The new doormat inside our office building should be featured on some late-night talk show:
Oh, and I reported Uncle Saturday Night’s ass to H.R. Apparently he’s worthless in addition to being sleazy. I expect for his contract to be terminated within four weeks. Hurrah!
On iTunes: Ani DiFranco, “32 Flavors”
I finally got brave enough to check my remaining voice mails. OK, so to refresh, I sent an e-mail to Uncle Saturday night on Wednesday morning around 8 a.m. to cancel. That was followed, of course, by the e-mail I posted from him.
But …
There were also two voicemails from him — CANCELING on ME!!!
I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt on this one — He called to cancel after 1 p.m. and the e-mail arrived at 2 p.m. One call was to cancel; the next call was to ask if I’d gotten the message that he was canceling and to say that “It would give me a really good feeling to know you got my message (so that you’re not sitting at the bar waiting).”
Maybe he’s a nice old guy. But he still creeps me the fuck out.
I am going to take Bill’s advice and just say no when he pressures me to reschedule. Not just no, but “I ain’t interested.”
It kills me — I lose so many great people in my life — for instance, today is Shan’s last day at the Veggie Patch and it finally hit me that she’s really, truly leaving the East Coast. (Read: I’ve been crying like a fucking baby. And getting my period this morning hasn’t helped!) But then other people just have to be a thorn in my ass and never fucking just go away. What little energy I still have is being expended on those who count, and I am not fussing with the likes of Uncle Saturday Night who would be lucky for me to give him a single droplet of my attention.
On iTunes: The Clarks, “Maybe”