So Then Sarah Said...

Good for now

Sarah — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 02:40:57 +0000

I spent my evening on the Metro with my face shoved in the shoulder of a well-dressed gentleman in a cashmere coat. It was a nice coat, I suppose, but that didn’t make up for the fact that yesterday when I hopped on the train I found a gloriously empty seat. I left the office at the same time. All of the cars on the train were open. I kept flashing back to my morning commute to work in Beijing. At least no one asked me how much I weigh.

I started my new job 3 weeks ago. That’s right, I’m once again employed, despite the harsh economic climate and job shortage. Apparently I tell a better story now-quit a job I hated, moved 8 hours for a job I thought would be amazing, laid off by an inept moron. My cover letter is now waaaay more fun than “I’m writing to inquire about this job” (not that my cover letters ever really say that).

I commuted for the first 4 days from Baltimore to Dupont Circle, and spent 4 days pretending my life would end up like a romantic comedy and an attractive stranger would be so mesmerized by me on the train that I would immediately be swept off my feet. As it turns out, snoring and drooling is not an attractive quality. And Ryan Gosling/Jake Gyllenhaal/Ryan Reynolds did not lining up to pick me up on the train. I was in such a shock having to get up at 5:30 and not going to my late morning yoga class that I spent the better part of the week acting like a zombie anyway, so perhaps it’s just as well I don’t actually live in an ABC Family original movie.

But, it would seem that I was right when I said I wouldn’t be down long. Because things are looking up. are they perfect? Not hardly. But they’re good for now.

Not All Who Wander Are Lost

Sarah — Mon, 28 Nov 2011 16:30:12 +0000

When my friends and family at home have heard the news about my jerk of a boss who asked me to move 8 hours away and then laid me off not 4 months later because he “wasn’t sure if he was actually ready to hire anyone,” their general response has been simple. “Well, he’s a moron” and then “But you know what Sarah, you did something most people would never do. You stopped complaining, tried something new and it didn’t work out. So you learned something. And you won’t be down long.”

And that’s why I love my family. And my friends. Because they’re right. And it keeps reminding me of an incident a few weeks ago when I hauled a drunk friend to the guest room and she kept telling me over and over how lonely she is in the world. And so despite the fact that I’m still smarting over having to go through the job hunt/self discovery process all over again, I’m very grateful for a few things.

Namely:

1. The people who keep telling me that I made the right decision to leave a job I hated and try something new.

2. The people who keep saying the words that I couldn’t bring myself to say to my boss.

3. Everyone’s belief and faith that I’m not going to be down long.

Here’s hoping they’re right.

Picking Up the Pieces

Sarah — Mon, 14 Nov 2011 02:36:27 +0000

I moved all my crap back to Baltimore. I’ve been wondering if this was the best decision-should I have tried to make my new home in Asheville work? Or should I race back to a place where I was safe (not to mention rent-free)?

It was the point at which I unloaded all my crap out of the truck and surveyed my mess that I started thinking that maybe picking up and running away wasn’t my best plan. Surveying all the stuff that I was convinced at some point or another was important enough to save.

I’ve lately decided though, that despite being overwhelmed by my giant mess, moving home was the right choice for me. I got lucky in Asheville, found roommates on Craigslist that weren’t complete psychopaths and liked to be social butterflies on the town with me. But fun isn’t necessarily what I need right now. I like fun, but what I need is a project. What I need is to take the steps to figure out what comes next.

I have that in Baltimore. Because I’m suddenly in the midst of a project. A make our house not look like an episode of Hoarders project.

I’m still a little angry at the Asheville/job situation. Still a little bruised from being so unceremoniously being kicked. I catch myself muttering “Why Me?” under my breath every now and again (usually as I’m dragging yet another trash bag down the stairs and to my car), but I’m slowly coming to realize that the “Why Me?” just isn’t cute.

Oprah can take her A-Ha! Moments and shove them

Sarah — Tue, 01 Nov 2011 23:45:34 +0000

Or, why sometimes things that sound too good to be true are.

I’ve been quiet lately. Very quiet. Minus a little ranting about Keith, the moron of a mattress salesman, you haven’t heard boo of me and my adventures in Asheville.

Maybe it’s because I took a job working for a blog and as I keep hearing over and over again “No one wants to read a blog about you. You have to SAY something. You have to have a niche.” And maybe that’s right, if I want to build a business, but sometimes, a girl just wants to talk to talk and who gives a shit if it really entertains people?

