The recent women's rally to protect reproductive freedom was the first one in 12 years, but now, it seems like we need to have one every week until people quit attacking the women -- especially, now, the young women -- who make the difficult decision to terminate a pregnancy.
Clearly, if the youth cannot tell her parents about her predicament, chances are she herself wasn't reared in an optimal home environment -- certainly not one where she would willingly bring her own child into that living situation. But this proposed punishment for Grandma or Aunt Whomever -- someone whom the youth trusts -- for supposedly aiding and abetting a fugitive is just another shining example of how the fundies are trying to dig their claws into the quicksand of so-called morality that they claim to stand upon.
From personal experience, it helps to have your mom there with you (and I say this acknowledging that even at 27, when I made the decision for myself, I needed my mommy and was glad to have her there with me). But in lieu of a mom who comes with her unconditional love (as I was so lucky to have), it's ridiculous to punish any other adult who has a vested interest in the youth's well-being for simply driving them to the clinic.
I remember a girl I met the day I went. I don't recall her name, but she had come to Pittsburgh all the way from Ohio to have her procedure done. And the thing was, she had originally gone to an Ohio clinic, but her parents and her whole extended family showed up at her local clinic, with signs and blown-up pictures of her as well as her full name, calling her a baby-killer and ridiculing her for her decision. She had gotten a ride to Pittsburgh with an older friend that morning, and they would be traveling back there together after the painful odyssey. God. What if her friend had been jailed for doing her what she viewed was the hugest favor ever? I always wondered what happened to her -- I hope her life turned out the way she wanted it to. I mean, there I was 10 years older than her, and even I couldn't have chosen another route at that point in my life, but at least I had college and some work experience and independence behind me -- the very same things she wanted to be able to have.
In any event, just say no to President Shrub in the next elections, and write to your representatives! I'm going to do that as soon as I hit the "publish" button. :)
There are maybe five women in the entire office today, but each of the three toilet stalls bore the brunt of someone's ass droppings. Not to mention that the toilets flush automatically to accommodate everyone's laziness, but there was crap in one toilet, piss on the seat of another, piss AND crap in the third, and in one of them, someone left a paper toilet seat cover hanging from the purse hook. Recycling, I guess?
Anyway, I had to drive home so I could pee in a clean toilet. Sad.
Shan was in Old Town tonight and just called me from the street. She was coming out of the Sugar House Day Spa and witnessed a Mercedes hit a Jeep, then a cop car smash into the Mercedes. Suddenly, two shots rang out and she saw a guy with a bloody shoulder running into an alley, with an off-duty cop (she assumes) running after him. And she heard the second guy say, "I shot him." She jumped in her car and called me to tell me all about it. Damn. Gotta watch the news tonight! I can't believe anything so fucked-up would happen in quaint little Old Town!
Back to work. Meaning: back to 60 hours a week of pain, agony and torture.
Speaking of pain, agony and torture, Shan and I went out to lunch to the wretched new restaurant next door. Not only did the service suck ass (although the food was passable, if not overpriced), the Upper McManagement became seated at the very next booth. I swear, 400 available seats in the house, and they stick all of us together. Perfect. We were stressed out the whole time and talked in hushed tones. So did they, although I did overhear discussions about raises, salaries and job descriptions.
I found out today that Frosty the H.R. Queen discards negative evaluations done by staff and leadership on the executive director (Cruise Director). No wonder dipshit always gets "favorable" reviews -- how could he not, when the rest of our surveys hit the trash?
"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes 'Awww!'"
"All our best men are laughed at in this nightmare land."
"A kind of lyrical ecstasy possesses young Americans in the springtime -- a feeling of not belonging in any one place or in any one moment, a wild restless longing to be elsewhere, everywhere, now!"
How was "American Idol"? I missed it, not like I was planning to watch it anyway.
The focus group went well. It was all about smart-chip technology being put into retail items. They wanted to know what skeeves us out about it and what benefits we would hope to see it bring. It was kind of interesting, actually -- it incorporated privacy issues, inventory tracking, environmental concerns, legislation, fears of people with illegal product tracking devices being able to know what's inside our homes and/or making us susceptible to being mugged, etc. And, the question of the night was whether this new technology would do more harm than good.
In any event, it was weird sitting in front of a mirror knowing we were being observed and videotaped. I kept making faces at the mirror, but it encouraged me to spew my opinions more -- figured I should earn my little stipend that, essentially, compensated for one of the furlough days I had this month.
I'm participating in a focus group tonight on public policy issues. Hah! Like I know what the hell is going on in this world. :) I'm almost scared at the ass I will inevitably make of myself. But I need the money to take care of Angry Kitty and Pudge Ball's vet bill, so wish me luck!
I am bummed because of my working weekend that I did not have the opportunity (or energy, for that matter) to attend the women's rally in D.C. this weekend. Scot went, though, and took some awesome photos. Go visit -- it's a lot more interesting than what's going on on THIS page today!
I've been working practically nonstop for weeks. Yesterday, after some initial drama from a last-minute advertiser who couldn't get their ad in on time, much less follow my directions to submit a PDF (fuckers sent a Quark file, so I had to haul ass into the office at the crack-o-dawn to make a PDF to send to the print shop because the Quark file was too big for them to receive via e-mail), the paper went up on press.
This, of course, would be a joyous event, but my paper went on the orange press, which I pitched fits about months ago because the paper looks like SHIT every time it's on the orange press. The paper gets wrinkled, lines end up going through some of the paid ads because the rollers on the press are old and tired, and the colors get washed out.
