Don't Mince Words

I woke and treated SB Man’s body like a jungle gym to the point where I knew I didn’t have to go to 24 Hour Fitness.  And, honestly, sex is a much better way to get the heart rate up, right?

Little did I know, a couple hours later my 50-inch Munch “The Scream” blow-up doll would arrive at the office. Without a bike pump or other tool, I proceeded to administer mouth-to-ass plug resusitation in order to reanimate my flat fellow.  About 10 minutes later, Scream was nice and tall and sitting on my desk, greeting everyone that came to marketing.

I was outside contemplating tobacco.  It’s been a long time since I’ve blown that much on a Monday.

I was recently told that I was living my own romantic comedy.  Dot com-crash-to-Wall Street girl leaves New York for Los Angeles for personal growth.  Discovers the emotionally unevolved, focuses on health, gets laid off more, and then moves to a small town where she has a job and a sensible romantic life.

This is finally my fucking movie.  Finally.

Living in New York was truly one of the greatest experiences of my life.  I connected with a lot of smart and wonderful people.  But I also saw the evils.  I lived in fear for nearly nine months after I turned a dirty cop in to internal affairs.  After 9/11, I figured if I was going to get whacked by the mob, it would be a better death than burning in a building.  Needless to say, it all worked out and I happily left corporate slavery and chose LA as my backup plan when San Francisco was still in flames from the dot com bomb.

As I continue to look forward, it’s easy to reflect with the benefit of hindsight.  And I am one of those people who wouldn’t change anything in my life because even the bad stuff shapes the future path.  All those awful Los Angeles dates served some purpose (I know what I don’t want).  My odd projects, contracts and jobs all taught me that no workplace is perfect (I know what I don’t want).  Working is a fool’s errand.  You just have to try to pick your fools wisely.

The same holds true with dating.  When I was in the beginning interview stages in Santa Barbara, I went to the online personals to get a sense of the mid-40s dating scene in Santa Barbara.  Call it socio-romantic ethnography.  My random how-much-does-it-suck inquiry revealed dating there wasn’t much different than anywhere else:  crazy ex’s, drama, kids, liars, and the chemically altered.  And from that honest baseline, I developed a friendship with SB Man through a very, very long interview process.

But that’s not all.

My girlfriends in Los Angeles squealed when I told them that I saw SB Man four times in one week after I moved.  “It takes about six weeks to rack up that kind of time with one man in LA.  No one wants to make that kind of time commitment for fear of looking….available,” one admitted.

In New York, you knew your life was good when the trifecta of job-apartment-love was in balance.  Here, I know that my patience and perseverance prevailed.  I just don’t know how the movie is going to end.

You know you are leaving Los Angeles when you can comfortably throw out your Thomas Guide, the non-GPS bible to getting around.  I knew I was leaving when the fire trucks arrived.

Your layoff lady of leisure is discontinuing her 61-week underemployment lifestyle.  My nationwide job search finds me relocating to Santa Barbara, California for a marketing position with a consumer electronics company. My seven years and a couple odd months in Los Angeles has been plagued with the usual California cliches:  low-speed chases in the neighborhood, workplace drug deals, and who-do-you-know business card trading.  Between the odd work experiences and the tragic dating scene, I would of smoked a 45cal if it weren’t for my friends.

Those same friends turned out to wish me well with martinis at Lola’s on a record-breaking 112-degree day in West Hollywood.  We were enjoying the nice central air when the electricity went out.  We assumed the production company in the back bar blew a circuit while filming.  We continued to drink by candlelight only to discover that the transformer behind the restaurant blew and was on fire.  In typical LA-fashion, we ignored the drama and continued to drink until we were asked to leave an hour later.

That’s the sum total metaphor of my Los Angeles experience:  with shit swirling everywhere, I chose to focus on my career and my love life.  I got no where.

It is time to evacuate.

I wish I could say it’s hard to believe I’ve been out of work exactly a year today, but it’s true.  I mentally assumed, based on the economy, my age, and my salary expectations, that my job search would be long.  That’s why I immediately dubbed myself the “Layoff Lady of Leisure.”  My new “job” title was formulated to keep me in a positive mindset.  But let me tell you, I’ve worked my ass off in the last year.  My life would of been easier if I had been on the job.

