When asked my sexual orientation, I usually say, "Yes, please!" But after a trip to the ladies' room here at the Veggie Patch today made me shudder at the thought of all the stanky pussies in this building. Good lord, do these people wash themselves? *twitch* These women leave a trail of stench behind them -- I can't imagine anyone wanting to venture into that territory. *gag*
Well, H.R. swears she contacted Sports Guy on Tuesday about the job offer. He left her a VM at 8 p.m. Tuesday night. She called him again Wednesday morning. Here it is, Thursday morning, and I still don't know if he is accepting the job or not.
The cynical side of me wonders if H.R. isn't sneaky enough to claim to be calling the guy but isn't bothering. I mean, sheesh, the one time I sent him an e-mail, I received a response within 10 minutes. And of course, Witchy Woman has already called H.R. to find out where we are in the process (just like she called to bug me after her first interview -- career coaches need to quit telling people to do that, because people like me don't view it as being efficient and interested -- we take it as call number 56 of 100 to answer in a day).
In a strange way, I like her. I felt like she was "the one" from the beginning. But my feeling is that she's too good for the job -- that she'll spend one week in that loony bin and run screaming.
When I told H.R. that I chose Sports Guy as the lucky winner of the position, she was crushed. She said she hates to let the better candidate go. But really, ARE we letting the better candidate go? I chose Sports Guy based on his potential to grow into his, and eventually my, job. I feel like Witchy Woman would take to her job immediately ... and then want mine six months later. But I could be wrong. In fact, I think, given her work experience to date, she's dealt with enough corporate idiocy to know how to hang in a wacky environment.
We'll see, friends. We'll see.
I'm feeling like I made the wrong decision with Sports Guy. I really do. But my decision is based on who can roll with the punches ... who will just grin and bear it ... 'cause that's about 50 percent of the job on any given day.
UPDATE We think Sports Guy must be waiting for an offer from someone else. H.R. did make the offer to him, but he wanted till noon tomorrow to think about it. H.R. won't be in the office, so he'll call me with an answer either way. We don't have enough of a grasp on his personal integrity to know whether he will accept this position but then bow out if someone comes in with a better offer. I'd just like to know if they're interviewing elsewhere, ya know? Makes 'em much more appealing, to know that somebody else might get them first. :)
Editor's note:I missed the original airing on Sunday because of my beloved Bon Jovi concert. So tonight, we watch the re-airing!!!
Harry proposed to Charlotte at a Jewish singles event. *swoon* She had gone on a bunch of blind dates, arranged by a handful of the mothers at her synagogue. They just couldn't figure out why their sons weren't married or dating lovely (although albeit newly) Jewish girls like her. They were duds, they were gay or they were too hot for words .... but they just weren't her Harry. And now she has him back. For good.
The question of the night: do we need distance to be close? Burger and Carrie continued their combative conversations, and he decided to escape alone to his house in the Hamptons for a week. Carrie decided during that time that she really loved him, and apparently he decided the same, as he arrived on her doorstep a week later with a bouquet of pink carnations with the same "L" word on his tongue. But alas, she awoke to a Post-It Note and not to Burger, and he broke it off on that yellow sticky note. Kind of appropriate for the guy who starred in "Office Space." *snerk*
Some discussion evolved early in the show about how a guy should never give a gal carnations. I agree, to some point. I'm not a flower fiend, but I do love the exotic ones. Shows the guy put real thought into it. But I have received carnations in the past, and it kind of made me happy that I occurred to the guy while he was strolling past a stand or happened to see a nice bunch while he was grocery shopping (what I wouldn't give to be on someone's mind for something other than a revenge scheme. ...). But Carrie and Charlotte had told Burger that men who bring carnations or who wear Dockers are just bad news. But then Carrie qualified it that she likes pink ones -- hence the final bouquet, which she ended up smashing after reading his eloquently cowardly note. SATC has never ended a show quite so dramatically ... usually, there is a promise that life will be good again. She couldn't offer that -- not this week, anyway. It felt real, though, because so many of us are still searching for happy endings that just keep eluding us.
Smith Jerrod posed nude in an "Absolut Hunk" ad, which made him uncomfortable to see himself on a Times Square billboard and as the pinup boy in a bus shelter, whereby the phrase "Absolut Asshole" was graffitied onto his washboard abs. But a moment later, he was accosted by a gaggle of private-school girlies who wanted his autograph, and he was happy with his newfound throng of admirers.
Miranda cut back her workweeks to 55 hours (!), so as to spend more time with the darling redheaded Brady. (No Steve nor Dipshit Girlfriend surfaced in this episode -- cheers!) Her colleagues chastised her for coming into work late a few times and, god forbid, leaving on time on Monday, and her response was that she is doing damn well at work -- but it's at home where she's a screw-up. So, while leaving Brady in the care of her beloved nanny Magda, Miranda made Brady a crib mobile with her photos smiling down upon him as he lay in his cozy little nest.
Samantha was just as gorgeous and witty as ever. Her role was small this week, but she did advise Carrie that wearing a frowny face is an indicator of a relationship on its way straight to hell. She noted that if you're not wearing the dreamy face, then there is a breakup in your future. (Can I say that Samantha is the big sister I always wanted? She could have saved me thousands of hours of stress over souring relationships!)
Scott pointed me toward an article in today's New York Times about a new love interest for Carrie. I'm wondering how that's going to play out, especially with the article hinting that Mr. Big and Carrie will NOT end up together (unlike in the original "Sex and the City" book, but I digress). But then again, one never knows. Tonight's surprise ending kicked me in the ass, so I am certain that the series finale will be no less shocking.
I don't know what I am going to do when this series ends. I mean, sheesh, the fabulous foursome are having the conversations my friends and I have been having for years. They do date more men (and women -- *winks at Samantha*) than most of my friends and I combined, but it's so reassuring that the same thoughts that are running through our heads are the basis for the characters' life situations. It shows that even the "beautiful people" have problems, too ... and it shows that together with your close friends, you can, in fact, survive anything. *sigh* But I will sure miss my four on-screen girlfriends when the series ends early next year.
There are just so many dumb bitches at my workplace that I simply can't give out one award and stop there.
Today's honoree is Town Crier, whom you may remember as being a major thorn in my ass. In regard to something that didn't appear in the newspaper (which I had asked her pointedly to help me obtain), she sent the following e-mail to Cruise Director and Demure:
"It has been pointed out to me that the (New England-based branch), and its rep, (Dumb Bitch on Ice), don't appear in the (Veggie Patch Gazette's) piece on region goals."
My response:
"I received (Dumb Bitch on Ice's) photo, which she handed to (Town Crier) at the (Idiots Savante) meeting, which was two weeks after the established deadline date of June 30), but I never received the goals. I sent a follow-up e-mail to (DB on I) and asked (Town Crier) to assist me in contacting her. The goals never arrived -- I had an open space for them until two days before we went to press.
Moving forward, I would be glad, if she does send goals, to include them in the September issue."
Cruise Director's response to my e-mail:
"Sounds good to me. (Town Crier) -- please let whoever brought this up know what transpired so we don't get dumped on."
Heh heh. Town Crier got the smackdown. Fucking cunt.
Rejected title: All over the fucking board. And then some.
To blog, therefore I am. Or some shit like that. For some reason, I don't feel like the blog is serving its purpose lately. I mean, I am just not having fun writing in it. I am trying to faithfully keep up with my life, but it seems that I've been altogether too conscious that I have an audience. And while I think I've always written in my private journals with the thought in my mind that they would someday be published, I guess I still regarded the bound books as sacred space, while this space seems to be anything but.
I think I've been as honest as I can possibly be here, but it's the offline conversations that hold so much truth and insight about me. It's civility that keeps me censoring myself, to some degree. Just like you don't punch someone who pisses you off, you just don't go apeshit in a public forum (as we've all been known to do, from time to time, with varying degrees of regret). And I'm even shying away from writing solely in "Drafts" mode, as an errant post somehow went live for about two minutes until the exclamation point lit up above my head and I went into deletion hell. And it's not that I wouldn't stand behind that post -- it just really contained explosive content that should probably have never been captured in writing.
And I've been rather direct and even confrontational at work lately, which seems to make me want to avoid conflict in my personal life ... even to the point of me not saying things that need to be said. And I can harbor resentment and/or disappointment like none other. But I am just not asking the questions that I need to ask. I'm not sure if it's that I don't care or if I'm just too tired to. I think I'm leaning toward the "I can't take one more fucking detail" schtick. My heart has really gone through some strange situations during the past six months, and frankly, I'm lucky that it's still beating.
God, I'm tired. Emotionally just as much as physically.
In other news. ...
How do you tell a friend to NOT care so much about everything? I am really worrying about Shan. She spent last night in the emergency room. Again. Apparently, she's acquired a really bad cough that caused her to crack a rib from its ferocity (and her doctors can't do anything about it till she has the baby). And she's still itching like a maniac. Ten doctor's appointments, and they have given her every prescription under the sun. Right now, the Vicodin is miraculously halting the cough and keeping the itchies at bay, but it's certainly no cure, and it's only temporary.
She didn't go into work today, but we talked for two hours in the evening. I really, truly feel that if she didn't have to work for Cruise Director and Club Medicated in general, she'd be in great health and spirits. Her doctor is recommending that she cut back to a 30-hour workweek, and she's against it (because she does the work of four people), but I really tried to talk her into it. She's now considering taking off every Wednesday, and believe me, I will be making sure that she goes home (relatively) on time and doesn't come in during weekends. The battle lines at work were drawn long before we got there, and war will be waged, whether we are there to clean up the mess and dress the wounds or not. She will be a wonderful mother, just for the mere fact that she has to wipe asses all day, every day, at work. A kid should be so much less work!
I keep trying to get her to do baby registries. I might end up just doing it myself, just to get her started. People at work are really getting antsy -- they adore her and are begging me to tell them what to buy for her -- which says loads about her character, that people truly want to help her out in any way that they can, for all the help she gives them. We have fewer than two months till Alex makes her premiere, and I am so worried that Shan will be confined to bedrest and we won't be able to do a little surprise shower for her (don't worry -- she doesn't read the blog -- she'll never know what I'm up to!).
But the shower is trifle -- I am so concerned that she doesn't know how to take it easy. She runs around like a maniac, her boss is a great guy but a real shit to work for, she's got to convert her home office/storage room into a nursery, and she's got to find the money to make it all happen. There's just no time for her to be sick and tired and to pamper herself. And lord knows I don't have the money to really help her, nor would she ever take it. So I try to do little things, like just being there. And that seems to help the most, but I just don't know how to convince her to let the work shit slide, because her health is just so much more important than any bullshit assignment her boss barks at her to do at 6 p.m.
She's actually planning to attend my moving soiree next Wednesday (although it's not a party). I asked her to sit home and enjoy the day off, but she wants to be there for me. Can you imagine? I may have to break her fingers if she tries to lift something.
Good, home-grown values come in handy. Sometimes. Speaking of breaking fingers, she threatened more physical harm on me if I buy her another baby gift. (Let's not poke into my work closet, where I have a nice stash of baby goods.) I told her look, it's not like she would ever accept it if I wanted to give her money for all the wonderful things she's done for me, but she sure as hell can't say no to cute little things for her child, right? She knows that the only thing I want in return is a photo of the munchkin in any pretty duds I might happen to find for her. Of course, I'll probably be the one taking the photos, but still. :) I love it that she doesn't expect or want anything. Those are the people I love to take care of -- the ones who would never expect it. She is going through a tough separation with a former best friend who refuses to congratulate her on her wedding because Shan didn't send her kid a birthday gift. Not like Shan didn't pay for the child's entire pile of Xmas gifts, to help out her friend, who was down on her luck. This former friend reminds me of so many people my mom and I have known throughout our lives -- the ones who get pissed when you don't pamper their kids (as if it's your job).
I remember people going nuts on my mom/grandmother for not sending a card with money or something, at which point they would ask, "And what did you do for Dawn's birthday?" Which was, of course, nothing. But then again, I remember them always commemmorating other kids' birthdays. That was just my family -- poor as church mice but too proud to admit it. And the card would always arrive on time, no matter what they had to give up to put something in it. This has stuck with me throughout the years -- how shitty it is to feel obligated to celebrate some brat's birthday, but how tradition always dictated to be good to your family. Fuck that crap -- my friends and I are good to each other. The family I acknowledge is limited to a select few. And even my one cousin -- I went all out and really went nuts over her wedding gifts, and do you think the cunt ever sent me a fucking thank-you card, let alone called me after the wedding, which happened four years ago?!?!
