Insecure or Self-Aware? I Say Self-Aware!

Call it insecure, immature or whatever other label you want to throw on it. I call it self-aware. Can you or can you not tell when you are annoying others? Am I the only one that knows when I have over-stayed a welcome, or when I don't click enough to invite myself to dinner?

Look, I have been able to read people all my life. It’s a gift. My sister has it. My mother has it. It runs in the family. Some call it “discernment”. Some label it as being “self-aware”. Too many call it “insecure”. So who’s right? It’s my blog, so I am going to give it to you the way I see it.

Picture this: You call a friend or relative you haven’t talked to in a while, and they don’t pick up. You leave a message. You wait for a call back. They probably didn't feel like talking. Fine. Everyone hates to answer their cell phones these days unless it has to do with money. Text messages are a little more welcomed, but day by day those go unanswered as well. Until someone invents ESP Messaging, texting will have to do.
The friend never calls back. You send an email. No reply. A week later, you get some lame one-liner telling you “sorry, I am so busy I didn’t have time to send you a two second text message to tell you I can’t make dinner.”

May be the message doesn’t really say that, but that is how I read into it.

You feel a little insulted and the next time you see that friend, you are a little colder than before. They ask what’s wrong, you say nothing, and then start explaining anyway. Once you are done and the tiny violin stops playing, they look at you like you missed the short bus.



“What do you mean? I was totally going to call you, why would you think I was avoiding you?” They ask this, knowing you may or may not buy it.

In short, they have manipulated you into thinking you are the insecure one and they are the victim, thus throwing you back into the cycle of doubting yourself when you can clearly see the verdict: You were not important enough to reply to. Period.

Now, was that hard? It’s the same thing when your friends and don't send you don’t get an invite. Constantly planning things with out you and hanging out behind your back. It’s not because they don’t have room. It’s not because they forgot. Here’s my favorite: they did text you but you must not have seen it. I’m sorry, but are we in the 90’s, where cell phone calls dropped like a pregger’s stomach and text wasn’t even heard of? We are in the new millennium where you just can’t use that excuse because it’s a lie. The truth is, you weren’t invited because you're annoying or boring or loud or too honest or whatever. It’s certainly not because they could’t reach you. Whatever the reason is, do you know why, and can you be honest with yourself about it? If you can, you my friend, are self-aware. From here, you can admit it, then change it.

I am that person sometimes. The one that doesn’t get the invites or the calls. The one that is always defending my right to be honest with myself, call myself fat or unlikable, but it’s not insecurity. On the contrary, I have been accused of being arrogant, pushy and anything else that has to do with being too direct for my own good. It just doesn’t bother me. I am somewhat of a loner, and don’t have much patience, to tell the truth. What bothers me, is when I call it out for whatever reason, and I get backlash. For example, a friend of mine invited everyone to a movie. Not me. I asked her how the movie was the next day. She got defensive and said she didn’t want to disturb me or take me away from my kids. Now, how lame is that? I am so sure it had nothing to do with the fact that I told her she should wax her eyebrows more often because she was starting to look like Frida Kahlo. Instead, of telling me I had no tact (and I have worked on this: Love more. Offend less. God is still working on me) she made up some ridiculous excuse when all she had to do was tell me I was a little too abrasive for her taste and we both could have moved on?

You may be that person. It’s okay. Who says being popular is easy, or fun, anyway? I have been that person, too. You know what? There is more stress in being popular. Much more. People expect you to entertain them. They expect you to excite the party. They expect you to not have problems and they secretly pine after the idea that you may not be perfect. Then, when you prove make a mistake, they point disheartened fingers at you because they “expected more”.

Why argue with someone that has had a sudden revelation about themselves? It's a good thing. Here is another example. A girl doesn't want extra butter on her popcorn, and says it's because she is already overweight. Her friends immediately calling her insecure. She knows she is fat wants to do something about it. It’s called not wanting to have an early heart attack, not low self-esteem. And it’s always the pretty ones that want to convince you otherwise. Most Puffaplumps know what they can and can’t wear, as do you. You ever see a large chick at the mall and wonder who told her it was okay to wear zebra stripes? One of her scaredy-cat skinny friends, that’s who. Instead of telling her to put on a beautiful black blouse with some flattering not-too-tight jeans, you told her she was fierce and let her stomp her way out the house looking like some circus side-show. Shame on you! She knew she looked bad, until you convinced her otherwise! (Again, this has been me. I called myself a Puffaplump before, and someone had the nerve to tell me I had low self-esteem!)



