Fake Friends Are True Enemies

Here's a basic rule about making friends at work: don't. Just don't.

I would estimate that 99% of people who you think are your friends from work aren't your friends at all. The moment that their needs change based on your position, they will disappear. After quitting my job, I was faced with the reality that the majority of people that I thought were allies were always just snakes in the grass, generating and circulating rumors about me.

I remember that after I had quit and my old office announced my departure, my phone was flooded with three different types of inquiries. The first type was - "Are you okay? What happened?" because God forbid I decide to do something for myself, and these people were just fishing for information. The second type was - "Why didn't you say anything to me?" as if I had some kind of obligation to clue people in to my personal plans. The third type was - "Wow! Good for you! Let's catch up!"  because these people were actually happy that I escaped an environment that wasn't working for me.

Most people fell into the first and second categories. About three people fell into the third category. The people that fell into the third category are the ones I still talk to from what I like to call "my old life." The people from the first two categories are the ones who started a lot of the gossip, didn't keep in touch, and were only looking for something from me to validate their petty conspiracy theories. Good drama makes good gossip, but good gossip doesn't make good friends.

In law, I've realized that it's better to keep to yourself. When you want to make a career move, you have zero obligation to tell anyone else about it. The people who feel that you do owe them some explanation for your life and your choices are the ones who are not authentic. A real friend accepts your choices and doesn't try to concoct explanations for why you do things. A real friend remains patient because a real friend knows that you'll be ready to talk whenever you're ready to talk.

Work "friends" are the worst because they are the ones who will take your information to use it to their advantage. They will try to twist and manipulate once you're not there to defend yourself, all to elevate themselves. They want to make themselves look like heroes, because how dare you leave them behind to their pettiness.

It's been refreshing to purge myself of all of the gunk I had in my life. When it comes to work, know that there will always be snakes in the grass. That's just how work environments are. People call themselves a team, but the truth of it is that everyone will throw you under the bus if it means they can get ahead.

When it comes to work, trust no one. They might smile at you, and seem kind and endearing, but know that what they carry behind their backs is a long knife with your name on it.


photo credit: https://www.friendsquotation.com/18425/fake-friends-believe-in-rumors.php

Breaking the Rules

As a lawyer, I love the rules. I treasure them. Good rules, a.k.a. good law, make for good order. They're great because everyone knows what is and what isn't okay. They usually make life easier, but sometimes they can also stress a person out, especially when it comes to areas that don't always operate in nice, neat little dimensions. Love is such an example. 

When it came to my dating life, I had a set of rules that I had collected and formulated over the years from different dating books that I'd read. Most of the time, they worked. Obviously, however, they didn't work completely because, well, I'm still single and in my thirties. Some people could say, well it's because you haven't met the right guy yet. Well, duh, I'm not going to marry the first yutz I come across. When it came to selecting my next guy, I had a list of criteria that I wanted. 

Over time, the list became longer and longer. It reached a point where I thought, who gives a shit about the rest of this stuff? Is it really necessary? 

So I narrowed my list of 30 things to a simple 6. 

Here's my list: 

(1) The guy needs to be a professional. I need a man with a good career and a steady job. I'm a lawyer, but I don't plan on becoming a sugar mama. If I wanted a baby, I'd go to a fertility clinic and get myself impregnated. 

(2) The guy needs to be within my age range. I don't see myself dating a 21-year-old. 

(3) The guy needs to have a good set of values and beliefs that are similar to mine. If he's out every night at the strip club, or if he's going to be scoffing at Catholicism every 5 minutes, or if he's a xenophobe, he's not my type. End of story. There's just no negotiation here. 

(4) The guy needs to accept me as I am, whether I'm 5 pounds overweight, or Catholic, or whatever. He can't ask me to change. If he's trying to change me, he's not for me. 

(5) The guy needs to be caring and reciprocal of my feelings. He needs to be the type to make me feel good about myself, even when I feel like a hot mess. 

(6) I need to feel attracted to him. He doesn't need to be Tom Cruise or Mr. McDreamy, but I need to want to jump his bones. He doesn't need to be the hottest guy in the world or the most muscular, but I need to find him attractive. This actually goes without saying. 

In the past, I would've only gone for a guy who was super built, or very very tall. I certainly never would've dated a guy who was only now switching careers. 

Yet, I find myself dating a guy who is my height, who isn't super muscular, who is switching careers. I normally never would have looked twice at this guy, but when I started talking to him and giving him a chance, he started to win me over a little. One date turned into two, and here I am a month later. 