I took a week off, like they tell you to do, before I hit the streets again.  Of course, my first week of freedom was overcast, so I didn’t get a tan, but I did manage to get drunk.  But drinking brought inspiration through my past experience in New York where, after the dot com crash, I went to a lot of pink slip happy hours.  This time around, I had an army of unemployed friends so we spent a lot of time finding “hardship” hours with reduced drinks and food.  So, in the last year, I’ve participated in an unknown number of happy hours where job interview stories were exchanged in between cocktails.  This got me out of the house more often and away from Tex, my dog and CSO (chief snack officer).

But a Layoff Lady of Leisure’s life isn’t all about boozing.  On average, I spent about six hours a day looking for jobs, calling about jobs, going to networking events, and other self-pimping activities.  I applied for approximately 727 jobs nationwide and had 44 interviews.  The interviews, like dating in Los Angeles, became a source of good material.  For instance, I actually got the “What do you see yourself doing in five years” question.  Yeah, novice interviewers are fun.  I refrained from saying “I see myself going through menopause.”  I had better interview questions when I auditioned for “The Apprentice.”

Most people, when they are laid off, secretly say “Now I finally have the time to do ____.”  My fill-in-the-blank was pretty predictable: “finally lose those last 20 pounds.”  In addition to continuing my gym routine, I started a running program.  That lasted about two weeks when my knees gave up in protest.  I then moved to P90X and had a remote workout buddy in New York.  That routine is a great way to work on all your body parts and it isn’t intimidating like lifting weights around the hottest gay guys on earth.  In addition to this, I was going to yoga twice a week and hiking.  After my birthday, I decided to try to be a vegan as a personal challenge.  Well, the kind of vegan that doesn’t throw her leather shoes out.  I thought for sure that change would shake more pounds loose.  I added daily hiking and still wasn’t losing weight.  Armed with months of caloric data, I went to my doctor and found out if I didn’t have a thyroid problem, I would of been at my goal weight months and months ago.  Yippee.  Without the time to do all this physical and food experimentation, I probably would not of known I had a problem.  Without the Obama COBRA subsidy, I would of been uninsured and never bothered with the doctor.  It’s funny how things work out.

The rest of my “free” time has been spent productively as well.  I moved my site to WordPress.  I painted my kitchen and living room.  I organized my Twitter lists.  I networked my way to more than 500 LinkedIn contacts.  When Tex got really tired of me, I fostered another dog for him.  I read, I wrote, and I caught up on NetFlix.  I also did some less desirable things:  I sold gold for cash and withdrew part of my 401k to keep the bill collectors away… and, because we know a girl’s gotta drink.

I don’t know many people who can be out of work a year and still maintain a good attitude like me.  I’ve been through this so many times, I know the routine.  With good friends and good drinks, I can weather just about any storm.  Let’s hope the tide is changing soon.  Your Layoff Lady of Leisure is ready for a new job title.

As the cranky old lady of the internet, social networking can be annoying.  Probably because I’ve done BBS.  I’ve played in chat rooms.  I’ve created avatars and connected with people in communities with full voice duplexing and text.  I’ve built web pages without a CMS.  But as I’ve said before, I’ve gotta stay hip with the kids.  And I’ll do anything if it gets me laid or gets me a job.

Hence my love of LinkedIn.  I no longer have to send a mass email to my network that says “does anyone know the CMO at X Corporation?  There’s a great job there.”  LinkedIn has produced screaming efficiencies in my business networking.  It makes me feel like a whore in sensible shoes at a convention.  That is, until you see an old john.

The dark side of social networking is the algorithm used to connect you with others.  Schools, employers, outbox scrapes, and friend-of-a-friend connections are some of the ways social nets continually find people to keep you engaged.  LinkedIn was doing a pretty good job at helping me build my network until it decided my ex-husband was someone I should know.  I uttered a backwards scream and a GTFO and immediately clicked on the link, because you know I had to.  I had not seen him since 1994 and the last time we chatted, it was hilariously tragic.  He didn’t remember my name.  In this instance, this was what we call in the business a “happy” click.  His thumbnail image showed thinning hair (probably the result of 90′s hair product abuse) and puffy cheeks.

With a smile on my face, I X-ed him off my list.  He wouldn’t be able to get me a job, but at least I know I now have better hair.