So of course, when I was unimpressed with initial copies and I realized that I was on the crappy press, I got bitchy and said, "Bring me someone I can bitch-slap." So my wonderful customer service reps brought me their supervisor, and I told her, look, we have been on the yellow press for the past two months, and those were the only copies of the paper that looked respectable, and we are running a special issue (which is our No. 1 best-read issue of the year) this month -- it's full of photos and I am not overly pleased with how it's turning out. I said it's a shame when I feel like I need to call ahead and say, "Hey, it's a special issue. Can ya make sure it doesn't look like hell?" because every issue should look great. What went unsaid is that I spend a quarter-million dollars there each year, and while I really do appreciate how accommodating everyone there is, I can't really settle for the paper looking bad.
So, I got to decide whether to keep printing and adjusting the machines or to leave and go on the yellow press on Wednesday. I chose the latter, and so it goes that I wasted nine fucking hours of my life, staring at the walls, yesterday. Angie will oversee the press run on Wednesday -- I am officially off till Thursday, although I did leave a message for my boss that it hardly seems fair that we worked three weekends and two furloughs this month, only for me to beg for and get two lousy comp days.
I saw a job opening at a political organization I support. It was posted a month ago, but I am so qualified for it, it isn't even funny. I think I'm going to call and inquire about it -- not that I am gung-ho to work for yet another employer, but I think I have given everything and then some to my (dis)organization, and what's sad is my colleagues are angry on my behalf but I'm too tired to be angry or anything other than grateful to park my ass on the couch and not think about the crises for 48 solid hours.
I haven't been in my e-mail in almost a week. I only wonder how many ads for "Vi@gra" are awaiting my "delete" button. ...
Put the paper to bed today. This involved waking up at 3 a.m. and getting in before 6. (Yeah, it takes me hours to get moving!) A cop did an illegal U-Turn so he could follow me for two miles -- there was no one else on the roads, and I was driving fine, although my music was kind of loud to keep me awake. I hadn't done anything wrong, but I got nervous anyway. I tend to believe that the American public needs protection ... from the police, not always by them.
Most of our shiny new software on our shiny new computers made the production process way easier this month. And FlightCheck is the greatest -- it tells you what's problematic in your document and why. Which means that when you go to make a PDF of a screwy page, you are NOT to be surprised when your Quark crashes in flames! (LOL -- firsthand experience, obviously!)
I was cranky as all hell today. Well, more so than usual. I think that the workplace poisons me so much that I take it out on the people who are there to help me and make my life easier. Life improved significantly when Shan dropped by with Miss Alex, who was all pretty in pink and sandals and bows, and they gave Angie and me early birthday gifts of half-hour massages at the Sugar House Day Spa. Shan said she felt bad that we had to work through another furlough day, so she wanted to give us a treat.
The funniest thing happened today -- Shan said it was ironic, or, more appropriately, moronic.
Our dipshit marketing director sent out a blast e-mail last night to 30,000 members, advertising a free publication that could be obtained by calling the number she listed. Problem was, she listed the product number, but the way it looked, it seemed like a phone extension in our building. And what happened but Shan received more than 200 calls this morning alone, asking her for this publication she'd never heard of! This fake extension somehow got rerouted to her phone!
So she forwarded all the messages to Town Crier, because TC supposedly has jurisdiction over that topic matter (although the woman doesn't work for a living -- she is so worthless). The topic matter was public relations ideas, and I had overhead TC at a recent meeting telling people, "I don't promote nothin'." Direct quote!
Anywho, TC flew into Shan's office screaming about, "What the FUCK are you sending me those calls for? I don't know what to FUCKING do with them!" TC was also overheard coming off the elevator, screaming that, "I am having a really bad FUCKING day!" My god. That's a fine example of her typical workplace decorum -- 50 percent of the time, she's on horse tranquilizers, and the other 50 percent she's going apeshit because the meds wore off. Too bad she's a cozy friend of the person in charge of that trailer-with-the-wheels-shot-off, because any of us who behaved that way would've been exiled.
Anyway, Shan and I brainstormed about how to get some giggles out of the calls (she tried to get Mailroom Dipshit to re-route the calls to the appropriate department, but he was probably whacking off in his office as usual and never did show his rat-like face). We decided that, when the people implement the special events we suggest in the publication in question, they should really send their photos and success stories to the Veggie Patch Gazette for me to run in our June issue. LOL. I'm sure higher-ups will be shitting their pants if people actually go ahead and do it! You KNOW how much they hate it when Shan and I have promotional ideas!
I wish I could talk candidly about work, because if I gave you the topic matter and how timely it was, oh, four weeks ago, you'd see why we're scratching our heads at the sheer stupidity of it all. But I do want to give a lesson in timing and Journalism 101 -- you should never, ever send out a press release on a Thursday night (especially on the eve of a half-day furlough!) -- send it out on a Monday night or early Tuesday morning. But lesson (not) learned, don't tell people to call an incorrect number, especially when there isn't even going to be anybody at that number to help them!
TC annoyed me today, too (surprise). I needed a caption for a photo of an event she supposedly coordinated, only she had no idea that those people had even shown up, so she had no idea who they were. So I asked her a few days ago to get the information. I ran to 7-11 to grab lunch today, and when I came back, she had left a VM (or, in her case, a verbal BM) asking me if I had gotten that information myself, because it would be really nice to have those people identified in the rag. HUH?!?! Of course I didn't have the information -- I asked the person who was supposed to know -- did she think I would figure it out by osmosis? I never did call her back, not like she stayed around past the 12:30 p.m. furlough start, anyway.