Don't get it twisted - I don't know if this is the "forever" guy. I'm just taking things slowly and seeing where they go. The bottom line about all of this is maybe, sometimes, you just need to stop making things difficult for yourself. Maybe, when you let go, you'll meet somebody very nice who makes you feel pretty and valued. Maybe you'll meet someone who likes you for you, and respects you and everything you've built for yourself. He respects your thoughts, your feelings, and your opinions. He accepts you as you are, and not what he wants you to be. 

I think the hardest part about dating someone new now, after being single for three years, is letting myself open up. After all the hard betrayals I've had over the years from ex's - from my latest ex who was abusive and was cheating, to another who cheated on me, to another who wanted me to change who I was at my core, it's been tough for me to say, "Okay, I'll give this another shot." Not just that, but the betrayals I've had recently from a bunch of "friends" (and I use this term loosely) from my old job who acted like they would have my back only to turn on me as soon as the wind changed haven't made me exactly willing to open my arms to new people. 

I still have faith to move forward. That's the foundation for all of this. It's why the six criteria I've laid out were forged. I have faith to move forward, to break all the old rules and allow myself to meet someone new. Love doesn't need to be so difficult. 

The final barrier is the one I built around my heart. I might let people up to the gate, but it'll be a while before I let them in to the inner sanctum of my heart. 

All things take time, but break some needless rules to let that time begin.

photo credit: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/432416001697850789

I'm back! And with a whole lot of changes

photo credit: https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/top-10-reasons-why-you-need-switch-new-job-now-greg-brown

In my last post, I let you know that I was taking some time off for myself because I wasn't happy. 

It was more than being unhappy. I was in absolute misery. 

Imagine being 32 years old. You're single. You're in a job that is so full of bureaucracy and bull shit that you're disgusted on a daily basis. You don't feel like you're growing in your career. You're surrounded by a lot of fake people. Your job eats up so much of your time that you barely have time to look for a new one. 

So what do you do? 

You quit. 

That's right. I quit my job. Literally. I walked. I jumped out of the plane and I had no idea what color my parachute was. 

I'll never forget how I felt when I walked out of that building after I quit. It was the best feeling of relief. I was now free to shape myself in the all-American pursuit of happiness. 

The following day, my office announced my departure in an email. My cell phone became flooded with messages from people asking why I left. I hadn't really told anybody what I was feeling. Some people took it personally and felt offended that I didn't say anything to them. Others wanted to see how I was doing. Then there were the gossips - those who barely said two words to me while I was there, and suddenly were interested in knowing all about me. They just wanted intel to go back and feed back to their gossip lines. Remember what I said before? Lawyers love three things: alcohol, sex, and gossip. 

I didn't want to respond to anybody. So I didn't. This period was going to be all about me, without anyone questioning me, without anyone offering me unsolicited advice, without any negativity. My life was about to go on a wild reset. 

My new full-time job was deciding what job I wanted and how to get it. I went about researching, asking questions of people in the field, and applying to jobs that I wanted. After a month, I got an offer with a start date a few weeks later. 

I've been at my new job for a while now, and it's much better pay, much less stress, and my co-workers are fabulous. I'm learning new things, meeting new people, and I'm excited about the future.

Not everyone from my old life decided to walk with me into my new life. A lot of people, for whatever reason, stopped talking to me. Part of me wonders if it was because of politics. In my area of the world, there's been some campaigning occurring, and people are taking sides. One of the candidates was someone I worked with and remained friends with. A lot of people didn't like that, so they dropped me. Unfortunately for them, I am fresh out of f*cks to give. 

My work life isn't the only thing that's changed. 

The love department has been cooking up a storm. 

After I got more settled in at my job, I decided to start dating again. I've met someone that I really like. It's only been a couple of weeks, but I think this can really go somewhere. We'll see where things go. 

There's something to be said for taking control of your own destiny. I got stuck in this mentality that I couldn't move forward, that this was the life I was condemned to live. One day, while I was out running, I thought, Why? Why does it have to be like this? Why can't I break these chains? 

I did what nobody was expecting. I broke the chains. I left behind the negativity. I cut out every single person and voice that was holding me back or who made me feel bad about myself. I was sick of it. I was sick of all of it. I moved forward. 

And guess what? 

I'm not looking back. 

Endings, Beginnings, and No Apologies

Over the last few months, I had done a lot of soul searching. I haven't been happy with the direction of my life. I have been feeling like a plant that is outgrowing its pot. It's time for me to put down new roots. 

