Sliding Doors

Today while I was driving from a conference back to my kids’ field day shenanigans, which was actually taking place on the field at my work so, yeah, nowhere to run nowhere to hide and all that, I was a realtor.

When I was a realtor I tapped my painted fingernails on the steering wheel to the tune on the radio because I wasn’t actually listening to the idiot governor giving an interview in which he managed to sound both imperious and like an ignoramus at once on NPR.  No, instead I listened to music from my college days, music that my clients would read as both hip and non-threatening should they get in the car and I’d accidentally left the radio on.

I was wearing clicky heels and looked generally very put together.  My outfit was clearly thought through, as opposed to…not.  My hair looked blown out, but I do it myself, and my roots didn’t show.  I was wearing makeup and actually took the time to do eyeliner, because in my realtor life, that’s what I do.  And I like it.

I had lunch with friends because my realtor schedule was flexible today, and I only showed one house this afternoon.  I eat only salad for lunch.  Ever.  I am a mediocre tipper.

I am never late for appointments.  My car is spotless.   I, personally, do not care for this house I am showing because it lacks character and is not especially well built (although my heels made a spectacular sound on the kitchen tile), but I will sell the shit out of it anyway.   The people who are most interested in this house are moving here “because of the schools,” which is what everybody who moves here says.  I gave them 1,001 other reasons to move here.  They aren’t going to buy this house.  They are going to buy another house, a bigger one, they just don’t know it yet.

In my realtor life I drink a martini every evening before dinner and sneak cigarettes on the back porch after my kids have gone to bed.

 

 

 

For the record:  I know lots of people who sell houses and not one of them is anything like this.  Except for maybe the martini and cigarettes.  Yeah, I’m looking at you.

 

 

 

 

 

Tap Tap

My kids started taking karate lessons.  We figured we should make it official, as they’d been checking books out of the library about karate and practicing their “moves” on one another for over a year now and it was really only a matter of time before we had to explain a compound fracture or concussion to a suspicious ER doctor.

The only downside to karate, as I see it, is the chunk of my paycheck that will be going toward the class.  But that is nothing compared to the many upsides, at least at this particular place.  The biggest upside, without doubt,  being that we no longer have to parent our children ourselves.

In two classes, their instructor managed to drill into them the four or five major lessons kids need to learn in order to grow up to be decent, productive, happy, self-actualized little citizens.

Listen to your parents, and be grateful for the things others do for you.  Respect all other living things and other people’s spaces and belongings.  Take care of your body and your mind.  Self-discipline in the practice of one thing will translate to a life of happiness and accomplishment.  After getting my kids to stand at attention, respond to him with “yes, sir” every time he addressed them, and maintain eye contact with him and obey his every request for a full hour and fifteen minutes, their teacher explained the principal behind the “guard up” stance that all the students assume when they are not at rest in karate class.

You don’t have your “guard up,” necessarily, in order to constantly defend yourself from physical harm, he told them.  Instead, you practice being in the “guard up” position to remind yourself that in life you always need to have your guard up against negative influence – whether that be your friends trying to get you to do or say things you know are wrong, spending your time in ways that are ultimately harmful or not productive for you, or even to counteract your own negative “self-talk” – the nasty and critical, and often inaccurate, things the bitchy voice in your head says to you.

“Tap Tap,” he barks, as a way of initiating the command.  “Guard up!”  They yell out in unison, assuming this defensive posture, one foot back, fists clenched, and hands and elbows facing forward.  They did not take their eyes off him, not even for a second, and they talked about what he had meant the whole drive home.

Again, this is after two classes.  I can hardly wait to see what they’ll be like after a few months.  I’m thinking humanitarians?  Philosophers?  Future world leaders? People who remember to flush?

 

Hand Jive

On the one hand, in my new job I get to set my own schedule.  On the other hand, I never know what’s going to come walking through my door and demand my immediate attention.

On the one hand, in my new job I don’t have to grade papers all weekend long.  On the other hand, I’m up to my eyeballs in recommendations to write.

On the one hand, in my new job I get to go to the bathroom and eat my lunch and get coffee whenever I want.  On the other hand, I miss being near my friends at work now that my office is in a different part of the building.

On the one hand, in my new job I have a luxury fancypants parking spot.  On the other hand, I keep forgetting to go by the office and check my mailbox because I don’t automatically have to walk by it every day.

On the one hand, I love doing what I’m doing.  On the other hand…never mind.  There is no other hand for this one.