It's hectic here in Marin's World, what with the big acquisition and billions of dollars flying around and jobs to be won and jobs to be lost and all.
This isn't some hostile takeover, Enron-Big-Oil bullshit. My client was built to be sold. Everybody involved is very excited and agitated. Lots of money in the offing, on the one hand, and pride of a job well done.
On the other hand, it's been likened more than once to sending your baby off to college. Pride, yes. Relief, yes. Joy, yes. Separation anxiety, definitely. A little emptiness, too.
On the other hand (why? How many hands do the people have on your planet?) there's an assload of filing, fixing, cleaning, organising, finishing and handing over to be done in the next six weeks.
I may not sleep or breathe until June 1.
Other than that, I suspect very little will change in my world. Should I be offered a corporate opportunity,** I don't know if I could re-enter that culture after so many years of me-centric workaday world. Should I be offered a corporate opportunity,** it could change my whole career. My whole life.
I had a fucking job interview for the first time in almost 20 years.**
Even if I don't want a job, I have to represent both my client and my brokerage in this sit-down. Leeeetle pressure. I Office Spaced it (see footnote from above, below).
[SUMMARY: I'm about as close to corporate in this moment as you may ever see me. You had me at 410(k)...]
You will be happy to know that, true to the Marin creed, I took the big "we're all one big, happy family" meeting with the new owners as a really good opportunity to exercise my Nordtrom card and I bought an extremely cute outfit (if I do say so myself -- I give all credit to the designer, the store clerk who helped keep me from embarrassing myself and Jesus) for the occasion. And a couple of other cute tops. And two enormously cute pairs of shoes.
I got this in a lovely, classic-yet-sexy metallic brown patent leather (for some reason, Nordstrom online doesn't show the brown). It has the same depth of colour and sparkle and shine as a pampered muscle car in the hands of a lacquer enthusiast. You know -- the sort of paint job they like for Hot Wheels? But chocolate brown. Picture it in your head.
Now doesn't that just say "fuck me" in an Audrey Hepburn sort of way?
The other pair doesn't even show up on the Nordy's website, but (trust Marin) those shoes are cute enough to make me make girl noises all over 'em. I'll probably wear them tonight. Maybe I'll get a picture for you. I'm just that much of a dork.
[SUMMARY: Seriously. Cute shoes.]
I'm also either completely metabolicious these days or I have some dread disease -- maybe a tapeworm -- because despite all my efforts to ruin my good body work of the last couple of years, I have gone down a size.
Maybe more, since the snotty-designer, woman-hating pants I bought at Nordy's are a size smaller than my best-fitting Old Navy jeans.
Y'all know what I'm talkin' about.
Don't tell IRL Kelley. She's having a bad enough week, in a shitstorm litany that includes several rounds of "I just feel fat." I don't want her to feel torn between loving me and killing me.
[SUMMARY: How obnoxious. Skinny chicks make me sick.]
I'll tell you all about Kelley's bad week, not for any purpose but the humour.
No, no, no...
While schadenfreude is usually one of my favourite emotions, I don't practise it on those I like and want to drink with.** It just got really, really funny last night in a way I think you didn't even have to be there (which is good, since you weren't, but I'm going to tell you all about it anyway and you fall in that camp of people I like and want to drink with, so no pain for you).
But not now. This weekend will be soon enough. I'll give you a hint:
[SUMMARY: It's called a cliff-hanger. I need to keep my four loyal readers coming back for more.]
Don't hate me because I'm slimming. Just help me name my tapeworm.
**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): That is to say, if they offer me a job despite the fact that my current resume reads a little like this blog, with slightly less reliance on the phrase "for fuck's sake."
**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): That is to say, if they offer me a job despite the fact that in the meet-and-greet I gave my title as "Beast of Burden, Land Department."
I am not making that part up.
**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): 1) I'm really curious to know what Marins go for on the open market these days, and 2) have you seen Office Space? Where the hypnotically laid-back Peter Gibbons has his interview and just rolls his way through it? That was pretty much me.
**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Usually.
Hey! Where's the knitting?