Speaking of crap-fests, I have to take the cats in for shots tomorrow. And they want a stool sample from Maddie. I should just give them a grand tour of the apartment so they can swab the rug where she loves to wipe her dingleberries on the carpet, but alas, I have to go sit by the box and wait for her to take a crap. Normal vets just stick a cotton swab up their asses and get the sample right there. Remind me why I have to pay them for me to do their job? Sounds like a Town Crier type is running the veterinary hospital! Ergh. What a joyous way to spend a Friday night -- watching the litterbox. *gag*
Although, of course, we are encouraged to do past fives. But the only ones I haven't done were ones that I was boycotting for some reason or another.
We were all hooting about Princess Fatass (the queen of our organization) on his throne (if you wanna see it, e-mail me at dawn AT caterwauling dot com). Someone made a comment that it looked like what Santa Claus would sit on, and I said, "Yeah, he sat on the Easter Bunny!" This elicited much laughter and an executive decision to give him a rabbit's foot when we are holding his outgoing ceremony (an ice cream social. *shudder*) -- you know, in honor of killing the Easter Bunny with his double-wide ass. Seriously, the only reason I like this guy is because I am svelte next to him. Of course, so is a trailer with the wheels shot off, in comparison!
I have been likening my workplace to, of course, a trailer with the wheels shot off, being dragged down a highway. They say non-profits survive despite themselves -- I think there is a picture of our building next to that dissertation!
Pussy Demure!TM keeps HOUNDING me to meet with her. I wanted to get an intern (she killed the same dream for me last year), but I wanted to share the intern with her because I don't have enough full-time responsibilities to dole out. Of course, she has appeared in my office and at Smoker's Corner no fewer than 14 times to beg me (whining, of course) to schedule a meeting with her about it. Um, no. And she's pissed off that I asked for two comp days (even though I have worked WAY more than two extra days this month, not to mention today's furlough!), so she wants ANOTHER meeting with me when I get back to discuss how I shouldn't have to work under stressful deadlines. Did she miss the MEMO that I run a NEWSPAPER?!?! How the FUCK can I avoid deadlines? And it's not even like she or anyone gets inconvenienced -- I'm the asshole who works overtime, not her!
I need to start my own company. Stat. I've got the phone number, the P.O. Box and the inclination. All I need is a name ... oh, yeah, and some clients. But it will be a sweet day when I can walk into my boss's office, pull down my pants and have, "You suck. I quit!" emblazoned across my ass. Of course, you KNOW she'd need to meet about it!!!
No matter how hectic one's day is going (and we're going to press late -- tomorrow on a fucking furlough day, barring no additional obstacles), it is always comforting to know that one is wearing see-through black mesh scandalous boy-shorts with a little hot pink ribbon on them. I may be cranky, but my butt cheeks are happy. :)
I am going to start boycotting "American Idol." It was SUCH a fucking joke tonight!!
Last night was the best night of the competition -- Barry Manilow tailored his songs to each contestants' strengths, and their performances truly reflected how much he had worked with them. Almost everyone was incredible, save for a not-so-hot performance from George Huff, another mediocre performance from Jasmine and another stunningly dismal show from John Stevens.
So tonight, the contestants were grouped into "A" or "B" -- "A" being the "Divas" group of my favorites Jennifer and Latoya, as well as Fantasia. Group "B" had the other droppings, along with Diana, whom I do like but she clearly did NOT belong with the vocally powerful girls in Group "A." Turns out that the Divas were all in the bottom three! What the fucking hell? I was on my two phones with Angie, Shawn and Shannon, bitching up a windstorm and all of us were shrieking, "What?!?! What?!?!?"
Turns out that Jennifer was voted off. You know, I've voted for her from the beginning, so it hurts when someone so clearly talented -- someone who managed to get better and better every damn show -- outlasts red-headed dorkbutt who forgot his words TWICE during the competition and still manages to stay! (And, like Shawn noted, red-head looks absolutely bewildered that he's "safe" every week when way-more-talented people get the boot.) Latoya was the first one who was safe, and then Fantasia was sent back to the group that will return next week.
You know, people petitioned so hard for that idiot William Hung to return to "Idol," and that slow son of a bitch has a record deal. I think we should all start boycotting this farce of a show. The running theory is that dumbass kids are voting a million times for the people in their age group, and people like me who swing about six or 10 votes (which is still a LOT) to the most talented are getting drowned out. Look, I don't love Fantasia, but you'd have to be tone-deaf to not admit that she can sing circles around the remaining contestants (except Latoya, who provides major competition). People need to quit voting for the people they "like" and swing the votes to the real talent.
I'm done. Fuck it. I'll get the recaps on the news next week -- I can't sit through another disappointment of a show where John and Jasmine keep getting voted back on. I'm sure it's all a ploy by AT&T Wireless to keep us voting and make us spend even MORE money on text messages, anyway.
It's hot. I'm overworked. Things otherwise are just strange and too bizarre to ponder in public. All I can say is that life throws ya some twists and turns that you can never prepare yourself for. And I don't know if it's good or bad, but I intend to use it to my advantage in every way possible.
The cats have been funny in this blazing heat (oh, and the apartment complex refuses to turn on the a/c capabilities till May 15 -- it's been upward of 79 degrees for the past three days! Gaaah, I have to sleep inside my balcony door or I will swelter!). Kadi has been caterwauling up a windstorm, and Maddie's just been retiring to the coolness of the bathtub and staying out of the way. I have been taking the girls outside, alternately, holding them and letting them enjoy the fresh air on the balcony, and they seem to like it out there.
