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The Relationship Chronicles: My &^%*ing Office Mate (Part II)

This post is a continuation of a post about me and my beloved, and the joy of sharing an office.

While I struggle with design software, B-friend struggles with writing. He's actually a brilliant presenter and letter writer, but when he writes prose his work transforms into mucky verbosity. And yet, despite what we both know will inevitably happen from word one, he still asks me to review passages from his thesis, and I still say yes.

"'Developable?' that's not a word; put something else in here."

"It's jargon--you don't know it. Just move on."

"Bullshit--you made this word up."

"THEY know what I mean."

"Who's THEY? Other people with poor grasp of the English language?"

"Hey, all I wanted was an overview here, OK. An overall review, not a line edit."

He doesn't understand. I spent the first few years of my publishing career line editing text on weekends to make ends meet. I know the NY Times Stylebook backwards and forwards. I still hesitate before using the word "since" when I could use the word "because." And he wants to pull this jargoncrap with me?

I tell him: "But if I can't get through the first sentence, how can I give you an overview?"

"Just skip that line and move on."

"Whatever, fine (Reading the next line): 'This project envisions an urban prototype for the City, introducing a vibrant new pattern to the neighborhood...' Huh? A project can't envision anything. YOUR vision of the project can be an urban prototype for the City, but the project itself can't envision anything. Gotta fix that line. And prototype seems superfluous here..."

"It's jargon!"

"It's bullshit."

"Forget I asked." 

Another point of tension: The airport transport provision in our implied Co-habitation agreement. I would swear that it reads:

"In all events when a cohabitant requires a ride to the freakin' airport at such times when second co-habitant is not a) in class or b) in an unreasonable vicinity of cohabitants' home (i.e. "out of town," "hospitalized") or unable to perform chauffeur duties (paralysis or death), he/she is required to provide timely transportation to and from the airport, without complaint or guilt trip."

I asked b-friend for a ride to the airport today, and he said, "You're on your own, Babe."

Say wha?

The Relationship Chronicles: My &^%*ing Office Mate (Part I)

It's become a ritual of sorts: I wake up in the morning and check my email. If I don't have any meetings in the City I don't bother getting dressed. I just keep going and worry about things like brushing my teeth later in the day.

I know this is a departure from the ritual I devised when I first began soloing, but, I don't know--things happen. Now I have calls to make; people need answers for things sooner rather than later. I tried conducting a few conference calls in Starbucks, but it was distracting, and getting dressed and walking over to coffee shops has become more of a time suck than a means of sanity maintenance. Leaving my house has become, well, a luxury of late.

B-friend's in a similar boat. He's almost done with school and working on his thesis (I've been reminded countless times that it's not just "a paper," and I've reminded him countless times that I don't mean any disrespect when I refer to it that way.) He's also a finalist in a national design competition, and working double duty to finish his concept with his team this week before flying out for his final presentation.

And did I mention the size of our house--more like a standalone apartment? It affords us comfort, yes, but very CLOSE comfort. Our second bedroom subs as his office, my office, and the runover room for whatever personal effects won't fit in our other bedroom. His station snakes around the south and east walls, and my station lines the north side. On the west wall is a shelf unit where we've stacked everything that won't fit on or under our desks--old files, conference schwag, magazines we think we'll read someday; and on b-friend's exclusive shelf, greasy towels, a bike crank, a tool caddy and a head scratcher.

On the floor he has clothes strategically strewn into the following piles-

1. stuff that might need washing (he'll let it sit for a day, and if it still smells he'll wash it),
2. sweaty stuff that needs to air out, and
3. stuff that needs washing but that he won't be wearing in public and can have another go round.

I mention our shared office to illustrate the atmosphere we've been stewing in lately. It's a little, shall we say, tense.

In the Presence of The One

I had lunch with a friend today; that in itself is news. I've been in this work funk lately, the kind that causes people to call you and wonder if you're OK. The kind where you only realize you've been working for 16 hours when your forearms start to go numb from typing, and your breakfast, lunch and dinner dishes are getting in the way.

This friend has embarked on a soloing journey, though she's not sure where she's headed yet. She's been working a high-falutin, high-stress job for years and finally decided to make changes, after her umpteenth new boss, and the umpteenth employee she had to let go (you know the drill).

