I was happily reading and responding to e-mail this morning (where I found out my good friend Lori is having a baby girl in April! Yay Lori!), when I heard an explosion in the kitchen. Turns out that my dumb ass had started hard-boiling eggs, oh, like an hour before the explosion and I forgot all about them. The kids jumped 10 feet, as did I. When I went to the kitchen, there were five scorched eggs, two of which had spontaneously combusted. What a MESS!!!
I wanted to blog so many times this past week, but alas, no technology has pre-empted that. My computer at home is about to die, and I was hoping to buy a laptop with my tax return, but the feds are seizing it to pay for student loans (as well as now making the move to garnishing my pathetic wages -- I couldn't afford the payments in the first place, and now I'll have to take a second job to get the f'in loans out of default. Wonderful).
In any event, I saw a lot of news while I was in Pittsburgh, and I wanted to share some latent rants about it.
Howard Stern I was dismayed during my early-morning drive yesterday to find that Clear Channel gave Stern the boot from its stations. What. The. FUCK?!?! I was listening to Pittsburgh's WXDX-FM, where I heard Stern for years, but all they played was music in the morning drive-time slot. I heard that, in the face of Tittygate and something having to do with "moral standards," Stern apparently crossed some line of decency and his show was pulled.
I know the country was founded by uptight Puritans who wanted to practice their cult-like prissiness in complete freedom, but a few hundred years have passed since then. Not that you'd know it in this country.
Rosie O'Donnell Last week, Rosie married her girlfriend Kelli. Congratulations to the happy couple and to everyone else who managed to beat the clock and celebrate long-overdue nuptials before the so-called "morality police" step in and try to make these unions null.
I was disappointed when my grandfather saw the news headlines and said that was an abomination. Look, his brothers are all illiterate and prejudiced, but to hear that coming from him started a big ol' fight between the two of us because I expect better from him. I pointed out to him that maybe that might be my future -- I haven't exactly had the best of luck in the hetero dating world, and I would like to get married someday, but it might not be to that tall, dark, handsome and rich fellow that he wants me to find. He did admit that his parents taught him that same-sex unions were unacceptable, and I told him that what they were teaching in the 1930s is not what's happening today. I also reminded him that whatever his family taught him, well, my family has taught me. And that doesn't mean I have to accept or believe any of it. Mom eventually told me to shut up or the poor guy would have a heart attack, which he looked like he was going to do when the words, "I might just be a lesbian myself" came out of my mouth. :) Of course, I told Mom that people who hold my grandfather's beliefs are exactly the reason why I keep writing to my congressmen!
Planned Parenthood records being seized Pittsburgh is one of six cities in which Planned Parenthood records are being seized for the feds to count how many late-term abortions were performed. I'm mostly pissed because the feds have access to my own personal medical information. Granted, I did it early, but still, that was the hardest thing I ever did and it never stops haunting me on a variety of levels. You know, this past Valentine's Day, I would have had a two-year-old if I'd gone to term. In any event, it is said that the 18,000 patients' records have been stripped of names and identifying information, but I'm still incensed. It's bad enough when you have to fight your way through insane protesters to get through the front doors, and this only seems like they are getting their wish in making us feel worse than we already did. It's like you can never truly move on.
I will admit that I did it for selfish reasons (young and poor -- emphasis on poor), and I would never in a million years do it again at my age now. But if it would be medically necessary, I want that option to still be there for those who need it. I look at Shan who was deathly sick the whole time she was pregnant -- she stuck it out but she was confined to bedrest at seven months (and delivered early because of it). She lost her quality of life in order to give life. Most people aren't half as strong as her, and having a child should be a joyous event, not a life-threatening one.
More women's health issues Another one that hit home: Pap smears weren't properly read at Magee Women's Hospital, and people who were told their smears were fine are now being diagnosed with various stages of ovarian cancer. Not only was I born at that particular hospital, but well, I was referred there for some girly work in 2001, the same time these women were told they were healthy but were actually in pre-cancerous stages. Jesus H. Apparently doctor's names were forged on lab results that were never even evaluated. I know they have thousands of patients, but damn, people are dying because of ineptitude. At my job, everyone is lax and does what little they do half-assed at best, but we aren't in life-or-death situations. I haven't had a smear since then (and mine was fine), although I've had enough pelvic exams since then to choke a horse. Just another worry to add to the pile, I suppose.
Airlines considering weighing passengers OK, if you already are self-conscious about your size and thought the years of childhood teasing was behind you, think again. Airlines want to weigh us in addition to practically strip-searching us a dozen times before hopping on a flight. I figure, if I fit in the seat, I should be fine to fly. What are they going to do, ban overweight people from getting to their destination by plane? How much is too much? Are they going to make fat people buy an extra seat? I think the real problem lies in how much luggage people bring on board. When I was leaving Orange County at this time last year, I was joking with one of my colleages that she'd brought a bodybag instead of luggage -- seriously, it looked like she kidnapped Mickey and Minnie Mouse in her one bag. I bring a suitcase, a bag for hanging garments, a purse and a jacket when I travel. I mix and match my suits so I can bring fewer items. I live with the same two pairs of shoes for a week at a time. It's not difficult, but some people bring 10 pairs of shoes and a bunch of "just in case" outfits that they will never wear. Let's try expediting the boarding process instead of lengthening it, mmm kay?
I need to quit watching the news. This shit's going to kill me. :)
After another miserable day at work (problems galore with the f'ing newspaper), I'm done till Friday. I'm now running around like a fool, shopping and doing laundry to prepare for a trip up North to surprise the family for my grandfather's birthday dinner tomorrow. Luckily, I did a lot of cleaning yesterday, so barring the usual catload of shit in Pooh Corner, the house should be in good shape for me to return to. I just wish I were in some amount of good shape!
I was very bad this weekend and took an old happy pill that I'd hidden in the abode. I got four really good hours out of it before sleeping it off (instead of a day of happiness and a day and a half of letdown). The bad part, though, was that I absolutely demolished a box of cappuccino meltaways. The whole friggin' box. In one sitting. Note to self: pick up more whilst in Pittsburgh!