But, I digress.

Because yesterday, my job came unceremoniously to a stop. A big fucking “I made a mistake but you’re going to have to live with it” stop. Because my boss, he of minimal managerial experience and apparently retarded business sense decided that we just couldn’t go on professionally.

I’ll pause here to tell you, dear reader, that it’s fair to say that this has all been going downhill for a few weeks, since that’s when my boss emailed (yes, email that part of the story is more important in a minute) to tell me that we had some things to discuss. Namely, we weren’t finishing projects and I as the project manager should be more on top of that. There were 3 things we could do:

1. Fix our current situation. (Clearly my choice, since I did move 8 HOURS FROM MY FRIENDS AND FAMILY TO TAKE THIS DAMN JOB)

2. Switch me to hourly work because it was hard for him to see what I was doing when I wasn’t working from the office (And the only reason I didn’t work from the office is because I received emails telling me that it was unnecessary for me to come in)

3. Part ways professionally.

The third one STUNG. It poured cold water on my excitement for Footloose, and I’ll be real with you, I love a good dance movie. And also, what the hell is this? A goddamned Dear John letter? Are you 12?

We ultimately came to a decision to try to fix what was broken. We’d finish projects because people would actually listen when I told them to get their shit done. I would no longer take “I want to go play disc golf” as a legitimate reason not to do things. I actually came to the office (this really galled me, because I was told that the boss was only trying to save me some drive time and be considerate. I’m sorry, I’m here to work, why would I move to sit at home or in a coffee shop?), everyday, despite my boss saying “we really don’t have things to do” because in small business, even if there are no deadlines THERE ARE ALWAYS THINGS TO DO.

And so, for the last 2 weeks, it seemed like things were on the up and up. On the side, I quietly started polishing my resume and updating my LinkedIn because after such an insensitive passive aggressive email, you can’t blame a girl for waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And it did, yesterday. After I FINISHED my morning tasks, I was told, “You know, when I hired you in June, I had some misgivings, but that didn’t stop me from first asking you to move to the middle of nowhere Ohio and then to Asheville. And now, I just think for my business and the family, it would really be in my best interest for us to part ways.”

What I heard from this is simple: I was damned from the beginning. Because I was up against someone who decided when I started that he didn’t want me, he was just too much of a coward to admit that. And so, against those odds, I didn’t stand a chance.

After I climbed out of the closet I barricaded myself in yesterday (I like confined spaces and there was no one around to hug me) I decided in a few weeks, I’ll recognize that:

a)things that sound really good are probably too good to be true

b)A-Ha! Moments are complete bullshit and you have to go out and do things for yourself and

c)I’ll probably realize that this was probably a good kick in the pants.

Only right now it just feels like I’m being kicked.

The Only Thing Worse Than A Used Car Salesman…

Sarah — Mon, 19 Sep 2011 12:33:11 +0000

…is a mattress salesman. Specifically, the mattress salesmen at the local store that I thought I would be a do-gooder and buy from, as opposed to a national change here in my new hometown of Asheville, NC.

I thought the time I spent in the markets in Beijing prepared me for negotiation, I’m really good at the “are you joking with that price?” face and I have no problem walking away. I do; however, experience fatigue at the idea that I’d have to go to multiple stores, so while I did go in more than one store to price compare/jump on the beds, I most certainly did not go to 15 different stores or waste an entire afternoon haggling with mattress sales people.

My saleswoman, Linda spouted numbers that meant absolutely nothing to me (“and this bed is 16.7% more comfortable over the course of year than this one.” Really? 16.7% is not a significant number. And, it doesn’t justify several hundred more dollars, but I digress), insisted that I would never get as good of customer service at the Mattress Firm that I was sure to get at the Mattress Man. Why, one time, the owner loaned a customer a Tempurpedic bed because her own mattress was delayed. In addition to the random, unnecessary number quotation, Linda also acted as though I had her over a barrel asking for free shipping, even though the published company policy is orders over $598 qualify for such, and my order definitely met that threshold. Slimy. In hindsight, I should have walked and never looked back, but the thought of having to go through the process again made me ill.

