I've got skills, man.

I met with my darling mentee today for the second time. The first time I joked (?) that I really didn't have any tangible skills so we were both in trouble. Sure, I could work my way around a cordless drill, but that wasn't going to help her get a job. Well, lo! Behold! Looks like I was wrong. I'm also good at telling people how to move words around on a resume. Yesiree. Break out the champagne, I can edit a document!

Next time we meet we'll do a mock interview. For this I turn to you, my loyal readers and lurkers. What are some of the tough interview questions you've faced in your time? Otter, no high falutin' quantum rocket surgery questions. I'm not looking to impress anyone at a bar with my knowledge of pi squared divided by the sign of a hippopotamus.

Questions! I need interview questions!

There’s more where that comes from…

You like that tidbit about former friend? Well, I’m pretty sure I’ve beat that subject to death in previous posts, but not the overall topic of firing a friend. What? Yes, the taboo of firing a friend. I think for women this is especially hard because we’ve been brought up to be nice, to work things out, to talk about our feelings. Sometimes that just doesn’t cut it. When the natural give and take turns into take and take some more, it’s time. Sometimes there are people that are so unhealthy for you that to make the effort and keep them in your life for the sake of friendship is only hurting you both.

I’ve fired several friends in my time. Do I have high standards for friends? Maybe. But I’d do anything for a friend, if it’s within my means. When they take advantage of that or use it against me, then for the sake of emotional survival, I’ve got to call it quits.

There are very few resources on the “hows” of firing friends, a few books maybe, but they never deal exactly with that one weird situation that sets it off. Good Morning America did a series on this, there was something in the Denver Post a few weeks ago, but they fail to capture the “what next” of firing a friend. How to get over it and move on? How to stop the scenes from constantly replaying like a busted VCR in your head? You just do. Time does it for you. You find yourself thinking about it every day, then every week, and sooner or later, just once in a while.

My mom, the wisest woman I know, told to write down all the things that upset me about this failed friendship. She said to catalog all the problems, the pain, the irritations and annoyances. So I did. Put it away for a month, she said, and then see how you feel. She said that if none of it bothers you, then you could try to work things out. So I put it away. For one month. Then another. Then another. It’s been 29 months and it still pisses me off to read it. So I stopped taking out the list and realized the inevitable.

There’s only one thing on my list: she never said she was sorry. Only the infamous, “yeah, well.”

For me, it was always painful to fire a friend. Excruciatingly painful at the time. It’s like a divorce, really. Except you can’t call an attorney to help sort things out. I think back to the weight of those failed friendships, the warning signs, the problems endured and I can’t help but feel relief. Could I have tried harder? Sure. Communicated more? Yes. Done something different? Of course. Was I part of the problem? Absolutely.

I acknowledge that I could have been a better person. But I wouldn't be where I'm at now. See, the clichéd silver lining is that I’ve learned things for my business that probably would have taken years longer. Like when someone is taking advantage of me. Or lying to me. Or portraying a false friendship to get what they want. My gut sends me warning signs when I come across these types of people. I’m learning how to recognize those signals and run, far, far away.

Yeah, well.

Note to self: learn to use 'save as draft' button while blogging.

Had a long blathering post about dinner with friends on Friday night. Then Blogger vomited all over the place and it is lost forever along with my contact lens that came out in a soccer field one windy day and those hiking boots in a bag lost at the old Stapleton airport.

As the joke in our house goes, 'yeah, well.'* That's what happens.

It was a delightful dinner. The food was ehh. The friends were lovely. Funny. Fun to be with. I say again, delightful. It made up for the lackluster service and overpriced wine. I doubt I'll visit the restaurant again (Black Pearl, on Pearl Street in Denver), not because of the food, but the way they priced it. Twenty-five bucks for a chicken leg and fingerling potatoes cooked in butter. Oy. At least bring me bread before I get to the third request and water before I have to get up to find it myself.

But our dinner last night was equally delightful, while not as bank-busting. We had free tix to the DU men's lacrosse last home game of the season. Where does the season run off to? I'd never watched a lacrosse game, but it was fascinating. The rules? Not so clear. The penalties? The ref was only calling slashing, which was hard to guess why. Sometimes the players would hit each other several times with their stick (not sure on the proper name). A slashing call in hockey if I ever did see it. But in lacrosse? Nah. I'm still not sure what they had to do to get a slashing call.

We came home from the free game (with free parking, la te da) to clean up the yard, throw down some mulch and plant a few things. Then we fired up the grill and lingered on the deck drinking cold beer in the late afternoon sunshine. The hounds ran around the yard on their regular patrols then settled at our feet for their naps. We ate beef pinwheels while listening to the radio and the sounds of the neighbors buzzing about their yards. The day was picture perfect, warm, sunny, dazzling. The day lilies were starting to peak out. The daffodils were smiling at us.