I had a friend once that had a voice like nails on a chalk board. Not only that, but she was obsessed with me, always wanting to hang around, wanting me to check in with her, and planning trips for “us” I never agreed to. I felt sorry for her, as she was lonely, but she was lonely because she was annoying. I kept mum, but I silently began to resent her. I ended up blowing up at her one day because she was chewing potato chips with her mouth open, allowing me to hear every detailed and greedy crunch. It was the final straw, but to her shock, she had no idea why I ended the relationship over it. She was hurt, and I felt bad, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her it was because she was irritating the life out of me. To this day she thinks I have Turrets because I wasn’t woman enough to be honest with her the first time she asked me why I hadn’t called her in a week. So guess what? I have been on both sides of the fence.

I’ll tell you what. Let’s all agree, if someone is bugging you, deal with it I am totally for being pleasantly honest and using tact, but if someone can be honest with themselves so they can change for the better, can't you meet them half way, and find a solution to resolve the issue together? Don't deny the issue possibly torching any chance that they may change something that is holding them back.

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Hum Drum Harry's Big Surprise

Once upon an eight hour period, somewhere in Corporate America, where the tie never goes out of style, there was a man named Hum Drum Harry. Hum Drum seemed to not realize that there was a world outside of his cubicle. There were other things to talk about other than paperclips, meetings, bottom-lines and Fico-Schmico.




I walk past Hum Drum every day, hoping he will give me eye contact so I have a reason to spark up a conversation about something other than work. Nothing inappropriate, but anything that proved that he ran on food and not fuel. I needed to know if he was human, or if he was some cephalapod-iRobot corporate mole watching and recording every time I get up for a bathroom break and don't come back until I feel guilty.



Well, one day Hum Drum asked me if I attended the corporate Christmas party. I, of course was startled, and intrigued, and after I composed myself, I answered that I must have missed the email because I wasn't invited. I stared at him waiting for an answer or another comment. It was like watching a game of chess.



"Well, that makes two of us. You know I spend all my time in this @#$#@ place, and no one gives a @#$#$@ about how I feel or if I have a family or @#$#@ and you know what? I'm sick of it! No one appreciates anything I #$#@#$@ do and they'd probably be pretty sorry once I quit!"



Hum Drum turned in to Mo-Joe in like six seconds flat. I was beyond shocked. I was astonished at him! So astonished that I jumped up and gave him a hug. I don't know what I was thinking! It was pure innocence. I was in the moment! He was talking to me and I didn't know how to handle it. This morning, I wasn't sure if this man was a mammal, and come to find out he was ticked because no one invited his droll tail to a party, even though I wasn't sure exactly why he was surprised.



"What are you doing?" he asked, all flabbergasted.



Great, how was I going to play this off? I mean, why couldn't I just answer the question? I am not a touchy-feely person, so I am not sure why my first instinct was to sucker-hug him.

"Harry, I just am so glad....that you were not invited.  I was going to kill myself.... because I thought I was the only one." Where did that come from? Not only did it sound completely psychotic, but it was a lie and I don't lie.  It just came out so dog-gone easy; that's the part that really gets me!

"Harry, I hugged you because you saved my life, Harry." At this point I had repeated his name too many times.



"Well...now, there there," he said. "I need to get back to work, but it was nice talking to you."



And I never spoke to Hum Drum Harry again. He really did quit and I found out he became a bartender at the Spearmint Rhino.

The moral of this story is that if you sit and ponder about a strange and quiet person long enough, you will find out they may not be strange. They may actually be crazy.

Doting Parents: Can you say FPH? (Forced Picture Harassment!)

It has been said that having children is narcissistic. Having little versions of yourself running about like tiny, innocent mirrors. We try and brainwash them with hopes and dreams of becoming President, because they got in trouble at school for being bossy. “He’s a leader!” we exclaim. We see them singing along to a song in the back of the car, we then believe she will be the next Beyonce. They grab a pair of scissors and try and cut the cat’s tail off, and all of the sudden you think the child is destined to become a plastic surgeon. To your surprise, ten years later, the kid is actually the poster-child for the “No kid left Behind” program or some other program that forces teachers to pay a whole lot more attention to the kids that don’t listen in class.


