My (former) life as the crab

Musings about life after Crabby Office Lady

The death of the orange sweater May 10, 2012

Filed under: Annik — Annik @ 10:54 am
Tags: , , , ,

orange sweater (though not THE orange sweater)I have (had) these two friends–a couple–that I’d known for about 6 years. We’d become pretty close and they’d become close with my kid. We’d been there for each other through some rough times: family deaths, job losses, illness, pet deaths, childlessness issues.

Then, all of a sudden, last December, they stopped talking to me. Both of them. The last time I saw them was at one of their birthday parties. I brought wine, a gift, and even took off my the sweater I’d worn and gave it to the hostess when I was leaving because she loved it so much. (Needless to say, I said it wasn’t a favorite of mine anyway–which was completely untrue–but I figured that after what she’d been through this year, it was just a simple  token of my love and friendship for her.

I’m an idiot.

Then one day, I send an email inviting the two of them to a glass blowing experience–on me, of course–as well as updates on the family, asking about the now orange-sweatered gal and her grieving process (her dad just died and boy did we try to be there for her and her partner…AND their dog). I immediately received this curt reply:

“Thanks for the invite, but no can do.  Super busy right now.”

(I keep these sorts of things in case I forget who these people are or forget why it is we dropped out of each others’ lives.)

I wrote back and asked if that was all I was worth, a 12-word response without even signing her name.

No response. From her or her partner–who isn’t much of a writer/speller/reader anyway and yet still makes whopping boatloads of money doing…not quite sure, actually, but makes sure that YOU know that SHE makes the sort of money she does. You know, a typical come-from-no-money to now having money story and behavior that I’ve always let slide. (MEEEEOWWWW! Annik!)

And it’s 6 months later. Not even a call on my birthday.

Here’s the irony of this — and it is thick: My daughter is going through, with many of the 4th and 5th grade girls, daily dramas about who is friends with whom and who is being mean and who is gossiping and how the younger friends from last year’s class just don’t understand that when you’re in a different grade and a different class  you still love them but can’t always be or play with them because you’re trying to cultivate new friends too, people with whom you spend all day…and so on and so forth. Bian and I have many sit-down chats about how it’s important to TALK about what is going on so that it doesn’t fester and you don’t lose friends over things that maybe aren’t weren’t losing them over. That sometimes it’s scary to confront someone because maybe they’d said something hurtful. I try to teach Bian to not say a lot of “you”s when talking to this person; make it more about how SHE is feeling and not what the other person did or did not do.

And yet two 40-something women can’t even do that. And even if they tried now, it’s too late. I mean 6 months? Really? What could I possibly have done between the time we had a great birthday party to that weak response to my generous offer?

Of course I’ll always be somewhat curious, but I’ve let it go because life is short and people are weird and insecure (insecure is the key word here with that one) and I need to let my daughter understand that things like this happen. Even when we never find out why.

So it’s like mourning a death of two friends.

But more than that…

I want my orange sweater back!

 

Advertisements
 

Hawaiian advice January 6, 2012

Golden handcuffsA coworker (well we’re on the same uber team but we never really work together) fled to Hawaii just a few months before I fled to Colorado. Only SHE wasn’t allowed to keep her full-time status so she became a vendor, meaning she had the same job, same manager, but worked for a middle man. I, however, was allowed to keep my FTE status (for reasons I’m still not sure of) and it worked out pretty good until now because I’m not doing my old job, the one I loved and had passion for. No, I’m stuck in a job I hate, and didn’t apply for and wasn’t trained for. And it has great benefits and pays me a decent salary. Golden handcuffs I bleive they call it.

Anyway, this coworker and I had some email exchanges yesterday and she asked me what me dream job would be and I told her I’d like to write essays, compile them into books, and then read them live and go on book tours. Like David Sedaris only taller, and with a lower voice. But I do adore him. ANd his Billie Holiday impressions which is so exactly like the woman that it’s scary.  And maybe adore David Rakoff even more. (He is much darker; that could be why. I’m drawn to cynicism and disgust for my fellow man.) And he is “battling” cancer. I hope he’s okay. I heard him on Fresh Air last year and he said it was the SECOND time he’d had cancer. Yikes. I should go check on him.

Anyway, L, from Hawaii, suggested I consider writing essays in the voice of kids my own daughter’s age, 9-1/2. “Tweens” they are now called (because god forbid we go through one second of our lives here on this earth without some sort of label). I like that idea and I’m going to try it. I wonder if there are people doing that now. More research.

In any case, I have to go back now to writing help topics for the next version of Word aobut things I know nothing about, such as mail merge. I can’t believe there are still people employed writing help topics (let alone about mail merge which no one gets anyway). Help topics just make customers mad. We all know that. Why can’t the software just WORK AS ADVERTISED. Gee, someone with the intials S.J. who started up a little company that had fruit as its logo understood that. It works, it’s cute, you love it, you’re loyal.

But I am glad that every single one of my coworkers is employed (me included). Except my manager. He’s a coof. (And if he ever read this blog–which I highly doubt would ever happne because I don’t name names–he would be so mad …and yet deep inside know it’s true.

Thanks, L.V., for the chat yesteerday; for some reason, I felt happier and more hopeful.