The problem with that, though, is that they think they should always be outside with me. Kadi, especially, has been trying to bust through the screen door, trying to get at me. When she wasn't able to do that (give her time, though -- I'm sure she'll be outside on her own soon!), she went up to the glass sliding door behind where I was sitting, took a flying leap, and went *splat* into the glass. I couldn't help it -- I lost my shit. She looked so dazed! (Not the brightest cat -- remember, I call her "Short Bus" or "Shorty B." when I want to be politically correct!) I kept tapping on the window after that, and she kept trying to swat at my hand. She went to bite my finger through the glass too. Always a riot around here. :)
Oh, speaking of hot pussy, guess who was gettin' dead-stared at Wal-Mart by a hot chick? Moi, that's who. Too bad I have a steadfast rule of no dating anyone you pick up at Wally's because you just don't know where they've been, 'cause she was kinda hot, actually. ;) Met her at the photo counter, and she watched me walk out of the store. Damn. Anyway, just wanted to share -- she isn't the worst thing that's tried to pick me up lately!!!
I applied for press credentials at a prestigious site, using my "editor-in-chief of a monthly magazine" information.
Press Site usage is for legitimate members of the media ONLY.
I.E., my publication isn't a legitimate one. LOL. I think this is fucking hysterical!Truth be told, it's my organization that is a figment of someone's evil imagination, but they probably knew this and rejected me accordingly. ;)
This weekend, I bought a dress for Bryan and Paul's union ceremony on May 15. It's not the dress, but a dress nonetheless. It's taupe and floor-length with a tiny bit of crinoline at the bottom, but the fucker is sleeveles. Ugh. I NEVER go sleeveless! Barring wearing a T-Shirt underneath it (not likely), I have to head out and find a nice wrap or something (something like another dress, perhaps. ...).
Stopped by Ross yesterday (the discount outlet place where I spend thousands of dollars/hours each year). I bought a white jeanjacket and a cute lil blue denim skirt (that I'm wearing right now!). I put them on the same hanger ('cause I'm efficient like that), and when the cashier asked if that were a two-piece outfit, I said, no, actually, they are in fact separate pieces. And what did she do but ring up the pieces as a set! I didn't feel the need to correct her AGAIN, so I got the $15 jacket for free. This adequately made up for the aggravation of three million kids running around the store and nearly knocking me off my feet at every turn. :)
Mom keeps wondering if I'm ever going to have kids. I think, if I can ever get her to visit me, I will take her to Ross and tell her to ask me again if she still wonders why my answer is continually a resounding HELL no!!!
I am horrible at sticking to diets. I was doing a pseudo-Atkins kinda thang for awhile, but once I went to Kansas City, that kinda got shot in the ass. And of course, because I've no been longer dieting, I've been enjoying Chinese food and pizza and ice cream and numerous (and I mean numerous!) adult beverages.
And lo and behold, I realize that I am being very South Beach Diet-friendly by having a lovely dinner tonight of spicy bloody marys. The celery, the olives, the tomato juice, the horseradish (the vodka) ... is there any more perfect food than this?!?! *gulp* Being that I'm working tonight, I needed a lil somethin' somethin' to take the pain away, and by golly, if I can't not be working, at least I've found a way to not hate it so much.
Of course, I'll need to do some HEAVY editing when I'm a lil less inebriated, but fuck it. Don't really care right now!!! ;)
In any event, I need to get my ass back on a diet. One of these days. I can safely say that I gave up dieting for Lent -- it's the first time I never relapsed on something I chose to not do during this holy little time!!!
Subtitle: Not to be confused with the again-absent Friday Five.
1. Kill Bill Vol. 2 is released today (indie movie geeks rejoice worldwide). Excessive coverage of the questionable relationship between Tarantino and Uma Thurman takes over: she is billed consistently as his muse. Do you have, or have you ever had a muse? Who or what was it? What sorts of things did your muse inspire in you? I stumble across muses from time to time. There was a period of a few years (2001-late 2003) where I had no inspiration and I wasn't writing the way I was accustomed to. I think I have at least one now -- there are certain people in my life who drive me to create, to record my thoughts, to sing and break stuff and shout and dance and write till I collapse. I have a poem to this effect, written circa December 2003, about how I recently became inspired again. But how do you thank somebody for that? Wouldn't it sound kinda creepy and stalker-ish to tell people thanks for living inside your head?
2. Since we're on films, have you visited the Internet Movie Database (IMDB), possibly one of the top informational websites of all time? What interesting, odd, or random fact did you learn there? What was the last thing you searched for on the site? My trips there are hardly memorable. I usually go there to find out an actor's name or to find out soundtrack information, although I can't remember getting the information I wanted about a song that appeared in a movie, so fuck it. Next.
3. What do you think about Friendster? It's been described as an alternative to making friends the traditional way, i.e., meeting them in person. Isn't that what Dungeons and Dragons was for? Are you anybody's Friendster? Would you ever be? Friendster bites my balls and doesn't deserve a link from me (much like Scott refused to link to it). I had put some thought into my answers and my photos, and I thought I would attract semi-intelligent people (at least!) who might live in my geographic area, share some interests, spark some conversation. Instead I got pick-up lines from no fewer than four gay men -- one wanted me to marry his gay male friend and have an "open" marriage so as to please their families that they had a hetero marriage (but they could still fuck), one wanted to stay in this country, one wanted me to have his bay-bays, and I forget about the other. Then of course I got the guys who sent me pictures of their dicks and/or had photos posted of them in Pimp Daddy gear and had 'hos hanging all over them. A real fuckin' riot, I tell you. I keep meaning to pull that profile down, but in the meantime, I read the letters I get but usually don't respond to them. Oh, and of course there was the guy who said he didn't want a relationship but he wanted to spend four nights a week together "cuddling." Gag. Is that the new term for, "I enjoy sunsets and walks in the park and laughing and kissing and ..." ? Spare me!
4. Have you ever met a romantic interest online? Did you take it to the next level and meet them in person? How did it go? If you do not have personal experience with online dating, go ahead and tell us a juicy one a friend of yours has had (we crave sordid tales of online dating). Anybody I ever met online, I fucked them at least once and either dropped them or got dropped. Never, ever fall for the line that they are looking for a long-term relationship. They are looking for sex. And that's not to say that I wasn't in it for the booty myself!!!