Same thing with graduations. I was the first member of my immediate family to graduate from college, not to mention that I was one of the oldest ones of my generation (as mom was a mere sweet 16 when I came into the world). But when all the younger cousins started graduating from high school, my family got hit up for donations to their college funds. My grandmother lovingly reminded the evil assclowns in my grandfather's family that I had acquired a bachelor's degree on my own, with no help from any of them. And to this day, the extended family wonders why I just never saw a reason to have anything to do with them -- something about my own requirement to care about people who never knew that I was in college -- I saw them at a funeral, and they asked what grade I was in. I was completing my junior year at Point Park College at the time.
On the other hand, I did (do) have one cousin, Carole, who was always more than generous. I was always reluctant to take any kind of help, because I never knew when I'd be in a position to pay her back. But she was a proponent of "pay it forward" long before it ever became a Kevin Spacey movie (with a nice guest appearance from Jon Bon Jovi. Yum.) -- she told me specifically to be kind to someone who needs it, when I am in a position to give it. I will never forget her for that ... for being the only member of the extended family who ever made any kind of sense, and it just happened to be good sense. :)
Shan and I were discussing tonight how our families truly brought us up right. We didn't have money, but we had a great deal of values instilled in us. We never expected anything from anybody (and when we did, whoo-boy, were we disappointed when nobody ever came through). We were taught to be classy and gracious and well-mannered. But at times, it was to our detriment, when we started expecting reciprocal treatment from everyone else in the world. Boy, that was dumb -- and sadly so. But why is it so wrong to expect a little bit of consideration in this world? Why is it so much to ask that people say what they mean and mean what they say?
Don't get me wrong -- the circle of friends keeps narrowing in both of our worlds. Nothin' wrong with having contacts everywhere, don't get me wrong. But recently, I sent out my address update to my friends, and the list was shorter than ever. When I moved last year, I sent my update to no fewer than 60 people. Maybe more. This year, 36. And of that 36, I expect maybe eight of those people to actually use that address for something more than a holiday card.
Random thought of the evening Is that what happens to friendships and relationships, as we get older? Do they resort to "holiday card" lists? It kills me that I can't keep up enough with certain people, whether they live down the street or overseas. And it breaks my heart when there are certain folks who can't/won't make the time for me (again, whether they live down the street or a state or two away). Maybe it's a vicious cycle -- for every person you cut out of your life, someone you want to be in your life walks away (or runs, depending on the situation). I watch Shan with her strange friend on the West Coast, and I wonder if friendships don't just run their course, just like relationships. Rarely do I "get rid" of people, but I've learned not to cry a river if things just happen to come apart over time.
Shan and I are strong proponents of the "bank account" theory of friendship -- you need to make deposits before you can make withdrawals. And if both parties aren't depositing equally, then it simply isn't a joint account. Friendship is hard work, but at times like this, we all need for it to be easy. And right now, it really is. The account is full to overflowing. And now that things are just plain old tough all around, it's good to keep going back for withdrawals and finding that the account isn't going to run dry anytime soon.
Just got a lovely e-mail from Paul about my move on Wednesday. Seriously, he and Bryan just stepped off the plane from their California adventure, and they wanted to let me know that they took the day off and that they don't want me to worry about a thing. :) I swear, I have some of the best friends in this world.
There's this ghetto chick who works as a telemarketer here who sent this loving e-mail last hour:
Stolen Soda: "Whoever took the Pepsi out of the vending machine not more than five minutes ago please return it to me or reimburse my 50 cents."
First of all, we don't have Pepsi in the machine. Secondly, how fucking dumb do you have to be to put the money in the machine, hit the button and walk away? She's acting like she left a wad of cash in there. Idiot. The can was probably lodged under her fat, lazy ass. And for the record, if you saw a nice cold can of carbonated, syrupy sweetness, wouldn't YOU take it? Especially if it were sitting right there, with no one claiming it? My buddy down the hall suggested that we take up a collection for her and go buy her a case of Pepsi, to avoid further annoying all-staff e-mails.
Ah, but wait, there's more:
Soda Recovered: "The Pepsi has been recovered..."
What's up with the points of ellipsis? Is there to be a third e-mail either telling us who "stole" it or apologizing for wasting our time? I'm just breathlessly anticipating the resolution to this nonsense. ;)
"Tuesday just might go my way It can't get worse than yesterday Thursdays, Fridays ain't been kind But somehow I'll survive Hey man I'm alive I'm takin' each day and night at a time Yeah I'm down, but I know I'll get by Hey hey hey hey, man gotta live my life Like I ain't got nothin' but this roll of the dice I'm feelin' like a Monday, but someday I'll be Saturday night."
-- Bon Jovi, "Someday I'll Be Saturday Night" --
You know I'm grooving to Bon Jovi's "One Wild Night" live album right now. *smiles*
I decided to hire Sports Guy. I don't think H.R. is very happy with me right now, but she'll get over it. She hates seeing the better candidate get away, but she agrees that Sports Guy is a better fit, overall, with the department and the association. (Some folks have advised me to hire the worst possible person and then quit right away and leave them with a mess. Heh. But even I am not THAT cruel!)
H.R. is going to make him an offer today, and she advised me to think about giving him a performance bonus next year, if he does well. Did I get a performance bonus, even though I've been a lone staffer for seven months? Fuck no. But I am definitely a better leader than Demure is, and I will reward my staff accordingly, if it is so deserved. But why was I not entitled to any kind of benefits, especially when I (not to toot my own horn) busted my ass to ensure that the newspaper production was seamless and uninterrupted?
At any rate, my August issue is off the presses and is lookin' good. The bad news is that our cover wraps are fucked up. When a person's subscription is about to expire, they get a nice special cover that tells them that this is their last issue if they don't renew. Well, first of all, the dum-dum heads who coordinated this process failed to spell the word "research" properly (they spelled it with two a's -- reasearch), which is in 32-point type). And secondly, they made the damn wraps the wrong size, and the print shop called me to say thanks for jamming our bindery machines -- they have to work at half-speed because we didn't leave a backlap. I told them to not even put the fouled-up cover wraps on (Per Demure, who officially made her first on-the-spot decision today!). The bad news is that we are going to have to re-print 40,000 wraps -- the good news is that I had nothing to do with the process and therefore cannot be blamed for any of it!
Just wanted to thank everybody who hits (and continues to hit) this site. My stats shot through the roof this month (in the 40,000 range and counting), and I don't even deserve it -- I haven't been so good lately about visiting all my favorite blogfriends. But once I get through the madness of the next coupla weeks, I will be back up-to-date on everybody's lives. And thanks to the folks who keep sending hits to my buddies via this page -- it helps to hide what a slacker I've been! ;)
I have to finish wringing out my panties, after two and a half hours with Jon Bon Jovi. * drool* Twenty-four rows back from my sweetie -- close enough to see his tight jeans and everything that's in them. Mmmm mmmm. I am in for some erotic dreams tonight!!! ;)
I've had these tickets for almost five months. When I got my promotion, Shan had advised me to do something big -- something that symbolized the good that could come out of all the hard work. This, my friends, was it. I debated selling them to attend to other things, but Shan threatened physical harm on me if she would have seen my tix on E-Bay. Thank goodness she talked me out of it -- I had an amazing time!
And Shawn was a trooper, even as we careened backward into the 1980s. Heh. You should have seen some of the people in the crowd -- I wanted to ask them if their houses have wheels. :) And it was neat to see all the moms and daughters (my mom was supposed to go, but she didn't want to make the drive down here from Pittsburgh) -- more of the mothers than the daughters were singing and dancing and on their feet going apeshit over Jon's cute lil smiles and ass shakes. *happy sigh*
The first half of the set was acoustic -- the band is probably trying to get together another live album -- and it was terrific. They did "Never Say Goodbye" and "Something to Believe In" and a great slow version of "I'll Sleep When I'm Dead," which they reprised at the end in its usual uptempo mode. They closed with "Shout," which I've seen them do three times, but hell, it still rocked. I didn't recognize the opening song of the show, something about faith, but it was great and I certainly hope that, if there is a live album from this, I'll hear it again.
I liked the Goo Goo Dolls' opening set, but I was pretty much blazed and don't remember a whole lot of it. But at least I wasn't half as baked as I was last night, when we each had a quarter-pan of "extra-special" brownies, went to a party and went to Wet to see naked boys. We only had an eighth of a pan of brownies tonight, and we were much more coherent. :) At any rate, Goo Goo Dolls played "Black Balloon" and all of their other hits (including Shawn's favorite, "Iris" -- LOL), and I'm glad Bon Jovi had a tolerable opening act this year (last year, Less than Jake opened their Pittsburgh show. Very annoying indeed.)
Blah. I'm goin' to bed ... but first, there's something I must attend to. I'm feelin' kind of, uh, handy tonight, if ya know what I mean. ... :)
1.a. Got a wonderful compliment when I was at the publishing house today. The customer care reps were pampering me and checking in on me, and when one came in to ask, "What do you think? How does it look?", I used one of my goofy voices and said, "Pretty!" He laughed and said, "We love it when you're here."
1.b. Had some minor paper crises today, but one was funny. Pride Fag, our president, well, his photo got fucked up and we only had a picture of his eyebrow and a corner of his head. While that is unquestionably the most attractive photo I've ever seen of him, I had to run back to the office to fix the photo and re-make the page to place it on the publisher's server for downloading over there. Heh. I told the story all day, and everyone agreed that the eyebrow photo should have stayed put!!! :)
1.c. I put up a sign yesterday at work: "Press Day: emergencies only, please." And I put a smiley face with it, so that I couldn't be ripped apart for being rude. Wouldn't you know, I got seven interruptions, all of whom (some more than once) came in to say, "That sign is a great idea!" (Obviously, they thought it didn't apply to them.)
2. Today's horoscope: "Don't continue to waste your energy on paths that are going nowhere."
3. My second interview with Sports Guy was great, and I heard a rumor that H.R. and Graphics Gal are favoring him. Turns out that they asked some unsuspecting folks like RC and others who saw both candidates in the lobby to give their gut reactions. We're trying to figure out if the gal is really serious or is just being very formal because it's an interview process. Gut observations from the peanut gallery indicate that, if I could merge the girl's skills with the guy's attitude, I'd have the perfect worker. I still haven't made my final decision, but he's lookin' like the winner. One thing I do know -- my decision will most likely outlive me, so I need someone who will be trainable and willing to let the bullshit slide, and the guy seems more likely to roll with the punches. The girl reminds me of myself at her age -- opinionated, defiant, passionate. Although, a year at the Veggie Patch has drained all of that, and then some, from me, so I would hate to see her lose that fire the way I keep losing mine. I just hope she doesn't cast a spell on me when we say thanks but no thanks!!! ;)
4. I've reached the end of my rope with the Veggie Patch. I love being the queen of its monthly Gazette, as it truly is a fun job, and it will be even more so once I have a sidekick to split the work with me. But I have a title with little authority, and even in the staff box, Cruise Director is listed above me, and that just goes to show me my place in the (dis)organization.
5. I haven't really looked at my phone in days, but today I see that six voicemails have cropped up. My god. But the way I've been feeling, it is best that I not speak to anyone. I'm temperamental and likely to share my mood with the world, so I am locking myself in the house and packing like a fiend in silence tomorrow, until Shawn and I attend a housewarming party. For my own housewarming, I'm thinking of a haunted one -- by late October, I should be starting my recovery from the financial disaster I have just gotten myself into, having two apartments at once. :)
6. Had a nice dinner date this evening. Needed the decompression time. Now, off to bed with my eucalyptus stress mask for my forehead! All this thinking has wiped me out. :) Later gators. ...
1. Cruise Director's column arrived after midnight -- seven days late. But it's quite good, so I suppose it was worth the wait, even though my morale sunk into the toilet in the meantime.
2. Time to do corrections! Hopefully I'll be out of here before 8 tonight. Maybe 7, if miracles happen.
3. Have a second interview with Sports Guy this afternoon, although Graphics Gal (she's not a goddess anymore) and H.R. are pretty much in love with Witchy Woman and dead-set against Sports Guy. Personally, I am sick over the fact that I feel like, once again, I will not completely own my decision over whom to hire. Perhaps I should just ask to expand my freelance budget and not have to hire anybody. Besides, I like my layout guy too much, and I'll hate to have to incrementally phase out his services.
