Stick a Fork in Me. . . I’m Charred
Writing, working out and karate are all therapy for me. It can be challenging to find time for these three things in my life, but when I don’t there is a big difference in how I feel. I realized last night that for the past few weeks, I haven’t been writing nearly enough. I haven’t gone to the gym. . . at all. I can’t even fathom when I can fit karate back into my crazy family schedule. Something needs to change.
I’ve now spent a year of my life on the board of directors at our local swimming and dining club. To say that it has been frustrating and that we have had struggles is a gross understatement. Yesterday was our annual membership meeting and only about 10% of our members actually showed up. As I sat at the front of the room and looked around, I didn’t see very many friendly faces.
Some nice things were said about the job we’re doing, but I heard the criticism. Some of our older demographic didn’t like the way I did the membership cards (the ones I had only a couple weeks to throw together with little help). The previous secretary threw a hissy fit because we retyped her minutes from last year (since the ones she provided were printed out with a toner on its last legs) and put them in a smaller font so that we could fit it on the front and back of one piece of paper instead of printing out four pieces of paper per person. She attacked me before the meeting, spitting my name at me as if it is a dirty word, while I calmly explained font size and paper usage to her before telling her that if she wanted to continue to discuss it, we could do so at a later date. I simply didn’t have the time to get into a pissing match over a font size; and frankly, if you're going to raise your voice at me about a font size, you have issues.
Instead of letting it go, she made a point of raising her hand as soon as the meeting had started. She then explained to the entire ballroom that she could not certify that these were indeed her minutes since we had changed the font size and there was one minor typo. My friends and neighbors in the audience shot me wide-eyed looks of disbelief. I just smiled. It was either that or throw my shoe at her. I chose to try to stay calm.
Throughout the meeting, various groups gave their reports and they were met with great applause. But when a sub-group in our organization, one that actually made money this year, gave their report? No applause. When I reported that we gained over 100 new members for the first time in over three years? No applause. Something just didn't seem right.
When the membership card issue came up, one woman was beyond angry that her first name was not on the card. Her last name and address were not sufficient enough for her. I explained the reason we had to create the cards in this way, about how our new computer system needed to have husband and wife consolidated under one account instead of each person having their own. I would have had better luck convincing a brick wall. Another woman raised her hand and said that there are many people with her last name so how would we know it was her and not someone else. I calmly stated, "Your address is also on the card."
I began secretly praying that someone would put me out of my misery if I ever become the person who stands up at a meeting, furious that the membership card that I never use anyway (because no one ever requests them and because our computer system knows the names of everyone anyway) doesn't have my first name on it.
When the meeting was over, Mr. BBM came up to me and asked me what I would like him to prepare at home for dinner (since I was heading to the private board meeting where we choose officers, of which I am still one of them). I told him "wine." He said, "No seriously. . . " and I said, "No seriously, wine."
I came home last night and did some serious thinking. I have two years left on my "sentence" and I'm going to try to make the best of it. I'm hopeful that we have some new board members who will step up and spend time volunteering the way only a handful of us already on the board do. However, I am beyond disappointed and frustrated with the fact that three of the people who were running for the board and didn't make it were three people who have spent tons of time volunteering and helping out at the club. To them, I'm sure it felt like a slap in the face. It feels that way to me too, except more like a punch in the gut followed by a palm heel to the nose.
I've also decided that I need to step back a bit. I need to put me and my family first again. I am burnt out beyond belief and when I think about the amount of hours I have put into this club and those stupid membership cards and all the flack I took yesterday, it just makes me sick. Let those people make the membership cards next year. If they have time to complain about their first name not being on the card, then they can surely spend some time doing the mindless nonsense that I did for the past few weeks.
I am burnt out beyond belief and I am just hoping that I can make it through these next two years without needing anxiety or blood pressure medication. I'm going to start trying to remedy this with a little medication in the form of some heavy bag therapy today. I so need it.
One Eye Roll Too Many
The curse of death for any board meeting is the phrase, "Tonight's meeting should be a quick one." It never quite happens like that. This week is a crazy week for me and I didn't count on spending four hours in a meeting on a Monday night. That will frustrate the living daylights out of any normal person, let alone a very stressed out one.
I get frustrated at these meetings for several reasons. First, although I am the secretary on the board and therefore an officer, sometimes I get treated more like a secretary in an office building. Half way through the meeting last night, I had a list with at least seven "to do" items on it. I may be the Secretary, but some people seem to think that I'm their secretary. It gets really annoying. I am hoping that on Sunday, after the election, I can get rid of the secretary title and can just be a regular run-of-the-mill board member.
