Maybe I Am a Douchebag

Before I start . . . I heard the other day that Kelly Osborn of Fashion Police and Ozzy made mention (probably tweeted) that she wanted kids, but didn't want a flappy vagina. What the hell . . . doesn't she know that the vagina is the world's greatest elastic? Go to biology class Kelly. You douchebag . . .

On to my douchebaggeryness.

I'm in the middle of a pickle. Funny - pickles are made with vinegar - real douche bags are filled with vinegar sometimes. Hmm . . . the silence you are hearing is me thinking . . .

Back to my pickle.

Before I begin; can a woman be a douchebag? Maybe I should be going with asshole? Hmm . . . yet another thing to slow the process down with my thinking. We can't have that. Aha.

Again, the pickle

I'm in a tussle with a woman in my life. A woman in a leadership position. A woman who could be one of the women we think about and say, "She's a leader. She fosters communication. She delegates tasks with authority and clarity." Or maybe I'm the only one that wants to state things like this about women in authority.

Before I go any farther - I have no desire to be a woman in authority. I've known this all my life. I'm totally cool with this. I like being the workings behind the machine. It's how I am. So my intent is never to BE the woman in charge. But I have worked for many fantastic women in charge. Women that showed grace under fire and had the ability to nurture abilities rather than feel threatened by abilities.

This woman in a leadership position hired me to do some design work for her company. Our interactions have been puzzling.

My first meeting with her I brought a project I had been working on with one of her teammates. She took a cursory look and tossed it on her desk. Dismissed! I thought to myself, Well, let's listen to what she has to say about it. She had nothing to say. She was only dismissive.

And so it began. Ignored emails. Phone meetings set up and ignored by her. Criticism about the "verbiage" I used, yet I experienced her using it in other pieces. Proofs sent, call to action requested, and no reply.

This situation is working my nerves. I am using it as a test. A test to see just how I can contain my douchebaggeryness. I respond to emails slowly; I reread them to make certain I have let no hidden douchey get through. She discovers a kernel of douche and pounces. I respond. I'm frazzled.

Here is why I'm even talking about this today. Here is what I do not understand about my own gender. This will sound douchy to the max, but it is my experience. As my smart husband says, "your experience is reality." This doesn't mean it's right, just that it is right as YOU SEE IT.

Again, I do not understand why my own people, women, battle against each other. We fight about men, we fight about talent, we fight about situations. I'm sick. Sick sick sick. Let's allow each woman in our life to OWN their shit. Good shit and bad shit. Arg!

Let's foster ability. Let's foster a good job. Let's foster everything. Attractiveness, smarts, funny, mothering, creative, and every other damn thing I'm not remembering in my writing sprint here.

Be a douchebag if you must, but be a douchebag with vision.

That is all.