I treated myself today to Joss Stone's new CD. If you like Joni Mitchell (and I know one person out there who does), pick this album up. Now. This will be fabulous driving music to keep me mellow while all the idiots surround me on the highways. Speaking of which, some dumb bitch cut me off to pick up the Beltway exit. I mean, I had to slam on my brakes and so did the asshole tailgating me -- she had no turn signal, no room to merge and, clearly, no brains. I almost swallowed my cigarette!
"Sex and the City" is such a metaphor for my life, and now that the last episode has come and gone (beautifully, I might add), I just don't know when I'll ever see "Sex" again ... in any incarnation.
I called it before the show started: we've waited six years to find out Mr. Big's name, and we did find out. His name is John. It's not what I was expecting, but then again, I don't know what else it could have been.
The episode was a brilliant tribute to Sunday nights spent on the couch, finding ourselves in all of the characters. Shawn came over for the last hurrah -- we've seen every episode of the season together at my place. It was perfect ... our characters are where they belong, their lives are exactly on the track that they want them to be on, and we are left to dream about their possibilities.
Oh, yeah, I cried a lot at the end. But that's to be expected. And forgiven. :)
Au revior, Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha. It's been a glorious six years. Now just hurry up and get the Season Six DVDs out!!! :)
Do NOT, under any circumstances, give yourself a French pedicure when you have cats. Especially a black cat. Because, even if you had just vacuumed an hour earlier, she will still manage to rub up against your feet while your polish is drying. And you will have little black clumps of fur sticking in the white polish.
One thing I should never, ever do in my life is lie. And I normally don't, but I told someone at work a whopper while I was holding evidence to the contrary in my hand. *lol*
I spent Friday afternoon by going to the AMC and watching "The Butterfly Effect" (which was actually very good and Ashton Kutcher didn't annoy me too much -- he was kind of hot, if I dare say so myself). Then I went to the print shop for a few hours and, finally, because it was around 6 p.m., I went into work to approve some invoices and check my messages.
Of course I run into the one person with whom I am continually annoyed because instead of doing the work I give him, he likes to lounge and chat and say how time-consuming my project is. He's NEVER there that late. Leave it to me to pull my keys to my office out of my pocket, only for my ticket stub to hit the floor. He said, "At the movies?" And I said, "No. I wore these jeans before and didn't wash them." Lie. He said, "Umm hmm." It was only when I sat down at my desk that I realized that the big cup of Diet Coke that I'd brought in from the movie theater did not have the Coke logo on it, but rather the big AMC logo emblazoned across it. Duh! Bad, bad liar. Oh well. I got a really good laugh out of it!
I'm sad to see "Sex and the City" coming to an end (*sniff*) so I was glad to take some SATC-inspired quizzes -- first one is which character I am most like and the second is who I am most like sexually. ...
You Are Most Like Carrie!
You're quirky, flirty, and every guy's perfect first date.
But can the guy in question live up to your romantic ideal?
It's tough for you to find the right match - you're more than a little picky.
Never fear... You've got a great group of friends and a great closet of clothes, no matter what!
Romantic prediction: You'll fall for someone this year...
It's Friday. It's five questions. It's the highlight of my morning, unfortunately.
When was the last time you...
1. ...went to the doctor? Mid-September of last year for an appendectomy that also included a bunch of pelvic exams, and I was told that I had a very healthy vagina. Of course, you could blow the dust off of it now, but I digress. ;)
2. ...went to the dentist? One year ago exactly. Fucker promised to give me a cleaning but ended up re-doing a root canal (I still don't have a crown on it) and ripping out two wisdom teeth. And he wonders why I still haven't paid his bill from that time -- I didn't want all that work done, I couldn't afford it, and I was in excruciating pain while I hopped on a plane to take a business trip to California. I hate dentists.
3. ...filled your gas tank? Valentine's Day. It was the only receptacle that had the opportunity to get filled by a nice long nozzle. ;)
4. ...got enough sleep? Last night, after being deprived of it for a coupla days.
5. ...backed up your computer? Wednesday night around 4 a.m., I dumped a bunch of shit on my web server -- my computer screen is going dark and is ringing the death bell, so I figured I'd put put all my shit in a safe place just in case.
Left work after 3 a.m. last night. I have HAD it with our fucked-up computer. HAD IT!!! It's pretty bad when I have to have my designer come in and bring his fucking computer in so I can make PDFs to FTP to the print shop.
I had to be at work this morning for a meeting, and afterward, I pulled in the CEO and my boss and went apeshit. I said I'm fucking tired of talking and nothing is being done to make my life easier. Not to mention, but I had to re-do the front page to include breaking news (Queen of the Underworld was elected president for next year. Fucking kill me -- she's got an ego the size of Russia, and she has a bug up her ass where I am concerned). This information is embargoed until tomorrow, but fuck it. Hell will start freezing over shortly -- grab yer sweaters!
Anyway, I enjoyed blowing a head gasket. It's like having a goddamn orgasm -- I feel like I can conquer the world now (because I've had a veritable shitload of caffeine to keep me awake to this point, too, I suppose). I got them to commit to fixing this situation post haste. And don't think I wasn't on the phone immediately, taking care of the next steps to get them to spend the lousy five grand to upgrade our systems. I told the CEO that I am going to hold him to every word he said, and either he's terrified or amused by me at this point. I'm not sure. I told them that I'd be in an insane asylum if it weren't for my designer continually giving up his free time to save our asses month after month. And I said that if any of us (including Angie, who is a real trouper and stuck it out till the bitter end with us) had kids, this shit and the crazy hours we are required to work, they'd never get their fucking newspaper. I'm tired of killing myself and only getting rewarded with furlough days.
I had theorized (with my friends, not my superiors) that they always shoot down my ideas because I can never get the paper stabilized, and my boss actually said that out loud today. She said that once I iron out the problems with the paper, maybe I can do some of the side projects I keep proposing. I said that pissed me off to no end, because I propose till I'm blue in the face ways to save time and money so that I can do my job more efficiently, but when they can't accommodate my basic requests, they're wasting oodles of talent and experience that might be able to help them reverse the trend of losing 1,000 members each month, and that all my ideas ultimately justify my job by showing that the newspaper isn't just the only benefit they get by buying a membership.