5. Further on the topic of romantic pairings, the personals in our favorite DC alt-weekly, The Washington City Paper, has a popular section called "I Saw You." Here, lonely miscreants can write vague descriptions of the man or woman "that got away," in the hopes their lost love will see themselves in the description and respond to the ad. Craft your own "I Saw You" to a romantic/love interest. And a bonus challenge: write a fictional "I Saw You" to yourself: one that would actually inspire you to respond to the mystery stalker. I LOVE that section! I've always wanted to respond to one. I haven't had the inclination to place one of those ads though -- nobody ever intrigued me THAT much that I just HAD to declare my love to the City Paper readership in hopes they could make the love connection for me. Apparently, if I didn't talk to someone, I wasn't THAT freakin' interested!
I would place an "I Saw You at the park, sitting on the hood of your car and scribbling furiously in a notebook/sketchbook. Our eyes met as I walked past -- you smiled and pretended to continue doting on your written creation. I walked up to you, pulled you off your car, hiked up my skirt and rode you like a hooker on a mechanical bull. Then I ran, losing my Payless glass slipper as I hopped into my car and ran so as not to bring any form of reality into my fantasy. I want my fucking shoe back! Call me at 976-XXXX. Second mechanical bullride optional."
Bonus: I might respond to this one -- "I Saw You at the Apple Store. You were running your fingers along a sleek silver PowerBook, like you were caressing a long-lost lover whom you hadn't seen in weeks. I would like to know what it would feel like to have your fingertips touching me the same way. Oh, and I have billions of dollars and will buy you that laptop when I see you!"
LOL. Can you tell I'm poor? I'd rather have the laptop than the sex (although, admittedly, it's a coin toss at this point!).
There are no words for how today is going. If you are on my buddy list, you received a copy of the Veggie Patch president sitting on a throne with a lei around his pudgy little neck. This is, of course, in addition to the baby grand piano he wanted in his hotel room as well as the violinist. Oh, and we just had a furlough day last Friday and another one next Friday. Fun, eh?
The columns suck this month (shocker), I haven't had a minute to write my own crap stories, some asshole gave me a column last night, which I edited between 11 p.m. and midnight. The last piece, well, idiot decided to re-write the whole article since then, so all of my edits are null. The Queen of the Underworld has made progress on the Gestapo she wants to create to oversee my work, and she had one of her cronies write a horrible e-mail about me to everyone in power. I know it was one of her cronies because he praised the column she writes for me. Oh, and she wrote half of this month's column in Spanish and got pissy when I wrote back for some clarifications. Cunt.
I burst into tears today with my supervisor -- I told her that between the CEO being on the rag all the time where I'm concerned, the power trips of the leaders (oh and yeah, Fatass President/Pride Fag wants photos of the conference ASAP to show to his boyfriend. That's the only reason. I've gotten 17 e-mails forwarded to me to this effect. He doesn't care that I have to pull together a 64-page newspaper by this time next week -- scanning 500 photos is way more important to him), and just general morale issues are killing me. Specifically where CEO is concerned, his piss-fuck attitude toward me and joy of embarrassing me in public is exactly the reason why I left my last job -- public humiliation wasn't under "other duties as assigned," last I checked.
Anyway, the throne photo went around the office a few times. I am glad people are as pissed off as I am about it -- it's the only thing that's warming my frozen little heart this afternoon!
I have exactly 45 things to accomplish by day's end tomorrow to get the newspaper out on time, and I don't see it happening.
Not to mention, but to put it mildly, everyone except Finance Guy in that place is useless. He did me a really huge favor yesterday, and he restored my faith in humanity. Unfortunately, that was tempered by the cruise director and the queen of the underworld givin' me shit today.
In good news, my ad rep is knocked up. It's totally my fault, according to the tale she tells. (!) See, back in February 'round Mardi Gras time, the fabulous Tricia sent me a lovely King Cake, and according to tradition, the person who gets the piece of cake with the little plastic baby in it is King for a Day and that person buys the cake next year. When my ad rep got the baby, she was scared that it meant that the person who gets the baby gets knocked up, and we laughed about that. When she went home and showed the baby to her daughter, the little girl said, "Does that mean you're having a baby?" So she called me and we laughed and laughed. Turns out she was maybe a week or two along at that point, and she announced the news to me today, completely holding me responsible for the phenomenon.
I, of course, decided that when we have cake next year, we will scan the delicacy to ensure that the plastic baby goes to the only man on staff, because I do NOT want to start a tradition of the person who gets the baby, HAS the baby!
I'm happy for her, though, because she thought she couldn't physically have another child. Well, that cake must've been magic, and I wish a happy and healthy pregnancy to my buddy!
Instead of writing how much I want to beat the shit out of the CEO today, who again pitched a bitch with me in public that I reduce to the fact that he just can't admit that I am more talented than his little girlfriend, I leave you with something profound:
An eccentric philosophy professor gave a one question final exam after a semester dealing with a broad array of topics.
The class was already seated and ready to go when the professor picked up his chair, plopped it on top of his desk and wrote on the board:
"Using everything we have learned this semester, prove that this chair does not exist."
Fingers flew, erasers erased, notebooks were filled in furious fashion.
Some students wrote more than 30 pages in one hour attempting to refute the existence of the chair.
One member of the class however, was up and finished in less than a minute.
Weeks later when the grades were posted, the rest of the group wondered how he could have gotten an "A"" when he had barely written anything at all.
