My performance review at work was stellar. I actually hit a ball during the softball game. I’m becoming really good friends with a fellow blogger from Indiana, who sounds like a hick but gives really good text. My Best Friend in the Whole Wide World gave me shit about my Match profile. Tomorrow, I’m going to visit the company that laid me off, for a meeting. Michael, who blew me off, said that we should spend New Year’s together on a tropical island. On Saturday, my little girl will graduate from high school.
What an odd week.
First off, stellar performance review = YAY!! During my three month, “How am I doing?” meeting, my boss wrote how much he enjoys working with me. He said that I’m creative and I don’t care who gets the credit for the design. Get this: there was no “But.”
Every other boss that I’ve had, has said, “but you need to work harder,” or “but you overcommit yourself,” or “but you don’t listen well enough.” On one hand, constructive criticism is welcome. On the other, I have been beaten down and told that I wasn’t good enough so much, that I honestly couldn’t comprehend a stellar review. I was guarded. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It didn’t. Boss Man is REALLY, COMPLETELY happy with me and my work.
As for the softball game, I already blogged about that, but hitting that ball was one of the highlights of my week. So it’s worth another mention. I love being on a team where hitting the ball is an accomplishment. Getting on a base is a goal for a future game.
My Best Friend in the Whole Wide World, who has reviewed and commented on my profile previously, gave me shit about my Match profile. Rather, Reggie gave me grief over one little part of one little sentence. Can you guess?
It was, “My two beautiful/handsome, intelligent children are college age, so they take care of themselves.” I cut my original paragraph down to this one sentence AT HIS INSISTANCE! Now he has a problem with my one measly sentence?!
Here’s his logic: everyone thinks that their children are beautiful/handsome and intelligent. Saying so is cliché, so why say it?
My answer is, no, not everyone feels that way. If I just say, “My kids are in college,” then someone might read that and think, “Why is that all she says? Do they hate her? Does she hate them? Are they deformed? Are they in jail?”
Prisoners can take college courses, right? Online or something? I’m pretty sure I saw that in a movie or on TV, so it must be true.
I mean, if I read a guy’s profile and he just said, “My kids are in college,” I’d think something was up. Add the fact that he doesn’t have any pics of the kids, and I’d wonder if they had a restraining order against him.
Ok, so maybe I’m overthinking this. Bottom line, I love my kids and I’d plaster my profile with pics of them and write an entire essay on their virtues, if I thought that anyone wanted to read it. As it is, Reggie and I negotiated one sentence. And I’m standing by my sentence. It’s a good sentence, and if he thinks that my adjectives are superfluous, then he can just *not* read it.
And the whole disagreement is weird, because we’re talking about a mother complimenting her children. Right? Right.
Like I said, it’s been a surreal week.
Company H, which laid me off (it wasn’t personal, there have been a LOT of layoffs at that company in the past few months), is the sponsor of my master’s thesis. That is, they are paying for the project that I’m completing for my master’s thesis: the lab fees, the material, my undergraduate student lab assistant, etc. I could have taken a salary, but I’d rather have the lab assistant (Igor! Quick! Pull the lever!)
So now that the tests are complete and I have data, I need to present my findings to my sponsor. Who happens to be my old employer. Which is a little weird, right? I get to go back to the company where I used to work, as a visitor, and present at a meeting in a conference room 10 feet from my old desk.
The good news is, I like the guys who will be in the meeting. I even sent a “Get Well” card to one after he suffered a terrible cycling accident. (He’s mostly fine now, BTW.) So I’m not worried about it, or concerned. Heck, I’m not even nervous. It’s just…
Michael and I remained friends after we decided not to date. I haven’t seen him, but I did invite him to ComiCon. He didn’t make it, and that’s ok. We started a text conversation, he said that he was looking at vacation packages for New Years on a beach somewhere, and said that I should join him.
Um, hello, what?
Maybe he was joking. After all, NY is months away. Sure, he was just making small talk. I invite people to join me for tropical vacations on holidays all the time! It’s normal!
I keep talking about my upcoming vacation because I can’t seem to process what’s happening this Saturday. My little baby girl is graduating from high school. Little Sally Ann Strawberry is going to be a college student, for real. She’s already an adult—well, she’s 18, anyway. My baby—uh, young lady—will be sitting on the stage at graduation. She’s 3rd in her class, president of the Science Olympiad, etc. etc. I’m not sure exactly which title leveraged her elevation, but I am grateful. We had a heck of a time picking Jack out of the crowd at his graduation three years ago.
Since March, she’s been able vote, die for her country, make her own medical decisions, etc. But graduating…that’s another big milestone. Wow.
Again I say, surreal.
I’ll let you know how tomorrow goes at Company H. It’ll be after happy hour – I need a drink with friends after this week! In fact, I think I’ll start now.