Caterwauling

Oh, my hormones are SO in flux right now! I swear, I’m retaining more water than the damn Potomac.

But in great news, Samantha is squeaky clean. There was actually a policeman directing traffic into the car wash’s two lines, that’s how badly we were all dying to clean the sand and salt from our precious vehicles. I ended up sneaking in at a good time — Samantha’s little fin only hung out onto South Van Dorn for a few minutes, but the cars behind me were actually backed up into the intersection with Edsall.

I was also fortunate that, when I pulled out of the wash, there was a space for me to dry the car and then vacuum it. I love having a clean car. Samantha doesn’t take kindly to dirt. I can’t afford the car payments, but damn it, I always have $10 to spare for a wash. Always. I love her indigo metallic paint, although it seems that people with white cars like to slam open their doors against her. I swear, I have more white scratches/dings than there are days in the year, and Samantha is barely a year old.

She is very angry that I have her here at work today, but I may leave soon. I forgot my glasses, and even though I have the fonts maximized enough for the visually impaired to see clearly, well, it ain’t working for me. I do, though, love being here when no one else is around (although Howard caught me cleaning my windows in his parking space. lol), and my office is just so damned clean and neat and pretty. The apartment is a disgrace again, but ask me if I’ll have time this weekend to get it back on track. Um, nope. I’m ready to take all the dishes from the sink and the dishwasher and throw them out. ‘Cause that’s what Mom does!

At any rate, I hate working on a Saturday (so, obviously, I’m not!). Demure told me to go home on time last night and reminded me that the heat is on in the office on Saturdays, not Sundays, so that I should come in today. Argh.

I have to admit, though, I screwed them good. (A retaliatory screw, mind you.) IKEA Boy’s dramatic departure left me in charge of this fiasco, and well, I kind of twirled my hair and played dumb when they asked me if I could do the layout of the Veggie Patch Gazette. I, of course, said I thought I could but that I’d really need help. LOL. Now that I am only getting a lousy $500 bonus check when I put the issue to bed, fuck that crap. I’ve done more than $500 worth of extra work during the past two weeks. So, what they did, they hired a graphic designer for a figure that includes a comma. So, he gets a comma for two days of work, and I get less than half of what he’s getting for three weeks of work. Let me make myself clear — FUCK THAT SHIT. My next tactic is to “suddenly” learn it and demand more money, which will probably flop, so maybe I should keep this other guy employed and start working at a NORMAL pace. 🙂

I mentioned a few posts back that I’d left a VM for our CFO, complimenting him and his staff for being so on-the-ball, and that he’d left a return VM to thank me.

Well, he made a rare personal appearance in my office yesterday, to follow up. That’s a wonderful thing, believe me, because the third-floor crew rarely steps down into Prozac Land. They can’t stand how slowly my floor operates. So, it was quite the honor for me.

Anyway, he just wanted to thank me again for taking notice of their efforts, and for being so moved to take the time to pick up a phone. He said he’s found that the occasional “thank you” is truly the best motivator for people, and he firmly believes that you can never hear that phrase often enough. And he noted that it was clear that I was making a heartfelt sentiment, and for that, he was most grateful to me as well.

I said hey, no acknowledgment of me was expected or necessary. I said I hate those meetings, and that everyone’s all touchy-feely-fuzzy-wuzzy and tiptoeing around being either direct or confrontational, and it did my heart a lot of good to hear him say, “Did that,” “We’re two steps ahead of you on that,” and “You’ll have it tomorrow.” I said that it’s not that I am saying that no other department is as productive, but he made it abundantly clear that his team kicks ass. And that’s something I respect and take notice of.

He made a little joke that their jobs are easy, that he couldn’t possibly pull off all the creative work that I do. (Awww, ain’t he cute.) I said look, if you bring me into your department, I’ll share my creativity. He smiled. I said seriously, I want to work for you — this environment down here, and the lack of anyone really lighting a fire under me — isn’t my scene. Just think about it!

So he left on a good note. Everyone in member services witnessed this exchange, as it took place in my doorway, but so what? I ran to get some hot chocolate after he left, and I noticed that he’d settled down in Demure’s office for at least the next half hour. I’m very curious as to what he had to say to her. But I’m sure it was all good, because he and I have always had this mutual respect for each other. And I know he hates it that there is talent (i.e. Shan and me) in departments other than his. Not that he wants to house all the talent of the agency, but I know there are a few dead weights he can’t get rid of, and it pains him that he can’t make an even exchange. The good thing about him is that he has taken such a shine to Shan and me, and he is perhaps the only one who knows that there is a shitload of talent and vision that the association isn’t harnessing.

Rumor has it that if Kumquat ever left, CFO would move into his position. Truly, that’s the only way this association could ever be saved. He’d get rid of all the Solitaire-playing, book-reading, incessant-gabbing mongrels who contaminate our hallways. And I’m sure he’d kick the asses of the sniveling little mice in the top echelon as well.