What I have learned in the last 3 weeks that my mattress has been sitting on my floor is that the promise of good customer service from The Mattress Man is complete and utter bullshit. When my mattress was delivered, the box spring would not fit up my narrow staircase. I recognize that this is not specifically the fault of The Mattress Man. I recognize that they did not make my narrow staircase or large box spring. I know that. I’m not so crazy a consumer that I demanded they fix the problem that day. I begrudgingly paid the additional fee to have my box spring split-even though I purchased during a FREE box spring promotion, where I saw no printed restrictions regarding split box springs. I begrudgingly agreed to wait another week for my box spring to be delivered even though I wanted to reach through the phone and punch the smarmy owner (he of the supposed loaner spare bed fame) in the face.

The following Tuesday, 24 hours before my scheduled delivery, I got another phone call from Keith, the slimeball of an owner who called to say that the warehouse had neglected to put half of my split box spring on the truck and that was just too bad for me, I’d have to wait another week.

I went into customer service complaint mode. Could I have the number of someone at the warehouse to complain to? No, says Keith, it’s a big company, they won’t do anything. Can I have your Simmons’ representative’s name? No, he’s certainly not responsible. Can I have your boss’ name to file a customer service complaint? Well no, says Keith, I’m the owner and therefore I’m it, you’ll just have to live with my abominable customer service. Can I expect a refund of my extra money upon delivery of my box spring since my receipt says delivery on August 31 and you failed to meet that? Well no, because you already paid and we just don’t do that. Will you be sending me a loaner bed so I no longer have to sleep on the floor? No, we don’t have a policy to do that. Will you be paying for my hotel room so I don’t have to sleep on the floor? No, of course not. Will you do anything for me? No, I’m not responsible for the warehouse, no one is, so there’s nothing you can do.

Oh, ho, Keith, there is something I can do. I may not be looking to buy a mattress anytime soon and would therefore not be a return customer, but I can be a very vocal customer. And I have no problem writing negative reviews on any business review service I can find (I should also point out, that I am quick to write good customer service reviews too, because I don’t want to spend my life being a Negative Nancy).

My frustration in this situation is simple. Someone is responsible. Perhaps it is Keith, who faxed (who the hell faxes?) in an incorrect order in the first place. Perhaps it is the mattress warehouse supervisor, who failed to check the order. Perhaps it is Tom, the Simmons representative. But someone is responsible for the fact that 3 weeks later I still don’t have what I paid a good bit of money for. And someone ought to make amends, instead of acting as though my frustrations are out of line (because how dare I want something I paid for be delivered when it says it’s going to be delivered?)

So now, I’ve learned my lesson: caveat emptor. It’s my own fault for not walking out the door and finding someone less slimy and with better (read: any) customer service practices. And I won’t be recommending anyone take a trip to The Mattress Man.

Putting it out in the universe…

Sarah — Fri, 08 Jul 2011 15:45:27 +0000

“And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.” The Alchemist, page 23, by Paulo Coelho

Look out world, I'm coming for you!

A few weeks ago, I declared after my performance review that I was going to stop whining about my shitty job and do something about it. I gave myself a timeline to quit.

And then…

Drumroll please…

I quit. I Quit. I QUIT.

Because two weeks ago, I read a job post and I thought to myself, this is what Oprah talks about when she says “A-ha! moment,” this job just sounds like me. Project management for a small start-up? The potential to institute my own processes and procedures? The ability to whip people in to shape, to kick butt, to take names, to learn something along the way? YES. YES. YES.

So, I applied. And they offered me a job. And 3 days later, I turned in my 2 weeks notice. I looked at my “stable, government job” with its benefits and retirement plan and thought to myself “these things just aren’t more important than my sanity.”

Today is my last day in the office that I have hated for the last year, but have put up with because I’ve been surrounded by vampires who think they know better than me. I am on a serious high from hearing people say “Sarah, you’re glowing” and “I’ve never seen you smile so much.” I’m convinced this means that I’m doing the right things.

This time next week, I will be in the midst of training in “Cowton, Ohio” (their description, not mine and maybe contemplating tipping a cow (or probably not because I am not Tommy Boy)

This time next week, I won’t have to listen to people in my office tell me “You know, if you were my daughter, I would never let you do this” (this came from the idiot that told me that I am destined to spend my entire career sitting in a cubicle) or the people who keep looking longingly at me when they say “Hey, short-timer!” at me in the hallway. I’d say there’s a 50-50 split of people in the office-half of them think I’m stupid to leave my job, good or bad, and the other half are probably jealous that I’m doing what they would like to do, but don’t have the guts to-to quit doing what bores them and to try to find something that makes them happy.