Oooh, the tangents I can start.
In any event, if you're reading this, Scot, you've saved our lives. Again. And we don't pay you enough. Don't quit on us till they quit on us completely, mmm kay?
After I got done with work today, I went over to Boothe Park (my favorite) and swung on the swingsets till I was dizzy and delirious. It had the cleansing effect that it always does when I go there, and I am happy again. It's 50 degrees outside, I have my windows open, the kitties are lying at the entrance to the balcony, enjoying the breeze, and I am going to take some nice drugs and knock myself the fuck out when my energy level wanes again.
"American Idol" sucked. I think am going to break my history and not vote for a single performer. Blah. I had high hopes for Matt and Bri, but they were dashed. The idiot twins Jesus and Noel didn't have a single spark to offer (not that I expected it). Lisa did a good job -- I was thrilled because Simon really tore her apart last year AND this year, and she was clearly one of the judges' favorites. Their other favorite was Camile, and they said Marisa was their third favorite. Everyone looked really good, but their voices seemed thin tonight. I still can't believe they got rid of Scooter Girl. ...
Speaking of unremarkable, I had a moment yesterday in which I was caught belting out tunes at work. Ugh. I thought nobody was there (as it was a holiday), and I was working between Angie's office and mine. Well, somewhere between a Sinead Lohan/Carole King/Beth Hart/Joni Mitchell/Melissa Etheridge medley, I heard someone rustling about nearby (but all the hallway lights were off). I went to the ladies' room (aka Toilet Town) shortly afterward, only to find our past-president in the photocopy room. Bah. The next "American Idol," I am not. But my mortification only lasted a moment -- I'm an only child, and I'm used to playing alone and amusing myself. And what the hell -- it definitely kept him away from me, 'cause he sure as hell didn't acknowledge me!
Okay, I did cast a vote for Bri. Thought I'd go for the long shot. ...
Lack of public bloggging doesn't compensate for the internal blog that's rolling through my mind.
God.
Did you ever find yourself standing on the precipice of ... something ... and your heart is telling you to just take that huge flying leap, even if it means landing splat on your face? Even when you're certain that this is the right time to seize that moment and make it yours? What about those little voices that tell you that this could all be a figment of your imagination and that the warm, confident feeling you've suddenly acquired is probably just indigestion? WHAT DO YOU DO WITH THE PASSION EFFERVESCING INSIDE OF YOU?
"And isn't this always what I wanted Isn't it just what I always wanted This is only what I want Everything around me to be changing."
Abstinence programs are being considered in my loving home state. The religious right is saying now that maybe we shouldn't be teaching kids how to properly use contraceptives, especially at the middle-school level, even though such education led to a 30 percent drop in teen pregnancies.
My high school had the highest pregnancy rate in our entire county. And sex ed wasn't introduced until ninth grade -- one segment of a semester-long health class -- and it was taught by two women who have probably never seen anything other than a plastic penis in their lives. It wasn't enough, but I imagine it might have helped somewhat.
My mom had the best attitude toward sex -- DO IT! She didn't believe in forbidding me to do much of anything, and it led to my attitudes today of, "Well, I know I can have it whenever I can get it," as opposed to, "*Shriek* It's naughty, it's dirty, so let me have as much as I can so I can rebel against parental wishes and societal norms!"
Of course, she had me when she was 16, so that kind of impacted me as far as, "Oh HELL no, I don't want kids, especially at that age!" Mom, though, was one of those people who was meant to have kids -- that's what she did best, and she's regretful that I am an only child, but at least she had the support and built-in babysitting services of my grandparents and great-grandmother. Most kids don't have that kind of help when they decide to have babies of their own.
In any event, sure, stop teaching kids anything other than, "Sex is bad." (That last line said in the voice of Mr. Mackey on "South Park" -- "Sex is bad, drugs are bad, maryjuwana is bad, mmm kay?") Don't separate church and state. Pretend that kids really will listen to their gym teachers who are forced to teach abstinence as not just the best, but the only, way to deal with their budding sexuality.
And if they're so fucking concerned about babies not having babies, maybe they can teach homosexuality as an option.
Alex said her very first words on Valentine's Day. Appropriately, she said, "Blah blah blah." And then she looked right at John, her daddy, and said, "Blah blah blah Da-Da!"
Even at the tender age of six months, she knows we're all full of shit. :)
Shawn and I had plans to hang out on Friday the 13th to celebrate Bizarro Trailer Trash Valentine's Day (i.e., bad food and titty bar attendance), but plans got thwarted and we ended up spending the wretched holiday together instead. And I have to say that last night ranked in my Top 2 Valentine's Day festivities. :)
We started out at Chief Ike's Mambo Room for a grotesque burlesque show. It wasn't quite what we expected, but the bar was cozy and everyone there was ridiculously friendly. Lobster Boy served as emcee, but the only act we really enjoyed was some Brontosaurus trio who did a great remake of Sir Mix a Lot's "Baby Got Back" -- only their version is "Baby Got Sack," an ode to big balls.
After lots of drinks (and Shawn getting mistaken for Justin Timberlake -- not to mention, on Halloween, some people thought he was a member of N'Sync), as well as the girl selling Valentine's candy killing herself to cozy up to him (and making sure to sit next to him during the show!), we decided to flee from the scene and indulge in a stylish late-night gourmet meal at Burger King.
All the other single people at BK must've thought we were just a horrible, unfortunate couple, because I caught all the women looking at me pityingly, like my guy couldn't spring for a better meal. And what a horrid meal it was -- I got the side salad, and the lettuce was brown and red from spoiling right in front of me. I cracked that these weren't hearts of romaine .. this was ass of romaine. Disgusting. I would've done better sipping the ranch dressing straight from the packet instead of trying to ingest those rancid hunks of "lettuce."
To punctuate our bad meals, once we were outside, I burped loudly and Shawn farted in agreement. Now, see, you just can't DO shit like that when you're on a "real" date!!!