Personally, I think it’s fantastic for a parent to have dreams for their children. If we don’t, who will? Seriously, I am all for putting a positive spin on your child’s life. Raising them with good Christian values and drilling in them the balance of studies first and fun later. I also support an occasional shout out when your child does something great like winning a the science fair or becoming class prez. That’s wonderful, really. What gets on my nerves are obnoxious parents that want everyone else involved in their child’s life. Sending picture after picture to my email about their first steps, their first bite, their first tantrum, their first poop. I don’t really care about when their tooth comes in. That is something only the parents of the child care about, and may be grandparents that have figured out how to use the internet properly. Cousins, distant relatives and friends don’t need a Facebook update every time your child burps the alphabet.

I have seen it time and time again, when a new parent begins to bombard everyone with daily updates on their brat. Do I not have a life? Hey, I popped out two kids, too. I don’t need a cookie and you don’t need to be reminded every ten minutes that my husband and I might do more than just watch movies on Saturday nights. I just don’t think anyone besides my mother or in-laws would really care to be interested in all of the droll details our children’s lives.

I understand you are proud. May be it was a hard conception. May be an immaculate conception. I understand that children are the future, teach them well and yada yada. I just don’t understand why I have to endure boring home videos and countless iPhone downloads of your kid, Miss Co-worker or Mrs. Stranger-in-the-Long-Line-At-Whole Foods. One or two times is okay, even better if the request was on demand, meaning they are not unsolicited. Not okay every time you invite me over, we go out or chat at the water cooler. Am I the only person against FPH (Forced Picture Harassment)? I’d bet anything somewhere out in cyberspace, there are tons of single people that are cheering me on because I have finally stood up for your right to not have to look at other people’s boring family lives.

Let me stress again, I am a mother. My husband is a father. We have kids. It’s a part of life. I love that part. I wouldn’t change it for the world, but an incentive for taking on this mom as a full time friend: No FPH! In the kind of-sort of words of the older George Bush, “READ MY BLOG! NO MORE FPH!”

California is Such a Tease!

Very recently, I was blessed with a four day weekend in Los Angeles.  I sat on the beach and enjoyed candy apples.  I woke up  to fresh eggs, ham steaks and coffee all set up for me in my mother-in-law's perfect, cantina-styled kitchen.  The sound of the waterfall in the back and the smell of the peppermint plants took me back to a time where I thought I would never leave California.  My husband, looking relaxed and happy came bouncing down the stairs all showered and shaven and ready to transform back into a child around his parents.  With our kids at my sister's, it was pure bliss and would only get better as my father-in-law's day-long marinated steaks would hit the grill at dusk for a candle-lit dinner next to the tiny pond in the backyard.

By day three, I dreaded going home.  I got up early and googled apartments and the job market in Los Angeles, quickly being reminded why I left in the first place.  Unless you are a self-made guru of some sort, a starving artist or a professional with an extremely competitive edge (or you know a big importatant someone), you ain't gettin' a job in Cali. 

By day three, the beaches, the Ramen, the sushi and the Boba (oh man! the Boba!) were clearly perks to a perfect vacation, and that's all.  Moving back to Cali is not an option. To make it work, I would have to quit my job, convince my husband to quit his job, enroll my children back into that horrible L.A. school district and I would have to live with my in-laws for a few months to save enough for a deposit for one of the over-priced apartments in the valley somewhere.  Laguna will have to wait until next year.   The only other suggestion I have is for someone to hurry up and give me a book deal, pay me an extravagant advance and sell me a house in Laguna.  Then, I can move back. 

All joking aside though, I would really like to see those commercials with Arnold and his wife enjoying a glass of wine on a sunset dressed mountain-top taken totally off the air.  "When can you stah-hot?", he asks in his pea-soup thick accent.  Really Arnold? Come on Maria. California is a tease!  It's become an untouchable paradise for anyone that moved away or doesn't already live there. For now, twice a year vacations will have to do.

Jot this down: If anyone knows where I can get a decent bowl of real Japanese ramen in Dallas (and if you suggest Pei Wei, I'll hunt you down!) let me know.

