jobs

I worked as a supermarket checker until I was thirty. It was mindless work, paid decent money, and had the flexible hours I needed for the other things I cared about like school and acting.

I was a damn fine checker. The best. The kind you’ll wait in the longest line for. I was fast, nice, with a minimum of small talk. Standing and scanning groceries has a zen quality about it. The repetition can send you into a zone of complacency. If you’re lucky, faces blur and time flies.

That was the case for me maybe 10% of the time. The other 90% of the time I was judging the contents of everyone’s carts, making up stories about what they were buying and why.

I know! Your worst nightmare, right?

I was the girl who stifled a giggle when the dude with the greasy hair and the porn mustache who was drowning in Brut cologne came thru the express line EVERY Friday night. With a case of Coors, a carton of Marlboro reds and Maxim condoms (whose tagline was printed on the box: For those who live large) his story was a no-brainer.

“For those who live large!” Can you stand it? I couldn’t. The minute he was ten paces out into the parking lot, racing toward his Trans Am—I’d burst out laughing. Nobody else in line was paying much attention so I’m guessing my outburst appeared a little manic.

Whatever.

There was Ms. Shaw, an ancient, (she was probably in her late forties at the time) spinster/cat lady, who arranged her cat food in neat stacks by flavor in her cart. Anal-retentive doesn’t do her justice. She bagged every red delicious apple in a separate plastic bag and grouped all of the green vegetables together—away from the other colors. And once it was placed on the conveyor belt, none of the food could touch. (Is this making you a bit twitchy?) She also bought bourbon if I remember correctly, which seemed so out-of-character that I made up an imaginary life for her. In my imagination, she still lived at home with an even more ancient (sixty) boozy parent.

Then there was the woman who came in once a week and bought six bottles of Clairol #6 blonde hair dye. She had dark brown hair so I’m not sure what that was all about. Maybe she dyed her kid’s hair? Or her pubes? Who knows? Maybe she was a hairdresser who only liked to use that one color because she believed that blondes had more fun?

Whatever.

There were a lot of women back then that bought douche. Is douche still a thing? I read somewhere that it’s unhealthy for you since your vagina is self-cleaning, like an oven. Anyhow, if it went on sale there’d be a run on douche and these douching women would buy entire baskets of it. Inevitably, we ran out and I had to manually write-up “rain-checks” for Summers Eve douche while they made the entire line wait so they could take advantage of the sale price another time. I had one woman who bought douche and two pints of rocky road ice cream EVERY DAY. Eventually, the store had to put a kibosh on the douche hoarding. They came up with a limit. No more than three boxes at a time. When we tried to enforce that rule I thought there was going to be a riot! Pandemonium broke out. Nothing was going to keep these women from their “fresh feeling!”

I’m curious—Is douching addictive? Does your va-jay-jay forget how to self-clean? Whatever.

Speaking of fresh, I had a man who used to bag his meat and Irish Spring soap together and when I’d try to separate them he’d grab them away from me and reunite them. Finally, I asked him why. “I like the way it tastes”, he replied.
My intuition told me he lived alone. One evening the assistant manager was helping out, bagging groceries for me and when he saw me throw the soap in with the meat he just about lost it. “It’s okay”, I assured him, “he likes the way it makes the steak taste.” He looked back at the customer who was nodding enthusiastically. The guy swore by it.

I never had the courage to try it. It reminded me of menthol cigarettes. Bleck.

I’m going to say this—I can’t help it. The buying habits of the general public are weird. There were people who lived on TV dinners, people who, in my humble opinion drank WAAAAYYY too much diet coke, people who spent all their money on junk food and cigarettes, and the young anorexic girl who only and ever bought celery.

You can tell a lot about a person by what’s in their grocery cart. It’s a snapshot into a life—a peek into some of our most private habits—eating and personal hygiene.

So, I curate my cart when I go to the store. The implication of shame keeps me honest. Lots of fruit and kale, no candy or donuts. I know that no matter how disinterested they look the checker is making up stories about me so when I buy anything remotely embarrassing (like Monistat, lubricant, four boxes of Triscuit, or the second bottle in a month of the sour mix for my whiskey sours) I go thru the self-check-out line because I’m a damn fine checker. The best. Fast, nice, with a minimum of small talk—and most of all—discreet—not at all judgy.

Carry on,
xox

How are you with loss? OMG you guys I sucked at it!

Coping with any kind of loss has been a learning curve for me.

First I was a cold-blooded jackass looking for payback, then an armoured up she-devil, then, slowly, eventually. I started to figure things out.
Take a look, see if what you did was radically different (do tell) or if you are a part of my tribe.

Please share with anyone you know who might need this right now. I’d also love it if you’d leave a comment on the HuffPo.

Thank you, love you, and carry on,
xox

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/janet-bertolus/learning-to-navigate-loss_b_8671602.html

“You can’t ride two horses with one ass.”

While I was growing up I used to hear that phrase all the time from my dad.

What? What does that even mean?

This was his reaction to my teenage stress. After he’d watch me fumble and stumble, struggle and juggle; fitting in play rehearsal, singing practice, homework, and my part-time job, he’d admonish me, “Janet, you can’t ride two horses with one ass.”

My reaction was to roll my eyes, snap my gum, turn my head toward the heavens, and exhale the long, deep exhalation of the exasperated teenager. “Okaaaay, daAAAAaad, I get it, make a decision. Do one thing at a time. Gawd.”