She's taking time to try everything--dance, cooking, writing her life story. Being particularly achievement-oriented, she takes on her exploration like a job. I can relate; back when I was unemployed--different from self-employed, mind you--I was more structured than when I had a job. People like my friend and me need structure. And we need draining jobs that take everything out of us, so when we lose or leave them, we can finally give ourselves the space and leisure we should have given ourselves during gainful employment. And we wonder whether we can ever corral ourselves to working that ferociously ever again.

My friend credited me with being autonomous in my career; I credit her with being autonomous in life--a different thing, actually. While I technically have my days to myself, I don't know if I've ever been completely autonomous. Even in my periods of downtime I've been preparing for something else, or taking on projects where others rely on me. I don't know the last time I woke up in the morning and did nothing without a desire to accomplish. So many people fear change; I fear not moving forward. And yet I long for being still at the same time.

BlogHer has picked up the pace, which sounds silly--since the organization took its first breath was it ever slow? Even the week after BlogHerCon last summer I was rushing around in post-conference phantom duty: Gimme something to do! Gimme something to do! And by the time I got used to doing less we were back into the swing of '06.

Now we're taking on big projects which are in stealth mode but will be rolling out very soon. And I find myself acting similar to how I did back in my Web 1.0 days--When I got home from work, took a shower, went to bed and did it all over again the next day. When my diet consisted of what I could grab while typing. When I realized I'd entered a cultural vacuum because I hadn't been to a movie, or a boutique, or a music store in ages. When I forgot I'd been wearing the same shirt for two days. When copies of The New Yorker piled up, and I realized I forgot to pay my rent. When I had this feeling of overwhelm but didn't know how to stop. when we worked like mad people because we hoped to go public in 18 months, only now we're doing it for different reasons, with a mission in mind. I feel like I need to pace myself, but don't know how.

"What's the big whoop?" B-friend tells me, when I rant about how there's always too much to do. "Just stop. Watch a movie. Go to bed early."

He's SO naive. The feeling is different this time, as I told my friend today. I feel motivated for different reasons--not to prove that I can do something--but because I am convinced that I am meant to do something involving women and media. Inconveniences have transformed themselves into learnings this time around, and colleagues are not barriers but rather desperately needed helping hands.

And there's an awareness not unlike that of a girl who refuses to fall in love too quickly this time around, who wants to check where her feet are at all times. Who resists just a little with each shove forward, not out of disinterest, but out of fear of being consumed again. Consumed without awareness.

When you look at it this way--it really is like contemplating the big plunge into a relationship, not just dating or playing the field, or waiting for the job to come to you. I think what I'm feeling is the awkwardness of something new. The awkwardness of trying.

   

Public Speaking for Neurotics

Some top resources--and my personal take--on the art and fear of Public Speaking.

The Blog Monster I've Created

I called my mother today. You know, the woman who I've said time and time again has made it her life calling to be there for her kids. I know, I need to let go. But still, it was disarming to have this phone exchange today. (I called Mom)

(Phone ringing)

Hello?

Hey, Ma, it's me.

Hi Sweetie! Hey listen, can I call you back? I'm posting right now.

It better be good, Ma.

The Blogomatic! It slices, dices, and even transforms a career!

I was asked by a blog buddy if I could speak with his daughter about her career path. I've had a number of requests like this, I suppose, because I've become the Poster Child of occupational change. Let's see, in roughly 12 years of post-collegiate employment I've had roughly...10 gigs (three of them fall into the self-employment category). I suppose this gives me master certification at how to help other people effectively jump ship.

In this way I consider myself something of a diving instructor; I help people adjust their oxygen so they save some for the tough parts of their dive into career self-realization. I offer ways that they can pace themselves and take on new avenues without burning bridges or burning out. I help them avoid panicking and running back to more secure, but less fulfilling corporate jobs so fast that they get the bends.

Truthfully, I love helping people with career planning. If I can help someone avoid overthinking and undercrediting themselves as early in their lives as possible then mission accomplished.