To top off our trashy night, we ended up at Wet 'cause we needed to see naked boys.
The last time we were at Wet, we were so blazed out of our minds that all we could do was sit under the televisions and stare open-mouthed at the male-male porn that adorned their many screens -- we were too fucked up to notice the real-live boys dancing on the countertops. Last night, we did actually have our wits about us to want to stab our eardrums with letter openers -- when we entered, naked boys were actually doing karaoke ... the first we heard was a horrid rendition of Evanescence's "My Immortal," but it got worse with two guys bobbing around singing Christina Aguilera and Ricky Martin's "Nobody Wants to Be Lonely." These are two of my favorite songs, and well, this killed it. Shawn asked the bouncer guy whether or not this was going to take up the whole night, and we were assured that it was almost over.
So, after some strong drinks to erase the memory of the auditory pain we incurred, we did get into the naked boys (as well as, of course, the porn) ... particularly the hot buff boy who was dressed as a cop. Jesus Christ, he stripped off everything and went to the "shower" at the end of the bar and lathered up his muscles. Mmm baby! He was using Suave coconut shampoo as his lather, and the place suddenly smelled really good. I practically slid off my barstool, my panties got so damp at the sight of him. Damn, I never get guys like that!
Shawn was more engrossed in the Latin porn, and he made me laugh heartily when he said something to the effect of, "I haven't done enough long-haired guys!" I have to agree with him on that one -- any takers? (for me, that is!) ;)
Anywho, it was a great little night, and Shawn was a wonderful valentine. :) I know we giggled and snarfed like fools, but I really can't remember what the fuck we talked about. I asked Shawn to guest blog, but he declined. I'm sure he'll supply the details (if he remembers any) in the comments. But all I can say is thanks for the laughs!
Melissa Etheridge could make me switch teams permanently if she'd write songs like this heart-wrenching ode for me. ;) Although, arguably, her incredible songs have helped me to survive the past decade.
1. Are you superstitious? Somewhat. But it seems to work for me. I don't fall for old wives' tales or anything like that, but I do believe in not tempting fate, whenever possible.
2. What extremes have you heard of someone going to in the name of superstition? My mom refuses to walk under anything hanging above her head. She's paranoid that it will drop on her. God forbid she ends up in a sporting goods or toy aisle and sees inflatable swimming pools or bicycles or anything huge and rubbery, even if it's 20 feet in the air. She has instant panic attacks and jets into oblivion. When we're in the store, we have to try to spot these big items and avoid them at all costs (or drives far around them if they are outside). Once, in a Toys R Us, she looked up, saw a big stuffed snake, and I'm not kidding when I say she did a perfect split in midair and took off. I was lying on the floor spluttering and gasping for air, laughing at how cartoonish the moment was (it was like the Road Runner leaving the proverbial cloud of dust behind!).
3. Believer or not, what's your favorite superstition? It's become a subconscious habit for me when I get in my car -- I have to rub the crystal I have hanging from the rearview mirror. I've had it in the car since the day I bought it, and it's a massive stress reliever for me, particularly as I am practically hyperventilating down the Brickyard 400 Beltway and other highways down here in which the minimum acceptable speed is 90 mph. I need all the good luck I can get!
The cute thing is that when I let my friend Paul drive my car, he always rubs the crystal before he gets going, too. :)
4. Do you believe in luck? If yes, do you have a lucky number/article of clothing/ritual? I believe in luck of all kinds. For instance, I wore a cream suit to interview for my last job and a brown suit to interview for this job. I will NEVER, EVER wear either of those outfits AGAIN for the BAD employment luck they seem to have brought me!
My favorite number is 3. I love to wear black when I need to feel successful or confident. If I don't get my nails done before an event, I feel naked and ashamed of my hands. I suppose all of this is my way of asserting some power over my personal space to allow me to enter others' spaces and hold my own.
5. Do you believe in astrology? Why or why not? As a card-carrying Gemini with Mercury rising, hell yeah I believe in it! When Mercury is in retrograde, my sanity shoots straight to hell. I do believe in astrological compatibility, too. Granted, you can be friends with or date anyone, but there are certain combinations of signs that are statistically more successful. I'm supposedly compatible with Aquarius, Aries, Leo and Libra but have mixed feelings about Sagittarians and fellow Geminis, and so far, that has been pretty much on the money. I'm attracted to Scorpios, though, for their strength and defiance. I typically avoid Cancerians unless they are on or near the cusp. Pisceans have always been in my circle of friends but not lovers -- I love their poetry but that's about where it ends.
Dating fellow Geminis has been a trip. Conventional wisdom dictates that Geminis will get along in conversation but have a crappy sex life 'cause their brains never shut off. Quite the contrary, in my case. Conversation was warp-speed and sometimes tiring, but their sexual stamina was what kept me coming (in all senses of the word!) back for more.
I believe comedienne Margaret Cho said it best when she asked who on this earth would deny a gay male the right to have a bridal registry.
There are so many more important things to focus on than -- god forbid -- preventing gays and lesbians from having a union recognized by our country. Marriage, as it stands, isn't really working, is it now? And marriage may not be in my future as a heterosexual person, but for those who are so fortunate to have found true love, let them get married. Let them have the partner benefits. We have so many millions of uninsured people in this country, and that includes many of my friends who have same-sex partners who have great benefits. Let's worry about something real for a change, can we?
If I were Queen for a Day, I'd direct my taxes to only those causes I deem worthy. Using it to prohibit my friends and loved ones from having a relationship that is recognized by my state and my country is an abomination. Bush may or may not have won the war on terror, but this is one battle he is going to lose. And personally, if I don't find the man of my dreams (if he even exists), then I don't want to rule out my options of finding a happily-ever-after that doesn't conform to whatever the religious right claims to be in the greatest fictional work of all time, their precious Bible."