I've made some radical decisions in order to make that happen. It's time for the Single Beauty to truly remain the Single Beauty and move forward on a new path. 

With the hustle and bustle of daily life, it was clear that I couldn't focus on me. I was focusing on everything else but me. I found that I was becoming increasingly unhappy in my career and in my personal life. 

This is not where I thought I would be in 2017. 

It's time for me to take time to myself and focus on forging a new path. 

This is not a goodbye, but this is a "see you later." 

The Action Shot

It's been a while (almost a month!) since I've ventured into a date. So far, the new year has only revealed more douchebags that I really have no desire to go on a date with. I've noticed a growing trend in what I like to call "the action shot." It seems that men think that if they post a clever pose of themselves in some type of action, it will increase their chances with women. I must be the odd woman out since these photos don't pique my intrigue in the least. Observe:

Specimen 1:

Yes. Specimen 1 posted a photograph of himself wandering aimlessly in an aquarium. Is he trying to convey the message of, "Hey, I can appreciate nature! I'm also an intellectual type, since I can learn about these magnificent creatures in an aquarium." It's just an odd photo, and who on earth was taking the picture? A ex-girlfriend? 

On to Specimen 2: 

En garde! He is coming after your heart! Notice that I said your heart, not my heart. Okay, he looks like he could be fun, and that he has a sense of humor, but actually POSTING this photo screams nerd. It might be a cute facebook photo to post, but this does not scream attractive at all. Again, who the hell was photographing this guy? 

Let's move to Specimen 3: 

This picture says to me, "Hey, I might be tatted up, and my room might be super messy, but I am an intellectual. Look at me, I'm in an intellectual pose." This is, no doubt, a selfie designed to raise his image. I give the guy credit for trying. 

Here's a really fun, egotistical guy, Specimen 4: 

This looks like a family member could have snapped this wonderful action pose. He is at some sort of gathering, apparently a barbecue. Oh look! He's in the middle of telling a joke or a funny story! It's as if he's saying in this photo, "Let me tell you about this one!" I'm not impressed. 

Here is the biggest douche out of the bunch, Specimen 5: 

This was probably pulled out of some photographer's website that he spotted himself in. You can see he's holding a drink, and he's in a crowd of people. For him to actually look straight at a camera, smile, and point is the epitome of douchebaggery. It's as if he's saying by posting this photo, "Hey baby, you could be the one for me!" No thanks. I swiped left. If I smell douche, I run the other way. Who has time for that mess? 

So far, the dating prospects of 2017 are not looking so hot.  

No Mistletoe For You

I still had some hope about finding love in 2016. Recently, I started talking to a guy who seemed fun and goofy. I mean, look at this profile picture: 

Adorable, right? He was from the area, had a so-so career (he was in real estate), but overall he seemed to have his life together. Now, you may be thinking, why are you dogging people who work in real estate? 

I'm sure that plenty of people who work in real estate are nice people. From my experience, men who work in this field tend to be douchebags. They are pretentious, haughty, and overall superficial. However, after some criticism from close friends that I should "ease up" on my list of excluding criteria, I decided to give this guy a shot. 

We decided to meet at a Starbucks that was midway between where each of us lived. It was a little bit of a hike, but I thought to myself, this could be worth it if the guy turns out to be nice. 

I got to the shop and peeked inside. There he was, sitting on the couch, with a creepy smile on his face. We greeted each other with a hug, and I felt myself shudder. I felt zero physical attraction. I kept telling myself to stop being so judgmental. So what if the guy felt like a wet noodle? What was on the inside is what matters, right? 

He asked me what I wanted to eat for dinner. 

"Dinner? I thought we were just having coffee, so I ate already, since we were meeting at Starbucks." 

Mind you, this "man" said nothing about meeting at Starbucks first and then going somewhere else for dinner. Everything said let's just meet for a coffee and see where things go. 

"Oh, well, I hadn't eaten, so I wanted to get something to eat." 

"Well, we can go to a restaurant, and I can get a drink if you want to get something." 

"No that's okay, I'll just eat something here." 

Strike 1 - you can't seem to make normal plans. Say what you mean. 

We made our way to the line. Like a gentleman, he allowed me to go first. I ordered a simple tea latte, since I would be sleeping in a few hours and I didn't want to get myself overly caffeinated. I noticed that he didn't stand next to me in line. He stayed behind me. The barista asked if that was all. He didn't order anything. I paid for my tea. 

