A pirate looks at 33 (I will totally do this every year and make it fit my needs)

So, I expect this blog to be simultaneously cranky, pessimistic, hopeful, and inspirational. My five personalities will be helping. I'll try to keep them (and myself) on track.

I applied for a job, a promotion within my current company, and I didn't get it. I'm happy for the person that got it, and I do think she deserved. That, however, has not kept me from saying all day, to soothe my ego, "Stupid, quiet, smart people." In theory, I'm looking at the bright side..I still have my current job, so I'm not unemployed..huge plus. There's nothing keeping me from re-applying for that job, should it become open or any other job there...also an advantage.

So, here's where the dark side takes over...
1. I loathe...LOATHE coming in 2nd..even if there are 100 people in this metaphorical scenario, even if it's an engineering contest or a cleaning competition or a bake-off...I will justify and argue why my "rocket/shiny floors/apple pie are the best. I was a major smarty pants when I was little, and I find the saying,"What you are at 4, you are at 40," to be wildly appropriate...which is also why I will like monkeys or any animal wearing people clothes until I draw my last breath.

2. I am not professionally where I thought I would be at 33. I need to preface this by saying that I really do enjoy aspects of my job, and I would not trade anything for my co-workers (some of them anyway) and our management. We are treated extremely well, a Christmas bonus, for God's sake, among other perks, but if you had asked me when I was graduating high school, where do you see yourself in 15 years, I would not have said "customer service representative."

At 18, actually, I would've said attorney/lounge singer. I thought I wanted to be an attorney; I was certain I wanted to be a lounge singer, and with minimal pursuit of both, I became neither. I changed my political science major to a communication major, because I knew I wanted to write. I still know that I want to write. I pursued it the wrong way, though. I veered toward journalism, when I should've concentrated on English and creative writing. I can't say I regret that decision completely because some of my best friends are those I met while working in newspapers.

But I do feel I've gypped myself in a way. I can remember my family telling me to study where jobs would be, writing not particularly falling into that category. And even thinking about it now, what horrible advice to give your child. Of course, you don't want them to be financially unstable or worry about their well-being, but if/when we have our ONE child, I am going to tell them to do whatever makes them happy. If you want to dance, do it, and be the best at it. Love what you do, and if you put your heart into it, you could be the next Barishnikov, T.S. Eliot, Monet, etc...

I honestly do believe that writing and I have a big future ahead of us. I can't say it's the only thing at which I've ever excelled..c'mon...state capitals, spelling, karaoke, arguing, most recently, chili preparation...the list is endless, but it's the only thing that has ever given me true and complete happiness. I also get a very nice sense that both my father and grandfather are reading over my shoulder and chuckling for different reasons.

Have I mentioned recently that I miss my dad so much, it takes the breath out of me? In order for me not to cry while using Smitty's laptop and prompt some type of computer usage lecture, I want to share a happy story about my dad before I leave you:

I was about 6 years old and was eating dinner at the table with my parents and sister. I was finished, and my mom wanted to give me a bath. As I started to get up from the table, my dad told me I couldn't get up until I asked to be excused. (Never before and never since had we EVER had to ask that; he was not in good humor that night) I refused. Even as a 6-year-old, I was an incredibly stubborn pain in the ass, also leading my parents to attend a seminar called "Raising the Willful Child." I digress. We stared each other down for over an hour and by this point, I feel sure most kids might've just given in and asked to be excused. Not this rapscallion. Only when my mother finally insisted that she give me a bath so I could go to bed did he relent and let me get up from the table.

About 7:30 the next morning, I sneaked into my parents' bedroom, shook my snoring dad awake and asked him if I could be excused. I had no problem eventually obeying him, but I wanted to do it on my terms. And even though he was ticked at me for being such an insolent little shit, this story also demonstrates how much like him I am, and he enjoyed telling it for that very reason.