4. Shan actually came back today. I had hoped she'd just take another sick day. But we are meeting tomorrow night to officially activate the escape plan. We are, as my old friend Lorraine would say, "Too through." Shawn and Tiff also want to start their own businesses -- seems that entreprenurship is in the air.
5. Apparently my freelancers haven't gotten paid for last month's work, yet they worked this month. My layout guy is threatening to not do next month's issue, and I said that's fine with me. I can hardly blame him. Hell, I was 10 minutes away from calling the publishing house and asking them to charge us a late fee, because I couldn't send the paper with a missing column from Cruise Director. I am horrible with my own personal credit, but I take my business relationships very seriously, and I understand that they can and will get other clients ... who not only pay, but also pay on time.
For inspiring me to eat the greasy fried goodness of Krispy Kreme.
Bastards.
After Shawn and I visited Scott in his Pediatrics-wing hospital room the other night, we were nearly mowed over by an Arlington cop who was weaving in and out of traffic at full speed on Washington Boulevard. Our joke was that Krispy Kreme must have turned on the "hot" sign and that said cop was in a hurry for something hot and glazed. Then we looked at each other and were all like, "Mmmm ... donuts!"
The Krispy Kreme on Richmond Highway is brand-new, located next to its ghetto predecessor, which has shut down. We were able to watch the donuts being made, and it was Shawn's first experience with hot donuts, as the ghetto location barely had fresh ones, let alone hot ones. Aaah, hot glazed donuts are so good, you can just sit on them. :) At any rate, thank you, Arlington police, for inspiring us to eat all that sugary goodness. Mmm ...
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!!!
Speaking of friends in the hospital, poor Shan found herself in the E.R. on Sunday as well. She's back at work today, feeling horrid and worrying whether she will be able to work full-time during these last two months of baby-incubating.
To lift her spirits, I gave her this adorable little baby outfit I bought at Carter's on Saturday with Shawn. It's a fabulous dark denim jumper (my children will be in denim. Trust!) with little pink rosebuds and a fuzzy little white rabbit popping out of one of the two pockets. I also bought a pink onesie that says "pretty in pink" with a tiny bouquet of flowers with a real bow on the front. On the back, there is a single pink rosebud where the diaper will be.
And because I am the queen of accessories, I picked up dark denim-and-pink barrettes and a pair of little knit pink booties with a fuzzy (fedora-inspired) hot pink cuff, with little teeny strawberries on the toes. Too frickin' cute. Shan loved them all and couldn't stop hugging me. It was nice to lift her up a little bit, at any rate, 'cause she's not back to great health yet. But I did tell her I will kick her ass if the doctors are wrong and she ends up having a boy! ;)
Addendum: The 60-second commercial Shan insists that she cannot wait until it is my turn to pop out a little one. Seriously, she pointed at her belly and said that we need to get me one of those. Yikes! She said that in the past few months, she has seen me shopping for no fewer than four babies, and that it's time for me to start shopping for my own. Hah! At any rate, I don't know if she realizes it yet, but that was her first instance of "Let's Indoctrinate Our Single, Childless Friends Into Our Cult!" Tee hee. Look, I will admit that, looking at all the fun stuff in Carter's, I felt a little bit sad that I may never have the opportunity (or that it may be done with a turkey baster without a throbbing set of veins). But alas, as always, I will jump off that bridge when I come to it, and I will just be a good aunt to other people's kids in the meantime. And, hey, when it ain't the offspring of my loins, I don't have to touch poopy diapers if I don't wanna!!! ;)
Rejected title: Miracles and surprises and blasts from the past, oh my!
Cruise Director gave me all of the word documents I had given him, with a few minor corrections. I am pretty darned impressed. :) Perhaps he's just like me -- it takes awhile to get the old ass in gear, but once it's in gear, there's no stopping till the task is complete.
Had bizarre dreams last night about J.O. In it, we were laughing and he was holding me. He basically said to take advantage of it, because he wouldn't stay for long. Dreams about him have always been a security blanket of sorts for me. I forget about him for months at a time, but then when life is stressing me out and I'm reaching the end of my proverbial rope, visions of him enter my slumber, and I always feel better. Sad to say, it's like he's my rock, even when I'd rather pelt him with a rock or 10. :) And I always dream about him before his birthday, and as I found earlier this month, before Tuna's birthday. (Don't ask me about Tuna, but suffice to say that after I graduated high school, I didn't have to put up with her anymore, so I didn't. But I wonder if those two stayed friends.) Bleah. At any rate, he looked great, and his presence had the intended effect, because I felt pretty good when I got up this morning. It's a good outfit day, good hair day (so far), and I bathed with my cucumber-melon stuff, so I am all fresh and sweet this morning, like always. :)
I wonder if he ever found this blog. I doubt he did. But I did get a great letter last night from someone who does read the blog, someone who knew me "way back when" and had a few inspirational thoughts to share. I vaguely remember telling him about the blog, but you know how they say, "Dance like no one's watching and love like you've never been hurt before"? That's how I blog (for the most part). I don't suck up to people but I really don't hurl daggers, either. I just say whatever enters my mind, and sometimes I forget that it's being read. It's kind of like the newspaper I edit. I write to my heart's content and produce what I think is a good product. And then, like this month, the letters to the editor came raining down like an avalanche -- with equal parts praise and disgust -- and it reminded me again that people do read what I have to say.
And as far as the personal "letter to the editor" from my old pal, I've only sung his praises when, in fact, he got a mention (*whew*), but really, I've always had ONLY good things to say, and it's kind of neat how I paid him a compliment here and there and really had no idea that he was reading my words. Just goes to show that, when you're checking your usage statistics, you never really know who belongs to those IP addresses. But it's wonderful when you find out it's a friendly spirit!
... to Scott, who's landed in the hospital for some R&R and some prescription drugs. I've been missing his blog, and now I know why we haven't seen any updates in awhile!
We chatted for a few (three?) hours this evening -- he's amazingly coherent with vast amounts of Percocet in him, and funny as always. Think good, healthy thoughts for this fabulous young lad, so that he can finally come home already! :)
I left work at 3 for a late lunch, and I never went back. Sure, I have plenty to do (and some of it is overdue), but my headache never really got better and I was craving a sandwich from the mall, so off I went. I ended up purchasing a toaster oven, as my microwave is still in Pittsburgh and will be till I haul my ass up there for (maybe) Labor Day. Luckily, I had a $50 G.C. to Hecht's, and the oven only cost about $24 after the G.C. was deducted. w00t! I picked the prettiest one (rather than the most functional), in black and chrome.
I left the Patch with VMs still unheard. Cruise Director has this habit of leaving you messages while you're sitting right there, so you know for a fact that he did not dial you directly -- you know he wasn't in the mood to speak to you. I have no problem with this. At Two Strikes, HRP reveled in picking up the phone and ripping you a new one, at the highest possible volume and regardless of who was in your presence. And Demure, my current "boss" (and I use that term loosely), refuses to pick up her own phone but goes apeshit if you don't answer yours. Trust me, she will hunt your ass down, even if it means tracking you down in the jane or in the upstairs kitchen, because everything's a crisis to her. She hunted me down at Shan's desk one night at 8 p.m. to tell me she had been searching everywhere for me to give me a piece of paper I had been looking for. Shit, if she'd have left it on my chair, I think I would have known where it would have come from, eh? She's just one of those people who does the least thing and seemingly expects a gold star for her forhead. I hate people like that. I am someone who quietly does my thing and expects little to nothing in the way of recognition. People like her sound the damn trumpets every time they dislodge the hair that found its way up their asses.
But, as always, I digress. It's been lovely having Demure on vacation the past week or so. It will be devastating to me when she finally drags her crusty ass back on Wednesday or Thursday (dear god, if you're out there, let it be Thursday. Or Friday. Throw a girl a bone down here!).
That's what Shawn and I did on Saturday. I literally came home, curled up on my bed and fell into a four-hour coma.
Yesterday, I sat in the sun for one friggin' hour, talking to my mom while I was at my favorite park, and I am one Crispy Critter today. Sheesh. My hair is blonde (without dye, thanks much) and everything else is red. And freckled. But mostly red and painful. Ouchie, ouchie!
Wrote a brilliant article last night on workplace violence. Here's to wondering if the Veggie Patchers will be horrified by it. I may post it here at a later date, for anyone who's thinking about going postal. :)
I have a screaming tension headache and migraine today. Yes, I have both. I nearly mowed down four pedestrians as I sped to McDonald's for yet another culinary bounty of hell. I figured, shit, it was already 9:20 a.m. -- why not be even more late to work? It never fails to amaze me, though, how many people will cross a six-lane highway with their heads in the clouds. Don't they realize that I have no value whatsoever for human life? I think one of the guys I wanted to kill today, I nearly wiped him out last week as he again wandered across the street and stopped in his tracks when he heard my brakes squealing. Dumbass. If this headache doesn't go away, I'll probably wipe the sidewalks with him on my way home.
Now, off to fight with my Elite XL printer -- three sets of tabloid-size proofs need to come out. This should take till noon. :)
Update So we busted our humps to get a proof ready for this morning (almost a full day early), and Cruise Director called off. Gaah! He was the reason we hurried and ended up leaving out some stuff that wasn't done. Something tells me that he's going to exercise his pithy authority and not let me go to press on time this week -- I still haven't seen his column, nor any edits to the Word documents full of articles that I gave him to date.
My head is pounding. I think today is a go-home-early kind of day.
Favorite "Sex and the City" quotes, both from our beloved Samantha Jones:
"It's TGI Fuck Day!"
"It's pathetic how far a gal will go for a good fuck."
Jerry Jerrod, the waiter who quit his job to make $30/week as an actor, is now the dashing and debonair Smith Jerrod, the off-Broadway actor whose stardom in "New Moon" had him mooning us lucky viewers with that squeezable ass of his. *yum*
Carrie asked the age-old question about whether men can truly stand it when a female is more successful than him. My personal answer is *no,* having dated guys both within and outside of whatever companies I've worked in, and they've all had a problem with authority outside of the bedroom, if I happened to be the one making more money. At any rate, Carrie corroborated my predicament when Burger lost his two-book option, due to dismal sales of the first one -- meanwhile, she scored a $21K advance for the European publishing rights to her book, and she treated herself and Burger to Prada, which made him way uncomfortable and a tad bit unbearable.
See, that's why you never date somebody in the same field as you. If one's career is soaring and the other is swirling around the sewers of the Hudson River, faking an orgasm is infinitely easier than faking excitement over the other person's career, especially when yours is the one on the speeding bullet train to hell. :)
Miranda got suckered into helping Steve to bake cupcakes for what she assumed would be for the baby's playground friends. Oh, but no. She helped to bake 20 cupcakes for Steve's new girlfriend's birthday -- 20 to spell out "Happy Birthday Debbie." To die! I would have slipped chocolate Ex-Lax or diaper remnants into them somehow. She found out too late to leave gracefully, and then when he left to go to work, she called Carrie for support. Carrie advised her to put the icing down and to leave. She told Miranda to say she had a baby emergency -- and isn't that what babies are for?
Poor Carrie got stuck riding on Burger's motorcycle to Smith Jerrod's big naked premiere in Brooklyn -- Carrie looked lovely in her black-and-brown Prada dress and the four-foot-long purse with the bangle handles, but she looked like crap when she took off her helmet and was about to be photographed by the paparazzi. But, she reasoned, you have to go along with whatever the sagging male ego dictates, in order to keep the peace. But they did have a minor blowout, and Burger ended up leaving. But luckily, the ever-charming Stanford Blatch, her loving "gay husband," came out of nowhere to be her escort and to take Burger's seat.
Charlotte met Carrie's Prada salesman, which she'd originally protested because he's not Jewish. Poor Charlotte. It seems a waste to have given up her religion for a guy who ran screaming. I feel like Harry will come crawling back eventually. They always do, when they realize what a treasure they'd lost. ;) Although we need to figure out how to make Steve get rid of Dipshit and realize that Miranda is too uber-fabulous for him to let get away from him.
Samantha was just pleased as punch to have given Smith Jerrod and his play a fine Manhattan-esque publicity buildup, and she was shocked in the end that -- in addition to a beautiful naked dick to watch throughout the play, he could actually act. He's a pretty boy, and definitely easy on my eyes! What I wouldn't have given to have been privy to the *full frontal* view!!! ;)
"Lisa, if you don't like your job, you don't strike. You just go in every day and do it really half-assed. That's the American way!" Well, you're really really lazy. You manage to get by, but you never put any effort into anything you do. You most likely enjoy watching TV, sleeping, eating, and doing stuff of the sort. Get active. You're a fat, lazy idiot.