Get Rid of The Mustache!

So, my husband is slowly letting what used to be a sexy barely-there mustache grow in to an out-of-work porn star, bar-handle!


I noticed it last night. I usually take forever to notice obvious things, especially if my mind is somewhere else. We will be traveling to California shortly, so that is where all my thoughts are going for the moment. Unfortunately, I am not thinking too much about seeing family. I am thinking more about actually getting some REAL Ramen into my stomach. You know that no one here in Texas has ever had REAL Ramen? It’s insane. I wish someone would open a Ramen restaurant out here.

Anyway, my thoughts have become a phantasmagoria of women that are skinnier than me, ramen noodles and in-laws. Occasionally a Netflix envelope and a bill work its way in to the thoughts, but so far, that’s it. Needless to say, I didn’t realize that he hasn’t shaved in like a week.

As I was taking a collective list of things that need to get done, toiletries that need to be bought, a shirt that needed to match the only pair of flattering pants that I have, and I look up and there it was: “OH! No way! Your last name is Sanchez, which makes it that much worse, so there is no way we are traveling together with that ferret under your nose!

Why do men grow those things anyway? I mean, it wasn’t cute in the seventies, and now a few leading men are bringing it back, but I have no idea why. They throw mustaches on television characters that have grown up or become cops. They throw goat-T on characters that play assassins and guys that are moving up in the ranks in prisons. For the real life, man at home, SHAVE! In fact, for my man at home, SHAVE! The only man in the world that looks okay in a mustache is my Grandpa Mike, and that is only because he really has had it since the seventies. He rocks the Welcome Back Carter look. It’s a comforting. Now, if he shaved, I think the world would come to an end. I have never seen my Grandpa without a mustache, and I don’t want to see it! It’s the only thing from my childhood that hasn’t changed besides my mother’s pea-soup thick Brooklyn Accent.

Look, I work hard. I have a million things that I deal with; my kids, my bills, feeling guilty because I am a devout Christian, but FAAAAAARRR from perfect. . What I don’t want to deal with is my husband slowly beginning to look like he should own a donkey with a sack full of coffee beans slung over his back.

Shave it off, Edgar! I beg you from the bottom of my cynical little heart!

Shave. It. Off!