It was the kind of day that you would bottle up and put on a shelf for rainy days. We wanted to linger as long as we could, but the chill set in as the sun set, chasing us inside. I'd take $10 steaks grilled on the deck over an overpriced fancy-schmancy trendy restaurant any day. That's the kind of girl I am.

* Comes from a reply given to me after a falling out with a former friend. When I apologized, her response was 'yeah, well.' Nothing more. So now we use it when there really isn't anything else to be done about something.

Yes! We get it! You're a freak.

Everyone knows Tom Cruise is a nutbar. Anyone who doesn't has the initials of K.H. and is in obvious need of an intervention.

I won't even justify the bearded lady with a link. You all can Google it just as quickly as I can. The latest story is what set me over the edge. The edge, I say.

Would the rest of the world (ahem, gossip columnist peeps) just get the heck over it and move along? The other freaks of the world would appreciate some attention. Gary Coleman has resorted to running for governor just to feel the warm glow of the limelight. Is this what it's come to people?!

Move along now. Courtney Love is surely doing something inappropriate that involves torn clothing and a clown car.

Going big time, baby.

It's official. I've started contracting out some of my work. Not a lot, just the stuff I'd rather not do. It's liberating. Now I can spend more time doing work that I'd rather be doing instead of beating myself up over procrastinating.

Oh yes, I am one bad ass procrastinator when the time is right. I usually suck it up and get things done, but I've come to a realization that I just don't have to do certain things. In fact, contracting it out makes me happier, makes my subcontractor happy and my clients happy. Everyone's happy! And I get to spend time doing things I'm better at, things I enjoy, things that get me out of bed in the morning. As CEO and VP Janitorial Services of Creative HQ, I spend enough time with the ucky part of business. Don't get me wrong, filing the Colorado Dept of Revenue Form 160 is as exciting as things get, but there's a part of me that actually likes doing the creative stuff.

I don't know why it took so long to get to this point. Some of it has to do with control, some with fear. The ol' yin/yang of self-employment. Part of me didn't want to give up the money to anyone else. Part of it was my CFO not wanting me to give up the money to anyone else. But once I broke it down to the CFO, it made perfect sense. I'm freeing up time to work on more profitable work. This is where The Donald got started, isn't it?

To kick of our future multi-national corporation, hubby and I are running away for the weekend. A few weeks ago, we packed up Russell and traveled west to visit Kate, Maggie and Andrew.











We stayed overnight in a hotel. The hounds came with us. They returned home snouts exhausted. They're still napping from the excitement.












It was so successful that we're going back again! This time for two nights. That's right dawgs, two! At nine years old, they're no spring chickens. But they do like the adventure.















With a nap.

no good deed, indeed

"We" hosted a lovely, yet full to the brim, shower for a dear friend on Sunday. She and her hub adopted a little boy and since she'd sat through years of showers for relatives of all stripes, it was her time. Thankfully, I was not on the food committee. I was in charge of the clean house and toilet committee. Hubby pitched in then ran away to the pub when the estrogen levels got too high.

Another committee I was not in charge of: the games committee. The food committee and the clean house committee teamed up to lobby against any games. But the games committee comprised of the grandmothers and no matter what we could do, no one was going to tell the grandmothers what to do. So my house became a vessel for enormous amounts of cake, crab dip and silly shower games. Two shower games. In a thinly veiled attempt to get out of said games, I promptly forfeited my spot in both, thus eliminating me from competition.

With the games committee, the food committee and the clean house committee came the wacko family committee and the breach of etiquette committee. Every event must have at least one. Doesn't yours? To be fair the BOE committee promptly backed down when asked, yet the wacko committee put up a fight. This caused a considerable amount of squawking, as any event involving women must include. It's in the bylaws or something. Look it up.

Twenty+ women crammed themselves into my little kitchen, then shuffled simultaneously into the living room to watch the gifts being opened. And opened. And opened. And opened. Men don't understand the ritual of the Shower. Women seem to get it. Food? Check. Silly Games? Check. Wine? Oh, check, check! Presents? Check. Opening them in front of your guests is a distinctly 9-year-old thing to do. It harkens back to a time of Pretty Princess-shaped cakes, silly paper hats, pinatas and wearing your fancy dress, the one you've been saving for just this party. All that was missing was the homemade goody bags to take home to show your brothers what they missed.

My dear friend walked away with the goodie bags, dozens of them. It's amazing to watch a person you so love and respect be honored by others who feel the same way. I bought her a tiara to wear during the party, which she almost left behind. What kind of Pretty Princess leaves her tiara behind? She must be out of practice.