1. When was the last time you cheated? Surprisingly, never. I am fully committed to whichever loser is in my life. Unless you count the one time when I was screwing three different guys at the same time, but we all knew things weren't exclusive. And I was just about to leave Pittsburgh at the time anyway, so why the hell not screw everyone in sight? ;)
2. When was the last time you stole? Um, Shawn and I were klepto when we were kids. I'll never forget the $800 worth of crap that we took from Walt Disney World in 1996. I even had a policeman trailing me as I stole a Minnie Mouse shotglass. Thanks to that trip, I own more than 70 shot glasses, 60 of which probably came from there. :)
3. When was the last time you lied? The only time I lie is when I say that I am fine or that I will be fine. I hate pity, and I never want anyone to know how much I am hurting.
4. When was the last time you broke or vandalized another's property? I've broken into a few apartment buildings in my life, but that was more to stalk or snoop. Although I did use Shawn's ex-boyfriend Dustin's toothbrush to clean the toilet, but that was after Dustin pissed in my Paul Mitchell shampoo bottle.
5. When was the last time you hurt a loved one? If I did it, it was inadvertently. I'm not sure what's going on with the world, but we're all so damned touchy anymore (I include myself in this statement). And I never truly tell people how much they've hurt me, when they've done it, so I can only imagine that people may not be giving me the full story to any acts of assholitry that I might have committed. And this is assuming that I've hurt their feelings. Physically hurting someone, well, I might have sucker punched a few people in my day, and there was that time I Maced Shawn in Alan's car back in 1994. ... ;)
The paper is stressing me out, the impending move is stressing me out and everywhere I turn, I find something to stress me out.
But I'll figure it out.
I need a fucking massage. You could hit my back and shoulders with a sledgehammer, and they couldn't possibly hurt any more than they already do.
I was pissed off because at work, we found that Cruise Director blatantly lied to us. He stressed that, during budget cuts, our leadership really took a big hit and canceled a huge (costly) meeting, reducing their two annual meetings to one. But when the president was in my office today, he referenced the fact that I should really cover those two meetings. I quizzed him and said, "Oh, there are two?" and he said sure, there are always two and will continue to be.
That really irked me. So, essentially, we were fooled. And we found it rather odd that we were not given handouts of the PowerPoint presentation on the budget ... and now we know why, because it was FALSE!
What else has we been bamboozled about?
Had a lovely chat with Susan, much of which revolved around another fucked-up workplace ... the one I left before coming to this one. Incoherent Twit finally quit and is gone, and Susan bet her annual salary (to HRP's sister) that if Twit had left a lot sooner, I never would have left. Not only that, but that I would raised a shitload more money than Twit ever could have (because I was a damn skilled and competent fund raiser).
The Twit story was like a Candyland board. Apparently she applied for welfare benefits before she was done with the job, and she also filed for unemployment. I never heard of someone who put so much effort into wasting time. When Susan got a call from the welfare office, she informed the gal that, actually, Twit had some serious vacation pay and medical benefits coming to her through the end of July, and the gal said that she'd heard a very different story.
So then, Twit was talking to Excoriated White Boy (oh, how I miss him!), saying that she planned to collect unemployment for six months, until she felt like going back to work again. She said she planned to sit around the house and enjoy it (note that she just bought a house and now has no income to pay for it). Muahaha. Like Tiff said, would you really quit a job when you have a mortgage to pay?
But then again, Twit was banking on the social liberals to fund her life of leisure. Hah! I'm so glad I don't pay taxes in her state anymore -- I'd seriously have to file a complaint. And cry. A lot.
God, we really miss Excoriated White Boy. Tiff and I just waxed poetic about how friendly and truly caring he is -- he's the type of guy who, no matter how badly HRP had excoriated him, would put on a genuine smile about you and ask how you were doing. Not only that, he would remember something you had told him that was happening in your life or that you were working on, and he would ask very detailed questions. He made you feel like your activities were truly important and interesting. Susan, give him a BIG hug from us Virginia girls!!! ;)
In Twit's resignation letter, she claimed she was quitting for emotional reasons. I'd joked several conversations ago with Susan, asking, "What? Wasn't casework agreeing with her?" Whereupon Susan said, "Apparently, work wasn't agreeing with her." The Two Strikes crew, after two years, finally realized that she had no talent in fund raising or communications, so they moved her to a lower-paying casework job that actually required her by law to visit families and do paperwork. Gaah!
They found out that the so-called registered nurse on staff (who provided nursing services and medication monitoring) is not, in fact, a nurse. At all. Christ, I raised a lot of money for their clinic, and a lot of it was contingent on the medical personnel. They'll be lucky if, after their audit on Tuesday, that they won't be asked to reimburse the foundations. But they have bigger problems -- with the last two months' of paperwork being undone and the concurrent firing of Non-Nurse, so we won't mention that possibility to them. Sssshhh. ;)
I had a great interview with someone today about when employees are about to go postal. Nobody intervenes when people are becoming frustrated -- so they get more and more frustrated till they explode like a Zambelli fireworks display. Like my interviewee said, quite intuitively, "People are getting really tired of sacrificing their lives for their jobs/employers, when, inevitably, their employers can and will sacrifice them."
That last part is something I want you to read again and again. Don't make work your life. Don't let it spill into your personal time (yes, I know, I'm the worst offender). Get your cackles about work, like I do (of course!), but don't give up living and enjoying and spending time with people and at places you love. Because, as long as you work for someone else, it truly does always pay the same.
And to hear that Solitaire, Town Crier and everyone who works with them got a 4 percent raise -- when I am doing three jobs and only got a 3 percent raise -- really burns my toaster strudels. What, are they going to give 4 percent more effort, or is it that they only GIVE 4 percent effort? Perhaps, then, I should only give 3 percent effort myself. One of these days. Just not today. Or this month. :)
So, Shan and I have yet another business venture -- a relocation/welcome wagon/career coaching project. We want to help people to relocate to D.C./NOVA. Whaddaya think? I think it's viable. But then again, who the hell has time to do anything besides the job that's actually (albeit barely) paying the bills? ;)
I had a great story interview this morning, and as soon as that was over, the Veggie Patch president dropped by to meet with me, which was very productive. Then, one of our past presidents (from decades ago), with whom I've had a terrific telephone relationship, came to visit with me. We had a fabulous discussion about all kinds of stuff -- we are both visionaries, and we feed off of each other. Then, when I went to grab coffee, and I ran into another former president, one whom I'd interviewed on the phone a few months back. He was another charmer, and I just reveled in the energy and deep concern for practitioners in our field. Those are the kinds of people who keep me schlepping my miserable ass back to the Veggie Patch every day -- those are the people who are grateful for my time and attention and willingness to provide a good service.
I have more swriling around that I can't talk about here, so I have to go retreat into my already-cluttered head to figure it out. :) Posting will be light for awhile.
Although the phrase "furlough days" sounds like it should be a festival or a clearance bonanza at your favorite store, it is actually the bomb that dropped on Veggie Patch staff today. Yes, it's official -- we will have six unpaid days during the next fiscal year. If things get better for us financially, it will be reduced to three. If things get worse, well, we're preparing for more.
Through a two-hour managers' meeting and then a staff meeting, we got the lowdown on how bad things are financially. In the former meeting, there was much spirited discussion coming from the finance director and several others, all of which left Cruise Director looking tired. You could perceive that Finance Guy was less than thrilled with the land of furloughs, even though they were strategically spaced out and placed next to paid holidays, thus extending our weekends.
There were other cuts, such as the employer match on the pension plan, the elimination of most consulting roles and the usual rah-rah about saving money wherever possible. I hear this. I am on board with all of this. Luckily, I am still allowed to hire help, but I am the only one right now with that fortune.
But, I just got off the phone with Finance Guy, whom I called to thank for his comments and his unfailing support of staff. He made great points (most of which were squelched or sidestepped by Cruise Director) about lost productivity for those staff members who are already busting their humps (and yes, he knows only a select few of us really fit into that category). He threw out lots of numbers -- that why is it that only five percent of our members attend our annual convention. What are we doing to get people to attend? Why spend so much money on so few people? And what are we doing to increase membership in general, because it's dropping and, therefore, convention attendance will drop accordingly.
He also made a great point, along with Ethics Boy, that we aren't doing squat in the way of P.R. and getting the people who aren't joining -- or who aren't renewing their memberships -- to know who we are and why they and we will mutually benefit from a membership with us. They noted that every last one of us are sitting on talents, skills and ideas that could be contributing to the financial success of this place, but nobody's asking and nobody's listening and nobody's coordinating these efforts.
This, my friends, is where I went off on the phone with Finance Guy. I said, look, I have a piss-poor excuse for a supervisor who clearly indicated on my performance review that I need to quit offering suggestions about the whole of the Veggie Patch and just concentrate on my job. She also told me to my face, no fewer than six times and in no uncertain terms, that I will NEVER do public relations for this company. I told him that words and actions like that break my heart a little more every day, and I am finding it easier to not reach out and help, even though that help is obviously needed. I said people like me are sitting on skills that could very well perpetuate this place out of its deficit, but we have no outlet for our thoughts, and certainly no one is asking for them, either.
He was blown away and said damn, I should work for him, because if I were giving him suggestions and guidance for the overall benefit of the organization, he'd promote me in a heartbeat -- he loves global thinkers. But, alas, he said the cream of the crop always rises to the top, and he encouraged me to hang in there and do what I'm doing, and I will continue to make a difference. And furthermore, he finds it appalling that talking to my supervisor is parallel to talking to a brick wall, and he agrees that certain people (i.e., Demure) are so set in their ways of what they think "should" be that they can't handle it when people are ready to move and change without and despite her. He said they're afraid, and that really, their fear is a roadblock that we can't afford to not move around.
So, all in all, he gives Shan and me hope that there is ONE person in power who *gets* it. (Private to the Caterwauling hacienda is that he'd rather see us let Solitaire go than furlough the whole crew -- it would save the same amount of salary dollars.)
The management portion of the day was kind of funny, at least to this participant. For as many furlough days as we (the staff in general) end up biting, Cruise Director said he will take twice as many. Finance Guy shot up his hand and said, look, we already can't get any time with you and this is a time when we need more guidance and teamwork than ever, so that's just crap that you'll be gone even more than you already are. (Sidenote: Cruise Director leaves every day around 1:30 or 2. Sure, he does work at home at nights, but you're SOL if you can't get him. For instance, I need him to approve $40K in print house and postage expenditures, and I need that money ASAP, or we won't have a paper this month. Do you THINK I will get my paperwork back in enough time for Finance to cut a check? The Caterwauling Magic 8-Ball says "Not Fucking Likely.")
But I sidetracked. In response to the clear bullet that he ain't never around, Cruise Director said, reluctantly, "I'll still be here on those days." But you know that this was said to appease Finance Guy and the rest of us, not because he was planning to do that all along.
I have no problem with the Furlough Days. I really don't. Shit, I'll eithert do my freelancing or lie on my ass and take some mental health siestas. But, like I told Finance Guy, I'll take a wild guess that he, I and a boatload of others will have our asses in here on those unpaid days, and I get mad that there are people who should be furloughed for good (i.e., Solitaire, Town Crier and so many others), but everyone is paying the price for their inability to pull their load.
Bleah. Another day in paradise. But I am truly looking forward to hiring help, to renew my interest in the job as well as to allow me to concentrate better on fewer tasks. And it's really sad when my work life is more interesting than my personal life. :)
Normally, I want to hold my hair back and yawn in Technicolor when I hear of other peoples' happiness. But I take exception when that person is Shan, my darling blushing bride friend.
We had a lovely little mini-reception for her today at work, whereby everyone looked at the photos and said what a lovely dress she had (hey, I know -- I was there to pick it out!). But they should've said what they meant -- that she was a lovely bride. Judge for yourself. ;) And get the tissues ready. ...
Shan on the beach at sunset in Maui -- Monday, July 7, 2003
Shan and John after they said their vows. The minister did a Hawaiian ceremony and also did a blessing for baby Alex, who is set to make her debut in late September. ...
Shan and John with their tropical cake and matching bridal bouquet
Three hours with the photographer yielded various stages of sunset photos. Doesn't the third one remind you of the old "Virginia is For Lovers" ad?
