Caterwauling

I had a terrific opportunity to rant, bitch and complain this evening. An invitation, even. And out of nowhere, I realized that I was perfectly fine.

Weird.

Funny how peace can be so unsettling sometimes. But maybe the so-called comfort so many of us find in chaos is just an oasis, because as long as everything’s a clusterfuck, at least it’s “business as usual.”

It was good to be OK. And not “OK, for a change,” like I usually default to saying.

Options, possibilities and the inner peace to get through, with or without them — that’s all a girl really needs.

That and sleep, so g’nite y’all! 😉

Two thoughts for today:

1. Place A (in yesterday’s post about apartments) just called to tell me they’ll give me the month of March absolutely free and kick in a bay window with a view. Oh, and they’ll waive my application fee if I do it now.

2. To whom it concerns: SILENCE! I’m asking my higher power to help me to not hate you, you ignorant *****. But the ire, it rises. Increasingly.

Damn it.

The apartment complex I loved most (next to the most-expensive one) called today to say they have the perfect unit available, like, now. *sigh* I can’t break my effin’ lease, but this lovely apartment has a fireplace, and I don’t want to pass it up.

I have some other places to see this weekend, too. But if I had to pick my next place today, I’m between the pretty place (above) with the ideal layout or the way-cheap place out in East Jabip that is $160 less a month.

So basically:

Place A:

Great location
Fireplace
Beds/Baths separated by living area
Great staff/resident events

Place B:

Huge
Cheap
Free parking
Free cable

Damn it.

For the amount of digits in the rent checks from now on, why can’t I have it ALL?!?!

And just to throw the proverbial wrench into the works …

… I got a call telling me that a place where I’ve wanted to work has a job opening that I could be a contender for.

In another part of town, of course!

But you knew that already. 😉

*thunk*

I was cleaning last night and found dried cat poop on the copy of my lease I had left on the floor. Grand — I’m so proud of Maddie. She likes to shit outside the box, and always on paperwork she deems unimportant.

I was looking at ApartmentRatings.com all weekend to get feedback on places I like and others I want to contact. It’s pretty much a dumping ground for dissatisfied tenants, and you can tell that the glowing reviews are from residence staff members who do not identify themselves as such.

Just for a reality check, I looked up the reviews for my own building, where I am actually very happy with my experience. And of course there were all kinds of scary, negative things that would have kept me from wanting to live here, but I found an interesting review from someone whose username is, oh, the same as the business manager’s. I of course called bullshit on her in a comment I posted — if you work at the building, fuckin’ say so, mmmkay?

I realize I’ve lucked out in that I’ve had quiet people living above and below me — the thing that scares me in moving from a 1BR to a 2BR is not only affording the goddamned thing, but also getting people with kids who live above me. Gah. Tiff and I lived in this one place where I had to hear the bedsprings of the couple’s bed (which seemed to be directly above mine) from 8 a.m. to 8:15 a.m. every Saturday, before their little hellion child ran into the room at 8:30 a.m. and proceeded to stomp around for two hours. (Some of us work late, you freaks.)

Anyway, beyond that I haven’t had any problems, but loose floorboards in these old-ass buildings do worry me. Usually, I’m the loudmouth in the building, as I am up screaming at the cats all night (like last night, so be nice to me today ’cause I’m TIRED!), so I suspect that when I can’t identify the problem tenant, chances are? It’s ME.

It’s another interesting thing I’ve learned — the noise, drama and vandalism seem to occur in the “family” sections of apartment buildings/complexes. Sure, you expect pint-sized brats to create a fuss, but it’s the teenagers who are out roaming the streets and stealing cars and painting profanities everywhere. Look, you can deal drugs if you must, but I insist that if you are? You share. 😉

I was looking into what it would take to buy a condo. And it’s scary. Suppose your average 2BR/2BA condo goes for around $250,000. These realtors want 5% to 10% down. Now, they don’t call me Pittsburgh Barbie for nothin’, ’cause math makes my head swim, but I assure you I cannot come up with that many zeroes unless it’s in the dating realm. 😉

Speaking of zeroes (as in, zero dollars), I am down to my last eight bucks, so I have this crazy goal of coming home at a reasonable time to cook dinner this week instead of grabbing overpriced food and taking it back to my desk. Which means I’ll probably get fired or something, because every time I swear I’m going to scale back on my hours, chaos erupts and something goes painfully wrong. And I’ll be sitting there hungry ’cause payday’s a looong way away!

And I’m going to pay more in rent? Sheesh. 🙂 At this rate, I might never be able to afford furniture! And did I mention my beloved coffee pot just BROKE this morning?!?!