Why do I always find myself enthralled by the finance and operations directors at my jobs? Probably because I admire their logic and their outcomes-driven mentalities. I, as the visionary, can tell them what result I want to see, and they can figure out the process of how to make that happen. They aren’t lacking in their own vision, but they are committed to having a beginning point and an endpoint, and they relish channelling their creativity into the in-between steps that I don’t have the patience or the presence of mind to consider. But just because I can’t DO the middle steps, doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate and admire those who can. Their artistry is being the foundation, the building blocks and the mortar. I’d rather fine-tune the finished draft and then take it into the world and announce its arrival and convince the masses to fall in love with it and support it. That, my friends, is teamwork.

Anyway, CFO rocks. That’s all I really wanted to say in this post. 😉

Shan and I have been going to Benny’s for months now, and we are heartbroken that it will be closing April 1. How cruel of them!!! Whatever are we going to do with ourselves?!?!

We joke a lot about Benny’s, but one thing that will always hold its place in our hearts is the fact that we had our very first business meetings there. When we write our books about our humble beginnings, well, Benny’s is going to have a mention, because we have always run out of the Veggie Patch and took shelter at the bar. We would solve everything that is wrong with the Patch, and then we’d dream about “when we open our own businesses.” Note that “when,” not “if,” statement. We have kind of set our point for takeoff as the time when Benny’s closes, in homage, in anticipation, in having no more excuses.

Last night was the utopia of business meetings, because she brought her Dad, who’s in from Oregon, to take him on the tour of where everything is beginning.

Over beers, I felt like I was watching a ping-pong match. Not to say that I didn’t have ample opportunity to contribute, but it is just funny, watching those two interact.And when Shan was in the ladies’ room, things were coming out of his mouth that I’ve either heard her say, or I can imagine her saying. It’s like she was FTPing her thoughts out to the table. I was amazed … there is no doubt that those two are cut from the same mold.

Not to say that they agree on everything — you’ve got two obstinate Irish people competing for the floor at all times — but the brainpower at our bar table alone could have powered the space shuttle for a few months. It was kind of an Irish themed night — I’m Irish as well, of course, and so are the bartenders, our beloved Renee and John. I don’t know — something about Bennigan’s and about the luck of the Irish in general just seems right. It’s a wonder we haven’t incorporated that into a name or campaign yet. Eh, give us time. We’ll figure something out!

One epiphany I had — Shan and I continually bitch that the Veggie Patch doesn’t welcome innovation and new ideas. They shrug us off and pop their Prozac and shoo us away, like, “Oh, aren’t you cute. Now go back into your hole where I can’t see you.” I’ve had the opposite thing happen to me, and I realized that a previous situation hurt even worse. When I was working on the E.S. Titanic for three years (a metaphor for a non-profit — I’m not a seaman!), especially after they hired my new superior after leaving me alone in my department forever, I was excited to share all of my ideas and initiatives. It happened at the job before that, come to think of it — I was young and energetic and overflowing with ways to improve efficiency and have fun.

So what happened? My ideas were nixed as being either too outrageous, too expensive or just plain dumb. Again, go play in your little corner, little girl. Bleah. But what would eventually happen is that the figureheads above me would secretly try to put my ideas into motion … without my involvement. And then when the plans would fail (inevitably, no shocker), they would say that I gave them a bad idea. Hah! Let’s suppose that the person who GENERATED the idea should have some involvement with the EXECUTION of the idea. See, I was watching for them to fail and waiting for it. But I wasn’t about to help them — what credit was I going to get? I only got acknowledged for their failure to morph my ideas into reality. When, on rare occasion, they didn’t botch my plans, and they did well, they got promotions and raises. And I played in my little corner till the next great idea hit. But at some point I got smart and started writing down ideas. And throwing them away. But I’ve remembered a lot of them. And wouldn’t it just be poetic justice for me to show all these people that, for all of their stomping on me and turning me into sour grapes, that they stomped hard enough to make a vintage wine?

Mmmm …. wine. …

I made pancakes for the very first time. Thank you, Bisquick, for putting the batter in a bottle for me!

My first one wasn’t so great, but the rest were just beautiful. As I made/drank my coffee, smoked a cigarette, and made these cute little cakes, I was reminded of something that someone told me long ago, that they could totally see me as Ghetto Mom, making breakfast, chainsmoking and having kids around my ankles. Well, that came true today, as Maddie cozied herself up around my ankles, wondering what Mommy was cooking that she wasn’t allowed to have. 🙂 Only thing is, whomever it was that said that to me had also predicted that I’d be putting ashes in the skillet. Luckily, that didn’t happen. heh.

I’ve really got to get back to the gym and start eating like a human again. One of these days. I just do everything to extremes — I can go without smoking for six months, then I go back to lighting one up every five minutes. I either eat a few normal meals a day or I eat junk like it’s an endless bounty. Although, I’ve always wondered if my eating habits (i.e., cleaning my plate and/or killing a pizza or whatever insane overdose I manage) stemmed from my evil stepfather, who used to yell and threaten to beat me if I didn’t clean my plate. He was a nasty one. Luckily, Mom got rid of him, but I personally can’t wait till he dies so I can go piss on his grave.

And I’ll probably bring a box of those new coffee-flavored Oreos when I do. 🙂