This, my friends, is what I want. A wedding/honeymoon with a special person in a faraway land. Shan was so bummed that I wasn't there, and hasn't stopped reminding me of it. ;) But just to show what great friends we are, I had sent her a text message at 9:24 a.m. (my time) on July 7, but it bounced back as undeliverable, so I resent it at 9:30 a.m. to the right number. At the same time, she awakened at 3:24 a.m. (her time; also the same time I sent the first message) and thought about calling me. And then when my message arrived a few moments later, we were connected, despite the time zones. I'm glad she's back here, but I'm even happier that the wedding went off with nary a detail out of place. :) Congratulations, friends!
1. I am really cranky when I have a cold. I'm even bitchier when I'm going through withdrawal, after not having a cigarette for a week. Grrr. ...
2. Packing is therapeutic (although a cigarette would be even more so). Especially when I can finally see my bedroom floor 'cause everything that was strewn upon it is now in a box somewhere.
3. I have more boxes than I have square footage in the current apartment.
4. My entertainment center and overstuffed couch are huge! God, how the hell are we going to lift those items?
5. A dreaded Pittsburgh trip is in short order (did I mention how much I hate the drive?). I need to get my microwave that's in my mom's closet, as well as the grill she and my grandfather are buying for me.
6. Moving party or housewarming party?
7. Mixed feelings about becoming a mommy again. Right now, I have to convince Maddie that she needs to be a good big sister, after being an only child for seven years. The adoption is this coming Saturday, but the little four-pawed wonder will move in with us once we inhabit the new place. Am I ready to go through the new-mother phase again? ;)
8. Not paying bills is liberating while you're throwing away the invoices, but that only means that I'll owe triple (at least) once I'm settled at my new Seminary Road address.
9. A washer/dryer in my apartment has been the ultimate amenity. I will miss it so.
10. Liz Phair's new CD rocks. Live's, however, does not. And I'm madly addicted to Michelle Branch's new CD. And I made my own CD compilation today, called Insidiousness. Seemed to fit the state of things. Need another name for a CD I'm burning tomorrow. Any thoughts?
11. Scott and I were reminiscing about drive-in movie theaters. He is looking to sell the idea of going to one to Clown Feet, at which time I listed the benefits as being something along the lines of enjoying films, flasks, foodstuffs and fags (the cigarettes, of course!). Damn it, now I want to go to a drive-in! A Super Wal-Mart replaced the last standing one in Pittsburgh. Something about wearing my cutest jammies so that I could fall asleep in the car brought back warm memories of my ex-stepfather jerking me awake because he had paid for my admission.
12. My heart is soaring because Shan's back from Hawaii. The bad news is that she has to set foot for the first time into the Veggie Patch tomorrow. Cruise Director is springing a surprise donut-and-bagel gathering for her first thing in the a.m., so I warned her about it. She hates surprises. She thanked me, as she likes to roll in late and avoid the people she hates who get there early. Heh. Now we'll all be gathered like one big Manson family, in her honor. Oh, the humanity. ;)
13. My mom, Shan and Shawn are my heroes these days. It's not that they necessarily talked me off a ledge, but I think that, if it came to that, only they could. They have a tendency to say what I'm thinking, without me saying it. And I value that more than they know, because it shows either A.) I'm not crazy, or B.) If I'm crazy, I'm in good company. *hugs 'n 'at, friends*
Okay, I adored my interviewee today. I feel like I am a terrible interviewer, as I ramble and lose my train of thought, but as I told this gal, I was actually feeling nervous because I wanted to impress her, in addition to her wanting to impress me.
I have two more candidates tomorrow, but something again is telling me that she is the right one. Even H.R. loved her. But we have two men coming in tomorrow, and we might have to sacrifice talent if one of them is hot enough. ;) We need some men around this place -- there ain't nothin' to look at in these hallways, other than the ghostly visages of presidents past.
I decided I don't want last week's candidate. Her personality was great, but she didn't have the experience in Quark, Adobe, etc. that I need for the candidate to have. Her design experience was limited to Publisher and clip art. Eeek! But the gal today knows her layout and design, and she's a good writer and photographer. And my big deal is that I don't want to pigeonhole the person into certain responsibilities -- I want the person to spread their wings and do what they're great at and learn the stuff they don't know so well. Likewise, maybe some of the duties I am keeping for myself would be best delegated to that person, in time.
I also had my discussion with the workplace violence folks. It was interesting, but I failed to pick up any pointers. :) But it seems that I exhibit all the signs of being a loose cannon -- loss of interest in the work, a subpar performance review (which H.R. actually encouraged me to challenge!), emotional changeability, lack of interest in socializing with colleagues, failed personal relationships, work is my life, career frustration, antagonistic relationship with supervisor. ... ;) Yeah, I'm a clear candidate for going postal. :-D
Figures, just after Charlotte goes and converts to Judaism, Harry drops her and moves out. They had a nasty fight, of course, but she had a point with, "I gave up Christ -- you can give up the Mets," which she said after she prepared her first feast and all he wanted to do was watch the game. Just goes to show, don't ever, ever change for a man. And damn it, he'd bought her an engagement ring, which he announced on his way out the door, before he sent for his things.
Carrie and Berger hit their first rough patches in their irritatingly saccharine-filled relationship. She made a small criticism of his book, and he blew it to epic proportions and was frustrated with her through the whole episode.She loved his book, but he didn't want to hear that part. Turns out that the book wasn't selling so well, so her criticsm, however mild and humorous, was like the proverbial salt in the gaping wound. So he hurled a comment at her about her stupid hat (which was, in fact, stupid), but she wasn't having it. The question of the evening for her column was, of course, when will women shut the fuck up. And in this instance, she wasn't even going to hold back. He was really making her feel bad, when he had the weight of the (publishing) world on his shoulders. But all's well that ends well, and they chatted and got over it and ostensibly fucked till they forgot.
Miranda had a good date with a real estate guy, only for Berger to tell her that, if the guy didn't book a follow-up date (and that he'd supposedly call when he wasn't so busy), then he wasn't altogether that interested. She was hurt at first, but it gave her such a lease on life -- that at least she wouldn't be waiting around for him to call when he suddenly became un-busy. She shared the gospel with some gals who were talking about when one of their boyfriends would hopefully call, and they thought she was a bitch.
But I loved it -- I realized long ago that when men say, "I'll call," I tend to know that it's time to forget that I ever knew them -- better to do it before the fantasies and wishes hit. Because, believe me, it's a lot harder to extract yourself from a dream than it is to get off of life support, because dreams kind of are our life supports. And when the dream goes away, we tend to either lose our identities for awhile or simply become afraid of dreaming again. I think I'm in the latter state, personally, for reasons best left unexplained, although admittedly, life is really tough to take without any escape from behind the steel fortress you've so carefully constructed.
We experienced a reprieve from the whole Miranda-Steve-Debbie triangle, but previews indicated that it will be back full-force next episode. Fucking wonderful. Miranda, he's a dipshit if he doesn't want you! Move on, girlfriend!
Although, on that note, I must admit that when I dropped by the SATC website last week, I participated in a survey that revealed 92 percent of us want Steve and Miranda to get back together. So, for the hardened bitch I've become, I guess I still hope that the right people end up together. ;) Or, again, that Debbie gets run over by a speeding subway train.
But I digress. The funny part is that Charlotte fixed Miranda up with a great guy at the end of the show, and after they had a spicy curry dinner, he split. She said, look, just be honest and tell me you don't want to see me again. It's OK. And he said, actually, he rather liked her and would like to set up a date again in the near future. She pressed him to just stop trying to fake it like he'll call again, when she knows he obviously won't. His response? "Look, I need to go now. I have diarrhea." ROFL. Miranda, obviously, was now SOL. :)
Samantha, oh dear Samantha. Shawn called me immediately after the show ended so that we could wax poetic about her. She looked absolutely gorgeous tonight, and she was fucking Jerry Jerrod, the waiter/actor, in a variety of roles and disguises. But when he wanted to be just Jerry, the recovering alcoholic, she bolted. *Poof* Gotta admire a girl who has no time for reality.
I'm not at my best tonight, and my fingers hurt from really landing a mean punch into a wall. Blogging was best left offline this weekend (it's neat to have unrestricted sadness, snarkiness and a steaming cup of bitter with no one looking over your shoulder). Work will be chaotic this week (I went in today, actually), as will packing up my house for my annual move (did a bunch of that, too, this weekend). I'll be fine, just so long as I don't pack up my liquid salvation ... the alcohol. :)
Perhaps I will stop coughing up hairballs long enough to answer these questions.
Actually, this turned out much more emotionally than I would have wanted it to. Either get the bottle of Jose Cuervo handy, or just skip it altogether. I'll be back to dicks and sluts and cunnilingus in a *coming* (heh) entry to offset this ode, I promise! :)
1. Do you remember your first best friend? Who was it? Sure do. His name was (is) Judd, and we met in the fifth grade. We were next to each other in alphabetical order (as you know how important it is to line kids up by name during those formative years), so we always sat together, had lockers next to each other, etc. And then we just became fast friends -- I never did get along with the girls, only the boys. We stayed friends on into college, but with some rough spots in between that drove permanent wedges between us. He will always hold significant real estate in my heart, though -- a lot of years, laughs, jokes and tears happened between us.
2. Are you still in touch with this person? Nope. I wished him a happy birthday this past Dec. 10, when he turned 29. I'd had a dream about him the night before the birthday, and when I woke up, I realized that it was that day, and I dropped him an e-mail. I never expected an answer back, and I didn't get one. There's too much water under that bridge to ever cross it back to each other, but if he ever needed me, I'd be there in a heartbeat. And I should hope that it wouldn't kill him to be here if ever I needed him. But we may never know.
This may sound way too morbid, but I was thinking about willing him my earthly possessions when I die. It's mostly my writings that I'd want him to have. No matter what amount of contempt and/or apathy he feels toward me, he was the first person who loved my writings and encouraged me to take my fictional works to the moon. I would imagine that he, in his ass-kicking mode, would get my stuff published, even if just to spite me. :)
3. Do you have a current close friend? I have too many to name, stretching the four corners of the planet and back again. If we're talking geographically close, we've got Shan and Shawn, who are like my siblings. And Dave. And Tiff, of course. And in Pittsburgh, there's Susan. And in Minnesota, there's Chris. And in Ireland, there's Leslie. And on ... and on. .. ;)
How funny about this question -- I was looking at my list of numbers in my cell phone, and I realized that there are more than 50 names, and I haven't talked with 80 percent of those people in more than a year. Those were people I'd never dreamed I could live without.
4. How did you become friends with these people? Shan and I started at the Veggie Patch together last July. I dropped by her desk to say hello to her (as I had started only days before her, and I wanted to extend a warm welcome to the other "new girl"), and we chatted for a half hour straight, about business and life and friends and love and public relations and god only knows what. I don't know -- something felt right when we connected -- like we were long-lost sisters. We had a million things in common, and we thought very similarly. Both of us knew, from that first conversation, that we'd met a kindred. We firmly believe that we were meant to collide in this world, and frankly, we truly feed off of each other and keep each other sane and strong.
Shawn, as he lovingly tells on his blog, approached me on "The Bridge" that connected two of our college buildings together. The Bridge was home to many memories for us in college, but definitely the day he came up to me to talk to me about writing for the collegiate newspaper was quite a memorable one. My friends -- all sophomores like me -- thought he had been stalking me and that he was a cute little freshman with a crush (little did we know that we both loved cock equally. ...). Anyway, I was an editor, and he wanted to write for me, and he ended up writing a terrific story. When I called to thank him, he answered his phone, "Shawn's House of Tacos." And after that, we were inseparable. We've had ups and downs, but when things are great, they're really great, and I wouldn't trade them for the world (Jon Bon Jovi in a thong, maybe, but that's it).
Dave, I met on Valentine's Day of this year. We were reading each other's websites, and he suggested we hang out and keep each other company on this most wretched of holidays. He made a really sweet post on his website about me right before we met, and I was charmed. We ended up taking a dance class together and worked beyond the usual surface-level conversation during weekly donut runs. He's another one of those people that I knew I had to meet and to have in my life, in some way.
