Caterwauling

It ain’t The Dildo Song, but give it a hand anyway.

Just spoke with our receptionist — apparently the cruise directors at Club Medicated are planning to start conducting interviews soon for what is left of my department. She reports to H.R., so I know she has good info. But when was anyone planning to tell me about this?

The meeting with Demure went well. Painful, yet well. I can be charming when I want to be, and even when I don’t. 😉 I dropped a huge hint that my attendance in entirely too many meetings will hold me back from hitting my deadline. LOL — that was so targeted! But I play the role well, even if my heart is outside, smoking a cigarette.

Goofy image gallery

3 Networks Turn Down ‘Sex and the City.’ I like my headline better, though. 🙂

HBO must be desperate for money, to be shopping out one of its hottest series. But I can’t imagine my favorite show in a cleaned-up version — having Samantha Jones (after whom I named my car, BTW) not saying “fuck” every 90 seconds would edit out at least 20 minutes of the 30-minute show. 🙂 That’s OK — the networks are all about having commercial breaks as long as the shows themselves.

I’d pitch it to Comedy Central, but then again, that’s just my HO (humble opinion, not my name!). 🙂

Target yanks valentines with word ‘Jihad’ .

Didn’t Scholastic, who manufactured the card, think to look up the 10 most popular baby names of 2002 before creating this card? And who joins me in thinking that heart with a clock on it looks like a bomb? 🙂

Am starting my day off right today … with a cocktail! 🙂 Coffee with hazelnut liqueur is a beautiful way to start a random Tuesday (Tuesdays have always been my least favorite day of the week). And I started smoking again, two days ago. I am limiting my smoking to just when I sit at my computer, or I’d be back to a pack a day.

Was wondering what to say to Demure today, if anything, about my existential discontent with the whole working situation. I mean, this ego-deflating that they do to their talented employees is an absolute disgrace. Shan and I went out last night and pondered how we could survive if we woke up today and decided that’s it — we’re never going back in to the office ever again. How would we survive, financially? As it were, we’re both barely afloat, and we need what little the Veggie Patch calls a salary for us. But we basically sit in the empty office next to me and dream of a day when we decide when we feel like working and what projects will occupy each day. Working for someone else is painful, to put it mildly, and unfortunately, more than half of all employees in the world are serving at the pleasure of someone else.

That big Dawn-bashing fiesta last week sapped my remaining strength. All I did at work for the past few days was surf the Internet and edit submissions. Hey, it all pays the same, whether I do an outstanding or an average job. I know that things will only get worse, when/if they do hire someone to help me. And if they hire someone to serve above me, I think I would die. And I know that if I say all of this to Demure, I most definitely will put the nails into my coffin there for sure — my little raise would go poof!

Shan had a friend at an old job who referred to their workplace as a mausoleum, and that the elevators were really flying coffins. Heh. That beats my Club Medicated/Veggie Patch references any day!

Went to bed rather early last night, in hopes of waking up today and getting cracking on my stories. But instead, I lay in bed this morning and stared at the ceiling fan, searching for solutions to questions only I can ask. I used to be such a fun and enthusiastic person, before I entered the workforce a decade ago. Now I awaken with a, “Oh wonderful, I’ve lived to experience another day of bullshit,” attitude. And that sucks because my social life is picking up and I have people to meet and events to which I can look forward.

I used to drink shots in the mornings before I went to Two Strikes (my former job). It was the only way I could face each morning. My mom instilled worlds of confidence in me, and year after year, I become stripped of that as I work for people who don’t know how to harness my creativity and how to keep my respect, and therefore my dedication, intact. In a way, it’s like I have worked for myself all along — I do not care much for pleasing others — I do my best so I can acquire the skills that the job can teach me, and in turn I will take those skills out the door with me when I give up on said employers. Right now, though, I’m working at 80 percent capacity, and it’s falling rapidly. I always wondered what would have happened at the Veggie Patch Gazette if IKEA Boy and I each gave 100 percent — it would have been an amazing sight to behold. I think, combined, we gave 100 percent, and we still did an above-average job, compared to the other employees.

Well, time to go scrub my butt and begin another joyous cruise to Club Medicated. Something’s got to give, one of these days. I know I’m not going to find my happiness there, but where exactly will I find it?