Tuesday, April 8, 2008

Delightful-

So I quit my job.

This seems like a pretty momentous decision to me because I am a giant pushover and the idea of bailing on a job where they've planned on having me around for field season gives me the willies. My senior year in college I was offered a job restoring a creek in the Bay Area for seven million dollars an hour, but sadly I'd already agreed to pull weeds in the old west with a pedophile. Thusly, big deal.

During my last weeks at work, I had applied for a dozen jobs, but not yet given notice. I was learning new aspects of the job cheerily and asking about our summer plans. I knew I was telling filthy filthy lies, but the secret felt so comfortable- knowing that I was lying through my teeth to people who I like and respect was like coming home.

Second, we went to see Senor C's parents this weekend. There had been a brief... respite... in our visits, because the last three were so goddamn unpleasant. This is no fault of Doña C- I lay it all at the feet of the Conquistador Lord of the Undead himself. Lady C pulled me aside, and asked if CLotU saying he missed his son to her counted towards admitting affection to his son. I said I'd pass it along to the board.

The Conquistador Lord of the Undead doesn't like me- the disadvantage of dating someone for your entire adult life (minus a week) is that it's up to parental discretion to separate out the influence of a consort and actual maturation of your child. I get blamed for Señor C's negative ambition, general laziness, and video game addiction. I get no credit for encouraging his nascent sprouts of ambition. (I'm not from a family which condones ambition. Shouldn't I get some credit from dragging it out of the murky well where it lurks?)

Now, if he would talk to me, he'd find that we have a vaguely similar goal- a Señor C with career plans. We could work together, gently nudging our favorite person towards personal fulfillment and a larger paycheck. Sure, we have different techniques- him with the yelling, monetary rewards, and denying affection, and me with the less yelling, lemon tarts, and talking all the time. I'll be the first to admit that he has a higher success rate in making Señor C 'think about doing something sometime', but he should acknowledge my victories in leading Señor C to "get the degree" and "find a job".

Short version: The worst way to get the boy out of a dead end job is to try to undermine his consort's career. Specially when she's feeling like shit for leaving the old job and lying beforehand.

It is the best way to get me to patch up a fight though. You will never get rid of me, motherfucker. I will hang around until the day you die, if only to spite you.

And because I love Señor C.

That should come first.

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