I am too busy at work to take a road trip back to the motherland this week, so I will miss Bon Jovi and John Kerry at Pitt on Friday. But if you're in the area, go throw some panties at Mr. Bon Jovi for me, will ya?
Instead of wishing folks a happy bunny day, I much prefer to wish them a festive apocalypse -- read: I went to church.
Not just any church, of course, but the Washington National Cathedral. Like, the kind you have to get tickets to in advance (props to Shawn there -- I would've said fuck it if it took that much effort!).
The place was so packed that people were standing, just to see the services. The sermon was good, actually (did I say that?), mostly because it was about how politics and religion really shouldn't mix. They also wanted us to bless the president, the veep, the house, the senate and everyone in power to make the right decisions and do the right things. I didn't really feel like giving Dubya a blessing, but in the context of hoping he won't always do dumbass things, I suppose I could get with that program.
He also mentioned crazy drivers in the D.C. area and us otherwise godless creatures. Did he KNOW I had shown up? That was pretty scary! I was waiting for my picture to show up on the dozens of Plasma TV screens situated all around the building!
In any event, I was sweating my ASS off at church, and I had to keep reminding myself, "Inner monologue!" every time I would drop something and go, "Oh for Christ's sake!" I leaned over to Bryan and said, "God damn, I'm sweating like a whore in church!" and I'm lucky he didn't smack me. :)
I had gone into the bathroom prior to the services, and someone had shat up a storm in my stall prior to me -- the funk was wretched. I had asked the boys if it were a sacrelige to shit in church, and they thought I was nutz. Of course, when Shawn felt the "urge" an hour later, he declared that church just scares the shit out of some people. LOL. Case in point, don't we all look miserable? ...
We didn't stay for the whole production -- we'd seen enough of the future molested altar boys of America, in any regard, and besides, we were hungry and Shawn had to poop. We had a lovely lunch at Popeye's and went to Shawn's, where he made us a fabulous 14-pound turkey. Bryan and the late-arriving Paul made us some awesome side dishes, and we killed the strawberry shortcake I provided. All in all, it was a holiday of new traditions with new and old friends, and at least this year (I did go to church last Easter, dragged by Shan and her husband), I didn't twitch like Linda Blair when holy water was thrown on her during the whole service. ;)
In my next life, when I get my party planning business together, I am starting a store that caters to gay weddings. And, at Shan's request, I will open up a preemie store right next to a hospital. It's all about the underserved populations here -- my background in philanthropy and meeting unmet concerns is speaking wonders to me tonight!
I swear, I was just looking for stuff for Bryan and Paul's union ceremony next month. I picked up a few dozen bottles of wedding bubbles, but I also wanted to get champagne flutes for the grooms. I stopped at a party store, and I found out I would have to buy two sets of glasses to get a pair of "groom" glasses. On the upside, if ever I attend a girl-girl wedding, I would always have a pair of "bride" glasses in the junk closet. Naturally, I didn't buy anything, but I was mildly annoyed nonetheless. I also went out looking for "bachelorette" wear for our party for Bryan on May 7, but unless he wants to walk around the dick bar with a veil, I can safely say that I struck out on that account, too. Bah.
And because we're in dreamland here, I want a store that makes flattering formal dresses for those of us who wouldn't be caught dead in strapless, clingy dresses. In my maid of honor role, I would like to look the part, not as some just-shy-of-30 overgrown harlot in a prom dress. Only the mother-of-the-bride dresses have sleeves, and of course that means they come with cow prints or other floral disasters to make your ass look wider than the Beltway.
I stopped at the ever-hellacious David's Bridal to try on some dresses that were on sale, but I wasn't allowed to enter the fitting room without a "bridal consultant." Jeebus Crisp. It took me five minutes to decide that the cheap taffeta wonders made me look like a wedding cake, although I couldn't tell because they don't put mirrors in the fitting rooms -- you have to go out and be herded with the rest of the customers to share one huge mirror. I didn't bother leaving the room -- I could tell that I looked freakish. I did find one dress I liked, but it was $208, and I ain't spending that on a single-wear beaded extravaganza. You know, I've been making my own jewelry lately, but I think I need to start learning how to sew so I can make a decent dress without the side of humiliation found in the dress shops. Gaah.
All in all, another (un)productive day here at the ranch.
I got my new G5 at work yesterday. I spent the day trying to break it. Well, not break it, as it will be long to the Veggie Patch editor's office for at least the next 14 years, but I was multitasking and having way too much fun with it. I have officially turned into a geek, as I believe my seat was a little bit wet when I decided to leave for the day. iChat, iTMS, Photoshop CS and Quark 6 and all the cool features they offer are enough to get me off now. And yes, it's been a full year since I've had real stomach-slapping, hair-pulling, ravage-me-till-I'm-raw sex, so I have to take my kicks where I can get 'em. ;)
1. What do you do for a living? Monthly newspaper editor-in-chief extraordinaire. Part-time entrepreneur who always has ideas but never the energy to act on them. I also lick my wounds after I offer my employers great ideas that they, well, treat like a bird treats a windshield.
2. What do you like most about your job? I imagine the day I resign will stand out in my "best moments of Dawn's lifetime" collection.
I love my colleagues to death. Insert the standard shout-out to Scot, Angie and Shan for keeping me motivated to give my best once in awhile. :) And, of course, for keeping me sane and smiling, albeit deliriously sometimes.
3. What do you like least about your job? MicroMcManagement. People who clearly have nothing left to give to the organization but who are promoted and kept above us to squelch any ideas/initiative/desire to live, breathe and grow.