There were a million things I wanted to blog about, but alas, work had to come first. Damn career, getting in the way of what's important! ;)
Had the utmost pleasure of meeting Rocket Jones last night. I almost didn't make it, after being partially asleep while I was driving to meet him and missing every convenient turn and getting stuck in Old Town rush-hour traffic. But the five-minute-turned-half-hour odyssey was incredibly worth it. It's nice to know the person behind the brilliant prose on the website! The good news is that he will be in my neck of the woods a few more times till the springtime, and that means more intelligent (and crazy) conversations are in short order. :)
I went to bed early with a migraine last night and stayed home for the better part of the day doing editing. It's amazing what a RELIEF it is when most of the work is turned around -- I had full intentions on spending the night editing, but I arrived at my senses when I realized that nobody ELSE loses sleep over whether the paper is produced on time. I find myself waiting for submissions and letting our volunteer writers turn in their stuff at their earliest convenience ... not mine. That's the problem with working in a highly charged political environment -- ya can't piss off the help ya ain't payin' for. I'm still waiting for my least-favorite column to arrive (from the Queen of the Underworld, of course), but Angie did get me her stories and they were just about the only pleasurable reading I had this month, save for a good OpEd and Reader View that arrived earlier in the menstrual cycle that is my job.
The Queen of the Underworld is the asshole who wants to create and head an unnecessary advisory council whose sole purpose is to tell me how to do my job and through which hoops I need to jump at her command. *sigh* I told my boss that perhaps we need to concentrate on firing the old volunteers and bring in some fresh blood and that maybe if Queen wasn't so busy dicking around with my sanity, she might write her fucking column in a timely manner. I mean, Angie's stuff is sometimes late because she's trying hard to track down coherent people to interview; the other people are writing first-person drivel that consists of nothing more than their over-inflated opinions of what they wish the world could be like. You'd THINK that they could write their 1,200 words of complete and utter nonsense that within a 30-day period! I mean, gah, it's not like they are lacking in opinions -- they delight in forcing their bullshit down the throats of the unimpressed masses!
No wonder my temple throbs uncontrollably during editorial deadline week. I usually budget two days to edit all the last-minute submissions and then work overnight once or twice to get the stuff to the designer on the day he's expecting it. I swear, people have come to rely upon the two of us to perform miracles. (Angie nailed it: he is my Midol in the menstrual cycle of magazine production!)
And I was hell-bent on getting a proof by tomorrow (seeing as though SOME employees get to celebrate a long holiday weekend -- I never get to enjoy holidays or stay home on furlough days because they always seem to fall smack during production hell). And my designer, lovely man though he is, was intent on accommodating my crazy request. But at some point yesterday evening, I finally e-mailed him and said that I had come to my senses and that the Inner Bitch needs to channel her energies on the right people and not make him jump through hoops so I don't get yelled at for only giving the proofers one workday to do their thing. He was grateful, and it made me come to some serious conclusions about how the volunteers need a whip cracked over them, whether or not my superiors may agree. In any event, there is something about my staff that makes me want to be a better mentor, a better person, a better champion for our sanity. Me, I kill myself to do things, oftentimes the hard way. And I would never expect people to give up their free time the way I do.
I have to bitch about INS CVS Pharmacy, or, rather, my experience there tonight. I was loading up on Advil Migraine and Tylenol PM (a sure sign you just shouldn't fuck with me while I'm standing in line, right?), and some dumb bitch standing behind me was practically attached to me. At least she didn't have a shopping cart, but every 30 seconds, she bumped into me. And the line hadn't moved! I hope she doesn't drive as horribly as she stands in line!
So anyway, I'm finally getting waited on, and when I grab my bag and turn to leave (the exit was literally three feet to my right), I ran smack into the girl. Not content to be firmly wedged up my ass, she also attached herself to my side. Um, it's hard for me to LEAVE so you can get waited on when you're BLOCKING MY FUCKING WAY TO EXIT THE DAMN BUILDING!
Tonight, I treated myself to doing laundry, watching Phoebe's wedding on "Friends" and waiting for "ER" to start. The world is almost well again. For me, anyway. ;)
I'm fairly disturbed by Dr. Atkins' death report. I love that diet, and to hear that he was obese when he died is frightening. Granted, the diet is impossible to stick to in the long-term, but in the space of overnight, the poster child for the diet's success has now become its warning label.
In all fairness, though, I do believe that he gained significant weight while he was in a coma (although 75 pounds is a little hard for me to swallow). When I was in the hospital on IV fluids for four days last September, I gained 15 pounds (which I did lose. And gain back. And lose. And gain back at Christmas. And lose again -- so far it's gone for good). So if he were in the hospital for two months and he bloated at the same rate I did, 75 pounds doesn't seem all that bad in comparison.
One reason the Atkins plan has been so attractive to so many is that it claims to give you good heart health while seeing fast weight-loss results, which is what keeps people sticking to the diet -- it's really hard to get discouraged when your clothes start to fall off of you. I never could figure out how your cholestorol starts to drop on this animal fat-friendly program, but let's face it, at age 29, I'd rather look better than worry about what my innards are doing. :)
In any event, I'll bet the South Beach Diet crew will start overhyping their products -- this is their best marketing opportunity yet. And I keep meaning to start that diet anyway. I did, however, cut out sweets in late January as well as start drinking a lot of water, and I've lost 12 pounds doing just that. My idea of dieting used to be that I had to eat all the sweets in the house so that the cupboards would be empty when I was ready to start a diet. But you know that doesn't work -- when there's not a morsel of food in the house, that's when you get an overwhelming urge to drive through Popeye's for some fried chicken goodness. :) So I gave away the sweets or pitched them, and that, my friends, seems to have made all the difference.
OK, as an IKEA armchair critic, I am having a hell of a hard time figuring out who gets my vote tonight. Typically, the judges mix strong performers with mediocre ones during these initial audience-vote nights, but I have seen three out of six (so far) who are worthy of my vote.
I agree thus far with the judges that the male performers have given fairly vanilla performances. I know someone's not going to make it if I find myself singing along with them (i.e., Erksine with "Open Arms" and Marque with a really good but not-star-quality "Wind Beneath My Wings"). But when I get chills (i.e., with Jennifer Hudson, Katie Webber and Diana DeGarmo), I know I want them to advance to the next round. I could listen to Ashley and like her, but in this pool of talent, she kind of falls toward the middle of the crop.