* Why the fuck did Paris Hilton think it was a good idea to stash her booty in a storage shed. Seriously? That mansion ain’t big enough or inaccessible enough to the public? GAWD. Did she want this crap to be seen by the masses?

* Apartment communities: “All utilities included! (except gas)” does NOT mean “All Utilities Included.”

* Renting a 2BR condo costs more than one net paycheck. Renting a 3BR condo costs $100 more. Jeez.

* I’m taking a hiatus from apartment-hunting, because after all the ones I’ve seen, I’m sort of liking the first one again.

* Is it wrong to wish someone would just die already so I can move to that part of town and not have to look at them?

* Never mind, there happen to be two others I hate in that area, too. Scratch that idea too. I can’t believe that, in a city of thousands, there’s only one person I regard as cool in it.

* If you’re looking at places like Rent.com and Apartments.com, their prices are slightly lower than the prices handed to you when you make an on-site visit. I would not have called some of the places I did if their low price of $X was actually $XX.

* And don’t tell me that it has washer-dryer hookups in the unit if I am not allowed to bring my own washer and dryer. (They supply them for an extra $100 a month.) Morons. Why pay $1,200 a year to rent a W/D combo when we’ve got a set that’s brand-new and paid off? GAH.

* I just got a thank-you card from a place I visited, which was the biggest and, comparatively, cheapest for all you get with the price. And it was from the same asshole who looked right at my pudgy pork roast ass and surmised, “You dont want to see the fitness room, do you?” Dick. And as a matter of fact, I DIDN’T!!! 😉

* Prince is going to perform at the Super Bowl XLI halftime show, even though the last time the Chicago Bears made it to the biggest football game of the year (1985) was the last time the Purple One was actually popular!

* I just got a note from Expedia that I can book three nights’ hotel and get $50 off. And in most cities, that would be one night free at a decent hotel. But I thought enh, I should take advantage and go somewhere I’d actually want to be. But unfortunately, city girl that I am, I can’t find a fleabag hotel under $100 a night. And what the hell is up with all the shared-bathroom crap? Dear GOD that should be iillegal unless they’re paying YOU to stay at the hotel! For $150 a night, if I’m sharing my toily, someone had better be providing complementary ass-wiping!

* I’ve been yapping about how starting a corporate blog and how it should work. Then the idea came back that, well, maybe I should think about being the blogger for it. (My idea was to hire someone to do it — I am very careful about having ideas because usually the owner of them is the proud person who gets to take on all that extra work!) But it’s not the worst idea in the world — I like to rant, bitch, complain and do things that are beyond my comfort zone, and to get paid for it? It’s either the best fucking idea in the world or the worst.

* All right, who didn’t LOVE “Grey’s Anatomy” last night? Just hearing the reverence in McDreamy’s voice when he declared, “The Nazi’s back,” had me all aflutter. That clinic idea — love it. I predict Richard steps down from the chief of surgery gig and moves on to be the clinic director. And Izzie can bake different-flavored muffins and have them at the reception desk in a pretty basket with gingham napkins for clinic visitors when they drop by.

* Still talking about “Grey’s” I am SO Meredith (minus the six-inch waistline), as when McDreamy apologized to her and responded to her blank look with a, “This is what people do; they fight and make up” or whatever the hell he said before realizing she was clueless, and then he said, “You’ve never done this before?” and she shook her head. (How’s THAT for a grammatically fucked-up sentence?) OH MY GAWD, hello what I’m going through right now. Like, where’s the etiquette book, the list of protocol, the freaking instruction booklet? You mean they don’t always run for the hills when you act like … well … you? Blows my mind.

* In other news, I am sitting here being very passive-aggressive. Foaming at the mouth, really, but set to break my own fingers if I dial a phone or type an e-mail. Because I know I am going to be entirely too honest and it is going to get ugly. Midnight is not an acceptable submission time for a noontime deadline. I’m just sayin’. A broken clock may be right twice a day, but if I bust that clock over your head, it’s a battle that nobody wins.

* Speaking of, I’m trying on another front. Really I am. But man would I beat the shit out of you if I could, thanks to two stupid things you said. Who, seriously, do you think you are? You ain’t winnin’ no friends, I assure you, with that bullshit. *wipes hands*

* I have got to call that boy back. Maybe I’ll go do that now!

I was just plotting out a huge password-protected entry about work, titled “I pay for an apartment why?”, but then I realized that I’d given my password to people there. Oops. 😉 Instead, I shall keep working talk about something else!

So, thanks to Isaiah Washington’s piss-poor behavior at the Golden Globes (beyond his inappropriate comments on the set of “Grey’s Anatomy” toward T.R. Knight — way to outdo yourself, moron), there’s an online petition to get him fired.