And today, I fucking HATE the mailman, who sent me a ripping memo because I needed for him to do his job of mailing something for me. He copied it all over creation. God forbid I ask him to find a box to mail something in -- you have to e-mail the office manager to get a box, she gives you the box, you have to stuff and tape and label the box, and only THEN can you give it to the Mailroom Director. What the bloody fuck? Is that under "other duties as assigned"? And the H.R. person fucking loves him and refuses to hear criticism over him. I was ready to fucking punch him today. I still might, if he hadn't jetted out because of the furlough afternoon. ;)
4. When you have a bad day at work it's usually because _____... Pussy Demure!TM needed to meet with me at least once. That would kill anybody's will to live.
5. What other career(s) are you interested in? Public relations, philanthropy and being Simon Cowell on "American Idol."
So I was sittin' on Duke Street, waiting for the light to turn so I could make a left turn. I was yawning and in mid-stretch when the light turned. Immediately, the asshole behind me laid on his horn. As my arms were already in the air, I flipped him off in the rearview mirror and slammed on the gas. Wouldn't you know that son of a bitch FOLLOWED my ass around half of Alexandria?
I pulled into a 7-11, next to an empty police car, but I didn't turn the car off. Asshole pulled in next to me, wound down his window and started cussing me out. I backed out in a hurry and jetted the fuck out of there. He followed. I did manage to lose him in traffic awhile later (I drive like a nutcase, so I am rather difficult to keep up with, even though you can see my big stuffed Garfield clinging to the window from a mile away), and I went to another 7-11 for coffee and a carton of Camel Lights. I guess by that point I had lost him, although I wasn't sure but I thought he might have been in the lot of the second 7-11, but being that he hadn't thrown a bomb into my open sunroof, I assume I am safe. :)
It sucks that some dumbass would follow a fucking GIRL around town because she flipped him off. Christ. What did he want to do, beat the shit out of me for reacting to his impatience? Did he think I would actually get out of the car for him to assault me, whether verbally or physically?
Oh, and it's a furlough day. Remind me why I got out of bed for this shit?
OK, so I have been forgetting to post it, but I went to see "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" on Tuesday. I had gone out and bought a bunch of jewelry-making shit (which so far has only yielded a pink-and-black necklace) and decided to see a movie (as I was dead tired and that was all I could manage that day).
I have to say thumbs up. It's dark -- much more so than the previews would lead you to believe. I just can't stand Jim Carrey, or I probably would have loved it. Maybe give us an Orlando Bloom type to look at, and it would have been much more enjoyable. ;)
But it gives you a lot to think about -- for as much as someone hurt you, do you want to eradicate them from your memory bank entirely? I mean, I shudder and snarf when I remember certain folks from my past, but really, even for as much as they broke my heart, they are a part of me (even if it's the part that turned to gangrene and had to be surgically removed).
I ran into an old friend today. I still have a lot of unresolved hurt from that friendship, but I've been feeling like we were going to cross paths (it's literally been years and hundreds of miles since we were close). Turns out that we live down the street from each other and work in similar fields. She seemed thrilled to see me (she approached me) and wanted my number. For a moment, I was taken back in time to a place where we were inseparable. And I wondered whether we could ever be close again -- whether I should say, "You know, it really frosted my flakes when. ..." or if I should just feel, "Hey, in a city of half a million people, we must've been destined to run into each other." I don't expect to be best friends, but particularly as Shan is preparing to make the move to Oregon, maybe I need as many allies as I can secure, even though nobody in this world can replace her.
Of course, there is always the hope that the old friend and I can just say fuck it, we're here now. Let's start over from the new places in our lives. And I don't expect to be really close again, but it's a lonely city and friendly, familiar faces are hard to come by.
Related, I keep getting calls from someone else who disappointed me. And I guess I can't expect people to know when they've failed to meet my expectations (which were pretty minimal, but still), but another part of me is like, "How fucking clueless are you? I haven't returned your calls for 10 months -- get the goddamned hint!" It's like I've really tried to make a clean break from everyone and everything that entered my life during that particular time -- mostly because it was a conflicting series of heartbreak and numbness that did nothing but sap my energy and other things. It's like I took the big eraser to those years -- to those people -- just like in the movie.
I was talking to my desiger today, and he was talking about someone who would have said, "Erase this!" in response to a particularly crazy story I told him about someone who asked me out recently (whom he can't stand; nor can I).
I thought that statement was really eerie -- I have always, always used as my coping mechanism the visual of a huge blackboard with a huge-ass eraser. Whenever I would be haunted by images of something hurtful or annoying or some other piece of mental clutter, I would envision myself writing it on the chalkboard, and I would slowly, deliberately erase the entire board until not a speck of dust remained. And the crazy part is that the nightmares would vanish -- I don't remember anything I "wrote" on the blackboard, and maybe it's just that I entered some form of denial, but I really did wipe out some really traumatic memories. Between the conversation and the movie, it kind of unnerved yet comforted me that other people do -- and want to do -- the same damn thing.
In any event, insofar as making you think till your brain hurts, the movie's an 8. Kate Winslet was hotter than Jim Carrey (and she's so cute with her American accent and tangerine-colored hair), so I'll go 6 on eye candy.
I like to think that what you get on the blog is what you get in person, but a lot of you can speak better to that than I can. I've been told that I am either just as crazy or that I am more reserved (read: pleasant) than I come across. I don't know -- I say things as I see them, and I don't know that I hide all that much (other than some of my innermost feelings, and yes, I do have feelings sometimes! LOL).
Like today, for instance, I couldn't resist insulting someone when the opportunity arose. Town Crier (a pain in my arse at work) must've thought she was looking pretty and well-rested today, and well, bitch is a hag any day you look at her. So I found a way to slip it into our conversation that, "Boy, we all look like hell today! None of us looks like we should be interacting with other humans after that conference!" And she looked so stunned, that how dare I say she looks like hell. I disappeared into Angie's office after that because I wasn't interested in continuing the conversation. I really don't think I'm a mean person, but when someone has yelled at me so hard that she backed me into a bathroom stall (about a year ago), well, I get my kicks whenever I can.