Tiff came to work at Two Strikes, and she impressed me with her work ethic and her ever-expanding skill set. I was supervising a merry band of incompetents, and I take some credit for approaching Her Royal Pretentiousness and suggesting that if we could bring Tiff on staff full-time, I could really use her in the development department. And then, six months later, we ran screaming out of that place together, and we landed here in Alexandria as our refuge. :) Although we're not going to be roommates after this month, I hope the fabulous friendship we've cultivated remains intact, 250 miles from where it all began. Oh, and she set up this blog, so blame her for it all!!! ;)
Susan and I passed each other at Two Strikes a lot, but as I was damn near forbidden to socialize with anyone, I didn't say much to her at first. Her supervisor Danika sat next to me, so she was always in my area. But then when Brat left the job and Susan was being promoted up to my floor, I think it was that I joined her and Tiff for lunch one day at Chez Capri, and we've been talking ever since. That's the thing about Two Strikes -- the white people (all seven of us) really banded together, after having HRP continually excoriating us because we weren't her relatives. :) We bonded over work issues and realized that there was a special spark of friendship that had been there all along, and although I am terrible about keeping in touch, Susan never lets me go too long without reminding me how much she cares about me.
Chris and I met at Easter Seals. In her job there, she replaced a male Chris, who was one of the great loves of my life, so it was weird for me to warm up to her at first. But who could help it? She has beauty, brains, charm and a WICKED sense of humor. One night, out of the blue, we went to dinner together at a special place called Kaya, in the Strip District, and had a very memorable conversation, over fabulous Jamaican jerk wings, that neither one of us was expecting to have. And though the physical distance now keeps us apart more than we'd like, she's another person I know I was meant to bump into in this universe, and we'll always be in touch in some form or another.
Leslie came to me through Chris, when they volunteered to work at a gala event that I was running. Leslie is one of those people who will care about you long after you've given up on yourself -- she will be your No. 1 cheerleader and believe in you and tell you how much she believes in you until you start to see her point of view (and no, she won't lose that argument). She got me through a veeerrrryyy hard time in my life, when everything literally went upside-down. And the thing is, both of our lives were in a state of chaos, but she really put me first and, ever since then, is the first person to come to the rescue when I need anything. Not to mention that she's on the complete opposite side of the world!
5. Is there a friend from your past that you wish you were still in contact with? Why? Funny, but I was talking with Shawn about this on the Fourth of July, when we were waiting for fireworks to begin over the Washington Monument. I was missing my old roommate Janna, whom I met in August 1992. We were placed into the smallest room in our entire dormitory, room 1808. It was our first time living with a roommate, and in cramped quarters, to boot! Through the years, we lived together off and on for about four or five full years (I lived with Shawn during some of the other years, and with some other truly fucked-up roommates as well). God, we were close. She really was like a sister to me, and her quirky sense of humor made for lots and lots of good times for us. I just remember us laughing all the time. We cried together a lot, too (damn synchronized mentrual cycles!).
We really started growing apart during the last year that we lived together. My suspicion was that she somehow got her hands on my journals and realized that I'd slept with her ex a few times (after they'd broken up! What kind of girl do you think I am?!?!). By then, I was starting to get irritated with her in general (roommate issues), and when we moved out, it was truly like a divorce. I always hoped we would become close again, but it never really happened. But we will always remember how good it was when it was good.
The last time I saw her was on St. Patty's Day 2002. We'd maintaned a friendly e-mail banter, and I was shocked and happy when she invited me to attend the big parade and festival in Pittsburgh's Market Square. Our mutual friend Becky was there, being herself. I had lost touch with Becky (purposely) in June/July 2001, so it was weird to see her. We were cool, distant and polite toward each other. Maybe Janna told her why I stopped talking to her. But then again, Janna could keep a confidence like none other. So we'll never know. But while Becky was constantly dumping her problems on me and calling attention to herself, she never knew that I was going through the hardest time of my life. She never asked. And I never reached out to her, because I really felt like she couldn't handle a real problem if she fell over it.
After the parade/fiesta, we all went out to lunch (after getting sloshed all morning in the streets), and I had to leave to meet Tiff and Tom at Chuck E. Cheese (their first date. awww! hee hee). I said goodbye to Becky, and I hugged Janna. Tears came coursing out of both of our eyes, and we locked our gazes as I walked out.
She sent me a birthday gift in the mail last year, and we've traded maybe five e-mails since then. I've had a stack of birthday gifts sitting here, waiting for me to see her or to just fucking mail them already. She crosses my mind often, and I hope she is enjoying her life and that she's found what she's been looking for, whatever that is. I miss you, old girl. I couldn't have gotten through those formative years without you.
I have dreams about her. I feel like she might be engaged to her fabulous boyfriend Matt. I adored him, because he was so clearly in love with her, not to mention that he's adorable and just plain chivalrous. :) But I don't know if she ever felt the same way toward him. I kind of admire her, really, for being able to control her emotions so well, but I suppose one could say that I learned a lot from her, in that respect. Maybe that's why our own friendship was so special -- when we finally broke down and showed some weakness, we could safely do it around each other. She was hard for a lot of people to get close to, but I seemed to have no problem. I just hope that, throughout this life, she doesn't run too far away from me, because I'm tired of losing these once-in-a-lifetime friendships. ;)
* Got a shitload of work done * Got my nails done * Coughed all over everyone (w00t!) * Got reamed by e-mail from a member, who of course sent it to 10 people. Not only that, he sent them every single e-mail we ever exchanged. And all this came after I warned him that a story I had written was not going to appear last month, but that I was holding it. He shredded me. Don't tell me how to do my job, fucker. There are people here who already have that luxury. So fuck off. * Got the interview with the experts on workplace homicides! * Am on my way to go spend time with Kenya and Kaioro. I am missing "Grease" with Dave at GMU tonight, but the self-induced quarantine is necessary on so many levels. * Am boycotting the Friday Five this week. Shawn paid a lovely tribute to me, and I am grateful for it, but I just don't feel friendly enough to write about friends today. ;)
Ok, I am still feeling like shit from my nasty cold, and coming to work certainly isn't making me feel better. Not to mention, with all kinds of crazy crap going on next week, I'm going to be in here all weekend, when I should be packing.
H.R. left me a message that she didn't like yesterday's candidate as much as I did. She said she has some "professional concerns" about her. What, I have no idea, as I left early yesterday and she's out of the office today. Shit, she had (and probably still has) "professional concerns" about me, and I think I did just fine, thank you very much. This leaves me to wonder who, exactly, will have the final say when it comes time to choosing the winning candidate.
I'm really starting to feel the way I did at Two Strikes -- that I am not "allowed" to make the decisions that I am supposedly empowered to make. We already know that I will never again have the final say on the newspaper (for instance, I'm struggling with an OpEd piece today that I know will incense the powers-that-be, although it's a very good piece). And now, I know I have other people to interview, but if I had to hire the gal from yesterday, I'd do it in a minute, but only if they'd let me.
Anyway, I feel pretty useless when it seems that my decision-making ability is questioned and/or on the line. I'm good enough to work like a dog, but not good enough to carry out my own vision of what the newspaper and the department *could* be. Every day, it seems, my heart breaks a little bit more. And I resent having Demure having a say-so in everything I do, because although she's a nice person, the "professional concerns" red flag should be raised in her direction, too. She's always so busy supervising what everyone else is doing (including people not in her department) that nobody really knows what she's supposed to be doing, and frankly, I don't think she really knows, either.
Going to work is like starting kindergarten all over again -- you might have left your mommy's watchful eye, but now you have complete strangers telling you what you should do and who you should be. And all it makes you want to do is poop in the sandbox and run with scissors -- anything just to show your individuality and rebellion. And there is no room for rebels and individuals in the land of conformity, but if it pays your bills, you really can't have much to say, can you now?
UPDATE I am getting an interview with these people. Why not turn my bubbling "office rage" into a story for my readers? Here's to hoping they can be interviewed on Monday ... before it's too late. ;)
There is actually a song devoted to him. Bree Sharp, who performed at the recent Fairfax County Fair, had a minor hit during his "X-Files" fame with a lil ditty that goes:
"It's Sunday night; I am curled up in my room The TV light fills my heart like a balloon I hold it in as best I can I know I'm just another fan But I can't help feeling I could love this secret agent man And I can't Wait anymore for him to discover me I've got it bad for David Duchovny David Duchovny, why won't you love me?"
Yeah, we know which CD I'll be listening to on the way to work. *swoon*
I spent a half day at the Veggie Patch, after Cruise Director came into my office and said, "I thought you were supposed to be so sick?" I said I was. So he said, "Well go home then." I said I came in to do an interview. He laughed and said, "Well, then, will you go home after it?" I promised I would.
I notice with him, like I noticed with Her Royal Pretentiousness at the last job, that he doesn't make eye contact with me. When HRP decided she was over someone (i.e., couldn't care if they lived or died), she refused to speak to them, just at them. Even though the conversation was warm and funny, I felt more alienated than anything.
Speaking of the interview, I loved my interviewee. Bright, funny, on-the-ball and creative. I could see having her on my team. I told H.R. that I definitely want her for a second interview.
I have two interviews next week, one Monday and one Tuesday (god forbid I get the paper out, as editorial deadline is Thursday and we have a two hour managers' meeting on Wednesday). I am excited to meet the one on Monday (the witch, if you read my earlier entry). The guy coming on Tuesday is about three times my age and is pushy as can be. AND he's flying down here from New York for the interview.
H.R. and I tried to dissuade him from coming -- what with the entry-level job, the low salary, the lack of help with moving costs, etc. We both worry about his pushiness -- that he will cause me headaches if I would hire him (and I've had enough bad staff members to know that I have to be a bitch from day one with his type). H.R. is also worried that he will simply be taking this job just so he has a job; meaning, once he would get settled in D.C., he'd be gone in a couple of months, and onto better things.
I've learned a lot during this hiring process. Tiff had made mention one day, when I was ranting about another pushy interviewee, that now she knows what people think when they decide whether to interview you or not. This one girl from out-of-state had sent an e-mail to someone in our company (who works in Indianapolis) who handles career services for our members. The e-mail stated that she was going to be in D.C. in three days and wanted to meet with us. Well, the off-site chick sent the e-mail to Shan on a Friday evening, who sent it to me on a Monday afternoon when I was working at the print shop, and I got the e-mail on Tuesday evening when I finally worked through my 250 e-mails. So, of course, we missed the girl while she was in town.
I don't know -- I thought her e-mail was terse, and I decided I was never going to let another brat steamroll over me again (a la Two Strikes, where I had HRP's illiterate goddaughter as the No. 1 thorn in my side, next to HRP's position as No. 1 bug up my ass). It's funny how much our past experiences influence our future actions, but how can they not?
Anyway, I skipped giving my interviewee a writing test and whatnot. I figured H.R. had probably grilled her for a solid hour (which she had) as well as told her wonderful things about the Veggie Patch (again, affirmative). So I told her flat-out that I wanted to get to know her -- her impressive resume had gotten her through the front door, but it would be her ability to click with me that would get her back through it again. Whether she was surprised or not by my tactics and bluntness, I will never know. She simply jumped on the bandwagon and prepared to play hardball. And I loved it -- we laughed and really took a lot from the conversation.
I wish dating were like the hiring process. I wish I could ask for resumes and line everyone up outside my office, once I approved their cover letters and writing samples. I would love for people to compete for my respect and affections -- not just demand it or not care one way or the other what I feel. And if I wouldn't find anyone to choose from that pile, I could just run another ad in the WaPo and start the search fresh.
Ah, hell. Let's face it -- I want mate-shopping to be like Toys 'R Us. I want to buy the Hulk doll with the two-inch penis and I want to buy Ken with his plastic cup penis and hell, I'll buy a Barbie, too. And I'll pick which one I like and return the rest and get my damn money back. :) But till that day comes, I will just revel in hiring a competent sidekick to make my job a lil bit easier.
Our phones are down at the Veggie Patch today. So Mailroom Dipshit sends us an e-mail stating that the phones are down till further notice, and if we want him, call him on his cell phone. How, praytell, do we call him if we have no phone service? ;)
I have an interview this morning with someone I can potentially hire. I have nothing planned out -- I feel like shit and don't really plan to keep her long. Frankly, like Shan says, "Never underestimate the power of caring." Meaning, she can have skills out the wazoo, but anybody can learn anything, if they really want to. Bearing that in mind, I will probably pick the best candidate, based solely on my intuition.
I have interviews all month, which is going to really screw up the paper deadlines. But alas, it's the price I have to pay now for peace of mind later. Of the 32-plus resumes I received, more than half of the people are out of work. One person sent me a screenplay (because we publish screenplays in the Veggie Patch Gazette -- not!). Nearly a third of the responders have 15- to 20-years' experience in journalism, but they're willing to settle for an entry-level position and its accompanying dismal salary. I will interview them, but forgive me if I would rather have someone less experienced who will actually respect me as a supervisor and not write me off as some kid who makes a better paycheck than they will, even though they've been in the business for as long as I've been alive.
