I was nothing more than a secretary getting paid way too much money. I sent a nasty email to both him and the travel agent he decided to speak directly to (instead of using me like he's supposed to). It was a nasty email. Not very professional. I didn't swear or anything, but I used ALL CAPS at least once and broke things down kindergarten-style for them on a couple of occasions. Turns out all that had happened was that the "pompous employee" had only called the agent b/c it was Friday afternoon before a 3-day weekend and he was (unnecessarily) anxious about whether or not a ticket had been purchased and I had already left the office for the day (after 4:30 on a holiday.... yep.... I'd left), and while he had him on the phone, had asked him to check on something he had been unsuccessful in obtaining for himself. They had just both failed to email me and tell me that this phone call had happened b/c it had happened late Friday afternoon. Classic miscommunication. Then classic Molly flying off into the deep end. Followed by two deeply apologetic emails from me for my first hateful email.

Love my sarcasm when it comes to my sense of humor. Hate my sarcasm when it comes to my anger. You should have read the first draft of that email, though. Wow, was it a doozy! Sailors would have blushed! I need a new job!

As I sit, typing away slowly in the semi-ghost town that is my office building on this semi-holiday that is the Friday before Labor Day, my sister is probably sitting in some lovely Italian cafe, eating a wonderful plate of pasta with her husband, sipping on red wine in the warm summer night. I'm short an email buddy for the next week. She better bring me back a damn good present is all I have to say! They're going to Florence, Milan, Venice, and Rome, though not in that particular order.... I can't remember the correct sequence. Forgive me, I'm not their travel agent or their Orbitz account. So I'll just hang out here in DC. I'm sure there are some cool things to do here. I hear the Smithsonian Museums are alright, and there are supposed to be some neat monuments or something. Doesn't the President live here?

I've been meeting some new people recently. I've liked them all, and I'd like to think that all are becoming actual friends, not just acquaintances. In my life, I know when someone has become a friend because they start appearing in my weird dreams. So one of the people I've started hanging out with is officially a friend, because last night, he was in a weird dream with me. All I remember is that we were riding around on a moped or a small motorcycle (can't remember which, or why it was either, as neither of us drive one or the other) in the parking garage at his apartment. We were looking for a parking space, but for some reason, we were trying to park in a visitor's spot, so it must have been my moped/bike. Every time we pulled into a "visitor" spot, though, it automatically changed to a "resident" spot, so we had to back out and try again. This just kept repeating, so the whole dream was us pulling into and out of parking spots. Weird. He's officially a friend now, though, which is good to know, I guess.