Strike 2 - if you want to impress a woman, be a man and pay. It's a tea for heaven's sake! 

I was annoyed, but I thought, whatever. While I was waiting for my tea, I snapped a photo of him in line. As you can see, this guy screams wet noodle. 

He ordered a sandwich and a coffee. We sat down at a small table and he started eating. It was like watching a small child - cheese going everywhere. He would wipe his mouth, and he had the creepiest smile ever. It made me wildly uncomfortable.

We chatted and went through the usual "get to know you" topics about family, siblings, job, etc. He asked me about judges and lawyers in the area, and who I hated. When I told him that the attorney ethics code prohibits badmouthing, he scoffed to me, "You are probably the first lawyer I've met that doesn't badmouth!" He pressed me again to badmouth people. I was getting annoyed at him and it left a bad taste in my mouth. Dude, we're on a date. Why do you want to gossip about people you don't even know?

The topic then moved to politics. He told me how he admired that I was not a Trumpster. He revealed to me that he was a Gary Johnson supporter. I joked to him, "So, unlike your candidate, do you know what Aleppo is?" He defended Johnson, saying that he was caught off-guard. I responded that someone running for a position of world leadership should know up-to-the-minute information about world events. Then, this response really left me with a bad taste:
"Well, who really cares about Aleppo. I mean, we're here in a Starbucks. It doesn't affect us. The city sounds like a brand of dog food anyway."

I was disgusted. What I really wanted to do was tell him to have a nice night, get up, and walk out, but I have more class than that.

We talked about other topics, like favorite writers, books, and music. He mentioned a couple of American classics, like Emerson and Hemingway. You know, the stuff everyone reads in high school. When I threw out a few other names like Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Isabel Allende, he was clueless. It became painfully obvious that he was extremely uncultured, uneducated, and, frankly, he was nothing more than a bumpkin attempting to make himself up to be more than what he was - an insensitive, unrefined Wet Noodle.

Strike 3 - you have no decency or intelligence when it comes to topics concerning current events or culture. Being painfully insensitive to world tragedies is a huge turn-off.

He asked me what my dating life was like. He started to air his complaints about how women ghost him after dates. Gee, I wonder why. He admitted he was guilty of ghosting a few himself, but that usually, when he gets home and he wants to message the person he went out with, *poof!* she's gone.

I finished my tea, and I didn't want to spend another minute with the Wet Noodle with the creepy smile and lack of human decency. I announced that I finished my tea and had to get going to complete a few errands. I bid him goodbye.

Once I was in my car, the first thing I did was ghost him completely. It seemed like an appropriate remedy to a terrible date with the Wet Noodle. If he didn't have a shred of decency to pay for a lady's tea or have any sympathy for people getting executed in the streets, I certainly wasn't going to give him the benefit of any decency or sympathy in telling him that "things just aren't going to work out."

So much for the final hopes of love in 2016.

A Very Botox Christmas

I love this time of year. Holiday parties galore, where the foods are a'plenty, the wine is flowing, and music is going. I've been hitting party after party every weekend. Last Friday, my friend "Patty" invited me to a party at a home of a friend of hers. I gladly accepted the invitation, thinking that interacting with a whole new circle of people would enrich my own social circles.

Patty texted me the party information. I was intrigued by the address, as it was located in an older part of town. As I pulled up, I thought I was driving into a magazine photo shoot. What I thought were two houses was actually one house that connected two seemingly distinct buildings. The outside was immaculately decorated with a large horseshoe driveway. Large wreaths adorned the door. I double-checked the address. "Holy shit," I thought to myself. 

I rang the doorbell. I heard voices within, but nobody came to the door. I thought perhaps I was at the wrong address. I texted my friend and rang the doorbell again. 

Out popped my friend. "You're at the right house!" she chirped. I walked inside the magazine house. 

The beauty outside the home was no match for the beauty inside the home. The fireplace was roaring. The home was decorated with poinsettas, pine, candles, and other miscellaneous holiday adornments placed everywhere. It seemed that not even a speck of dust had dared settle anywhere. Holiday music was softly playing. I was amazed. 

"Make yourself comfortable!" my friend said. I set my purse down. I took a moment to walk around the living room which was larger than my one-bedroom apartment. I looked at the photos on one of the mantles. The couple who owned the home was picture-perfect. They were young. The woman was pretty, blonde, and had an excellent body, and the husband was very handsome with a body to match hers. Another photograph showed the couple with their two young daughters. The girls appeared to be in elementary school. "This is what everybody wants - wealth, a banging body after two kids, and a hot husband," I thought to myself. 