*commercial break*
Hmm, that Matt guy is kind of hot. Doability factor: 10. Song: 10 (one of my favorites: Marc Cohn's "Walking in Memphis). Talent: 8 -- he (or maybe it's the Karaoke music) makes it sound like a showtune, and this is a soulful song. But his voice is okay -- I think it could be stronger. Next.
Fantasia sounds like a nitwit in interviews, but we'll see how she does, because the voice is incredible, even if I don't enjoy watching her.
Hmm. I think I'm voting for Jennifer. Who are YOU rooting for?
I try not to be a bitch about this, but my company REALLY needs to hire cleaning crews that comprehend simple instructions like "DO NOT DISTURB," which I have EMBLAZONED across my office door handle.
I just watched the cleaning lady start sticking her key into my door (under the fucking sign), so I told her nicely to go away because I'm smoking working. It's bad enough I have to be here late, but to not be smoking is just wrong. I need to learn simple commands in Spanish like "go the fuck away or I will kill you." Anyone out there who can help me translate?
... Point Park College is now officially Point Park University. ... You may be wondering how to acquire a new diploma that reflects Point Park's new name. In October, you will receive information about purchasing a new diploma at the price of $30."
Um, no I wasn't wondering, and no, I am not spending $30 for another friggin' diploma to collect dust in my bookcase with the other one. And am I the only one who finds it funny that their new acronym is PPU?
Update Of course, that wasn't as bad as the other piece of mail I got from my alma mater today -- an application to study with the Radio City Rockettes. Hah! I should apply. Watch me fall on my ass and snap those little twiggy dancers in half. :) I know the Rockettes dance in the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade ... I always figured, if I were ever in the parade, I could just be the Garfield float.
When the fuck will Tittygate NOT be in the fucking headlines?
J.T., you're a pussy. Quit apologizing. I don't care if you knew it was going to happen or not. You're just lucky you have talent and don't need to pull stupid stunts to make up for a lack of musical integrity. Miss Jackson should have retired after her "Janet" album. I'm tired of that freakish family being in the news for all the dumb shit they do (and claim not to do).
Cripes, is there ANYTHING on TV on Sundays? I have like eight million channels, and I can't find a fucking thing to even have on in the background as white noise.
I find myself today with no outside errands to run. Woo hoo! Finally, a day to myself to clean do not a goddamned thing.
Life's been rather good lately. I realized it this morning when I was reading my e-mail and Maddie jumped up on my lap and stayed there for a good half hour (till Kadi started yanking on her tail). Either the clouds are going to open up (again) and Mother Nature's gonna start ragging ice all over us, or I might just be on one of my ever-elusive upswings. Please, please let it be the latter.
I got to talking with my favorite colleagues about the jobs I've had and the things I've accomplished in my 29 years. They really made me realize that I haven't done half-bad for someone my age. I always have stories to tell and insights to share, and I like that. One thing I am severely lacking in my job is a mentor, but it made me feel kind of good that I have the capacity to offer mentorship and guidance to others who may someday want to be like me when they grow up. Either that, or they know my mistakes and can learn to avoid them. ;)
I've said this before and lived to regret it, but I feel like something good is coming my way. Now, I don't know what it is, but I do know what I am hoping for. And I am very much of the attitude that I don't always get what I want, but I sometimes get what I need. I feel like some grand life lesson is going to present itself to me, and I look forward to another opportunity to learn something.
Work-related, I've been struggling with something. I like what I do. I love my staff. I am not overly fond of the management above me. My salary (Shawn pointed out, quite accurately) is very low for the skills and experience that I bring to any similar position. Here's the problem: I know I won't be at my job forever (thank the higher powers for that one!), but I am having a hard time discerning how long I should spend at the Veggie Patch. Every job has its pitfalls and praises. At my last job, the CEO was insufferable and so was my staff. Now, the CEO is OK, my manager is, well, lacking in the usefulness department, and my staff is a dream. In an ideal world, I could take Angie and Scot with me to my next employment endeavor. And let me be queen for a day for a millisecond: if I opened my own business, there will always be a place for both of them. I do not discount the fact that my job would be downright insufferable without competent, enthusiastic and, let's face it, brilliant people who contribute to the department's -- and my -- success.
What I want to know is who decided a workweek should be 37.5 or 40 hours. Sometimes I put in a HELL of a lot more, but other times, I struggle to fill my time. There are always projects, of course, to occupy my slow times, but one reason I really enjoy my job is that it's intermittently frantic, tempered by mind-numbing so that I can clean my office and get through all the piles of accumulated paperwork and phone calls and bug Finance to pay my vendors. Assuming we would be required to work, say 120 hours a month, why can't I choose WHICH 120 hours to work, instead of sitting there from 9 to 5 every day and THEN working till midnight or 2 a.m. when we go into crunch time? Why can't I, on days that I know I'm going to be working late (i.e., when I'm waiting for writers to submit their shit to me so I can edit it), come in when I know the work will be waiting for me instead of waiting for the work and THEN starting my workday?
Unfortunately, my workplace (and many others before it) have a certain decorum that states that you need to show up on time and leave on time and just BE THERE during the working hours. But in the world of cell phones, e-mail and other instant communications, I live five minutes away from work, should a crisis arise. How can we change a culture of "sit around and look pretty when you're supposed to" instead of "give us your best, and if your best happens to occur at 8 p.m., then that's when you need to give it to us"? One major reason I get along with my staff is that I allow them to work when it suits them best, and I encourage them to contact me (even if it's at 10 p.m. on a Saturday night, and believe me, it has happened and I don't mind it one bit) when they need me.