This woman, in particular, reminded me of me, or who I wanted to be, at age 25--a go-getter, confident, and a good networker. She told me of what she'd studied in college and the jobs she'd had. Like me she was a "liberal arts" type, who liked a little bit of everything. People like us have a hard time nailing down what we want to do with our careers. Put us in any job and we'll find something redeeming about it. We'll fantasize about working there for years and running the show. We'll toy with the notion of "Director of Such-and-Such Department" as our purpose in life, and then we'll wake up in the morning wishing we worked somewhere else. I understood this woman, a tightly packed ball of potential who wanted the right place to unleash it.

I listened to her story and avoided telling her outright what was on my mind; it seemed too typical of me to offer it up. Too facile. Too ... Silicon Valley woo woo.

To hell with it.

"Have you thought about blogging?" I said, wincing.

This seemed to be my panacea for everything from career dissatisfaction to relationship dysfunction. Somehow, in my world of open expression, just getting stuff out on digital paper for the world to see was the first step toward everything.

But I had a point.

Why you should be grateful for that tedious, White-Collar Job

I had a little reminder of how decent even my worst jobs have been in comparison to a few others. Even though I had to sign out to go the bathroom--I wasn't docked any pay. These people weren't so lucky. Posted on the BlogHer site.

My Two Minutes in the Spotlight: the SXSW 20x2 Event, where I told my secret

Thanks to Erik Hansen for offering up a clip of my 20x2 gig. For those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, I was asked to provide my answer to a frustratingly cryptic question in front of a boozy SXSW crowd, at an annual event called 20x2, where a number of musicians, writers, bloggers, and "bon vivants" (aka: jobless, but witty people) offer up their unique take on the cryptic question, which this year was, "What's the Secret?"

I know better than to think I can memorize anything, even if it's only in two minutes, so I wrote my answer(s) down on a piece of paper--ad libbing where necessary. Some folks did some hilarious short clips, a few sang and made me almost pee my pants. Some brave souls decided to conduct experiments, such as Kevin Smokler, who did a two-minute round of the game "Telephone" and found that people in bars don't listen.

Andrew Huff had people write secrets in lemon juice, which burns quicker than paper. He tried to burn the paper and read the secrets, but ended up standing there in pyrofrustration. (This should provide you with some context to the end of my two-minute presentation).

Robert Scoble opted to invoke the God of Customer Relations. He stood there, waiting for divine insights and managed to make out, "Listen."

Jimmy Wales was the "Secret" 21st guest, who offered up his secret, on the personal impetus behind Wikipedia. Now there's a guy who can pull a good story together quickly. He took pity on me and my bladder during the intermission and let me steal into the Men's Room instead of waiting in the women's line--smart AND kind!

For those of you who prefer text. Here's the gist of what I offered up to the question: What's the Secret? For those who want to see the clip, click here.

Special Offer: Mediocrity Plus!

I just got an email today from United, one of many airlines with whom I've opened a frequent flyer account. The email introduced a new United Product: Economy Plus Access:

New Economy Plus Access^SM allows you to enjoy the extra legroom in United's Economy Plus® section for one year. You can use Economy Plus Access to reserve your seat at the time of booking—using any fare—on all domestic and international United®, United Express®* and Ted^SM flights.

Now I'm one of those sit-in-the-back suffering types that accepts my lot; I get on the plane and go to the seat I'm assigned without trying to finagle a window seat, or to sit with B-friend, to avoid the middle, etc. I've never traded my many miles for a first class ticket, because for me getting there is more important than how. Being short, I'll always fit in whatever seat; though I'll never fully fall asleep or be totally comfortable on an airplane. So be it.

Mileage upgrades have made the crowd more uppity; they give us a taste of conspicuous consumption. A dear friend once upgraded me on a Virgin Airlines flight to "Upper Class" so I could sit with him. I had a manicure in the VIP area, signed up for a full body massage onboard (though, since I was an "upgrade"--a poseur, if you will, and not a true blood-- I only made it to the waiting list). I didn't have to wait to eat, drink, piss, or watch a movie. When the seatbelt sign was off we were invited to the bar in the middle of the section. I sat there on a stool, eating cheese puffs and rueing the descent back down to reality.