But am I always combative? Not really. In fact, I am actually pretty helpful and reserved most of the time. Sure, I get my snark in when I'm blogging or when I'm behind closed doors with my friends, but it's just no fun to talk about all the "nice" shit I do in a day -- who would read that kind of blog?
Some of Erica's commenters bring up the fact that we get an idea of what other bloggers not only look, but also act, like, whether we've seen a photo of them or not. I think we all like to put a face with a name or a webpage, but when we don't see the person, we kind of look at how their pages are designed (i.e., if they're cool or if they're a mess) and kind of base some assumptions on that. Another commenter said she finds intelligent people to be attractive, so she gets the sense that we're all good-looking, if that's the case. And of course we are -- who could argue with that? ;)
I have several photos of myself available on this site, which show my moods pretty well, but that isn't even one-tenth of it. I hate how I appear in photos, but maybe that's just because I've never been happy with how I look. I mean, it's clearly me on film, and I guess I just have to become comfortable with that.
I once dated a guy who said I come across as an airhead in person. We didn't last more than three dates, by which time he finally realized I could think circles around him. ;) I'll admit I'm flighty and indecisive at times, but that's but one facet of my personality. I'd rather think I just go with the flow and am not overly picky about too many things. And I can be very quiet when I first meet someone, not that I am judging them, but I am really trying to learn as much as I can about them before I decide how much of myself to reveal.
I guess, then, what I want to know is how we come across online as compared to in-person. Do you get what you think you see, or are we only showing a little bit of our true selves? Would you ever stop reading a blog because you didn't much care for the wizard behind the curtain? Or do you meet people in-person and suddenly develop an even more intense addiction to their words? Inquiring minds want to know. :)
You know that when four cows are grazing on the runway that you're about to land on at Kansas City International, you're not exactly entering a booming metropolis. You know that when you're leaving and a whole herd starts approaching the airport, that will blow any last bit of sentimentality you might have felt about leaving.
You also wonder why the awesome burger joint Streetcar Named Desire only offers chili "in season," but you theorize that maybe no planes hit a cow that day to get the ground beef for the mix.
I would attempt to be witty, but I've been sleeping for 20 hours, and I still feel like, "What the hell just happened?"
The people in Kansas City are wonderful. Lots of mullets and ponytails on the boys, but you know I've always had a soft spot for the long-hairs anyway. Angie and I had a wonderful little harem of men who provided much adoration and flirting to keep us happy (and she thinks she even got picked up by a chick, but it wasn't the trannie who was in some of our meetings).
Suffice it to say that we were drunk for most of the trip -- you can tell by the photos we took. People start to miss their eyebrows, feet, arms, ears, etc. as the number of drinks start to increase. We stayed at the Hyatt Regency, and a few people got hold of smokey treats (I wasn't in this group -- I had to retire because my days started at 6 a.m. and I was hella trashed at 1 a.m. off of a case of wine and no food), and all I have to say is that Angie and crew put the "high" in the Hyatt. ;)
That was the night of our opening party. Let's just say that the next morning, as I was dragging my ass around the lobby in search of my newspapers, I got stopped by about a dozen staffers who said, "Boy, can YOU party! You get FRIENDLY when you're drinking!" This, of course, is opposed to the usual scowl I have on my face to keep the masses at a distance. :)
Oh, the stories I can tell -- including how Angie and I get drunk and talk about grammar as well as host "I Love You, Man!" speeches. I just want to give a shout-out to Kelly's Westport Inn, where the jello shots and cider were superb and the service was amazing. But the real highlight to Kelly's is the pizza joint attached to it -- we got us some Joe's Pizza on Sunday night to offset the metric ton of alcohol we had just consumed (and our flights were in eight hours), and it was the best damn pizza we'd ever had (while drunk, of course!).
Also want to give a shout-out to our regular cabbie Bob, who took us to and from the print shop and the bars and let us smoke in the car. Woo hoo! More props to Soli Printing and to Chad, who made sure our daily newsletter was pretty and who let us decompress and bitch to high heaven about all the crap we were dealing with. Chad invited us to go out drinking with him and his friends several times, but we had to pass because we had staff meetings and other nightly activities to cover.
If you ever get to K.C., I pity you eat at Jack Stack's. Seriously. Best. Barbecue. Ever. Get the cheesy potatoes and the pot of baked beans as your sides. Or, hell, as your entree, but you just don't want to miss the burnt ends and the hot BBQ sauce. Or, for that matter, the fried mushroom caps with horseradish sauce. Mmmmmm. After days of eating $14 sandwiches as we raced multiple times between the Hyatt and the Westin, it was incredible to have a real sit-down dinner with table service and drinks that didn't have lids (ooh, Jack's spicy bloody mary with seasoning salt around the edges is to die for!).
I did lots of networking in our "Living Room," which was a couch/chairs/coffee table set up with ashtrays in the lobby. It was the big staff hangout, and tons of people came over to smoke and chat with us. I even sat in on a session where people starting talking about how valuable the Veggie Patch Gazette is to their professional work, and I was thrilled when the speakers said, well, the editor of it is sitting in the front row, hearing the great feedback. :) It's always great to hear compliments and not because somebody is trying to impress you!
Anyway, we're home. Safe and sound and bloody fucking exhausted, bruised, swollen and about 10 pounds heavier from the side of beef we ate at Jack's. I actually yelped in joy when my plane flew over Shan's condo complex, and I knew I was home. Viva Washington, D.C.! But Kansas City will always have a special place in my heart and in my toilet. ;)
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