I think Paulo Coelho was right in The Alchemist, when you put things out into the universe, when you say what you want, the universe conspires to give it to you. As hippie-dippy as it is, it’s true. I finally articulated that I want to put an end to something that I don’t like and low and behold, I do it.

It feels good. Stay tuned for what’s next.

Whiners are wieners

Sarah — Wed, 22 Jun 2011 19:54:18 +0000

Disclaimer: this is my first attempt at doing this from my phone, so if the spacing is wonky, or I don’t catch my iPhone autocorrecting the wrong words, I apologize.

Moving on. It’s no secret to anyone reading that I hate my job. It practically drips from every post about my obnoxious cube neighbors or the other people I work with. But it needs to stop.

I had my mid-year performance review this morning. Which, when I walked in my boss’ office at 9:00 for a 9:30 meeting ( apparently I need to pay more attention when I reset my watch), she said “Sarah, it’s not that big a deal, I would have told you if your performance was lacking before now if it was.”

She gave this exact same speech to me whenever we had our end of year review. This might be one of the few things I agree with her on-you shouldn’t wait for a twice-yearly performance appraisal to know you’re failing miserably.

But, when she asked if I had any inputs in regard to my performance, I said what I’ve been saying for months-this place doesn’t exactly encourage performance-in practice, anyway. If I make a suggestion for something as simple as asking people to rename a file so it doesn’t read “Untitled” so I can better organize invoice files, I hear “You know, that’s really just the system here. People won’t change their behavior, so you just have to learn to live with it.” WELL THAT PISSES ME OFF.

I should adapt to an inefficient process instead of even politely suggesting a solution? It’s enough to make a girl want to punch something. Or, in my case, go to sleep because such toil is just absolutely exhausting in the worst way.

But, it’s time to take action. I don’t want to wait three years to get used to the system, as my office mentor suggests. Because that’s absurd. And then I become what, exactly? Complacent? Numb?

So, the whining stops here. No more whining about Jolene Tarantulas and her overindulged daughter or my neighbor’s social worker or my incompetent micromanager of a boss (I’ll even ignore the salary data someone in the office showed me. To think she makes that much money makes me want to dry heave all over again). Done. Finished.

You may be wondering what the hell I’m going to do with myself if I can’t whine or narrate about the idiots I’m surrounded with. That remains to be seen. But, I’ve set up a timeline: I’m in a wedding at the end of July, my fourth in as many months. I’m allowed to quit after that. I can certainly leave before that, but that’s my drop-dead deadline. I don’t want to meet my 24th birthday on August 13 with a job that I hate.

I’ve enlisted the services of a life coach, I’m getting rid of useless crap so that I can go wherever the wind blows me without renting a storage unit and most importantly, I’m done being a negative Nancy. Done.

And all 10 of my loyal readers are going to hold me accountable.

Greener Grass

Sarah — Fri, 20 May 2011 19:32:35 +0000

I am very vocal about the backwards environment I work in-at Kickball, at the bar, chaperoning a sorority formal, standing in front of the refrigerator in the office if someone in my office deigns to ask me how I am.

At Kickball last night, one of our subs looked at me and said, “Oh, you hate your job? Welcome to the club.” And so I asked him what he was going to do about it, to which he replied, “It’s work. By nature it sucks.” And when I started railing about how that’s the most ass-backwards thing I’ve ever heard, he moved to the end of the table. Clearly, I am in the minority (at least on the Kickball team) in thinking that work should be interesting and even if it’s not always fun, it should be sometimes.

When I was stopped at the refrigerator that other day, I was stopped by a guy who does, from time to time, check to make sure that I haven’t reached my breaking point. And mercifully, he lets me yell at him about how stupid and incompetent my boss and her boss are before he tries to give me practical, fatherly advice. I appreciate this, even if I think he’s also wrong. He’s trying. And his values are incredibly different from mine because he has a wife and a mortgage and has to make considerations that I never do because I am not yet saddled with those responsibilities.