Diary of a Disgruntled Customer Service Rep

When you call the 800 number on the back of your credit card, or the top of your phone bill, where do you think your call goes? It goes to the community of the Customer Service Reps. First, let me show you a few of the common traits.
This will begin the series of Diary of a Disgruntled Customer Service Rep- Article 1.
The Newbies, Freshmen in the Nest: These representatives are still in their three month probation period, taking a six to eight week training class in a school-teacheresque setting no doubt. They are getting their user ID’s set up, proudly displaying their security badges around their necks, and on time everyday. They tend to be upbeat and excited to “get on the phones!” The senior reps silently reminisce about their own early days, and laugh at the hell the new reps are about to endure. They all have bets on who will last once they hit the floor. (that’s call center talk for going live on the phones).
The Brown Nosers: They came with an agenda based on what they learned in high school, college or from a wise old family member; Get your foot in the door at any Fortune 500 company, and work your way to the top. These reps will agree with anything upper management has to say. The become tattle-tails for supervisors that are too busy with their smoke breaks to actually watch the floor, and they are for sure the go-to guys up for any challenge, always offering to stay late and learn new things, gathering as much information as they can to worm their way into the corporate lime light. Fortunately for them, they will be noticed. Management will notice, and take total advantage, and co-workers will notice and avoid them at all cost. They are the real-life Dwight Schrutes of the corporate world. Inside their manipulative little minds, they believe all the hard work and dealing with arrogant supervisors will be worth the big payoff. Good luck, Dwight. Few and far between have made it past getting promoted to supervisor, because the manager ain’t goin’ nowhere in this economic climate. It may take a while, but before long, you will be sick and tired of the antics of your co-workers and all of your hard work being rewarded with nothing but more responsibility, hence becoming disgruntled.
The Diva: This call-center personality will either serve to irritate you and everyone around you, or to simply make the time fly by constantly making spectacles of themselves and nothing more. A Diva will never, I repeat NEVER, get anywhere in a call center unless they are related to a decision maker. These are the girls (and sometimes guys) that need their hair and nails did, every week, come in to work wearing colors used to flag down airplanes and have a tendency to complain because time-off that was not approved, amongst other things. They too, can be nice at first, but don’t be deceived. If you tick a Diva off, which doesn’t take a lot, you may hear rumors around the office about yourself, HR may give you a call about some form of harassment, and then it will be virtually impossible to get rid of them. Diva’s usually come with buckets full of drama, so you can chose to either get involved or sit back and be entertained. A Diva always puts on a good show. Sometimes, if you sit close, you can get front row seats to a temper-tantrum because they were told they have to work a holiday which will cut into precious “Baby-Daddy-time.”
The Old Betties: These senior citizens come from the old school. These are my favorite call center personality; they have great stories to pass the time, you can tell by the way they dress, they probably started off as operators back in the day where they actually flipped through the phone book for you. Clean cut, solid cotton pants with a flowery, embroidered top. They usually sit together to eat lunch to talk about furniture, gardening and how these young kids don’t really appreciate a good job. I love old people. I just do.
The “Real” Rep: This person tells it like it is, because they constantly have a point to make, no matter how miniscule it is. They confuse “keeping it real” with tactful honestly. They don’t seem to understand or care that no one around them cares about what they think or have to say. Telling it like it is went out with Howard Sterns exit from free radio. It’s rude and annoying, and the boldness wares thin after a while. It’s good to be honest, but there is no need to be honest with call-center friends. You walk in, you play nice and you go home. Unfortunately, for these brutes, their mouth often lands them in the hot seat and tends to bite them in the butt during evaluation time. The tell it like it is type has issues with their self-image, so instead of finding their true niche in life, they shove their made up personalities down everyone’s throat because they read some book or watched some old school hero do it. Please Johnnie, everyone is over it. Take off the leather jacket and stop it already.
Ok, let's wrap up with the types of managers:

The Book, The Sleaze and The Chum.
The Book follows everything to the T. They don’t break rules and bending is not an option. They know that HR handbook like the back of their hand. They have their mind set on one thing, and that is whatever good for the company. No one can stand them…not even their compadres. They probably started out as a Schrute Brown Noser.
The Sleaze: I have dealt with enough of them to know that there is more sleaze than not. This manager is more than willing to help you sleep your way to the top. They are usually married and bored, and run a call center full of fun an exciting opportunities to get their kicks. The sleaze usually plays it low key, but will slowly try to turn you out priming you with a dirty joke here and there to test the waters. The first time you giggle, your done. They will soon begin to move in for the kill, at least until someone goes to HR to report their infamous behavior. ( I have so many stories about The Sleaze, stay tuned). Finally, we have
The Chum: Um, to say the least, the friend is our favorite kind of managing personality, but they are often tortured souls, never being able to fire anyone or address serious issues before it gets too late. They want to please everyone. They look past tardies and turn the cheek at chronic call-ins. They squirm during evaluations and don’t want to be involved in bickering that happens between co-workers. Please don't ever expect them deal with a hygeine issue.  They would rather fire someone than ask them to put on deodorant.  They are loved, but usually put themselves in a bad position and get talked about because they can’t “control” their group. Poor bastards.

In conclusion, I say I have to write more about the behind the scenes setting in a call center. I have seen things you can’t even imagine, including the security guards dragging two people out of the bathroom because of a nooney that obviously couldn’t wait until they got home. I have seen managers walk off the job, FBI escort money launderers out the building, and my personal favorite, the infamous letter that went to the entire company (one of the biggest companies in the World, might I add) from the CEO to the janitor. It contained awful secrets about almost everyone, and insults that would even put Simon Cowell to shame. Even though we were all advised to delete the letter, some printed it and framed it on the wall at home.
May be I will share some of my call-center stories. I have ten years worth of them….Deep down, may be I am the disgruntled Customer Service Rep, after all.  Until next time........

The Ignorant Bliss of a Severanced Fool.

Let me tell you.