I always knew the one thing he thought I should choose to focus on was my job at the supermarket. It could end up being my security, after all, my future, just like it had become his. But truth be told, that was NEVER gonna happen.

He had little patience for my “extracurricular” pursuits. He, as the father figure, the patriarch, the breadwinner, just couldn’t understand what he considered frivolous time wasting.

And I, cast as the dutiful daughter, continued to struggle with not enough asses.

Those extra things were far from superfluous to me, hardly! They were actually my life’s blood –– my passions.

He was unable to wrap his brain around multi-passionate people, and that never changed.
I can’t say that I blame him. Us multi-passionate sorts are hard to figure out.

He’s not alone, there are many out in this world that can’t stand those of us who won’t seem to commit to just one pursuit. “Jack of all trades, master of none” was another of his old school, paternal pontifications.

After a while (years), I understood. I didn’t like it and I was incapable of abiding by it –– but I understood his confusion.

He was from the school of one horse, one ass.

Pick one thing, focus on it, and do it — for the rest of your life.
Then, and only after you’ve collected your retirement, are you allowed to entertain frivolous pursuits. Hopefully, you still have your health, vitality, and a little sass to keep things interesting.

Many in our family died soon after they retired, without enjoying much of life’s extras.

Here’s what I’ve come to realize as I’ve gotten older and hopefully a little wiser.
The things that hold passion for us in life are hardly extras. To me, they are the makings of a life well lived.

Jobs can be had, money made, the focus narrowed, and direction figured out, but it’s the multiple horses that we have the audacity to ride with our one crazy, creative, freedom-seeking-ass, that make us who we are!

Singularly Focused Exemplary Employee is not what I’ve ever wanted written on my headstone.

Badass, multi-passionate, creative, who can’t stay in the saddle; sloppy rider of an entire herd of horses, who you may hear whooping and hollering and having one hell of a ride –– and the time of her life.  Now that’s more like it.

Ride all those horses with your one wild ass.

Own it.

Sorry dad.

Carry on,
Xox

“If you settle for less you are making a powerful statement to the Universe about what you believe in.”
Leo Knighton Tallarico

Ouch. That’s harsh, but true.
I’ve written many a cautionary tale about about accepting the scraps.
My advice? Don’t you dare do it.

Everything you see in front of you started as dream, an idea or a fear.

Settling is safe, I’ll give you that, and that can be….nice. Not a lot of drama, but not much stimulation, growth or excitement either.

Settling is motivated by fear.
The fear that what you see in front of you is as good as it gets.
“Don’t take chances or try new things; you may FAIL“, fear leaves on post it notes all around your house.

“Oh yeah, this job or relationship isn’t what I’d hoped it would be and it feels like it’s run it’s course, but….”

Do you believe you can have or more importantly, DESERVE more?

Me being me, I can’t stand mediocrity, and settling feels like a whole lot of mediocre, TO ME.

There’s a great big, juicy, beautiful world out there, ripe with possibilities and filled with potential. The potential of more.

I’m not saying I go through life dissatisfied, on the contrary, gratitude for what I have in front of me has always been the springboard for change. Most days I’m even grateful for my “failures.” Most days.

It’s ironic and counterintuitive but true.
Bless what you have and where you are in life, then believe you can have more.

If you’re in a dead-end relationship with a descent guy, feeling kinda…meh; thank the Universe for the time you’ve shared and all you‘ve learned, including the fact that he’s just not right for you.

Same goes for a career. In the past we used to stay at jobs/careers for thirty, thirty five years, retire and die. There’s an epidemic of career professionals, not slackers, deciding “There must be more to life”, and having the courage to re-invent themselves in their forties and fifties and beyond.

Here’s the thing: It’s like that game we played as kids, where one person has their eyes closed as the other person lets them know how close they are to the desired object by telling them if they are “warmer or colder.”
You can let the Universe know if they are “warmer” by being grateful for the current man in your life. He’s kind and tall and loves his mom.
He may not be EXACTLY right, but damn, he’s a lot “warmer” than the last three guys you dated.
“WARMER” you yell, as you walk away.

Same game with that last job interview. It all sounded great on paper, but after meeting and getting more details it felt “COLDER.”
It may be too much like what you currently have or moving in the opposite direction of your dreams altogether.
“COLDER” you yell to the Universe as you ditch the pantyhose and loosen the ponytail.

Hey, it’s okay to yell, the Universe loves the feedback.

So….
You can continue your daily grind of dissatisfaction and living a life of subtle disappointment OR you can send a new powerful statement to the Universe about what you believe you deserve to have.
Start seeing in front of you, a life created not by fear, but by your ideas and dreams for more.

Words to the Wise:

It won’t be easy peasy. Pack lightly (no baggage allowed)

Things may move sloooooooowly at first so, bring some books on tape.

Circumstances may take sharp right turns or accelerate to super sonic speeds. Buckle up to avoid whiplash.

It won’t feel safe, boring, mundane, habitual, typical, ordinary, redundant, secure, normal, common, familiar or routine. 

If that’s what you crave, bravo…… just quit reading this right now and breathe a sigh of relief, because rest assured, your tomorrow will look exactly like your yesterday and today.

Can you think of any situations where you need to either yell “warmer” or “colder”?
Where are your circumstances showing you you’re headed, and is that enough?
I’d love to hear some of your insights in the comments.

Xox