stella6.com

I finally did it. I quit my job. I couldn’t be happier.  granted, i still have about three weeks left till i’m officially unemployed, but i’m so psyched, excited and optimistic about what this will mean for me.

i know, it might come as kind of a surprise after my previous fawning over my  job and declaring how i *did* want to be a corporate business woman. well, a lot has happened, and my attitude has changed a lot since those postings.  in part toward my company - although i still really do believe what in what it’s doing and think it will be a catalyst for change - but mainly toward my job, and the rest of my life.

i’ve been writing about this a lot, just not on my blog - lest somehow someone from my work accidentally stumble upon it before i had made my severance official. i’ll post those entries at some point in the future (probably after i’m actually gone), but the basic jist of it is that i am not a desk person.  this has been my first real desk job, and it has come to really grate on me in these past four months or so. i couldn’t imagine the rest of my life spent this way - even if i did climb the ladder, have more authority and more reign to do what i wanted. i couldn’t imagine that for the rest of my life, my “life” would be someone else’s property.   i realized that if a company as basically good as the one i’m at (although of *course* not with out its flaws - and i’ll post more on that later) couldn’t satisfy me, i would never be happy to work for someone else, and give them my time, my life. for what? in exchange for two weeks of PTO a year? i work weekends, nights, 12 hour days … blahblahblah … and i get TEN DAYS in exchange?!!  now i’m ranting - and it’s not a rant necesarily against my place of employment, but more against corporate America in general.  i may sound cliche - as i’m by no means the first to realize this - but it was stealing my soul.

i think that as more and more people in my generation come to the realization i have, the face of the corporate world will be forced to change to a certain extent. or at least i hope it does, for the sake of the people trapped inside.  we were brought up to know what we want and go for it, to demand nothing less than perfection from ourselves *and* our employers.

anyway, back to my original theme of it being a lot of work to be unemployed.  it’s probably obvious from my above tirade that i will not be proffering my soul to another company.  i’m going to be a freelance writer, and while i know that sounds ambitious (and also kind of cliche) i have high hopes for the future.  it’s been so much work to get to this point, because i wanted to be at a relatively good financial spot with freelance work, before i just jumped without a safety net. so i’ve been working my ass off, getting blogging jobs, article writing jobs, PR jobs, publicist jobs, researching jobs, and on and on.  i’ve been working on the weekends, at night, over my lunch break, and before i go to work in the morning to try and make this happen.  right now i’m not in love with all the jobs i’m doing, but for now they’ll pay the bills and i can refine as i go along, have more time, and become more experienced at the game.

back in the day, the reason i got into journalism was to write. and as the years have gone on, i’ve gotten further and further away from the writing aspects of my jobs until now i have absolutely no writing duties at my current job.  true, that gave me more ability to write in my spare time, but i’ve always wanted my passion to be my job, not my hobby. so that’s the road i’m going down.

i’ve enjoyed my day jobs for the most part - a few years ago i couldn’t imagine doing anything but producing news - but for now they’ve run their course.  i know myself well enough and am not naive enough to think this is it for me.  i won’t be surprised if in a year or two, i’m off to try something new, but at least i will have given this a try - which is what i’ve said about almost everything i’ve done.

ryan’s quit his job also and we have great plans for this next phase in our life.  we’re going to enjoy the sunny days instead of watching them go by from our desks.  we’re going to work from wherever the hell we want to, whenever the hell we want to - at 10 am or 3 am. we’re going to live in japan with my parents for a few months.  then maybe try house swapping (we still want to keep our home base) so we can live in some of our dream cities - new york, london.  who. frikkin. knows.  and if you know me, then you know that those three words make all these sense in the world to me.

i’m posting a blog i wrote on my (cough cough) myspace a long time ago, but it really bears re-posting - i think i covered everything that angers me pretty well.  seriously, what is the DEAL with disgusting, slovenly, creepy guys saying the first thing about you that pops into their mind. it’s infuriating, degrading, and offensive. and it’s gotten so bad that it recently forced me to say the dreaded “f word” while i was on the phone with my mom: i was in the park, on the phone with her, when this weird (probably not-quite-right), creepy, older-looking guy came up in front of me and just stood there.  he didn’t say anything but i knew he was up to no good.