It was only a matter of time, I guess, before the petition started. But what’s interesting is that, if he were a desk monkey like the rest of us, his ass would’ve been slapped with a sexual-harassment lawsuit faster than you can say “hostile work environment.” As a manager, I’d have had him escorted to the door and hit him in his ass with it.

AND YOU’RE ENTITLED TO ACT LIKE AN ASSHOLE WHY?

My mind boggles at how people of a certain age and maybe even stature have no class whatsoever. I meet people who seem to think that they’re so much better than me and they’re entitled to so much more because they’re a little bit older or they think they’re smarter.

Yeah, if the only person who’s impressed with you, oh, IS you, here’s your sign!

Sabre did a great post “On Narcissim and Entitlement,” and the sad thing is? The people who could benefit from that big mirror in front of their faces are the most likely to miss the message that should be tattooed to their widdle foreheads.

A highlight:

“The pathological narcissist believes that they are superior to almost everyone else. They often have a very rich fantasy life filled with visions of unlimited success, brilliance, superior insight, etc. The narcissist believes that he is special, unique, and should be admired for his excellence (niceguy^TM syndrome, anyone?) Two of the most telling traits are an overblown sense of entitlement (extremely unreasonable expectations of automatic compliance with their, usually, unreasonable demands) and a lack of empathy. The inability to see how their actions, or inactions, affect others is a very telling sign of the deep-seated issues they suffer from.”

Can I get an amen? Testify!

ADMITTING YOU’RE AN IDIOT DOESN’T
INSTANTLY MAKE YOU NOT AN IDIOT

I don’t care what happens to Isaiah. I really don’t. They could kill off his character on “Grey’s” or they can make him a hero. Either way, it doesn’t affect me. I don’t think much of him and wouldn’t break bread with him if given the opportunity, but his “celebrity” status affords him the ability to live by a different set of rules than the rest of us, and it’s the people who sign his paycheck who have to live with his actions and the repercussions they may cost the show and the network.

I was saying to my friend the other day how Alzheimer’s will probably be cured before stupidity, and she took the contrarian view — that stupidity will be cured before anything else, and we will keep idiots alive forever and let useful people slip away from this world.

STICKS AND STONES …

It’s interesting, the power of epithets. But they can only have power if you GIVE them power. I’m not saying that Isaiah shouldn’t go into anger-management classes (I read that he’s in counseling. BFD), but you can’t teach somebody to be a better person. I’ve tried setting an example for others. I’ve waited. I’ve even prayed to become a better person myself.

You can only change yourself. And if he didn’t voluntarily seek help — as though there is any therapist in this world who can teach couth — meaning, if ABC forced him into it, he’ll just be an asshole with a therapy bill.

I walked away from a relationship because of a stupid, careless, racist comment. Granted, the relationship, as it were, wasn’t worth saving, but I was on the fence about how much bullshit I was willing to forgive, and that answered that.

It occurred to me that I’d just been disrespected for the last time. Even if it wasn’t aimed at me, it was still a recurring theme.

I don’t want to introduce people I care about to people like that. You can’t fly with the eagles if you run with turkeys.

So, Isaiah, I think Sabre said it best when she wrapped up her post that reminded me so much of so many people, you included:

“How do you deal with people who honestly believe that they are so above the rest of us that they don’t have to live by the same rules as we do?”

You don’t. Like the old Poe song (“Trigger Happy Jack”) that my friends and I used to sing so vociferously about someone who totally deserved it:

“You can’t talk to a psycho
Like a normal human being!”

According to the fine folks at the Society for Human Resource Management:

“More than 60 percent of executives around the world believe workers who telecommute have a lesser chance of advancing in their career. But one-third of the executives said telecommuters are more productive than workers in traditional office settings.”

I’ve seen it in action and have always gotten the hint that telecommuting is perfectly acceptable, just as long as it’s done before or after business hours. It was never said to me directly, but I do get the impression that having a visible presence scores tremendous brownie points … even if you’re losing commuting time and/or closed-door time that would be better funneled into projects that require creativity and concentration.

At my last job, people blatantly napped at their desks and played Solitaire half the day, and that was perceived along the lines of, “Well, they are here if we need them.” Because you really need THAT bringing down the rest of your good workers’ morale. I personally think that if someone’s sitting around twiddling their thumbs but there’s a huge project coming up, they should be allowed to hang out at home and rest up for the late nights, and conversely, if they need to concentrate and just cannot do so with 40 irrelevant and not-time-sensitive interruptions, they can prioritize better and actually finish the projects they start.

I always suspected what SHRM wrote today, but it’s a good reminder that a day may feel like a waste of scandalous underwear, but in the long run, it’s really not!

