Ah-CHOO!

I am a complete and total coward when it comes to illness. This is most likely due to my bizarre and checkered health history. I once caught pnuemonia...in May. I had an emergency appendectomy, including a gift-with-purchase case of peritonitis. Last year was a revolving door of recurrent kidney infections. There was the Summer of Epstein-Barr. Food poisoning. And so on. I am a repository of angry, fussy, uncommon germs.

Sunday evening I found myself with a bit of the sniffles and a feeling of complete exhaustion. I decided this meant I was most likely going to die. Or, at the very least, be carted off to a hospital and experimented upon with red-hot tongs by white-fanged nurses. So I did what any sane person would do: I went to bed. And, boy howdy, did I sleep.

At 7 pm, I crawled into bed. I woke up at 8 the next morning, groggy and woozy and snuffly. I called in sick to work, crawled back into bed, and slept until after 11. I spent the rest of the day cradling glasses of ginger ale and huddled in front of DVDs, a backlog of newspapers, and this month's issue of Elle Decor. I figure the best thing to do when sick is to get better. And getting better means rest, fluids, and the films of Wes Anderson.

Amazingly, the office carried on without me, the world did not spin off its axis, and I am now back at work. Nothing like 16 hours of sleep and a 2-liter bottle of Schweppes to cure what ails you.

Cruise Director Julie?

I'm a planner. An anticipator. A logistical freak. A Type A cliche.

Those are all very handy things to be on the job. I'm a professional secretary, so those traits are my bread and butter. Are you attending a conference in Vancouver on 10 days notice, with no hotel, no rental car, a flight reimbursement cap of $750, and a meeting back in DC the following morning? I'm your girl. I can throw the whole thing togther for you in 30 minutes.

If your office is a mess, I'll fix it. I'll inflict my organizational systems on you, along with a heavy dose of Secretarial Zen philosophy. You'll love every minute of it. I truly enjoy scheduling, organizing, and coordinating.

I've noticed, however, that these traits are far less appealing in my personal life. Friends hesitate to invite me over, in case I secretly optimize their closet space while they're off answering the phone. (Of course, some friends invite me over in the secret hope that I'll reorganize their closets for them.)

I spend a lot of my free time cruise directing happy hours, home-cooked dinners, and museum outings. My calendar is booked well in advance. Not RSVPing, no-showing, and last-minute flakeouts can give me an insurmountable case of the crankies.

So I'm always left with the same dilemma. I gotta be me, but how do I avoid freaking people out? Do I have to tamp down the control freak aspects of my personality, or should I just continue my hyperscheduling and allow people to fall in line if they want to? Who knows?

Vacation, All I Ever Wanted...

I have a 5-day weekend coming up, and I couldn't be happier about it. The last time I had any sort of real break, it was Christmas. I've been getting a bit burned out, truth be told, and need a few days to recharge.

No, I'm not going anywhere. No, I'm not doing anything in particular. I'm staying in town, mostly because I'm too broke to go anywhere, and partially because going anywhere is too much of a hassle to be relaxing.

So far I'm having a friend over for dinner, going to a party, and having lunch with a former coworker. I'm also getting my hair cut, which has become a stark necessity. If I were a superhero, I'd be The Human Kudzu. My hair and nails grow at an alarming rate. My bangs have gone from cute forehead decor to bizarre growths covering most of my face.

Beyond that, I might redecorate the bathroom, sleep in, and get rid of random junk. I couldn't be more thrilled.

Keep Your Catharsis in a Nightstand Drawer

There appears to be a theme this week. Anonymous blogging, standing up for yourself, but not being blunt. Here's what they all add up to: free speech is not a free pass. This post is adapted from some comments I left on I Now Pronounce You. (http://inowpronounceyou.wordpress.com/)

Years ago, I briefly dated a guy. Who was, incidentally, wrong for me in so many ways that it boggles the mind. We got in an argument, and he posted something truly cutting about me on his blog (basically, calling me a nutjob). His name wasn’t on it, and my name wasn’t on it, but it still hurt like hell. Anyone who knew either of us could have figured it out.

When I emailed him about it, he refused to apologize. There was a whole Internet out there for the taking, and I could just read something else. It was anonymous. The blog was his own personal catharsis, and he could do with it what he wished.

Personal catharsis is a diary kept in your nightstand drawer. A blog is out there for all the world to see. It isn't personal. If you wouldn’t, couldn't or shouldn't say it, then it doesn't belong on your blog. It was bad enough getting bashed by a boy whose name I've since forgotten, I can’t even imagine how I’d feel if a close friend or family member did it.

Public catharsis is a new thing in our society (thank you, Internet and reality TV!) and it’s something to be very carefully considered. People are so connected to one another that true anonymity is impossible. Privacy is over. An anonymous blog is never anonymous, ever. Someone will find you. If you really want to say whatever you want however you want, keep a diary.

Sometimes I inadvertently offend people I care about (my blog isn’t anonymous, after all, and never has been), and I try to make amends. I don’t brush off the person I hurt by telling them to look elsewhere. I blog about what it's like to be divorced, but I don’t discuss my ex or our relationship. That’s between me, my girlfriends, and a tasty glass of beer. I also don't discuss employers or my work except in very general terms.

