Blown away

May 20th, 2003, 8:34 PM by Goddess

It was a nervous night here at Chez Dawn during the “American Idol” finals. I spent the whole hour in a warm foot bath with vanilla-almond bubble bath swirling around my twitching tootsies.

I was nervous because I wanted them both to do well. My boy Clay was nervous at first, no doubt about it. But he and Ruben did spectacularly. Two stars were born tonight.

During the first and second rounds, they alternated fabulousness. I loved Ruben’s performance in Round 1 and Clay’s in Round 2. The other performances simply weren’t their best, but even if those were their worst, they’re still better than most of the Top 40 artists on Billboard right now. But then the guys both came back with a ferocity during their final rounds.

I was torn when it came time to cast my 13 votes, but when it came down to it, Clay gave me goosebumps during “Bridge Over Troubled Waters,” so that decided it.

Overall, Ruben is the better performer. But Clay wants it more — you can tell he can taste the sweetness of success. And when it comes down to it, anyone in the Top 5 of “AI” will get a record deal — maybe even the whole Top 10. I didn’t watch the show last year ’cause the contestants weren’t the least bit interesting. This year, the personalities and the talent were top-notch. And no matter who wins and who doesn’t, I’ll be buying all of their CDs when they’re released anyway. 🙂



50 years of mediocrity continues. …

May 20th, 2003, 6:15 PM by Goddess

The Veggie Patch slogan, “50 years of excellence,” is a source of ridicule in my life. First, Shan and I developed the *real* slogan, “50 years of average,” which Dave topped last night with “50 years of excrement.”

Attended my “leadership” training like a good little girl today. Can we say *joke,* boys and girls? I will never forget how they told us that, as managers, sometimes we “just need to lower our expectations” of our staff.

Honey, at Club Medicated, we’re already doing the fucking limbo. People keep cracking their heads off the floor, that’s how low they can go.

I was fairly infuriated by that. The Veggie Patch is suffering because a person can achieve a “meets expectations” on their annual reviews simply by playing Solitaire for four hours a day, Marbles for two and by squeezing a two-hour lunch break in there.

Actually, that’s not entirely true. For those of us who produce and bust our asses and work weekends, the standards are different. It was articulated very clearly to us today that we need to be writing people up for not coming in on time and for being late with deadlines and what not. I shot up my hand and outlined that I have real problems with that, because I don’t think it’s fair to grade people on whether they were at their desk from 9 to 5 every day for the past year. I also articulated that I would never judge my staff on that, nor should my supervisor grade me on it, either. Personally, I said, “Look, you’ll never see me before 9 — you get me at 9:30 at the earliest — and you probably shouldn’t speak to me before 10. But that aside, you will see me here at midnight, and you get a newspaper every month. We shouldn’t nitpick on the useless details — we should evaluate people based on outcomes, not technicalities.”

The trainer, handpicked by Frosty, gave me the cold shoulder and absolutely ignored the fact that I even spoke. She changed the subject very quickly. I was mad enough to have a spotted cow.

The “lowered expectations” concept arose during this ridiculous video they showed of waves and beaches and what not. Weird little film. I think it was supposed to show us real-life stories from supervisors, but all it did was make me want to book a vacation to Antigua.

The video became downright laughable, when I finally started paying attention to it. A narrator asked us to picture someone in our organization whom we hate. I simply looked across the table to Town Crier and Mailroom Dipshit, and I was set. I also pictured Mouth Almighty and Pussy Demure. I could’ve crammed a few more images in there, but at that point, I was ready to throw up.

Anyway, the narrator told us to picture what that person’s life must be like, the problems they carry, the home life they had/have, the thought processes they have. It later asked us to pretend to walk around in their shoes for a full day (holy cliche, Batman!) and to wonder what they must think when they look at us. I was disgusted. Frankly, I could give a flying fuck about what any of them do after they leave for the day — it’s bad enough that they are all rude, incompetent and/or a waste of a salary during the workday — don’t fucking try to make me pity them. After all, the instructor had just finished telling us to not let our colleagues’ personal problems interfere with our work flow, and there she was contradicted by a cracked-out narrator, telling us to love our cubemates and be glad that we aren’t them.

Shan and I ran for Chi-Chi’s immediately after the training, and we bitched for no less than 90 minutes about the training, the Veggie Patch and the fact that the association says it demands excellence but truly accepts excrement from its longterm employees. And how dare they ever criticize us, when we are among their five top producers?

I’m tired of bitching. So very tired. My blood pressure shoots through the fucking roof when I even think about that place. I left early today (if early is 5:30 p.m.) because the layout is late (some stories were late, including mine) so I won’t see the document until early tomorrow. Oh well. Why should I strive for excellence when “a day late and a dollar short” is the motto of the year?



Insomnia

May 20th, 2003, 12:24 AM by Goddess

God damn it.

I suppose it was the weekly medium hazelnut coffee at Dunkin Donuts that is disturbing my sleep, although it never has before. Perhaps it was also the six pre-bedtime cigarettes I wolfed down, after two days without a smoke. Perhaps it is knowing that I have to get up reaaaally early for work tomorrow. At any rate, I’m awake, I’m perky and I’m pissed!

And I’m one itchy bitch, too. I’m certain it’s stress-related, although the only time I’m not breaking out in hives is when I’m driving. Which is surprising, given the sheer insanity of most Northern Virginia drivers. Perhaps I am becoming more accustomed to them. Perhaps — *shudder* — I have become one of them.

I don’t mind being a radical Virginia driver. What I would mind, though, is becoming another pod in the “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” otherwise known as my workplace. Quelle nightmare, Batman! No wonder I can’t fucking sleep.

So I’ve spent the last half hour perusing Apartments.com for giggles. There are some really nice apartment complexes in the area. I’ve decided that I want to move to the City of Alexandria, if for no other reason than, simply, that I’d like it. I gave up on Arlington after I realized that I don’t like my job enough to sit in I-395 traffic twice a day (and Metro-ing it is out of the question). I saw a place that had a den, and it was under $900. Not that I have $900, but if I pick up some freelance work, it could happen. There was another place that has a special for $750, all utils included, that also has hardwood floors. *drool* That one’s definitely on the “to visit” list. After last week’s box avalanche, it would be nice to have enough space to unpack said crushed boxes. 🙂

What frosts my flakes, though, is the outrageous pet deposits and monthly pet rents. I’ve seen anywhere from $200 to $500 for one to two cats. Sweet Jesus! Most humans are filthier than my cat, who only lies on her sofa and occasionally gets up to visit her food station. And to pay up to $30 per month rent for her on top of that is just ludicrous. Until the fabulous feline gets an income of her own, no pet rents. In fact, no telling anyone that I have a cat. Fer crissakes, most people don’t know that I have a cat until she comes out from under the bed and starts begging them for treats and scratches behind her ears. I dumped a ridiculous flat $300 at this joint, and believe me, the humans did a bang-up job on destroying the place a hell of a lot faster than the four-legged creature could ever do.

Seems like everyone’s moving this summer, and y’all know how much I hate not being part of the trend. 🙂 But if I could encourage the Veggie Patch Mis-Management to allow me to work from home more, it might be worth the investment, pain, agony and torture. Hell, I’m already packed from the last move! 😉

I have to be awake in four and a half hours. Fuck me running.