“i’m on the phone,” i said - which was my was of warning him “nicely.” he still stood there, and then asked if i was single.  i told him, more forcefully this time, that i was ON THE PHONE.  he kept asking me, several times in a row, if i was single.  finally i burst out, “that’s none of your fucking business!!!”

of course, my mom on the other end was probably mortified. this is the woman who prefers i not use words like “pee” and “butt” - in fact, when i was growing up, they were completely off-limits.  now, if i say them, or other sundry “offensive” words i throw in from time to time (sucks, crap, blows, damn, hell), i just get a disappointed exclamation of my name.  which, rather to my surprise, is how she handled my f-bomb. i thought she’d flip a little more.  but i explained to her that you had to be firm, and even rude and bitchy (yes, i even said bitchy) sometimes, or people just don’t get it.

she said that you could be firm, but still be gracious and classy (oh my mother, the absolute epitome and bastion of class. i love her).   i told her my first statement - the “i’m on the phone” - *was* me being gracious and classy.  that after years of dealing with these kind of outbursts and people, i’d kind of gotten it down to a bit of a science. then she said jokingly and rather sarcastically, “yes, it must me such a burden being good looking” (like she, btw, is one to talk).  and i said, actually it is. and it’s not that i wish i wasn’t attractive, i just wish guys would learn to be respectful.

so without further adeiu, here is my original post:

i’ve had it. i’m sick of the crazy-ass people who apparently think that catcalling / grunting / commenting / leering / otherwise being a nasty prick, is somehow going to get them some positive feedback. i’m assuming, of course, that that’s what they *are* thinking - certainly they can’t be doing this for anyone’s edification, right? based on (unfortunately, disturbingly) vast experience, i’ve compiled a list of usual offenders. take note, bitches.

1. the homeless or might-as-well-be-homeless leerer: yes, i have my ipod on and i walk by like i haven’t heard anything (just like i do when you ask for money b/c yah, when it comes down to it i *am* cold and heartless … i have no choice, thanks to you), but i hear you, and i don’t understand. i mean really. i only want to know WHY WHY WHY FOR THE LOVE OF SWEET JEHOVAH WHY?! what do you think you’re going to accomplish? i’m well dressed. put together. business-looking even. i’m clearly not a crack-whore. i’m clearly walking *home* - and by home i mean a place with walls, and a roof, in a building with a concierge. not “home” to a box in a an alley. you think you have a chance? this one truly doesn’t leave me time to be *that* disgusted, b/c it makes me curious more than anything.

2. the ghetto-fabulus leerer: ahem. ok. i understand i may have that universal “look” - the cliche “tall, skinny, blonde” thing. i also understand “attraction” crosses race, economic (and even gender) boundaries — for some people. not for me, bitches. i like my men white and well-off. but i get it. you don’t know me and here i am, tall skinny and blonde, walking in your hood (i’m talking about one hood in particular, and believe me, i *wouldn’t* be there if i had a choice …). i’ve clearly put more than 5 minutes into my appearance (which is more than i can say for a lotta chickies in this area), and done more than pull some rumpled sweatpants out of the closet (again … more than i can say …). oh, and i’m not your baby mama (*again* …). i understand. you *just don’t know* what to do when you see such an uncommon sight! ok, i’ll tell you. just stop. i’m better dressed / more put together / more confident for a reason. i’m way out of your league. so again i say, stop.

3. the (sleazy) business man: (i say sleazy b/c i see *plenty* of the non-sleazy ones during my commute. a lot of them are relatively attractive. they leave me alone.) you must think you see your “equal,” b/c i look professional, independent and confidant. can you guess which statement you’re right about? apparently not, so i’ll help you out. i am professional, independent and confidant. you are not my equal. let’s put the fact that i’m married aside. (and this goes for all the above mentioned offenders:) i would never ever EVER NEVER EVER *EVER* be so flattered by your .5 seconds of attention while passing on the street that i’d feel i *must* get to know you, turn around, and run after you. i’m just trying to help out here, and since your above actions are so imbecile, i have to think you really might not know that. (ps- no other relatively attractive woman - who i’m sure you also leer at - will ever turn around and run after you. just a tip.)

4. the idiot i somehow get dragged into conversation with: i do a lot to avoid you. i’m reading, listening to an ipod, walking fast, not responding to you. yet somehow (be it in a store, a prison-like situation on a bus, in line at starbucks, whatever) i am forced into conversation with you. forced into questions like, “do you model?” (no, really, how cliche). now, i’m not a total bitch. i find it hard to just come out and say, “leave me alone.” but to me, that’s what my body language was doing already. you’re clearly stupid. so you talk, and i give one word responses if i absolutely have to. any other normal person would just leave me alone. it’s not that i’m shy, or that i’ll eventually respond to you. no. i just want you to shut the hell up.

5. the under-age gangsta-kid: ok. i look young, i know. but lord have mercy, not *that* young. so that can only mean one thing. you think older women are hot, and your (probably absentee) fathers are best described by # 2 (see above). the hope for your future is diminishing quickly. that’s all i have to say about you.

**general note**
these leering perpetrators have to know at least one thing - the girls they’re ogling are probably ogled by a decent number of other people. here’s something you must not know: we’re used to it, we hate it, and we hate you. (i’m counting out the skanky / want to be stared at / purposely dress to get attention crew.) it *doesn’t* make me feel special. this is a big city, with a lot of very attractive people. that means your leering activities must take up a lot of your time. how sad for you.