I think the key thing to remember about a blog post is that it's there for the whole world to read, forever and ever. It’s a permanent thing, and it’s a responsibility. Some people just don’t want to read about themselves, and they don’t want their issues out there for everyone to see. Sometimes, if someone is hurt, the honorable thing to do is to see their side of it, delete the post, and apologize. Some people choose to be open, others choose to be private. I don't have the right to make that choice for anyone but myself.

But not always. It’s a tough call to make, but I usually err on the side of protecting the people I care about. I simply don’t have the right to hurt people, and free speech is not a free pass: there are always consequences to everything you write.

You Aren't Being Honest When You're Just Being Rude!

Yesterday's post about "nonconfrontational" cowardice left out a really important thing. Standing up for yourself doesn't give you a license to be cruel or a bully.

At work, I occasionally leave the Post's live chats up on my screen when I'm addressing envelopes, sitting on hold, or doing other repetitive tasks. Having something to look at is a great way to prevent burnout. Today's chat was by Tom Sietsema, the Post's food critic.

I read a post by a patron at Brasserie Beck claiming that a waitress bullied him, then used the excuse, "I'm a blunt person." I just HAD to weigh in on that one, and enjoyed the following exchange with Sietsema:

"I'm a blunt person...": Ha! A waitress described herself as blunt? That usually means, "I'm very rude and think tact is for suckers, but I frame it as being blunt so people think it's charming." Tact is essential to good service. If you're "blunt", get out of the restaurant business and go work at the DMV. Seriously, that's the best laugh I've had in weeks.

Tom Sietsema: "If you're blunt, get out of the restaurant business and go work at the DMV" --- or CVS, I would add!

It bugs me to no end when people describe themselves as blunt. These are the same people that trample your heart and then say, "Well, I was just being honest!" Honesty is telling your friend that the purple sweater has a cute shape, but the color washes her out. Cruelty is telling your friend that the purple sweater makes her look like a big fat grape crossed with a zombie soldier.

So, yes, stand up for yourself. Speak up. Just don't be blunt. Blunt is code for trying to get away with mistreating others, but framing it as a cute little personality quirk. Blunt people are little more than bullies. And bullies are never cute.

Are You Nonconfrontational or Just a Big Fat Wuss?

I took Intro to Psychology in college. In fact, it was one of the few A's I received in my college career. The handy thing about a little bit of knowledge is that you can spout utter BS and sound totally convincing.

In fact, I'm convinced many Americans received A's in Intro to Psychology. Because that would explain all the psychobabble tomfoolery that surrounds me everywhere I go.

My particular beef is with the term, "nonconfrontational." Back in my day, when Sinatra ruled the airwaves, coffee cost a nickel, and you hand-cranked your car, we had another word for nonconfrontational people. We called them cowards.

Think about it. That guy who just faded away instead of breaking up with you. The receptionist who never corrects you when you call her Mary instead of Marie (leaving you to find out her correct name by reading the cake at her going-away party). The friend who always seems to get bad service in restaurants, but never asks to speak to a manager.

These people are all "nonconfrontational." What that really means is that they're torturing themselves long-term to avoid momentary discomfort. These people are being ruled by their fears, avoiding all semblance of speaking up for what they want. They'd much rather stay quiet and leave the guesswork to us.

But, in a way, it's cruel to be nonconfrontational. It's selfish to leave other people guessing because you're not brave enough to say what's on your mind. I do get that speaking your mind can be a difficult thing. We all fear the drawbacks of speaking up. A scene, a shouting match, rejection, being ignord, or, in the case of bad restaurant service, a bit of waiter DNA in your pasta primavera. It often takes me a week or two to stand up for myself, because I worry about framing my concerns in the exact perfect way. Ugh.

The anticipation is always worse than the outcome. Always. So, next time your girlfriend wears that perfume that makes you sneeze, your boss leaves a moldy coffee mug on your desk, or your friend flakes on your birthday, speak up. I mean, really, what's the worst that can happen?

Hipsters of D.C., I Am Not Impressed

Sunday, I went to Crafty Bastards with Roxanne, Dave and Sean. Crafty Bastards, as the hipper-than-thou title suggests, is a CityPaper-sponsored craft fair in Adams Morgan.

Well, theoretically, I was there with Rox, Dave and Sean. But the hordes were so pushy, thick, and intense that we lost track of each other within ten minutes. It was hot, crowded and loud. You had to stand in line to look at any of the craft booths.

And, really, there wasn't much to look at. Hey, look! A hipster silkscreened t-shirt! And another! And another! Throw in a few overpriced handbags and some chunky jewelry, and you've covered the entire fair in just three booths.

I think there are a few things that could have been done better. I think they could have eliminated at least a third of the vendors, as they were all selling the same stuff anyway. This would have given the rest of us a little more room to walk around. There could also have been more refreshment stands, and fewer sport utility strollers (seriously, do you really need a stroller the size of a small car? How big is a baby, really?)

I'll definitely give it a pass next year. Give me Eastern Market anytime - even when it's mobbed, there's enough variety that you don't really mind.