I am the Threat

While everyone goes on about their business, posting selfies, funny memes and chatting about how big of a douche Kanye is, 6 people abruptly left this earth. They were simply random victims of a random act of violence in a tiny town in Michigan. You know... shit happens.

At this point we're all so worn out by the repeated fodder for gun violence conversations that we're not going to bother addressing this one on Facebook because - shit - who wants to open that can of worms? I mean ... how tired are we all at this point? How many times can we post the words 'enough already' before their very posting is  enough already. Besides, I can already predict the responses. I could pre-populate the replies:

"It's our constitutional right to bear arms!"

"Guns don't kill people, people kill people!"

"Those Liberals are constantly threatening our freedoms. They are the real threat!"

That one is my favorite. 

No, but seriously, it is my favorite. You see, I am the threat. I'm the one threatening your lifestyle.

But the dude with a gun. No, he's just fine.

They will all be missed.

Guess which one of us killed 6 people Saturday?

Some Friends Make Better Enemies

Today she came by to help me with my job search. I saw a position for Manager of Business Strategy at a company I admire. I was reading through the qualifications and requirements when she shot me down. "They want someone with good business intuition. Two out of your last two ventures didn't go very well, did they? I don't think you qualify."

I argued that if my advice had been followed, both of the projects would have done much better. "Sure, but you weren't respected enough to have your advice heeded, now were you? Why would you expect someone else will?"

With a sigh, I moved on. "OK, what about this Executive Assistant job?" I asked. "Surely I qualify for that!"

"Oh absolutely you would!" she gushed "You'd be over-qualified in fact. And bored. Plus you'd be tied to an unfulfilling job 9-5 Monday-Friday with a 2 hour commute. You'd see Dia on the weekends basically. You said you didn't want to fail as a mom."

She was right, I guess, but the word "fail"..? Ouch.

I gave myself a "just keep swimming" pep-talk and soldiered on. "Ah, look at this!" I said pointing to the listing. "A start-up that needs someone with my exact skill set. This is where I live, where I thrive, where I shine!!!" I was visibly thrilled. My heart began to warm up. I sat up straighter. This is exactly the kind of thing...

"Oh HELL no!"

"What?"

"Did you see the bio on the CEO?" she implored. "He's literally 20 years old. He's like a boy genius. And look at the other guys on the team. I think the oldest one there might be able to legally drink. They are not looking for a grandma to bake them cookies, for God's sake. They'll want some young, hot college student with enough skills to get by. This is Los Angeles, Katie. What are you thinking?"

Enough. That was what I was thinking: enough. "I'm getting burnt out on the job search." I said. "Wanna go for a run?"

She did (thank God), so we suited up and went out for a quick 3 miler. A few hundred feet into it, she asked if this was the pace we were going to keep for the whole time. "I dunno" I shrugged. "I just wanted to clear my head." Thankfully she said nothing more and stayed with me, but I had the sense she really wasn't pleased about it.

We had jogged about halfway when she asked "How old do you think Robin Wright is?" We both enjoy the series "House of Cards" so I thought nothing of it at first.

"I guess around 50. She plays 50 on House of Cards, right? Why?"

"She's your age, then. She's very natural looking - isn't she? Doesn't look like she's had any work done. And that body! She's had two kids, too. And when she runs on the show, it's a way faster pace than this."

There it was.

Well I don't like to talk when I run and, besides, where would I begin? I tried to pick up the pace.

On the way up the hill with the sun in our eyes, she looked at me and asked "Why do you make that face?"

"Huh? Oh..." realizing my eyes were scrunched up and my lip was raised in a bit of a sneer. "Sun's...in ...my... eyes" I panted. "and the ...hill... is... challeng...ing."

"What do you think drivers passing you think? Do you suppose they think you're this ugly all the time? Or maybe they think you are just so out of shape that you are practically dying?"

I countered - while gasping for air - that I probably was too middle-aged and plain for any driver to bother checking me out enough to notice my sneer. "You are probably right" she said.

When we finally got home, she looked at her watch. "That was one of the slower times for that run, huh?" "Probably" I responded. "I need a shower."

I was hoping she'd take the hint and suggest packing up, but instead she declared this the perfect time to jump on the scale and weigh in. "You first" she insisted.

I reluctantly plunked myself on the scale. Looking between my feet I saw the number glaring back at me larger than the time before. "Oooo" she cooed. "That's a gain, isn't it? What are you eating?"

I took inventory over the past few days' meals. It wasn't that bad and I told her that. "Maybe it's water" I said. "Or wine," she quipped. "Could be all that wine."

I really needed that shower.

"Dia will be home soon." I said. "I'm going to get in the shower. I assume you can show yourself out?"


"Oh sure" she said. "I'll come check on you later."

"I'll be here."