One girl I'm interviewing Monday, I have a feeling about. I don't know why, but when I saw her resume (which isn't altogether that stellar), I thought, "She's the one." Granted, I Googled her and found out that she's a practicing witch, but other than that, she seems normal. :) I have no problem with witches -- in fact, this could make for some interesting getting-to-know-you discussion. But I do wonder about people who clearly make this information available, when potential employers will be looking up their Yahoo! profiles.
I wasn't able to Google today's interviewee. She comes off as rather cocky in her resume, but she had a creative approach (i.e., submitting a brochure-style resume with checkboxes, where I could indicate which of her skills I needed her to bring here). I wonder if we'll butt heads -- we sound like we're very similar in a lot of respects. And we'll see about that ego, 'cause god knows, after a day at the Patch, you lose your dignity, self-respect and any fledgling strand of ego you might have had when you walked through the doors to Hotel Medicated. :)
Ok, I'm just pissed off that I'm awake, but I just got back from Chez Mickey's and my order is wrong.
They got my two drinks right (coffee and O.J.), so I expected that my meal was correct. It wasn't. I'm missing my hash brown (no big loss) but the sandwich is an Egg McMuffin when I clearly did not want anything having to do with ham or mcmuffins. I see why this place doesn't give you receipts -- 'twould be easier to prove that they're morons.
This sandwich is just awful. It tastes like someone sat on it to warm it up. I would like to amend the old Chez Mickey advertising jingle, "You deserve a break today" to add "but you just won't get it here."
Pfft. I'm tossing this crappy McFuckedMuffin away.
I think it's just a nasty summer cold, but still -- it's the worst possible time for me to get sick, what with the impending move and not having any help yet at work.
Oh well.
I'm watching Disc Three of "Sex and the City" Season Four, where I'm revisiting the beginnings of Brady Hobbes and the end of Carrie and Aidan. And I am missing my weekly meeting with Demure, who goes on vacation from tomorrow through the 23rd. Even my stuffy sinuses can't bring me down, based on that alone. :)
You may remember the infant Chloe, who was born on St. Paddy's Day this year, who graced these pages with her adorable mug.
Now, meet another Chloe -- a four-week-old, one-pound kitty who charmed her way into my heart this past Sunday. She was abandoned by her mommy because she was a tiny little thing, and she will probably go blind soon in her left eye (notice the pupil dilation), but god damn, she's amazingly friendly and playful. And she comes when you call her, unlike my own furry daughter.
Oh, yeah, try to stop me from adopting this critter. ... ;)
Just got a call from Shan from Hawaii -- she's officially an honest woman! :) She and John got married at 5:15 p.m. (Hawaii time) last night. Everything came together, from the minister to the flowers to the wedding cake to all the other details that refused to be lassoed until the last possible minute. w00t!
I was chatting in line with a girl at Wally's last night. She was seven months' pregnant and looking rather uncomfortable. I let her go in front of me in line, and she was grateful. She said she's supposed to be on bedrest. I kind of laughed and told her about Shan who, at seven months' pregnant, was partying in Hawaii. The girl was shocked and said she was surprised her doctor would go for it. I said it's more like her doctor had no choice -- Shan was going, hell or high water, because she deserves this vacation.
She's so bummed that I'm not there in Hawaii with her, but I'm glad I have never experienced a tropical paradise -- it would make coming back to the Veggie Patch suck that much more badly, as far as I'm concerned. But she's convinced that I need to see paradise -- and that she needs to return to paradise -- in a hell of a hurry. Something tells me that we will be packing my boxes and discussing the business ideas that will skyrocket us to happiness. In fact, I'm sure of it. But that's my first step toward paradise -- of setting up a little office area in my new place and thus having no more excuses, once I've completely moved.
As far as Hawaii, I may never get there. But I have my own dream destinations, and believe me, I will find my way to at least one of them before I die. The road leading away from the Veggie Patch will be the most crucial step in the adventure, and after I start that journey up and away, well, the sky's the only limit I can forsee. :)
I found out that my new Liz Phair CD is edited. Yes, EDITED. Goddamn Wal-Mart and their fucking family values -- they don't sell anything with offensive material (books, CDs, whatever). Fuckin' A. The only thing foul in Wally's would be the customers. Christ! I might return the CD and go buy it at Tower instead -- I already paid $15 at this supposed shitty lil discount store, and I didn't get what I wanted. Bastards!
UPDATE I bought it from my Amazon wish list. AND I bought "Birds of Pray" by Live. AND I bought three books that I've been wanting. So there, Wal-Mart! Eat me, you rifle-toting, bible-hugging cult of fish eggs. May you rot with Martha Stewart. :) Now excuse me, I'm going to go listen to Liz Phair's "WhiteChocolateSpaceEgg" and crank up the volume on my favorite song of hers, "Polyester Bride."
Other than a nasty neck ache, it was an okay day. A gift certificate to the Sugar House would be most welcome right now, as I don't know how else to kick the stress outta my system. *hint hint*
The times, they are a changin' Went to Wallyworld after my workday ended, where I bought about 20 plastic tubs for packing. (Hence the neck ache, from carrying them.) This move is really going to happen. I gave notice to the rental company that we're leaving, and they left us our leaving papers today. I am stunned that I have acquired so much shit during the past year, when I took so many pains to get rid of so much crap when I arrived down here in scenic Alexandria more than a year ago.
Cats 'n 'at Maddie sniffs me from head to toe disdainfully when I get home every night. Seems I've been *cheating* on her with three cats and three dogs, and she doesn't like it. Not one bit. So I've been showering her with extra treats and such, to make up for it. She doesn't seem to mind that. :)
I hung out with Kenya and Kaioro for awhile tonight -- our third night in a row together. Kenya has really warmed up to me and now loves to be petted and scratched behind his ears. Kaioro has been sullen and not eating much, but tonight, after I threw out his old food and gave him a fresh new bowl (again), he went straight for it and chowed down. I was happy ... lord knows I don't want Shan to come home to emaciated kitties. :) I talk to the cats a lot, and I think they like knowing that I'm there. I told them all about their Mommy and Daddy getting married today, and they shit on the carpet in approval. That's OK, I bought pet stain stuff at Wallyworld, so I will be cleaning up their little opinion registration tomorrow night. :)
Reflection and introspection My existence has been this nonstop series of sky highs and infernal lows, but today, I think I might have just found myself on an even keel, for a change. I don't love my life and work, but I don't hate it either. Perhaps I hit this middle ground because I am always in motion, and I know that I won't plateau or stay low for too long. And when work sucks, I have a loving family and circle of friends to offset the unbalanced load. I've also realized that, while I've been busy wishing I were as happy as some of the people in my life, they aren't as happy as they seem. We all have obstacles and challenges and doubts, and we're all trying to squeeze some meaning out of these days we have on earth.
And I finally understand the comforts of not (yet) being who or where I want to be -- as well as not being with the person(s) with whom I wanted to be. If I had achieved everything that I'd wanted to accomplish by now, what would I have to look forward to?
Some folks are taking hiatuses from blogging right now, to go live life instead of writing about it. But as this space is intended for me to figure out who I am instead of figuring out what's wrong with the world, I am going to keep it up full throttle during this hectic summer. I've been living all along, and if you guys actually want to go along for the ride during this exotically wild (and sometimes dreadfully boring) journey, feel free to strap on your seatbelt, toss on the Ray-Bans and turn up the iTunes. I've always said that I'm going to be somebody someday, but that's a lie. I am somebody already, and I love all of you, even when I want to kick your asses sometimes. ;)
The soundtrack of my life One of the hardest things I'm going to pack, as always, will be my massive CD collection. I bought Liz Phair's newest record tonight -- I have everything she's ever made. It's not that I particularly love her new song "Why Can't I?" but she really just straight-shoots with her lyrics. They're always very free-versed, and the girl can play a mean guitar.
Off to see the wizard. ... I'm outta here. All this thinking has hurt my brain. I'm going to go play with my kitty (not the one between my legs -- that's for later!) and talk to her about maybe adopting a new kitten when we move. I'm sure she, like her kitty cousins Kenya and Kaioro, will register her opinion on the floor while I'm sleeping later. ;)
1. Shan's getting married today! She and John are in Hawaii with her parents right now, for a tropical wedding/honeymoon escape. Woo hoo! Congratulations, friends!
2. Dreaded coming to work, even more so than usual. It's going to be a mad, bad week. And with Shan gone, I literally have no desire to answer the phone when it rings.
3. Have been combing through resumes for days. I am sick of these asswipes who claim to be "perky and organized and upbeat and self-starters and detail-oriented." Yeah, whatever. I claimed to be all of the above when I was interviewing, and you all know that I am NONE of the above. I told Demure that resumes, cover letters and interviews are just plain bullshit and that it would be nice to, for once, have someone tell me, "Look, I'm moody and I hate mornings, but I will be the best goddamn writer you ever hired." I'd hire them in a heartbeat. She looked horrified.
4. Demure and I had a rather intense blowout on Thursday. Between her and King Kumquat, I am ready to walk out of here and never look back. Too bad the economy is so shoddy, because that's probably the only thing keeping me in place right now. I literally collapsed into hysterics once I got to Shawn's for drinks and haircuts that night. :) He was watching me with a combination of amusement and fear -- I was literally losing my mind, right on the couch, clutching a glass full of Bacardi 151. This workplace is killing me!
5. I did find four great candidates in my pile-o-resumes. Leadership is all about guiding the next generation of leaders, and I wanted to be sure to leave this place with someone who might actually be able to fill these boots that are made for walking. :)
6. My raise took effect this pay. I netted about $13, after all was said and done. Whoop-dee-friggin-shit.
7. We haven't had coffee creamer in this fucking workplace since we let the facilities guy go last month. Gaaah, how can people DRINK that shit that we brew without creamer? I dumped a whole packet of hot chocolate mix into my coffee this morning -- I am sufficiently wired now, thanks.
8. I need a fuck buddy again. Forget the deep relationship I dream of -- it's summer and my loins are aflame. Any takers? ;)
UPDATE I got the funniest writing sample in with one of my resumes -- this kid designed a newsletter called "Shit Out of Luck" and talked about a kid losing his virginity at the prom and another kid getting a cool job in a CD store. Funny as shit. Unfortunately, Demure and Frosty would murder me for even wanting to interview him, but at least I had some refreshing reading this morning. I mean, it takes balls to use the word "Cocksucker" when you're applying for a job, eh? :)
Good episode tonight. Mikey and Shawn came over here to watch our girls in action, after Shawn cooked us a gourmet, carb-laden dinner at his place. We sat amid the bunch of boxes I attempted to pack today, and even Maddie came out and was friendly to her deadbeat Daddy.
I, of course, am most intrigued by Miranda and Steve's bizarre entanglement. After finding his condoms in the diaper bag, she was treated to a litany of stories about his new girlfriend, Debbie. I've never known anybody by that name whom I've really liked, and even though we've not yet met this character (and hopefully never will), I want to crush her with a speeding Metro. We don't know if Miranda and Steve really are right for each other, but this Debbie chick is grating on Miranda's nerves, and ours as well. But in witty SATC-style, the baby started chewing on the condom wrappers -- to the horror of the gals -- and our beloved Samantha commented, "I've had plenty of those in my mouth -- they're perfectly safe." Or something like that. We *~*heart*~* Samantha!
Samantha is still fucking the hot waiter from Raw. Only this episode, we actually learned his name. Like he needed to have a name. Sweet Jesus on a pogo stick, that boy is HOT!!! Who needs talking when you've got a long, blond-haired hottie between your thighs? ;)
Poor Carrie had to suffer sleepless nights from this ridiculous Sharper Image contraption that Berger's ex Lauren had bought for him to sleep to -- all kinds of froggy and birdy sounds made for fitful sleepovers for her. At least she got some good phone sex from Mr. Big when she (mercifully) went back to her own abode for a good night's rest.
We almost cried when she finally decided she was serious about Berger and so decided to call Mr. Big to end the "friendly" late-night calls. He sat so forlornly in his hot tub (so retro!) after they hung up. *sigh* I suppose all of us girls have that one person who can light up our lives with just a simple "Hello" (or, "Remember that red dress you were wearing when. ...") from the other end of a telephone. *sigh again*
Although Carrie, too, knew that she was closing a very poignant chapter (more like a sequel) in her connection with Big, she recovered long enough to make a quick stop to Sharper Image to buy a new-and-improved sleeping-sounds machine, and the show closed on a happy, snuggly note of them falling asleep to ocean sounds, No. 4.
