Caterwauling

No, honey, I’m not funny today, but Tard Blog is.

Disclaimer: I hate the use of the word “tard.” I worked with people with disabilities for several years at a national organization that provides services for these wonderful people. I completely disagree with the use of the “tard” word, but as it is written by a special education teacher with sass, I have to look past it.

Link via the other Dawn.

I hate being at work when I feel this way. 🙂

Day is uneventful, thankfully. Demure’s got a crisis on her hands so vile that she had to interrupt Kumquat while he was on the phone with the Prez, so she’s been out of my path so that I can do some work.

I’ve been planning the next two issues of the Veggie Patch Gazette, like a good little girl, and now I’m planning my trip for our annual conference, happening on the West Coast in late March. So much to do, but it’s OK. I just fear that the powers-that-be will want unlimited input into my plans and my schedule, because it wouldn’t surprise me one bit.

I’m bringing Mac Guy into the office on Monday, as he is not able to meet the Veggie Patch Gazette Summit on Tuesday. My vantage point is that I want to dazzle these assholes with how much forethought I have put into the next couple of months, but I am sure it will end up like it always does — “Aren’t you cute. Now go away.” But I’ll jump off that bridge when I come to it.

I resolve to put in a standard 40-hour workweek next week. And the week after that. I am not paid enough to shoulder all of this aggravation. I will take this experience for what it is worth — as a resume builder — and only that. I told Demure I did this for myself, not for them. But I guess today, I have a newfound appreciation for what my predecessor shielded me from, although they admit to monitoring me even more closely because of him.

Had a dream last night that a new editor (not me) was named, and I dreamed that that person kept going home at 4:30 every afternoon, and I was left to sit here all night and undo the damage they’d done that day. I did not like how I felt when I awoke this morning, after that dream. Not one bit. Here’s to hoping it was only a dream. …

I realized last night that I have never received flowers from a man. I think the guy I was dating in college might’ve given me a rose here and there, but a man has never, ever sent a bundle or a bouquet of flowers my way just to show that he cared. I have never liked flowers, and I think this is the reason why — I never get any.

I realize that everyone I’ve dated, well, either one or both parties were in it to get laid. Now that I don’t care much about that (well, that’s a lie — I’m always looking for someone to ride up the Beltway!), I realize all the romantic gestures that I’ve never experienced. I don’t even know what else I’ve been missing out on — all I know is that I’ve never felt like I was anyone’s priority, like they felt like they had to try hard to capture my attention and to keep me around. How depressing. I deserve so much more than I’ve been getting. And I’m going to go buy some flowers for myself. Damn it.

I think Heather needs to go back on hiatus. These suck!

1. As a child, who was your favorite superhero/heroine? Why?

Wonder woman. I had the Wonder Woman Underoos, and I thought I was the greatest. I also had the bathing suit when I was five. Back then, I was invincible. I wish I still felt that way.

2. What was one thing you always wanted as a child but never got?

A sibling. I was an only child and therefore got all of the attention. I was always hoping for a new kid (preferably a brother) to come along and distract them so I could have time alone to do my writing. Everyone was always bothering me, asking what I was doing. Annoyed the shit out of me.

3. What’s the furthest from home you’ve been?

Not far enough.

4. What’s one thing you’ve always wanted to learn but haven’t yet?

How to love and be loved. Oh, god, it’s cheesy, but it’s the truth. I’d like to start funnelling my efforts into someone who would be around for awhile. I’ve had it with bad boys and playboys who are emotionally unavailable. I really have.

5. What are your plans for the weekend?

Three times in six weeks? I am sick of this question!!! Argh. At any rate, my plan for the weekend is to have a weekend. No thoughts of work, no work activities, nothin’. Anything else is up for grabs. 🙂

Remember the old Lee Press-on Nails from the 1980s? Fake nails, a foolproof strip of glue that is shaped exactly like your natural nail, press and voila! Instant manicure.

I am not into pissing contests, simply because I lack the equipment with which to point and shoot, but workplace semantics are forcing me to search the ‘net for a Lee Press-on Penis.