Another reason I get frustrated is because there's only a handful of people on the board who volunteer and do things to help out, while there is another faction that graces us with their presence once a month at the meeting to complain that the fish at the club is mushy. It would be fine if the mushy fish statement would bea simple statement, like a thesis statement, perhaps. But these statements tend to be more like tirades, diatribes really. We have one board member in particular who is quite talented at taking one sentence worth of information and weaving it into a good 20 minutes of the exact same sentence, just worded slightly different (or sometimes not at all different).
When you have a pile of papers to grade at home and you know you have to wake up at 6:30 to be on campus for your 8 a.m. class the next day, you don't need the world's longest speech about mushy fish.
The frustrating thing that sent me over the edge last night came in the form of a dramatic eye roll directed at me, before I was even able to finish my statement. What happened afterward can only be described as an out of body experience. After being subjected to months of eye rolls, dirty looks, growls and other nonsense from this particular woman, I just completely snapped.
I don't remember everything I said. I know I started off with something like, "Don't you roll your eyes at me!" to which she barked at me that she hadn't and then I basically called her on the table and told her she was a liar and that she had indeed rolled her eyes at me. I felt like I was scolding a child who was talking back to me. I have a feeling she never knew what hit her.
When I was finished with my outburst I apologized to the board for my outburst, but added that "it needed to be said."
It did. No one defended the eye rolling woman. I did get a couple looks of approval from other board members who were probably thinking it was about time that someone said what I said.
I thought a lot about my outburst during the rest of the meeting. I contemplated whether or not I should approach her after the meeting and apologize for yelling. I'm just completely overwhelmed and frustrated with how much I had to do this week. I thought about explaining that to her and how it makes me feel when she sits there rolling her eyes at me. And then I decided against it. She has treated me like absolute dirt since she met me. She hates me because I'm young and outspoken. She hates me because I want to make the club more family friendly and she would rather sip her happy hour drink without my children being there for dinner. In a word, it's hopeless.
It's not like I go around telling people off on a regular basis; but I certainly know how to do it when it's well deserved. Some people need a wake-up call to snap them out of their madness. I don't know if what I said will have any impact on her at all. I do know that she didn't say a whole lot after I went off on her. I probably saved us all another 20 minutes worth of more mushy fish tirade though. If that's the case, that alone was worth it.
After the meeting, another board member came up to me in private and said that she wishes she could speak the way I do. I told her I hadn't the foggiest idea of most of what I'd said. She assured me that I hadn't done any swearing and that I was just firm and professional, while strongly putting that woman in her place. I was relieved to hear this, because I was worried I looked like a crazy lunatic who had completely lost it. I'm sure the woman I was directing it at thinks the latter. That's fine by me.
I tolerate a lot from people; I really do. But I have my limits and I have no problem telling people where to stick it when it's deserved.
My husband doesn't call me the verbal machine gun for nothing.
Be Careful What You Sign Up For
Filed under: Board of Directors, Things that get my gi all in a bunch
Even though last year, I wanted to win in the election to be a member of the board at our local country club (which is more like a swimming club with a clubhouse), sometimes my three year term there feels like a life sentence. I go through these periods where I'm super hopeful and happy about things. I see changes happening and I feel like I've been part of making them happen. I have volunteered hours, days, and weeks of my life over there, doing everything from boring data entry, to decorating for Christmas, to renovating a sports bar with the help of only a handful of other people.
It is a thankless job; however, that's probably the wrong word for it. If it was a "job," I'd be getting paid. I don't. In fact, board members don't even get a free or reduced membership.
I once heard an interesting statistic. If someone likes something about your business, they are likely to tell no one or one other person at best. However, if they are unhappy, they are likely to tell 19 people, on average. And let me just put it right out there when I say that where I live, the negativity runs strong.
I spend the days leading up to board meetings feeling sick in my stomach. Our annual membership meeting is coming up in just a few weeks and if last year's was any indication, it's sure to be a day that will probably have me chewing up Tums the way I'd like to be chewing up cheeseballs. Last year's meeting felt surreal. Certain older individuals showed up wearing suits and ties, their Sunday best; while younger men and women showed up in sweatpants, straight from their kid's soccer games or swim meets. The older people thought that was disgraceful and disrespectful. I thought it was insane. I kept waiting for the cameras from one of those crazy TV shows to pop out somewhere; but I've since realized this is just reality over at the club.
