Sorry for the siesta on my blog.
I've been juggling too many damn plates, and I needed a breather to catch my breath (and squeeze in a wild night out). I apologize for the neglect and promise to be a better blogger in the days ahead. That may prove especially true with what I have to discuss with you today.
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You dirty birds are probably interested with this post's title.
"What the hell (or who the hell) did she do, now?"
Ah, the wonders of a dark and tawdry thought.
But it's not like that. Really.
The Blow refers to a little meeting I had with The Boss Friday. He pulled me in the fishbowl (as we fondly refer to his office, what with its walls being made of crystal clear glass. No blinds to obstruct the blood letting or ass kissings, instead giving the whole newsroom a peek inside this one room reality TV scenario.)
The Boss pulled me in (I always get pulled in, not invited in. Not "meandered in". Not strolled in. Always Pulled In) and said,
"Well. You know with your contract being up at the end of February, I wanted to give you a heads up we wouldn't be renewing you."
No shit, Sherlock.
For better or worse, I'm one of those chicks that can see the writing on the wall. I always know what the scenario is (even though sometimes I'd rather play dumb), just like I knew six months ago there was no way my little hell hole of a TV station was going to keep me around after my clock was up.
Even though I'd given so many sacrifices (like passing up good jobs in big, fun cities like Denver, Minneapolis, Cleveland, Cincinnati and Louisville) to stay at our little dog-and-pony-show to see it through to better days. Even though I'd renewed my contract (twice!) making barely over entry level pay ALL FIVE YEARS to toil my time, in the hopes I'd see this bad ratings wave ride out to a time we were Number One. Or at least a solid, respectable Number Two. Even though I'd put in five years of 50 hour work weeks at 40 hour pay, missing out on major holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas with loved ones so I could prove my commitment and pay my dues like everyone else.
Sorry, this hot button makes me emotional. I can feel my blood pressure rising and racing through my icy veins. Okay, they're not that icy, because if they were, I wouldn't be so bothered by this whole thing.
The fact is, I knew my TV station had no intention of keeping me, I just wasn't anticipating having to talk about it Friday. I liken it to having a loved one who's battling cancer. You know the inevitable... you can logically think about where that fight is going, but the minute you have to actually talk about it you lose it like a little girl who gets her lollipop stolen.
So folks, that was The Blow. Nothing oral to report (but would I, anyway?). It was a sad little vignette in my life that, like a push pin on a travel map, marks a turning point in my life. I just don't exactly know the direction my life is heading, and that's scary.
That's okay, too.
I know God has a plan for me, I just have to keep faith his plan will reveal itself on His timeframe, not mine. God doesn't worry about contracts and piddly things like that, he's more concerned with what kind of person I'm turning out to be, and I know he'll give me a great career opportunity when I'm ready, and that's the Lifts The Spirits part. It is exciting to think I'm smack-dab in the middle of a huge life change. I have to just sit back and remind myself that this is God at work, not corporate career crap.
In the meantime, I've contented myself and fears about my bills with the thought that I'll just have to sign up for unemployment while I ride this wave of uncertainty. I'm not about to leave a five year career stint in broadcasting for a job selling shoes at Dillards. Really. With the one-two combo of unemployment and tax free babysitting, that should actually be enough to make up for my measly salary, so I'll be able to cover the rent, my cell phone and other nagging bills. I don't want to jump into the wrong opportunity because I'm hungry, and hopefully this plan will buy me enough time to find the right fit.
And that would give me all the more time in the world to blog, my lovelies.
OKAY, on to happier stuff.
Hmm. Let me run down the social synopsis of my life, as of late.
Saturday, had lunch with a good friend at The Mellow Mushroom. Good chain out of Atlanta (our pie had sun dried tomatoes, feta cheese, pesto and fresh tomatoes. Ahhh, can't ya just taste it?) After that, I layed in bed for a little bit like a lazy girl, then I decided I'd do my laundry so I had some clean Fun Clothes to wear that night.
Came home from el' Laundromat and got ready for a good night out with my #1 Gal Pal (picture me sipping on sparkling water mixed with Sugar Free Red Bull and OJ, dancing around in my underwear to Snoop and Usher. Drop It Like It's Hot... ...Yeah!!) I decided to wear the blue velvet pants because they're slung low on my hips and make me look like I got a butt (since I got the flattest white girl but you've ever seen.) Flat ironed my hair and smeared the pancake on, and I was ready for a night out.
I was actually hoping to run in to Richard. I don't know if I was up for some serious teasing (on my part) or if I wanted to get a read on how he felt about me, so I suggested one of the younger dance clubs in Lexington. It's very hip, always very crowded, the play the music that makes me wanna shake my ass, and I LOVE it. We stopped at a favorite watering hole on the way (where I had one beer)... then it was on to Dancing Queen City.
My #1 Gal Pal and I made our way to the bar as soon as we got there (drink #2: Absolut Mandarin with Red Bull and Cran), then we wiggled our stiletto boots towards a big booth on the dance floor where we could watch all the action (or, at the time of our arrival, the non-action).
After about an hour of watching the crowd grow like the smoke cloud in a bingo hall... we decided to hit the dance floor. The whole time, I was scanning the crowd, looking for a beautiful, black bald head like Richard's. No such luck. I was shakin' my moneymaker like nobody's business, my #1 Gal Pal was gettin' all sweaty on the dance floor with some 21 year old (which she took much delight in, she being 30) when we decided to bail. Earlier that night I had a look at myself in the mirror and kind of chuckled, thinking of myself as Patsy from Ab Fab. We were just two older chicks bustin' a move and hangin' with the kids Saturday night.
I got home and stripped town to the bare essentials before I got in bed. Couldn't get to sleep. Friday night I had picked up Billy Shakespeare's Taming Of The Shrew, so I turned a few pages of that before I started drifting off into that hazy time between being awake and asleep.
Then -beeep beeep- the phone rang.
Wouldn't you know it... it was Richard.
Stay tuned :)