So, we were chatting about how I cannot stand putting presentations together for our group director (who is at the top of our little pyramid within the great government machine). I can’t stand putting them together because she never asks “I’m doing a presentation for this meeting, and the topic is this and I’d like you to make these changes on this, this and this or be creative here.” Usually, her special assistant (or special ass, as I fondly refer to her) drops the presentation to my boss (because why in god’s name would you go directly to the person who’s doing the damn thing?), delivers it to me and says “This needs to be fixed.” When I ask, “What needs to be fixed? The data? The color? The font? The subject?” The response I get is, “I don’t know, but I need it Friday.” I’m not allowed to ask the big boss. I’ve tried. I’ve explained that it’s an incredible waste of my time and theirs to make me spend 5 days doing 4 different versions of a presentation which will all ultimately be rejected in favor of something else her highness thought of while driving home from the office.

And so, I explained this to my co-worker. And he said, “Well, you know, unfortunately, sometimes you have to work for idiots. And sometimes, you just have to do it their way until you can do it your way.” So, to clarify, I am supposed to keep my head down, waste an incredible amount of time and resources (in this case, taxpayer dollars) to do something ass-backwards because the idiot in charge isn’t even amenable to listening to my suggestions unless I write them on the viewpoint survey administered by some other department to be ignored because they didn’t like the results. I am supposed to tread water for what is likely to be years of my life until someone grants me the privelege of making some other poor soul miserable for no other reason than I’ve earned my stripes.

He went on to say “You know, it’s not really any different anywhere else,” which has lately become one of the statements that sends me from zero to outer orbit in 30 seconds. I am not discounting the fact that he may be right, there are other places that are probably worse, high security prison perhaps, my internship in China, but I’m not convinced that you can make such sweeping generalizations. There are places where, even if my changes weren’t implemented, I might be listened to. There are places that might actually listen to me when I point out that we should perhaps live by those values which we insist on putting on every presentation and poster and posted in every cubicle. The world is not so black and white as public sector vs. private sector, or healthcare vs. not healthcare or IT vs. everything else. He gave up after this. He looked at me and said, “You know, it sounds like you’ve worked out the answer. And I may not be the best person to help here.” That may have put an end to our chats.

I didn’t mean to run him off, but a little part of me hopes I’ve made him think that maybe his idea that it doesn’t get any better is flawed.

Resistance

Sarah — Wed, 18 May 2011 20:36:23 +0000

It’s no secret to anyone around me that I have not been happy with the way things have turned out for me thus far. I agreed to babysit the other evening and when I walked in the front door after running around the yard, Little E’s grandma looked at me and said “Are you alright? You look miserable.” Which, much as I hate it, is something I hear more often than I reasonably should-there’s a trainer at my gym (DJ Pauly D’s cousin, I think) who regularly looks at me while I’m swining my kettle bell or running laps around the track to tell me I look like I don’t want to be there-not something a girl wants to hear when she’s trying to achieve Michelle Obama arms.

So, my face belies that I’m not happy. I’m convinced that it’s my job that’s dragging me through the mud and I’ve been listening to all the little vampires telling me I’m lucky to have a job, or no job is really any better or everyone hates work. It’s making me angry. Angry. I find myself yelling at people who don’t deserve to be yelled and picking fights over things that aren’t important at all (like shoes that I’m supposed to wear for a wedding, or who’s going to buy groceries this week). I carry around a moleskine journal in my bag, to write down books I want to read, packing lists for upcoming trips, shopping lists and at the top of almost every other page is a note to myself: read The War of Art by Steven Pressfield. Seth Godin always talks about it. It’s listed as recommended reading in my new copy of Life After College by Jenny Blake. And yet, it’s taken me quite a while to actually get around to reading it.

I won’t tell you what to think of the book, if you’re not presently mired in a situation that makes gym rats tell you that you look miserable, you might not have the same reaction as me. But here’s my favorite take-away thus far:

What does Resistance feel like? First, unhappiness. We feel like hell. A low-grade misery pervades everything. We’re bored, we’re restless. We can’t get no satisfaction. There’s guilt but we can’t put our finger on its source. We want to go back to bed, we want to get out and party. (page31)

A year ago, when I was looking for a job, I wasn’t looking for something that I really wanted to do, so much as something that vaguely matched my educational qualifications so that I would have a steady source of income while I waited for my elusive A-Ha! moment that Oprah is always railing on about. And what I’ve learned from Mr. Pressfield is that waiting for some sort of inspiration really isn’t the practical choice, it’s this idea of resistence, I’m passively waiting because I’m really not sure what it is I want. And instead of actively taking only the steps that will lead me to that thing or those things that will make me happy to get up in the morning, I am passively choosing to wait and making myself miserable in the process.