Moments later, the husband emerged. He appeared slightly older than the photograph. He was very tall, about three heads higher than me. Like any good host, he offered to get us some drinks. "We have a homemade pineapple vodka if you would like to try that!" I accepted. It tasted like the vodka went to the Caribbean and became a citizen. It was delicious. Recognizing the danger in such a delicious drink, I limited myself to one glass of it. 

More guests began streaming in, each one a character that was distinct from the next, but I noticed there was some commonalities among them all. The wife came down the stairs, breasts tastefully showing. She greeted us and began darting about the home, making sure that everything was perfect. If something was even a centimeter out of place, she adjusted it. She, too, was slightly older than the photograph. I noticed that her face appeared to have had some work done to it. I also noticed that her breasts were amazingly perky. Upon a closer look, I concluded that they, too, may have had some work done to them. 

Every woman at the party looked like she had botox injected in her face. I had never seen so much botox in one room, complete with a pair of operated breasts. It was amazing. I observed the guests and the hosts, laughing, joking, and reveling in the gossip of the day. The women, who all appeared to be in their 40s, were dressed sexy - some in short dresses, some in tight jeans with low-cut sweaters, and all with their men following after them. The men all had the same patterns - they looked like normal men who had spent a lot of time at the gym staying fit, probably to keep up with the botox. 

The only women who did not display such work were the younger couples who looked like they were in their 30s. I wondered to myself whether they would ever enter this metamorphosis of botox. I concluded that they likely would within the next 10-15 years, based on the patterns I observed among their older friends. 

I kept an eye out for any single men at the party, but there were none to be found. I noticed that a few of the men shot quick look-overs at me, but none dared speak to me. The women were obviously territorial, keeping their drinks close to them and their men even closer. I noticed that not many of the couples ever separated during the evening, each couple staying within a 4-foot radius of one another. 

The daughters of the house later paraded through with their friends. They were not the sweet, young girls that were in the photographs I saw. They were teenagers that looked like they were working their way up to the Red Light District in Amsterdam. Their faces were painted heavily with makeup. All of them had red lipstick that was so deep and so bright that I think a clown would have been jealous. Their skirts were skin-tight and short enough to be confused with shorts. One of the girls wore shorts that were so short her butt was exposed. I wondered to myself why she just didn't walk out in her underwear and call it a day. Their tops were low-cut, exposing their still-developing breasts as far down as probably what would have been the beginning of their tits. Their heels were high, fitting for adult hookers, but not quite for such young girls. I was appalled. I thought that maybe a parent or grandparent would reprimand them. Not at all. "Oh you look so beautiful!" commented the adults to the girls. My father would have had my head on a platter before I even attempted to walk out in public dressed like that, or even wear that much makeup at that age. These girls appeared to be fifteen and sixteen years old. I could only think two words about these girls, "Jail bait." 

It occurred to me that this house was just a sample of what was wrong with our society as a whole - it was focused on the artificial and keeping up appearances and had no problem with over-sexing the young. It was a house full of people who had a fear of aging and was doing everything medically possible to prevent the appearance of age. Nobody wanted to look their age. 

I heard a disturbance in another room. A few of the party-goers had gotten into an argument that turned physical. Some shoving was happening. The host husband whizzed by me with a smile saying, "Never a dull moment!" I felt like Alice in Wonderland. What is this place? The men who were fighting separated. I saw one of them storm out of the room. The party went on as if nothing occurred. The host walked past me again with the same, bright smile. 

Patty and I chatted throughout the night, with her telling me a few stories about some of the guests. One of the highlights was a woman who, upon first meeting Patty, recommended that she get botox on her eyes. Another story included a couple who was there with their young son. Patty was babysitting for them one day, and she found a small baggie of cocaine in the cupboard. She had never gone back.

After a few hours, Patty and I, along with a couple of Patty's other normal friends that I had spent the night socializing with, decided to leave. I had enough of the weird house. 

As I got in my car and took one last look at the house from the outside, I realized that the house wasn't perfect at all. The house itself looked physically perfect, but it was filled with people who couldn't handle reality, including the owners. It made me thankful that I didn't have these problems. To feel the need to keep up appearances that much meant that there was perpetual unhappiness or dissatisfaction with oneself. 

When I turned my car on, the engine started making some weird noises. I chuckled to myself. I can take the flaws in my life, only because I'm happy with it.