My goodness, where has this week gone? Busy, busy lil bee over here. That’s a good thing, I guess. That means it’s executive summary time!

1. I am voting for Hillary Clinton in 21 months, because she will get the Democratic nomination and damn it, she should. She should run with John Edwards. I don’t know if this country is ready for a woman president or an African-American one (as I do adore Barack Obama, too), but as I heard today, Hillary’s the man for the job. And besides, she can appoint all the other great candidates to her Cabinet, and in that, I have hope for America.

2. “Pursuit of Happyness.” Loved it. You’ve got to see it. My heart was so broken by the time the ending came around, I sat and cried through the credits. Unfortunately, I went back to the theater I abhor so much and the idiots turned on all the lights during the credits and waited for us to leave. I hate that shit. I sat there with them glowering at me, and I snarled at them on my way out. In any event, the only thing missing from the movie for me was more about his career development, although I think they may have kept that hidden so that you wouldn’t expect the ending. But as some of us knew how his life turned out, it would’ve been neat to see more. One can only hope for a director’s cut someday!

3. Is it a sign when you keep missing somebody’s calls? I really want to be available for them, yet we keep leaving messages for each other. Weird. Is it that you need to work hard to get what you want, or that you shouldn’t sweat it if it doesn’t come easily because there’s something else waiting in the wings? The mind boggles.

4. One of my buddies said she’s never seen me so happy as I’ve been lately. Apparently sunshine becomes me. 😉

Nothing says “Even if it IS broke, don’t fix it” like sending 20,000 additional troops to Iraq. Way to show them Dems how big your dick is, President Shrub. Jesus. It’s like war is your equivalent of other men’s little red sports cars. Kindly have your midlife crisis NOT on my tax dollars, mmmkay?

One of my colleagues/friends just got the news that her high school boyfriend was killed in Iraq. He never intended to be a soldier — this wasn’t his passion. He enlisted in his early 20s because he didn’t go to college and the working world wasn’t doing him any favors. He was a paratrooper, just like my grandfather was.

And I hate to think it, but it’s true. What if my grandfather hadn’t just been injured in World War II — what if he hadn’t come back at all? Mom and I wouldn’t be here, of course, but to frame this discussion, my poor grandfather got abused and neglected at the Veterans Administration Hospitals his whole life — it’s like they killed him slowly instead of it happening in one tragic mission.

I doubt that thought brought any peace to my friend (and I probably shouldn’t have said it), but boy did I cry for her last night. The things we are forced to deal with that just shouldn’t happen, in an ideal world, are mind-boggling. Pain, injustice, grief — and what do we (or they?) get in return for all the bad stuff?

I have a lot of friends who went into the military for the exact same reason as my colleague’s friend — they wanted the career training and hoped for a desk job. And after their time commitment was up, they got the fuck out (just before the Iraq war, incidentally). Like they told me, NAVY stands for “Never Again Volunteer Yourself!”

I feel for my friend — this is someone who was important to her at one time, even though he wasn’t someone she thought about every day. I remember when the L.A. riots broke out after the Rodney King debacle — a guy from my high school had gone to L.A. with hopes and dreams just like so many millions before them have done, and he got caught in the crossfire. I didn’t know him well or, for that matter, even like him all that much. But what it did was connect me in some way to events that otherwise wouldn’t have touched me personally.

It makes the world smaller when you realize that somebody you know is the person the headlines are talking about. And it makes your heart a little harder, your mind a little more jaded, to know that your government doesn’t really care about you as a person — just as long as their operatives go off without a hitch.

Mom got something in the mail recently, after that fucking VA Hospital murdered my grandfather. It was a certificate signed by O Holy Shrub himself, acknowledging my grandfather’s service to this country. Whoopty fucking doo. He gave his life and his health and his best years, and all he got in return was a very painful death. If the certificate had come earlier, I would have buried it with him.

Thanks for the piece of paper and the flag that makes us cry because it was on his casket and now it’s all we have left of him. Go back to your mansion and continue your circle jerk with the joint chiefs of staff and don’t worry about the rest of us who’ve lost emotional and financial supports. Really — we’ll be OK, thanks for not asking.

Incidentally, Mom found some letters my grandfather had sent to his family. His mother was amazing, his father was absent/abusive and he was one of eight children. He always sent home money to feed the family, to ensure that the little ones got the clothes or birthday presents they wanted (they had so very little), and all he ever wanted was for them to take a couple of those dollars and send him some new guitar strings because he couldn’t find them in Germany.

These are the kinds of people that war takes away. And it’s only the few of us who knew them as people and not as just another body who will ever truly know what a great loss to this nation these people are. …