I think I know what the next step is. If I’m being honest with myself, I knew what the logical step was months ago but I hate the idea of quitting, and I thought that must logically be worse that sticking to something that I hate. And now I’ve spent the morning thinking of all of the things that people have been saying to me that I have been letting hold me back. And I’m going to spend the afternoon figuring out how I’m going to tell them to shove it.

Cubicle Rant-Thanks, Mom!

Sarah — Mon, 16 May 2011 06:45:35 +0000

I’ve hesitated from making my blog a place where I simply rail on the people who sit around me and invade my space or my idiot boss because I think whiners are wieners. That being said, I have no problem talking about the morons I’m surrounded by if I can also learn something. Because then my frustration isn’t for nothing, right?

I’ve been going deaf lately turning my iPod up to drown out the constant conversation between my cube neighbor, Jolene Tarantulas (this is of course, not her real name, but it’s close enough. You’ll remember her as the moron who’s been here 37 years and never liked it) and my other neighbor, Big B. And much as I hate to admit it, even the Avett Brothers can’t lift me from the foul mood that Jolene unknowingly unleashes on me by talking and repeating (because she says everything THREE times. “I NEVER do that. I NEVER do that. I NEVER do that” Yeah, we get it, though your vehemence suggests you’re lying).

Jolene has just returned from her only daughter’s graduation ceremony, where she graduated from Coastal Carolina. I was not aware that Coastal Carolina was not a community college. And that people from the state of Maryland would pay out of state tuition to go there. She’s been walking around for weeks with her chest puffed out like a peacock so proud that her daughter was so close to graduation-with a 3.7 GPA! It turns out that Coastal Carolina has only recently become a real university and not a community college, but I contend a 3.7 at a sort-of community college isn’t all that miraculous. Certainly not something that one needs to belabor 8 hours a day, for the 3 days a week that she comes into the office. So, to celebrate her daughter’s great achievements (cough, cough) she decided she would give in and buy her daughter the expensive Michele watch she asked for. But, she had already told Megan she couldn’t afford the watch, what with having to pay to put gas in her Mercedes and pay for the gas in Megan’s car and turn the air conditioning on and pay for Megan’s pedicures and whatever else. And she would never, never, never, NEVER spoil her only child by buying her an expensive watch when she herself shops at the Value Village in Highlandtown (a thrift store) on days when she can get her AARP discount. Because she can’t see paying $100 for a pair of jeans. But, our Jolene is a wonderful, wonderful, WONDERFUL mother and so in the end, she decided to trade some jewelery that she had inherited but didn’t actually likeor want in to buy Megan her watch.

And now, we should all pause and give her a mother of the year award. Because she produced a child who is at the top(ish) of a mediocre pile and being the good, self-sacrificing mother that she is, she got rid of some things she didn’t even want to buy her daughter the thing that she wanted. We bow down to her, naturally.

You’re wondering what I learned from this conversation, I’m sure, since there has to be a lesson in here, right? My mother (well, both of my parents, but my mom and I went shopping) bought me a Michele watch for graduation. I love it. I did not expect it, nor do I forget that it was a very nice gift, which I in fact, love very much. And she rewarded me for graduating from a competitive school by buying me an expensive gift in addition to paying for that expensive education. I will admit here that I did not get a 3.7 GPA. I have no idea what I did have. It was higher than 3. I didn’t actually spend time fretting over things such as grades, because I learned things in college that were far more valuable than anything I learned in class. But I love my mom enough to think that she’s not walking around her art room telling her students, or their aides or her fellow teachers that she is a wonderful, self-sacrificing mother for giving me an expensive gift. I know she is proud of me and she has no doubt talked about how pleased she was that I got into the school that I wanted to, made wonderful friends, and learned some things. I know those things. I didn’t need a watch to confirm that she’s proud of me.

But I love it all the same. And I love my mom. So I guess I can thank Jolene for being such a gigantic pain in the ass because I know my mother will never act like that. She’d be more likely to tell Jolene to shove it.