Sometimes I swear that the only reason I was elected onto the board is because I was going directly to a wedding reception immediately following the meeting. I was super dressed up. I swear that got me the swing votes, despite my lack of wrinkles and gray hair. I'm sure those people are regretting that now. You know, me, that crazy younger board member who tries to make decisions based on whether or not it's actually profitable.
What has been the most frustrating part though, is that despite being a volunteer and spending much of my free time working on things for the club, planning events or taking care of memberships, there are many members who don't realize or care that the club's Facebook page is run entirely by me. And "yes," I will happily delete your negative comments on that page because I've had it up to here (points to the moon). If you don't have something nice to say, then don't say it. I am doing my best and unfortunately, I, and the rest of the board members and employees, can't always make every member happy. It's not possible. They also don't realize or care that those who are putting together the monthly newsletter and trying to maintain the website are also volunteers, volunteers with families, jobs and lives. I should also say that there are a handful of members who do nothing but put positive things on that page, and for those people, I am extremely thankful and grateful.
While some members of the board (former and current) view a board seat as a prestigious thing to have, the truth is that board members are treated like 2nd class citizens. We can't enjoy a simple dinner with our family without someone stopping by the table to complain about something (no matter how ridiculous it might be). In fact, I used to spend a lot more time over at the club, but the dirty looks and negativity has made me choose home more often than not. Mr. BBM is irritated that he can't have a conversation with his wife without being interrupted and my kids think I work there.
A couple months ago, someone cautioned me against making decisions that might not get me re-elected when my three year term is up. I laughed out loud. This is one board member who won't be running for election again. In fact, I am literally counting the days until I'm free.
Owning Your Title, Derogatory or Not
Filed under: Board of Directors, Things that get my gi all in a bunch
There is something disturbing about a woman who's pushing 85, sitting just three seats away from you at a table during a meeting, mouthing the words "She's a bitch" to another one of her cronies while you're speaking. I guess I'm happy I found this out many hours after the meeting had ended, because I'm afraid that if I saw her doing it during the meeting, I might have become an even bigger one.
It is absolutely amazing to me that a generation of women who fought so hard for equality would try even harder to keep one of their own down. We may have 50 or 60 years between us, but we were both born with ovaries.
It's difficult for me to understand their line of thinking because I was blessed so many years with a grandmother who was quite progressive. She chose to wait until the age of 27 to get married. She was the one who made the first move to pick up my Pop-Pop in a bar. Forget the old-fashioned courting; she knew what she wanted. She spent all of her young life working in factories to support her family. She was a classy woman, but she was no one's doormat. She wasn't your typical woman of that era; she was that and so much more. It's times like this that I miss her even more than usual, because I know she would be clicking her tongue, shaking her head in disgust and preparing to go to battle for me.
Historically, ladies auxiliary groups were formed in support of an organization, because women were not allowed to be on the Board of Directors. They weren't permitted to have any type of influence other than a role that supported a club or group, almost like a charity within the group. Now, there are women in positions of leadership in corporations and groups worldwide. Our own board of directors has five women out of 15 positions; and two of the four executive committee members are women. One would think that this would be a real positive for the women at the club who have been there for decades, but more times than not, it seems their only interest is in self-preservation and keeping one of their own down. . .
"I didn't have that opportunity, so you shouldn't either."
It puts a 30-some-year old woman in quite a conundrum. Raised to respect my elders, what does one do in this situation? When a woman 50 years your senior is treating you no better than that catty 8th grader who was ticked that Joey asked you to dance instead of her, what should you do?
What's even more disturbing about the entire situation is that during this meeting, there were several men who were much more outspoken than I was, yet no derogatory comments were uttered about any of them. It was during my two minutes of professional but stern questioning about a legitimate issue, that I reinforced my title of "bitch." If you are an outspoken man, you're a leader; but if you're an outspoken woman, you're a bitch.
It's a double standard that I've learned to accept, because it's been that way as long as I can remember. The troubling thing for me is that this stereotype isn't perpetuated by a man in this case, it's by a group of older ladies, our country club's equivalent to an unruly biker gang. Our "biker gang" doesn't go out and start fights in bars; they just want their tuna melts served piping hot or else all hell is going to break loose. And for the love of God, can someone please put duck back on the menu?