I got laid off eight months ago and I thought I had it made. I didn't hang on to my severance and count pennies. I had no intention saving or going back to work for "The Man" right away. I decided to move on to the next phase of my life and enter into a phantasmagoria of crazy get rich-quick schemes- all of which didn't seem that way at first.
First, I ran out and got my insurance license. Then I started writing a book. Or two. Afterwards, I signed up for every in-home, work-in-your-PJ's operator job I could find. I even called Avon but they thought I was a little too cheeky (no pun intended) for the job.
I started a small insurance business out of my house, and with the rest of the money.......I went extrava-impractical. I think even Obama would have told me I was out of line with my spending.

I had the time of my life. My children thought we'd won the lottery. It was the first time I had not worked since I was sixteen and I loved every moment sleeping until noon. I vaguely listened to the news with talks of high unemployment rates, foreclosures and new terrorist threats. When I felt myself getting scared, I changed the channel and watched the Golden Girls and broke out the cookies and milk. Gas prices high? No problem. Hubby's job was up the street and I had no where to go; except Disney World. Literally. I didn't have a job, so I went on ahead to Disney World. Doesn't that sound like an oxymoron?

Well, I thought my insurance business was going to take off like prom dress in Los Angeles. Do I need to say I was wrong? In no time, I found myself floating checks and yelling at my husband for wanting to buy lunch instead of taking it to work.
From far away, it looked like my French tips were still fresh. In reality, My nails started forming their own canals as I couldn't afford the fill and just didn't want to let it go. My extensions were becoming dry and stiff instead of gently floating piece by piece with every bounce of my steps. That's when I realized my little fantasy world was crashing down all around me. I wasn't Paris Hilton after all. (Am I the only black girl on the planet who wanted to be Paris for a day? Or a year? Whatever, okay? Don't judge me)I will say, towards the end of that blissful yet extremely naive era, I got used to eating breakfast with Blanche and Dorothy while Sophia made wise-cracks about Rose.
I got used to taking naps for no reason and cooking tasty meals just because I had nothing but time. I got used to looking forward to Mondays with the Bachelor, and Friday's with Ugly Betty. (You know ABC sucks for moving her to Fridays! Now the dog-gone show is cancelled!) and of course cashing in that great unemployment check.
What I wasn't used to was the shock I felt when I realized I'd had enough fun and needed a steady paycheck. I had to go back to work. I still had a sense of responsibility that was coming out of hibernation. We are still in somewhat of a Bear market, aren't we? Things were becoming tighter, and the money was running low.In the past, I would put in a resume, get a phone call within a week, ace the interview and land a job. I never had a problem. I was in for blow.
People are just not hiring like they used to. Companies were and still are laying off people by the masses, and the media is not helping. The companies that are doing well are being brainwashed into thinking they need to cut back as well, so they are. Just like drones. It's sickening.

In my job search, no one called. I even got letters from employers I didn't apply for telling me, " Thanks, but all positions have been filled."
I'll tell you what. At the last minute, I landed a job at THE BIG HUGE Bank OF NUNYA. (obviously I can't tell you where, people). I absolutely love it and I am in my element. I am still new so I tend to have a little more patience than I ever remember having. Like, EVER.
Give me a break. I just finished a piece of humble pie and washed it down with a glass of abasement. I went from jumping up and down like "Idols goin' to Hollywood" about getting a huge severance then getting paid to stay home (unemployment: I was just so ghetto about it) to getting scared out of my mind when my insurance business didn't take off. It humbled me to a point of insane niceness. I couldn't afford to speak my mind and offend the wrong person like I could with my last job.

On my last job, I made my assistant drive back to the office on her day off just because I forgot to record a vacation message on my voicemail and I didn't want a bunch of unnecessary calls, so I needed her to change it because I was already leaving the parking lot. No I'm not trying to be Jen Lancaster, I am just letting you know she isn't the only reformed and regretful Diva that walked the earth. Believe me, anyone who knows me from any previous job, school or church I have ever attended in my life at any time except now, will tell you: "PJ? Nice? We can't be talking about the same monster, and if I ever see that little tramp again......."

If I think about how I would do things different I would go crazy, so I just don't. I now have a job, these people have no idea who I am or what I used to be capable of nor do they care. I am a nobody in a sea of worker-bees, and I kind of like it this way. :-]

As I work, I often think of the glory days when I walked my kids to school and waved to the normal stay at home moms like I was one of them.

May be next time. At the rate this country is going, there may just be a next time, you know what I mean?