I was infuriated by a string of e-mails from Kumquat that arrived before I’d had my morning Joe, and was further infuriated when I learned that Demure had called a meeting with Kumquat and me for next Tuesday (Bless Shan for scheduling it as far into the future as she possibly could!), because Demure just assumed Kumquat wanted to meet with me. God motherfucking DAMN IT!!! This woman tries to solve EVERYTHING with a meeting. Jesus Christ! I have sent more late-night e-mails so that I could avoid a meeting, only to be hunted down and tortured in her office for an hour-long MEETING to explain my e-mails!!!! If you see the post below, you will realize that she sometimes misses the point of my e-mails, but STILL!!!

Seems that the crew at the Veggie Patch has noted a few things that they were unhappy with in the February issues of the Veggie Patch Gazette. Note that nothing was earth-shattering — just some old versions of ads were pulled off the graphics server (one was my fault, two were the designer’s fault) and run when there were new-and-improved versions that he had approved. So, I got this ridiculous e-mail from Demure — I could almost hear the trumpets blaring in the background, as though she were frothing at the mouth, savoring the taste of sending a meeting announcement through the e-mail — stating very formally that I am to be available for a meeting with herself and Kumquat to critique my issue and to discuss my plans for the upcoming TWO issues. Two! Christ, can I catch my fucking breath and clean up the mess I left in my office from the LAST one first?!?!

At any rate, they insist that I do a fucking storyboard (you should hear how hard I am pounding on my keyboard right now — my nails are about to snap off!) — i.e., a list of stories, author, date due (duh, they’re all due at the same time. Assholes), length (again, duh, I don’t know until they arrive) and another inane detail. This is information that, granted, is useful for the person who does the layout, but they are micromanaging me down to a gherkin, for the love of god.

Of course, I must bring multiple copies of this storyboard to the meeting. I am doing it in crayon.

So then, I didn’t realize that this was a pissing contest, so I sent e-mails back to request that we invite Graphic Goddess and Mac Guy. Because, let’s face it, if they’re gonna sit and bash me, I am bringing in my partners in crime so that they can hear this ludicrous bullshit firsthand. And granted, assuming that I will be bashed may be too harsh, but after the day I had to fight for my job and they made me feel like I was guilty with no chance of innocence, I ain’t taking any chances. Besides, if this is truly meant to be a constructive meeting, I figure that the person supplying the ads and the person doing the layout should be there to listen to their non-advice, right? And why did it take a peon to come to this brilliant conclusion?

So I got squirted with piss next. Demure wrote to say that I must invite not only those two, but Ad Angel (via phone, as she’s in Indy) and this new marketing director they’ve hired (who has been a consultant there for years). Why? I have no fucking idea, but now it’s the party of the century.

**Pounding of keyboard has ceased. Fingers are numb from flipping off the Veggie Patch Building every time I drive past it.**

Let me put it this way, I need their help now. I need for them to tell me any story topics that should definitely be covered for the next issue (not the next two). And they have — in fact, between Kumquat and another exec, they sent me the link to a potential story FOUR TIMES!!!! Four!!!! And Demure sent me two things, and it has been made clear to me repeatedly that I do not have a choice in this matter. I wanted to tell her that if we can pare down the four identical e-mail business, perhaps I would have time to read the rest of my e-mails and maybe even start the goddamned stories.

I do not need any further involvement from them. Unfortunately, that’s where we disagree. I am truly the type of person that if you just leave me alone to play in my little corner, I will do my work. I might draw pictures and write blog entries now and again, but for the love of god, I do not work well with a thumb over my head. Especially if my respect has not been earned or retained. I had to do backflips to beg them to give me a chance, and I worked my ASS off to produce what I think was a stellar product (although I will never tell them about the three errors that I found — I’m sure they will find them with their little fine-toothed comb anyway). But nobody’s impressing me enough to make me want to stay.

I received a wonderful e-mail from My Hero, my former boss at Two Strikes. Just to show how much he thinks of me, he wrote, “So, are you showing them how to run the place yet?” I wanted to show them that e-mail.

What if this had happened at Two Strikes (my previous workplace)?