I guess I should be happy because I have held several titles during my months on the board. I started out as the "little blonde," moved quickly to "scary blonde" despite the fact that I had dyed my hair brown for a bit, and now I guess I should feel that I've arrived. Bitch it is. At least they're now noticing me for what I say and do, not my hair color. That has to be a positive.
The shame of it is that there are some wonderful women in this group; they are just overshadowed and out-voiced by a few who have given their entire organization a reputation fraught with negativity.
To that sub-set of women though, I'd just like to point out that resorting to the word "bitch" when your back is against a wall, because that "bitch" just so happens to have called you on the carpet, doesn't hurt my feelings. It just makes me realize how outdated the whole "respect your elders" standard really happens to be. I'll respect those who respect me. Age doesn't give an individual carte blanche to say whatever you want and do whatever you please; and frankly, I think your mothers and their mothers would be ashamed of you. I know my grandmother is, and I'm pretty sure Susan B. Anthony would think more of the same.
As far as my "title" goes, I'm going to own it. To me, it says I'm doing a good job of speaking out instead of shrinking into the background. It says I'm making people uncomfortable, as well they should be, when they've done something reprehensible. Frankly, having them call me names and hate me so much is affirmation that I'm the opposite of them, doing the right and smart thing, and that alone is enough to satisfy me. A good friend of mine says, "people either love you or hate you and there's no money in the middle." I don't think anyone has ever accused me of hanging out in the middle. Now, that is something that would offend me.
Random Ramblings Including Having Babies with 50 Cent
Filed under: Board of Directors, Mental Strain for Mama
My life was sort of threatened today by a friend who said I better not ever go on a long non-writing stretch again because she is "addicted" to my writing.
I so love her. She should definitely visit my archives. . .often, as should the rest of you. Back then I was funny, witty and I actually wrote about karate every once in a while. Ah, the good old days.
I wish I was addicted to my own writing these days, but I think I've been sapped by lack of creativity due to a thankless data entry volunteer job and sheer exhaustion resulting from that. Being on the board of directors is highly overrated and extremely thankless. A neighbor and friend once told me that being on a board of any kind can open up avenues to paying board jobs. I would like to know where those are and would also like to say, "Hey, I'm your gal. Look no further."
Since I don't have any one thing in particular to say today, but because I'm feeling my life might be threatened if I don't put fingers to keyboard and write something, anything. . . I thought I would provide a rambling account of various things that you can do with them what you will:
First: do not ever opt to go for the heavier weights when doing that inner-thigh squeezer machine thing after not doing that machine for like eight months. Just don't do it. I went from walking like a primate from sore abs to walking like someone trying to keep a nickle between her thighs. In case you're wondering, neither are attractive ways for a young (or even an old) lady to walk. Just don't do it. Always opt for the easier weight. Always. Use this bit of advice as your work-out bible. It is practically the word of God, or at least BBM, which is practically the same thing (or not at all).
Second: I'd like to just put it out there that if I get to be the ripe old age of 75 plus and I start doing my hair like George Washington used to, and/or complaining about random things that no one in particular has any control over, and/or begin demanding liver and onions at restaurants, I'd like to put it out there that I would enjoy being put out of my misery at this point. I've given my husband carte blanche to put me out of my misery if I start acting all old and crazy and I'm now giving my blog readers the opportunity as well. Of course, you should probably discuss this with my husband first, in case he'd like first dibs. But seriously, if I'm a grumpy old gal, do me a favor. (I guess I should start working on my attitude because I'm kind of a grumpy younger-ish girl right now.)
Third: I am going to BlogHer in August and I know not a soul who is going. While many of you might think that I am a social butterfly, I might end up going all the way to New York in order to sit in my hotel room and order room service out of sheer anxiety and discomfort at not knowing a soul. It's my first time; be gentle with me, and please let's be friends beforehand, k? Email me! No seriously, email me! I am a good friend and known for buying drinks for new friends. I'm a good girl to know.
Finally: a confession. I am addicted to Jack Johnson and 50 Cent. I realize how odd and weird a juxtaposition this is, and I'm not sure what to make of it. All I know is that one minute, I am craving hearing about bubbly toes and the next minute, I am bopping around to the tune of "Have a baby by me, baby, be a millionaire." I'm thinking it's the millionaire part is what I'm liking so much, but the catchy beat can not be denied. Is there anyone who can help me out with the whole 50 Cent "be a millionaire" thing, or do I seriously need to go have a baby with 50 Cent?
Yep, I think I'll leave you on that note.
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