If you have miles, some of my friends argue, you'd be a fool for not cashing them in. Room up front for an extra $75? Where do I sign up? These people value additional service and legroom far more than I do. Don't get me wrong--I would love to fly first class, but I'm not sure what my income or mileage account threshold should be when I can consider myself deserving of it. When it comes to traveling, I'm like my grandmother, who still buys cheap white bread and the generic version of everything, even though she could buy the good stuff. She grew up with a Depression mentality that she's kept into her 80s. I suppose I've experienced my own Depression of sorts--when I did anything, save sell myself to get from Point A to B. I've done planes/trains/automobiles/camels to get where I needed to go affordably. It's like I'm still backpacking in Europe, and no one's told me that I've hit 30 years of age, when you stop shlepping and start paying for comfort and convenience.

I've been beaten down by Economy Class, I suppose, and stopped learning to expect traveling to be pleasant. I expect my shoulders to hurt from carrying a backpack I've stuffed past capacity (to avoid the baggage claim). I expect to be disheveled from having stripped myself of my shoes, belt, jacket and jewelry onto the security belt to avoid the rush of travelers behind me, who must dress entirely in Velcro because they always seem to get dressed more quickly than I do. I expect security folk to scream behind me, "Ma'am you forgot your boarding pass, and what appears to be the last bite of a Clif Bar!" because I've got too many odds and ends to coordinate. I expect to pay exorbitantly for a stale bagel and bad coffee (the Starbucks line being too long, I'd miss my flight if I waited). I'm used to being herded, checked, and seated, and to ask for help from someone who can a) lift my overpacked bag and b) reach the overhead bin. I'm getting used to "real food" being extra, and the numbness I get in my feet that are wedged along the sides of the bag I stuffed in the foot compartment in front of me. I'm used to getting 3 oz of Diet Sprite and 3oz of ice and wondering why the attendant couldn't sacrifice the whole can. I'm used to mediocre----LESS THAN MEDIOCRE--when I travel, which is why this offer from United struck me.

What I'm Learning at SXSW

This is my first SXSW, but as Lynne Johnson pointed out in the Blogging While Black panel, there's more color and estrogen here than ever. Thanks to Hugh for partnering with BlogHer and BlogHers to provide some thought-provoking panels. Some thoughts and experiences that I'd like to share from my experiences here at SXSW:

1. I have lost much of the drinking/partying endurance I built up in college.
2. Grown-ups regress when the booze is free.
3. The birds here are freaking crazy--I'm talking Hitchcock-like.
4. BlogHer is a model that others can use to develop a blogging group or platform--thank you Jason Toney for the shout out
5. And shout out to Jason for making a really good point about blogging while black: you can't wait for the attention to come to you--you need to seek opportunities to be seen. I couldn't agree more, and I apply that to the women's blogging community as well.
6. There is so much opportunity for computer hardware/software companies if they decided to focus on elderblogging. This isn't a market that won't use computers; they won't use computers that are too complicated. Whoever can create tools for seniors will benefit from a growing piece of the Blogosphere. Thanks to Ronni and to Lori Bitter at JWT's Mature Market Group for an awesome panel. I wish more tech companies were there to get the message.
7. Who's butt should we be kicking? That was the question in one of the BlogHer panels on Sunday, referring to why women may not have online profiles that match their contributions online. (Quick and easy translation: Why are more top ranking bloggers men?) My takeaway: This is the wrong question to ask. The right one is, how do we maximize our contributions online? All of the panelists reported speaking engagments, community building, book deals and other heavy hitting results of having a blog. That's hardly suffering.
8. Adults don't know anything: You would think anyway. I was blown away by the number of people who attended the panel BlogHer produced on teen blogging: Meet Judy Jetson--How Technology is Transforming 21st Century Teens. The crowd hung onto every word.
9. B-friend has all the power: I asked the panel in Bloggers in Love: Intimacy, Technology and Mask-Making if the fact that both partners were bloggers allowed them to be more transparent about their relationships on their blogs. I always thought that I needed to be careful when blogging about B-friend, because he doesn't have a blog, so I'd be abusing my "Power," so to speak, by publishing my version of our relationship. Derek Powazek made a great point: B-friend's  the one in power! He knows how you're feeling by reading your blog. I prefer to say he's more intuned  to my feelings--whether he opts to take advantage of this information or not. Still, point well-taken.

There should be a panel next time for "Mixed Couples" (one of us blogs, one of us doesn't), or as I like to say (one of us wields sarcasm, one of us doesn't). Could get ugly. But, hey, Ponzi and Chris worked it out, perhaps we could too.

Gotta run and do my Studio SX interview.