We have calling-off policies that tell us to contact our supervisors when the weather sucks and we're going to be late or just stay at home. This is supposed to be deducted from our vacation time. I don't deal with that shit. I ask my staff to stay the fuck home till they can make it in safely (a courtesy call is encouraged, and I always get one). I tell them that they're more useful to me alive and well instead of mangled in a ditch off the Beltway. I am fortunate that my supervisor really doesn't care how late I come in, because I always leave long after she does, and frankly, that's one of the (few) benefits of working for her. You know what this gives me? An environment in which my staff are willing to go beyond the call of duty to help me when I need them. Trust goes a long way, and if your people are afraid of consequences from inconsequential actions, then that breeds a hostile work environment. I can safely say that my staff and I work so harmoniously because we work on a human level. Titles mean absolutely nothing (except for when the shit hits the fan -- then I have the title that gets the bullshit, and they appreciate that, because I believe in what we do and will fight to the death for it. And sometimes, it has come down to exactly that) and abilities and willingness to learn/change means everything.
I'm actually thinking about writing a book on leadership in the workplace. I have chronicled most of my jobs, whether on this blog, in my private journals or even on Post-it Notes throughout the years. And it astounds me how the fundamentals of constructing a working, loyal team simply eludes other people. A part of me feared that, once I got into upper management, I would forget how it felt to be on the lower end of the totem pole. But if anything, it has strengthened my desire to encourage people to top their own performances time and again and to not only crave, but also deserve, respect and recognition.
People go to work to make a living and to contribute to society in some way. They don't work because they love it. Shawn and I were just saying that probably fewer than 5 percent of people probably go to work and do exactly what they love doing and are sad to see the workday end. Sure, a good majority of us find several redeeming qualities about our vocations, but is there a law that says we can't love every aspect of it?
The president of our company (Pride Fag) was in the office recently, and he always makes a special point of visiting with me. At the time, I was hot from suggesting to my supervisor how we could increase readership of the magazine, and she shot it down with the equivalent of, "No, that's too much work." And I really thought it was a workable idea (and she couldn't give me any real reason why my idea wouldn't yield results), so I told PF about it. He loved it. Said it was good but gave me reasons why it would really float around in upper management. I was fine with that. Well, not fine, but I figure if the (empty) head of the company says it's not presently feasible, I know to say, "Whatever," and go back to my little corner, licking my wounds all the way.
The major problem with my meeting with PF is because he told me that I can count on him as my personal suggestion box -- the caveat, of course, being that he won't tell anyone the source of the ideas. Meaning: if they actually go for it, I get zero credit. Fuck that shit. I'll keep my ideas to myself, in that respect, or just risk the ire of my superiors and do whatever I feel like doing, whenever I feel like doing it. I refuse to become somebody's puppet or the wizard behind the curtain.
If time weren't an issue (my timeframe has an expiration date), I would go ahead and implement the idea without permission. Remember, it's always easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, especially when you have a foolproof idea that, even if worse comes to worst, I'd have only spent $200 on the execution (and I have more than that in my budget). It just disgusts me that my staff and Shan and I are absolute idea generators, but we'd get more response talking to our asses or asking the Tooth Fairy to leave money under our pillows. I get the inkling that people don't want us to succeed -- maybe they don't even want the company to succeed. But I'm tired of having to budget to the penny for enough paper and staff and equipment and pens. Our situation is that dire. And I've worked as a fund raiser for companies that were in even worse predicaments. It's hard to implement change, but if the culture can't shift to one that recognizes innovation (or, at least, attempts at it), then no real progress can or ever will be made.
OK, so I'm not on a diet per se, but I am trying to eat healthier (and not have snacky goodness or desserts anywhere in my presence). But if I had a valentine who WANTED to send me something, I'd ask for one of these.
Too bad they don't deliver to Pennsylvania -- I would've bought my mom some of the chocolate-covered strawberries. (That way, of course, if you buy it for someone else and have some, the calories don't count, right?)
I did buy the South Beach Diet book and low-carb companion guide. One of these days, when I actually get through the book without falling asleep, I may have to try it. Eventually. Someday. Maybe. ;)
Well, the alarm is really obnoxious, and it was interrupting our conversation, so Angie reached over and slammed my door closed ("She Bang! She Bang!" *rofl*). We kept on talking about reality TV and other pertinent subjects to our existence, and well, two fire trucks pulled up. At this point, the exclamation point alighted over our heads, and we realized that, hmm -- there might be like a fire or something. So we whipped our stuff together and traipsed out into the freezing rain, where every last one of our colleagues were standing at the back of the parking lot.
We were howling with laughter and tried to find out what the scoop was (our building maintenance has been testing the system for the past week -- we assumed we could sit tight and stay warm). Oh, but no -- this was a REAL drill. One of the gals outside gave us holy hell for being assholes -- she said we get fined for each employee who remains in the building. Well who the hell would'a thunk it? Luckily, we were not the last ones in the building -- the convention and meetings department stayed cozy, too, till the building maintenance threw them out.
What the hell -- it became an impromptu smoke break. Funny as shit, though -- I was just telling Angie how stupid this place is because there are no evacuation policies. Every other place where I worked, certain people were designated as the "fire marshalls" for their area (and it was always me for my hallways). You know, people to take account of who's missing and whether or not they had even shown up at work that day. We were having a good laugh over how no one would care or even know if we perished in a fire, and lo and behold, my prophecy fulfilled itself. You'd think Pussy Demure!TM could fit corralling her employees to safety in her light schedule, 'cause it was ALL of HER people who stayed inside!
Offices are open today. Humbug. I was looking forward to a day off or, at least, a nice delay. :)
My computer at work started ringing the death bell yesterday. One of the fans went bad. My designer cracked open that G4 and replaced it, circumventing the "do not open" message on the power supply. If we had to send that box to Apple, I would've been without a computer for at least a week (not to mention whatever it would cost), but within the space of two hours, my computer was as good as new again. :)
I looked into upgrading my computer at home, but it's too old to support Panther. Maybe if I get a few bucks, I'll just buy System 9 and upgrade the memory. But I am hoping that the feds don't seize my tax return to pay for my defaulted student loan, because I will get just enough money back to buy an iBook, and I'd love to have one. I feel like I don't know what I'm doing with computers, though. I mean, what hardware do I need? I expect to get an Airport card, but what's all this with routers and ports and WiFi and what not? Am I the only Mac user in the world without a clue on these things?
Some of this month's top searches to date that led them into the abyss of my carbohydrate-craving psyche:
Wash the coochie LOL -- One of my all time favorite songs. Find it on my server here.
