Caterwauling

This day just can’t end quickly enough. 45 more minutes, and a new day will arrive. Thank god.

I awoke with a start this morning. On the radio, there was a report that Mikey’s building was set on fire for a third time. I called Shawn in my morning haze but didn’t find out till 10 hours later that Mikey was OK. I’d heard a man was injured and never found out who, so I was on edge today about that. Tiff and I decided that Maddie must be setting the blazes, because that’s where her new little sister is living until we move (and, if you read Maddie’s blog, she doesn’t want a new sister. At all. 🙂 (Yes, I joke my way through crises. It’s my only tried-and-true coping method.)

That’s just scary. Granted, absolutely everyone I know had a bad day today, but this arson business needs to stop. Now. Supposedly, a man soaked in gasoline from the blaze went to the hospital and will be questioned. Marina View Towers is like a college dormitory, and even with newly added security, the fires are still happening. The residents need to get together and either move out en masse or just form a tenants’ association and demand that the apartments be raided, as it’s obviously a tenant doing this shit.

We’re hoping Scott is done recovering from his mysterious illness and can start recovering from his hospital stay, although his buddy Doug courteously provided some thoughtful blogging in his absence. My hits from Scott’s workplace continue to rise, letting me know that his colleagues are graciously sending me some hits in his honor. So in Scott’s honor, I shall send a spitball toward West Virginia and Texas while watching “Golden Girls” and “Family Guy.” Get better soon, old chap, and be sure to post stories about your stay in the Pediatrics/Young Adults wing!!!

Moving Day is officially Wednesday, Aug. 6!!! I reserved the truck a few minutes ago (yes, I’m still at work, for those who care and even those who don’t.) ;-D

Anyone who hasn’t already volunteered (or been recruited against his or her will), come on out and join the party! Fun, food, booze, cameraderie and blow jobs will be provided. However, it’s BYOBJ, ’cause I ain’t gonna be the one giving them. 🙂

And if you’re lucky, either Shawn or I will play the song by M People that belongs to the lyric in the entry title. 😉

So goes the first line of Meredith Brooks’ anthem, “Bitch.” And so goes my day.

I wish to send an engraved invitation to everybody who needs a kick in the ass to fuck off. Seriously, there a black cloud over the Veggie Patch right now, and my head is splitting. And yes, I am going to be here all fucking night.

I had a second interview with Witchy Woman, where I fluctuated between being really fucking impressed by her to wondering whether she wanted to impress me or to impress H.R./Graphics gal … and not both. I told Graphics Goddess that, although the girl is perfect, skilled, talented and smart (and, let’s face it, a perfect fit for the job), there is something just off about her. Graphics gal said, on cue, “What’s off about her is that she’s a threat to you.”

Grrr. But she’s right, and I corrobborated it.

I hunted down my other guy, who hasn’t responded to H.R.’s two VMs from yesterday, to say look, are you interested or not in coming back? He shot back a quick e-mail to say yes, absolutely, and that he’d call H.R. on his lunch hour. I told H.R. that it’s a good indicator that he wants to talk to us in person and doesn’t want to use work time to make calls. She said she’s already annoyed that he didn’t send hera thank-you note, and this isn’t helping.

I never sent her a thank-you note. I figured, I literally wasted three hours of my life being cross-examined by herself and Demure about my psychological well-being. Seriously, why the fuck should I thank them for putting 500 miles on my car to be made to feel like shit for three hours? I know it’s bad protocol, but I do not send thank-you notes unless I give a shit, and hey, the guy sent ME a thank-you note, so he was sucking up to the right person, IMHO.

So now Town Crier keeps trying to get my attention. Luckily, I’ve been in meetings and on the phone all day, so she had to resort to e-mail, to ask if we could meet today about some project she just inherited that has not a goddamned thing to do with me. I shot back a, no, actually, I will not meet with anyone else this week because it’s press week. Really, WTF is she going to do other than give me the work to do?

Shan went home early. After she reminded Cruise Director that his article is seven days overdue and that press day is tomorrow, he started screaming at her before finally announcing that he’s going home. So then he yelled at her to go home, because she’s still sick today. She told him she has a few major things to knock out before she can leave (one that involves $35K of Veggie Patch money into the bank), and he flipped and told her to go home. His thoughts to Shan were, “So what? It can wait until tomorrow.” And that’s what she plans to tell our finance people when they ask her tomorrow why the hell she didn’t get that money.

Then he went and sent H.R. to Shan’s desk (she and I were on the phone), and H.R. said she is escorting Shan out for the day. Shan was all like, WTF — did I do something wrong? Am I being fired? But, alas, no — Cruise Director wanted Shan to go home because of her sickness.

You know, I had to say it — if he were so fucking concerned about her health, would he be yelling at her? And why involve half the floor in this decision to ask her to leave early?

I had to go out to the front desk, only seconds after Shan stomped out. RC noticed that I had the same miserable expression on my face that Shan did, and when I said, “This shit is not worth it,” RC reported that Shan had, in fact, uttered the very same phrase as the elevator doors closed. Exactly to the syllable.

I am so fucking tired. And annoyed. And my neck hurts again. And I shouldn’t be blogging (not to mention, there went my intention to guest blog for Scott, because we share a hatred of a certain Southern state and I had some fun things to say on our behalf), but I have got to get at least some of this poison outta my system.

Demure is back today. Planted herself in my office first thing. Asked to see a copy of the paper so she can proof it. (Um, it goes to bed tomorrow, unless Cruise Director tells me that it can’t.) I can’t handle much more. I really can’t. Everyone needs to stay far, far away from me or I will kill them. In fact, my layout guy recommended I put up a sign, “Press Week: Emergencies Only.” I think my sign should be “Go the Fuck Away or You Will Die.” Only problem is, I’d never take the sign down!!!