When I replied to his message, I thought, “What would HRP do in this situation?” As you know, I have my bitch fits about her style of management (i.e., her tactic of intimidation). But there are some things that the girl gets a lot of credit for, and one of those things is her ability to spot hard work and ambition and talent. Granted, she seems to see those qualities in anybody who is related to her, so let’s talk about the non-relatives in this scenario.

HRP, as CEO of Two Strikes, wields the real power of promotion. When she sees somebody picking up the slack (usually for one of her relatives, but I digress), she takes note of that person. She publicly acknowledges them at staff meetings. She meets with them privately to assess their interest in their newfound responsibilities. She suggests additional training and gives feedback (and yes, sometimes it’s negative) on the person’s progress. And whether or not they completed the project or filled someone’s absence perfectly, she evaluates their commitment. And then she oftentimes gives them a better title, a salary bonus, something. Or, at the very least, she doesn’t ridicule them at that month’s leadership retreat — an honor that’s better than a paycheck anyday.

So, what if HRP were here? She would’ve promoted me and given me a fair salary. She would have instead put a job posting in the WaPo for someone to help me, someone who can complement my strengths yet who can compensate for my weak areas. She would’ve noted my strong commitment to the editorial content yet my intermediate graphic design skills, and she would’ve gotten me a graphic designer instead of advertising for an editor. In her own twisted way, she’s a decent woman.

Out of the dream world

This leads me to a bigger question — what if the Veggie Patch managers were competent? LOL. I don’t know. I’m sure they’re talented at something. Leadership, however, is not quite their forte. And judging from the fact that they have such shining talent like Shan and me absolutely blinding them from below, they never will be able to stare into the face of the possibilities that they could encounter.

It took me six months to get as fed up as it took my former supervisor to get in four years. Am I that more advanced, or have the leaders just gotten worse over the years? Perhaps I’ve played the game so hard, so often, that I can see through a smokescreen the second it goes up.

Fuck ‘Who Moved My Cheese’ — here’s a real lesson in teamwork

I feel like an Alaskan Huskie — i.e., a sled dog. I feel like, with Shan and me in particular, those managers keep yelling, “Mush, Mush!!!” and they keep cracking the whip, and then we keep jumping and performing and out-performing everyone around us. But then we never get a Scooby Snack — we keep getting yelled at and beaten. And well, it’s making our asses hurt. A lot. Especially when everyone else is on vacation without using vacation days (i.e., they cruise around the building). At any rate, like I found with HRP — you can’t beat the passion into me, but you can sure beat it out of me.

Shan’s dad says that employers get the behavior they incentivize. For the Veggie Patch, they reward apathy by continuing to pay people long after they’ve quit. The rest of us who refuse to lower our own personal standards, well, are punished as an example — it’s like, what? You refuse to let projects slip through the cracks? Well, fuck you, because you’re going to hear every detail about what you did that didn’t please them. No wonder people turn into vegetables there. It’s just easier, to cope. Hence, that’s how the Veggie Patch — and the mentality of a “lifer” — begins. And ends.

Where is our place, then, on the team? The sled dogs. We run ahead of everyone and see opportunities. We bark to tell them about opportunities — for instance, maybe we should rush toward them, maybe we should stop and plan our route, maybe we should investigate slowly, or maybe we should change course.

But our role doesn’t end there. The sled dogs are also cursed with pulling along the dead weight. While we can look at the sled dogs as the initiators (forerunners), we are also the ones beaten when dumbass executives don’t appreciate our unique vision (point of view) and force us to tread the path that oftentimes makes the least sense to us. That’s not to say that they aren’t making a good decision once in awhile, but a true team takes into account the unique perspective of each member of the Search and Rescue Party.

Now we pause for a Commercial Break — Otherwise known as, Dawn goes off the subject

Okay, so we were sitting in this ridiculous meeting today, and someone handed out a Tote Bag Policy.

A Tote Bag Policy? Jesus Mary and Joseph. What the FUCK?!!?

We don’t even have a Fire Evacuation Policy, nor do we have an emergency first-aid kit on site, but we have a policy regarding tote bags? Christ!!!

We now return you to our regularly scheduled tirade.

Where was I? Oh, fuck it. Hell if I remember. I’ll have to hash out that search party/sled dog analogy a bit more. I think I might be on to something.