*swoon*
Charlotte continued her conversion to Judaism, after putting up an Xmas tree in July -- her final tree. Harry told her that they could have a tree (in December, of course) -- she doesn't have to give up all of her traditions just to take on all of his. *swoon* But giving up some of the things that are important to her are leading her to more, and maybe even better, things in her -- their -- future.
I'm still rooting for Miranda to find her happiness. Steve is just irritating the shit out of her, with "Debbie this and Debbie that." Fuck it, I hope she can move on and find someone else who can actually appreciate (and see) the love she so desperately wants to give but finds herself hiding behind snarky remarks. But as this is the last season of our adored show, I suspect that Steve will be hit with a flying anvil at some point. We're predicting a wedding for Miranda and Charlotte in the season finale, and we also see a reappearance of Mr. Big for Carrie. And for Samantha, we know that the girl who will never commit will find herself a plethora of hot young waiters to keep fucking her silly into eternity. Aaaah, I love this show! ;)
Unrelated, I've been on Kitty Duty this weekend, taking care of Shan's cats Kaioro (pronounced 'Cairo') and Kenya (yes, she dreams of faraway places). The boys are taking to me quite well, although I suspect it is because I am the keeper of the kitty chow. And I met a new kitty baby tonight, Chloe, who is a six-week old black cat with a white tummy and white paws. Too cute! I have many, many photos to share when I get into the Photoshopping mood. :) Mikey is fostering Chloe until she's ready to be adopted, in two weeks. Something tells me that I am going to want to be the lucky adopter. We'll see, friends. We'll see. :)
Well, I didn't take any photos of the hot military men crawling Downtown D.C. last night, but I did get some nice fireworks shots. But da-aaa-aaamn, boys in uniform are reason enough to support your country. Trust me on this! ;)
Shawn and I went down to the Mall and strolled around the crappy Folk Life Festival last night. I say it sucked because there were a bunch of tents where people were preaching Christianity to anyone who would listen. Shawn and I are burning in hell together, so we skipped the bible studies and ate some ridiculously expensive foreign food. And other than the Mall smelling like B.O. and cow pies, we had a fabulous time.
After the show, we went to a bar in Adams Morgan. The place reminded me of being in Charleston, S.C. (without the pain and torture of being with Brat, who was withholding sex from me, the bastard!) -- we sat in a bar with all the front windows open, and there was a table set in the floor-to-ceiling window area, so we took it. We faced the street and watched all of the HOT boys strolling by (mmmm, what WAS it about hot boys in blue shirts? We were creaming in our jeans!). There was this one boy (in a green shirt with blue stripes) who stood in front of our table and looked beyond our heads up at the bar -- and all the while, he was lifting up his shirt and playing with his tummy. THEN, he started playing with his zipper. Ho-leee-fucking-SHIT! We had to leave right away so we could get to our respective homes and do a lil self-lovin', in the boy's honor.
Anyway, without further ado, here are our photos. Fireworks were shooting over the Washington Monument, and they're a bit blurry 'cuz of all the smoke generated. I did some cool stuff with a photo of us drinking at the bar, and then finally, well, the last photo will speak for itself. ;) Enjoy!
1. What were your favorite childhood stories? I loved any kind of story. I had so many books -- I vaguely remember having two encyclopedia-type sets of Peanuts and Sesame Street books. I don't remember having stories read to me at night, but I loved to read from an early age and would oftentimes hide under the covers with a flashlight just because I loved learning about what was going on outside of my world.
2. What books from your childhood would you like to share with [your] children? Up until I moved to D.C. last summer, I had kept four or five boxes of my childhood favorites. But I had to part with sentimentality in favor of furniture. But I kept two of those books -- "Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret" by Judy Blume and "The Trouble With Thirteen" by Betty Miles -- two coming-of-age stories that got me through my pre-teens.
If ever I have a little girl, I am marching straight out and re-purchasing the Ramona Quimby series. And "Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing," "Superfudge," "Deenie" and "Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great." Judy Blume, Beverly Cleary and the authors in the Wildfire book series had such a wonderful influence on me, and I will make sure that my kids are readers -- these books taught me so much about families and friends and what the world outside my bedroom was really like.
Oh, and how could I possibly forget the neverending stream of "Sweet Valley High" books, by Francine Pascal? I loved the adventures of twins Elizabeth and Jessica Wakefield. Pascal was probably my No. 1 influence as far as writing style and plotline development.
3. Have you re-read any of those childhood stories and been surprised by anything? When I was moving last year, I picked up and read through all of my books. And I realized how mature the subject matter was, only it was presented in a way grade-school kids could understand and appreciate. Judy Blume went on to write books aimed for an older audience, and I kept every last one of those. I always felt like my favorite writers understood me at a time when no grown-ups did.
4. How old were you when you first learned to read? I remember being 3 years old and sitting on my canopy bed, reading to myself, although the family argues that I was reading when I was 2.
5. Do you remember the first 'grown-up' book you read? How old were you? My cousin Val had given my mom a shitload of trashy romance novels to read when I was 10. My mom kept them in my closet in a tied-up bag. So I untied the bag and read them all, over and over again. My first and favorite was "Notorious" by Ann Miller. The book is out of print, and I'd kill to get my hands on a copy. And I wrote my own trashy romance novels since the time I was 14, along with a teen-friendly series that I since lost. So, reading has literally shaped the writer I since became.
OK, so I am kind of drunk right now (yes, it's 6 p.m., but I had a hideous workday), and Shawn asked me to shave his head for him. So I did. I am covered in Shawn-hairs, and he's in the shower, ridding himself of whatever fell from the Flowbee-type system he bought. At least I didn't draw blood or anything. He looks good, save for one tiny patch above his ear where I might have gone too close (I did that part left-handed, proving that I can only masturbate with that hand, and that's about it!), but he ain't Van Gogh (all ears are intact), so I consider this an accomplishment.
So I found myself straddling him on the back porch. This is an activity better left to people who will fuck afterward -- there was nothing erotic about shaving a gay man's head. But if there are any straight men in need of a trim (in ANY area), I handled those clippers pretty darned beautiully. Thank you, Bacardi 151!
Y'know, if it weren't a holiday weekend, I would sincerely pick up an Uzi and clean the workplace out. Thanks to the saving grace of tomorrow being a federal holiday, there is hope indeed for my sanity. This place makes me want to eat carbs. Or kill myself. Whichever weapon is handier. ;)
Two hours with Demure today, total. Yes, when I came back from the doctor, she plopped in my office for an hour, with more of King Kumquat's unrealistic expectations. And I said look, I tried what he wants, but he didn't respond to that either. He assured her that this time, he'll respond. Yeah, whatever. He also wants the paper to be done a week in advance. Um, sure. Demure and I had this convo a week ago, at which time I told her to tell him to sit and spin. I said it's not impossible, but it's going to take a few months to make the evolution. So he told her he wants it a week early next month, and she promised it. I told her I refuse to kill myself like that, especially when I told her that it will be a process, not an immediate change. Further, I told her that if I have to bust my balls to meet his deadlines, the least he can do is to not hand in his shit to me five or six days after my submission deadline -- that he has cultivated such an environment of apathy and turn-it-in-whenever-you-feel-like-it among himself and his staff and associates that nobody feels that they have to adhere to anything you tell them.
Oh, and here's the latest: if I haven't received Kumquat's corrections to the paper, I have to delay its publication until I get those corrections and input them. I made it very clear that it's not like we get delayed by a day -- the publishing house can't book runs in fewer than seven days from the day that you ask. Kumquat and Demure are OK with this -- just as long as he gets his stupid 10 suggestions bowed down to. Fuck around.
Oh god, I can't take it anymore. I'm ready to croak. I am sincerely walking out at 2 p.m. today and I'll come in during the weekend, but I've GOT to get away from Demure.
In better news, Shan and I gave our friend RC a big box full of food and a grocery store gift certificate. RC burst into tears and hugged us tightly. She was grateful not only for our little gesture (we wanted her to have some snacks and food for her first weekend in her new place), but for the fact that she's never experienced the benefits of friendship like that -- that nobody has ever done anything like that for her.
We were surprised at her reaction -- pleasantly, of course -- but Shan and I lean on each other all the time, so much so that we've become accustomed to, whenever we need a helping hand, it's always there. We look at it like we're keeping each other afloat -- to the point of taking turns with the ventilator and the I.V. tube -- just to ensure that the other one will make it for awhile. And now RC is part of our circle ... so, all in all, what started out to be a box full of pantry items turned out to be two friends throwing a life preserver to a new friend and helping her to have a good start to her weekend (after a truly shit-fuck week). RC and I will be neighbors come Aug. 1, and she's already called to ask me if she can help me to plan Shan's surprise baby shower, so I guess it's true that karma always comes around to lend a hand when you're going to be the one in need. ;)
All my best to all of you this holiday weekend. Here's to hoping the poison of work courses out of your veins and that you can share some special time with the people you love and/or dote a little bit on the most important person in your life -- YOU. :)
I had an unpleasant optometric experience today. Seems my contacts came in five weeks ago, only nobody bothered to call me. So I strolled in today, and before I could take them out of the building, I had to attend "Contact Lens Class."
The short version: I left the contacts there and ran screaming to the car. The long version: I fought for an hour, getting those bastards in my eyes, only to not be able to get them out. My corneas ache, the whites of my eyes are red and my tear ducts are in overdrive. The good news is that my irises are this amazing emerald shade today, thanks to the tears and pain. The bad news is that I have a tension headache and will have to continue wearing my glasses for a long time to come.
I was already miserable from an hour-long, unnecessary meeting with Demure, which I walked out of so I could make my appointment time. I still don't know what she does for a living, other than interrogate her two staff members. I really don't. Perhaps half of my eye pain comes from rolling my eyes every five seconds. :)
I've opted to post some photos of myself on this page. It never fails to amaze me that, in four different photos, I look like four different people. I may whittle it down to only one shot -- if you have a favorite, leave me a comment, and I will gladly remove the rest in due time. ;) And if you don't like any of them, come over and take some photos of me yourself! lol
And I'm messing around with the template, so pardon my appearance while I reconstruct the sidebar.
Went to see a sneak preview of "Terminator 3" with the boys last night -- Shawn, Dave, Paul and Bryan. Although it was Dave's idea to go, he was the only one who hated it. The rest of us loved the pic for both its silliness and its adventures. 'Twas a fabulous way to spend a Tuesday evening. Oh, and did I mention how hot "John Connor" is? *drool*
And as far as I am concerned, how could I possibly have a bad time when I am surrounded by four sexy men? I love adorning a hot male harem as my accessory of choice ... that, my friends, is the way life is supposed to be. ;) I need to do it a lil more often!
1. Cruise Director of Club Medicated left me a ripping VM during the weekend. He turned in his corrections to the paper on Friday morning, when the paper had gone to bed Thursday night (as it always does and always has for the entire duration of his employment here). I'd informed him that while I appreciated his time, his corrections didn't make it in because it was past the deadline, so moving forward, I will start placing a "need by" date on the proofs. So his return VM to me said, "My corrections obviously mean absolutely nothing (to you)." He went on to say he needs more than 24 hours to do a proof (um, this was the first month I was able to give him a proof on a Tuesday morning, to turn in Thursday). I am not overly concerned -- my review sucked when I was supposedly doing a great job. He's the worst offender with turning things in five days past the deadline, so maybe this will send a message that everybody's deadlines really do impact each other.
2. Town Crier's mother died. And while I would also be devastated if my own mother were gone, I have not one sympathetic bone in my body for Town Crier. Can she ever realize that she has burned and pissed off so many people that the whole group of us can't collectively come up with an ounce of compassion to throw her way? I'm continuing my pattern of avoiding her, and I'm also breaking my tradition of always buying a sympathy card for a grieving colleague. I would hate to be as bitter and nasty as her -- Personally, it would devastate me that, even in my time of need, my colleagues harbored so much pent-up hatred toward me that they couldn't offer me a simple, "I'm sorry about your loss." It's very difficult to care about such an uncaring person, and it saddens me that I am as cold-hearted toward her as she is toward everyone.
Raising the practice of wasting time & bandwidth in the nation's capital to soaring artistic heights, searching for sapience in a cesspool of despair, indulging an addiction for coffee & cigarettes and ranting about nothing in particular.
Send lovin' to: P.O. Box 9663
Alex., Va. 22304
goddessdawn AT gmail DOT com
