Random Bouts of Lucidity

Mama said there'll be days like this.  There'll be days like this, my mama said.  But I'm certain she could never have imagined her baby girl would grow up and have a day where she, I, that would be me......

.....sat at my desk and sent an email to the entire company, affiliates and cousin companies and possibly even relatives of employees, calling the President of one of our companies a repugnant, repulsive ass who had ruined everyone's morning by spewing his vile negative energy out to those of us who try to do good in the world. Thank you very much.  Why do I always have to be so ostentatiously flowery, wordy and colorful? What am I, the fucking Reader's Digest Guide to more Picturesque Speech?

My assistant sat next to me, begging me not to send it.  Beseeching me to sit on it.  To give it some time to allow the festering puss that was causing me to feel such righteous piety to subside. But alas, I was talking on the phone with a colleague who gave me just enough encouragement for me to hit the send button.  Only I had intended to keep it private, telling this man what I thought of him mono e mono.  I guess it's true what they say.  I really shouldn't try to type emails while talking on the phone. Suffice it to say, today, my crazy flag went viral.

Suddenly I was lauded as a hero. My phone lit up like a DJ giving away tickets to a Poison concert in 1987. My  lady balls were described within the company grapevine as massive beyond reasonable proportion.  The receptionist called me to tell me she loved me and passed along that the Chairman of the Board had walked by her desk and acknowledged my email as "impressive".   On the other hand my boss, the President of my particular company, called from his vacation slumber to plead with me to please, for God's sake, not send anything else. He promised me he would do what he could to save my ass and confided in me he agreed with everything I had written.  But in his interminable south side Chicago style he closed with, "God Dammit, couldn't you have talked to me first. Jesus H. Christ."

As the day went on, I began to feel increasingly worse.  As is true to my nature, I have never been able to tell somebody off without eventually regretting it.  It's not an "oh shit, I'm gonna lose my job" regret. It's more like a "you stooped to his level and fought negative with negative" regret. Just because he's a prick doesn't mean you have to be a cu... a cun...a cusp.  Okay so maybe I can tell off a very important, egotistical, jerk but I still can't say the C word.  I guess that makes me a wimp with a big mouth.

I am quite certain word of this will leak out within my marketplace and all those adversaries who despise this man will think of me fondly. It's a competitive market we are in and he is successful. He has enemies for sure.  Just a few weeks ago, this man was featured on Jay Leno's headlines for a photo that described him as "Making a Mark on Milwaukee" while he sat in a squatting position in a vacant parking lot. I mean somebody took it upon themselves to send that photo to The Tonight Show. People don't like him but that's because he is good at what he does.  He is a rainmaker.  And ironically, I have always liked him.  I have listened to others complain about him for years, even saw someone lose their job after reporting him to HR for abuse, not sexual, but verbal abuse. But for me, there's never been any discord. He has always been amenable to me.

To compound the irony, I came to work today feeling entirely focused, full of positive energy, ready to close my week by working my ass off. I plugged myself into my I pod and proceeded to enjoy some soothing classical music as I blissfully pounded away at my computer. Then his, did I mention vile, email arrived and production in my company came to a screeching halt. I read it, took my ear buds out and sat in amazement as I listened to the reactions from everyone around me.

But in my defense.  I blame it on Quentin Tarantino.  I watched his movie, Inglourious Basterds last night. I think, perchance I came to work ready to subconsciously "scalp me some Nazis".  Please don't infer that I would ever infer or construe this man as a Nazi.  That's not what I'm inferring at all. I just liked the movie and was a tad bit charged up, that's all. Sometimes these days, in these days of hormones and menopause, I wonder if I'm really sane at all.  Am I living my life with sanity and random bouts of lucidity or are the Inglorious Bastards in charge at all times. Is a menopausal woman the same thing as an Inglorious Bastard, or would it be more apropos to call us Inglorious Bitches?  I'm not proud of the moniker either way.

And so, I shall sit with myself this weekend, figuratively cowering in the corner.  This could be it for Zen Mama's career. Then what happens to my kids.  Daddy's going to jail, mommy's unemployed.  Oh joy.

Maybe I'll just have to figure out a way to write for a living.