At any rate, I have a little more work to do on my resume, but I can’t wait to blast it around the globe. Then again, do I want to work in another company that’s not mine? When you’ve held as many jobs as I have, you learn that the same people are in every organization. They just have different names or hairstyles or genders, but there are always managers who can’t see past the dirt on their glasses, the peons working too damn hard for minimum wage, the gabbers, the Solitaire-players, the idea hamsters, the money-grubbers and the oxygen thieves. Can I REALLY deal with yet another cast of characters in yet another play that ends on the same tragic note?

Demure emailed earlier today about a story she wants to see in the next issue of the Veggie Patch Gazette. She also pointed out to me that I had assigned two stories to our freelance writer. While I would say duh, I know what stories I assigned out, well, I hadn’t assigned the second one. So, just as an FYI, I sent her a brief note back to indicate that I have only assigned the freelancer the one story, and that I am currently compiling for my own edification an inventory of stories that need to run, and the amount of time/effort I expect each one to take. Thus, I will need any information she has on this potential story so that I can evaluate whether I or the freelancer would be the better one to write it.

Her response?

Dawn, I am not sure from your answer that you understand that I was giving you an assignment that I expect to be carried out.

I just called Shan and said I want to hit the reply button and send back a message with a single character, an exclamation point. I figure, it’s a lot more politically acceptable than WTF, right?

Yes, boys, that’s right. To thank you for a Valentine’s Day that your gal will (hopefully) remember fondly, you’re entitled to the latest craze in Hallmark holidays, Steak & BJ Day, designated for March 20.

“March 20th is now officially ‘Steak & Blowjob Day.’

“This twin pairing of Valentine’s Day and Steak & Blowjob Day will usher in a new age of love as men everywhere will try THAT much harder in February to ensure a more memorable March! It’s like perpetual love machine.”

Or, like I like to think of it, the all-you-can-eat-T-Bone-delight-night. Have a steak for dinner, and lick the bone for dessert!!!

So, who wants to be my Valentine?!?!

Link via the Bacon Blogging Game — started with Tiff, who got it via Dave who got it via Diana. Whew!

Note to self: Dave suggests honoring Valentine’s Day as “Go Down on Her Day.” Where can I MEET men like this?!?!

E-mail from the Exec, 12:18 p.m.

Dawn:

Regards,

K.K.

E-mail from the Prez, 12:38 p.m.

Dawn-

The Prez

V.M. from the Exec, 4:14 p.m. Copied to Demure.

Overall, while the issue was good, I am following up on my promise to mention when I find things that (were done wrong). And so, the ad on page 23 was never approved by me, and I would like to know why it appears. Not to mention that it has a date on the bottom of October 2003, so now I have to (do a small amount of damage control, thanks to you). I want an explanation.”

Dawn’s response via e-mail, to Exec and Demure. Copied to Graphic Goddess.

Hi Demure and Exec,

Please let me know if further explanation is needed.

Dawn

I kicked ASS today, despite the fact that I was annoyed at Demure’s request that I account for how my work went this weekend. But as she is a micromanager that way, I have to forgive her, because that’s just her style. She works all the damn time — I suppose she’s just thrilled to have someone else who burns the midnight oil.

But the VM countered any warm fuzzies that could possibly have been generated by the initial e-mail. I think it’s fairly obvious that a case is being built against me, should I actually go ahead and apply for editorship. And I didn’t mention that I’d called Graphic Goddess on Sunday, between bathroom trips, but I was unable to reach her as I tried to make a final decision. So I made a bad call. It was better than all the ads with snowflakes and autumn leaves in them. And I was too sick to really read for dates, let alone try to change them.

Please, please, let there be no further glaring errors. If this is the worst he can come up with, fine. But considering that he was definitely reading the fine print in order to come up with material for the voice mail, well, my guess is that he’s going to be doing some long and hard reading tonight. Oh goody.

For my salary, I do NOT need this aggravation. I did my best, and if that’s not good enough, well, I can do no better. Not in this environment, anyway.

Well, I’m back at work, after a too-short break spent feeling too sick. My papers were waiting for me when I unlocked my office today, which was a treat. They look good, although I’ve found three mistakes. Nothing too big — one will require a correction next month. The rest, well, I had my title wrong somewhere and I also didn’t accommodate one of Kumquat’s requests with a headline, even though I had fully agreed with his logic (surprising).