And it's always raining in my head lyrics staind The song's called "Epiphany" my friend. Excellent taste in music, although "Wash the Coochie" kicks its ass anyday.
As she ate her sister's shit Um. ... And did they search for the next term?
Aunt placed me over her lap Jesus H. And then what?
Daddy vibrates my vagina Sick fucks. Incest is best, relatively speaking (apparently).
Cats poop on carpet when pissed off You really need to read Maddie's site for tales of pissy pussies who poop and puke on demand.
Cuz your coochie stank Um. *sniff* Freshly washed, as always. Move along.
Fat shit cat Maddie can help you better than I can.
Grim reaper dancing in pitchers In PITCHERS? I tend to dance BECAUSE of what's IN the pitchers myself.
Halushki Umm, cabbage and noodles. ... (fucking carbs)
Handcuffs try them on When ya comin' over to try them out?
How do geminis survive a breakup Easy. Show them the door. Go fuck someone else. Amazing what a hot piece of ass can do to dissipate any residual anger.
How do mountain people keep warm\houses clothes I'm sure they snuggle up and fuck a lot. No clothing necessary.
Hurricane isabella pepco Can't speak for Pepco, but Dominion didn't impress me in the least. Damn week without electricity and hot showers.
King of the veggie patch Ah, the CEO of my company!
Kitty porn What Maddie downloads when I'm at work.
Liz claiborne cat collars And Maddie is adorable in hers. You just can't see it through her mass of fur.
TGI Fuck Day Who's offering?
Janet Jackson's boob on Craig's List Was it detachable? Fifty cents, and that's my final offer.
Counselors for OCD in Ireland I happen to be able to help you: OCD Ireland, courtesy of a dear old friend across the Pond.
I came home tonight to find a door hanger placed there by the apartment company, telling me that maintenance had entered the premises. They of course did not list WHY these yin-yangs came in and scared my cats. All I can figure is that they went on the balcony (they didn't put the window bar back where it belonged) and left my deadbolt unlocked when they left. God damn them ... I take care of my place and would like to come back to all my belongings here and not stolen by someone who could've gotten in to either door. Fuckers.
I'm embroiled in battle at the Veggie Patch with a "leader" who wants to take over the newspaper. Insert that bitch on wheels is already a column editor and couldn't write a declarative sentence properly even if it could save the ozone layer. She is trying to organize/found an editorial board that would oversee our activities, from hiring practices to content to whatever the hell else she wants to control.
Let's just say that, after eight epic e-mails from me, and I've heard not word one from either of my superiors. Eight. I am so against this woman's politics and personal political agendas that I would rather hand in my resignation than report to her EVER.
I need to buy some memory for my Mac at home (so I can work there more often and escape the assholitry that eats up my workdays). Any suggestions on which brands to buy and what kind of cost it will be? (I need a shitload of memory -- I'm gonna bite the bullet and buy Panther).
"Thank you for your message, and making us aware of your experience with our store. I apologize for the behavior that you have described. I will forward your comments to the Operations Executive for this store for follow up.
Thank you for your time.
Angie, Customer Service Department."
Thank me for my time? Whatevah. I was expecting maybe more questions, maybe even some propaganda that harassing customers is against store policy, and the offending employee will be appropriately disciplined. Or maybe, hell, they should've asked me for my address so they could send me a nice gift card for my trouble. ;)
"I am not publishing that idiot's submissions until Satan becomes editor of The Pearly Gate Times." -- me, talking about some incoherent twit who keeps sending me crappy reader viewpoints and keeps asking when I'm going to publish them.
"I'm not setting a good example for you, are I?" me again, telling Angie what a poor excuse for a supervisor I can be sometimes. And clearly, I need to not be teaching her my grammar, either. ;)
Because CBS execs are in an uproar over this crazy stunt during what it thinks is a family show (um, no -- the show was appropriately tailored to its horny hetero male target audience), everyone's issuing apologies that the act was unintentional and unrehearsed. Yeah, sure. 'Cause, you know, Janet just HAPPENED to have a silvery, sunburst-shaped pastie on her nipple. 'Cause, you know, I'm wearing one right now 'cause those aren't itchy or uncomfortable or anything. HAH!
In any event, I'm hurtin' today from Shawn's grand move to Maryland last night (although I am MOST grateful that he sold a lot of his furniture prior to this odyssey!). We left a two-floor house and dragged everything to a third-floor apartment. Problem with the third floor is that it's at the top of five flights of stairs. I'm already a wimp and can't carry much because I'm just not altogether that physically strong, but trying to drag this ass (and Aunt Flow, who showed up just to attend the move) up all those stairs was just morally wrong. But the new place is way cute, and I hope Shawn and the boys will be happy there (Kirby seemed OK, but Jynx was giving himself a heart attack from yipping and freaking out over the adventure).
I had more doggie adventures than I care to recount, but what the hell -- while I'm here, I'll share. :) Kirby rode to Maryland in my car, and he was very good, lying in the backseat and not whimpering much. But then he got the bright idea that I might drive better with his head in my armpit. He attemped to crawl into the front seat a few times, but luckily, I had Bryan with me to shove him back where he belonged. I have a Garfield doll clinging to the window (shut up, it's Valentine's Day-themed), and Kirby was licking its ass for part of the ride. (Sidenote: Kirby likes poop. He eats poop all the time. He sniffs Jynx's ass and waits for poop to come out. So he has an ass fetish.)
The other doggie adventure came when I REALLY needed to use the bathroom at the new place. Jynx had been creating such a ruckus that someone had shoved him and his cage in the small bathroom, and I literally had to wedge myself in between him and the toilet. I later told Shawn that his dog got a firsthand account of how to insert a tampon correctly, and Shawn shuddered and chastised me for scaring his puppy.
The night ended on a dramatic note (it always does, but the source of the drama always rotates), but I was at least home to catch the end of "Sex and the City" to see Charlotte's bleeding dog. Ugh. That reminds me that I've got to get Kadi spayed soon so she doesn't start adding blood to her already nasty shitty skid marks on my beige carpet. *twitch*
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
