Sunday, June 24, 2007

Cars

I was watching Andy Rooney tonight where he tracks down his old Lexus. He tracks it through the dealership he sold it to, through a wholesaler, through another dealership, right to the family who bought it's front door. The Lexus is sitting in the driveway.

The actual owner of the car doesn't really speak English, but when Andy asks him if he likes it, he manages an understanding nod.

It never occurred to me that someone out there could be driving my old 1991 Dodge Spirit. Yes, the car with the broken axle, dented fuel tank, bent frame, masticated quarter panel, CD player with no faceplate, and cigarette burns all over the interior. I sold that car in 2001, when it had less than 100 thousand miles on it but I had beaten the shit out of it. That car and I went through a lot together: five years of college, two jobs, five relationships, two car accidents (one was non-contact, so that one probably doesn't count), and countless numbers of speeding tickets.

My car now is almost six years old and has virtually no problems. I replaced the oxygen sensor and had a wire repaired after I had a problem with fuses blowing a couple of years ago. One college class, one job, no car accidents, and less than half the number of speeding tickets as I had in the old car.

However, it certainly has sustained a significant number of relationships.

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Inadequates Anonymous

I would like to start up a support group for people who feel like they are perpetually inadequate. That way, we can come to group and tell everyone about all the bad things that happened to us that day. After each person of us tells our sob story, all the other participants will look at him or her and say, "you deserved it."

Yesterday I had a staff member walk into my office, crying, looking for a phone book. As she flipped through the book, she explained that she had lost her wallet. At one point, she stopped mid-sentence, looked at me pointedly, said, "are we done?", and walked out.

Last week a respected physician told me I had the most incompetent staff alive. He had every right to be furious, but I was offended that he would stoop to communicating with another adult in such a juvenile fashion. As the "Mama Bear," I felt I had no choice but to defend them, but I think the fact that I didn't get emotional or cry really pissed him off, so it just got worse and worse until the comments got personal, then I asked him if he was finished and hung up.

I have a report to review that was due last month. Not realizing the size of the report, I sent the request to my IS person (across town) to print it out because I can't print in that format at my printer. I asked her to print it and send it to me so I can review it for our annual accreditation inspection. She sent me an email today asking me how she should get it to me. (As in, "this report is so goddamn huge I can't fit it in the courier's car to bring it over.") I said I'd be over to pick it up on Friday. Her response to me was a kind-yet-sympathetic entreaty for me to bring a hand truck along. And I have to review this report by three weeks ago. Talk about inadequate.

On a good note, Zappos is sending me my shoe strap. All the way from Milan. No kidding. But I'm a failure for having lost it to begin with.

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

Small Town America


Tuesday, June 12, 2007

You Heard It Here

My therapist says I think too much.

I always knew I was a thinker, but I remember rationalizing by saying I am a woman. Doesn't that give me the right to think more than the average person?

Apparently, I think more than the average woman. And women, on average, think a-lot.

How, I asked her, do men actually think about "nothing"? I am going to make it my objective in life to figure this out.

And I have the perfect guinea pig.