Today is the day I am supposed to turn in my resume to be in the running for the editor’s job. Considering that I awoke this morning and burst into tears at the thought of being here today, well, I take that as a sign. Look, I want the job. I think it would be a great line on a resume. And I had fun doing it. And I really enjoyed catching up on some of my bills with my slightly improved paycheck. But at what cost to me? I lost sleep, I canceled outings with friends, I became violently ill, etc. And then I came in today to an e-mail from Demure, asking me to outline the work I have done since she left Friday night — work that was done on my own time, at my own expense. I was furious. No, that’s not right. I was so exhausted that I couldn’t feel anything but sadness, that I have to account for my own personal time spent working, especially when there is absolutely no financial reward for it.

All in all, my paper looks great. And I did nearly all of it myself, and I am pleased with the skills I learned. I did this for me, not for the Veggie Patch. Nobody gave a shit that a friendship dissolved over this scenario, nobody gave a shit that my personal life dissipated, nobody gave a shit that I was here every night after the cleaning crew left. And nobody gives a shit that after I get done cleaning up the files and offices today, the whole process starts again. And I have 143 unanswered e-mails and a voicemail box that I haven’t even tapped yet, all of which are messages demanding something of me — my time, my knowledge, my resources, my energy. And friends, I don’t have anything left to give today.

So should I put the resume in the ring? I haven’t even worked on that, just to give an indicator of how busy my life has been.

I’ve said it before here, and I’ll say it again. Jobs are supposed to make you financially able to enjoy your life, not prevent you from living it. I have so many things happening in the lives of people I love, and they want me to share in those days and events. And if I take this job, I will certainly miss every one of them, the way deadlines fall. Yet if I take this job, I will be able to have a few dollars in the bank, which will be nice for when I CAN get away, as right now, I can’t even afford the gas money or the airfare to see these friends and family members whom I miss so dearly.

And for all my talk of wanting to start a business, well, I am too tired to think about it. I don’t want to rot away here any longer, but am I truly ready to throw myself into this unknown venture? What is going to make me say fuck it and just do it already? Is anything?

And will anyone in this damn workplace even appreciate what I have gone through for them?

Look, I want this job. I want to compete for it. But I am not certain that I want to serve as a representative for yet another company that I don’t believe in. They go against every management principle ever written. They sing from a different page than from which they act, and knowing that I am disposable to them, do I want to give them even more of the heart that breaks every day that I pull into this parking lot?

Update

After nice thank-you e-mails from the exec and the prez, I left a VM for HR, noting that I’ve worked nonstop since Jan. 7 and that the only day I didn’t work — yesterday — was spent in bed with the stomach flu, so I haven’t had time to prepare a resume. I requested an extension to Friday, as I noted, “I won’t be doing my resume today during work time.” (Blogging, however, is an entirely different matter. … lol). I said that now that the issue is in-hand, I suppose I can see myself doing this on a regular basis, and I asked her to please advise on whether my deadline can be extended, given that my work had to be a priority to going through the formal application process to get the job that I am already doing. Two hours have passed. No word yet. 🙂

Forgive the Dirty Vegas lyric, bu it works here.

Had a few e-mail exchanges with CR lately — it’s my turn to respond.

I wrote about him weeks ago, but for those tuning in, he was one of those special people I knew I was meant to meet in this world. I love him and would do anything for him, but life has taken us down two very separate roads that prevent us from being where I want to be, which would be in his arms. But that’s OK — I love him enough to want him to be happy, even if it’s without me.

That said, I kind of giggled when he wrote about our mutual favorite TV show, “South Park,” and he said he always thinks of me when it comes on. We spent many years intellectualizing the actions of the world’s famous foul-mouthed foursome. I miss him. Could use a hug from him right now, but then again, I could use a hug from anyone who really meant it. 🙂

My reply to his e-mail was that whenever I hear a Melissa Etheridge song (and a few others), I think of him. “Like the Way I Do” comes to mind. What I wouldn’t give for a man like him. What I wouldn’t give. …