It was a sign yesterday as I drove for my morning cup of Chocolate Cherry Kiss coffee at Einstein's that the song "Wait" by Seven Mary Three came on the CD player. I was dreading a series of meetings and was awake way too early when I heard the lyrics in both the title and below:
"Wait, you're almost there it's gone You're almost where what follows you, does not bother you."
And that turned my entire day around. I mean, we humans waste so much fucking time simply getting through unpleasant events. And oftentimes through no fault of our own, we are forced to retain our composure and our sense of humor when we are really wanting to pat someone on the head with a brick or give them a pedicure with a machete.
The outcome of all of my meetings was positive overall. Even though I know I conduct myself to the best of my ability, I always have that doubt in the back of my head that anybody but me realizes that. The best meeting of all was when I gave Angie her performance review -- she did well and I was pleased to give her a fair and honest assessment. I even brought up some good things that she didn't even realize she had done. Stuff like that makes me happy.
Got the payment situation resolved for my designer. We're just going to put him on staff as a part-timer. I have a lot of work to do to make that happen, but that's the kind of work I should be doing. I have always taken care of my people, and that is the resounding message I got from above and below yesterday -- that I can pull off miracles and still make people feel like they are No. 1 on my priority list. The good thing about putting him on staff is that he gets paid when I get paid, so I save some time ultimately in chasing down the people in finance to figure out why he hasn't been paid.
I also got my performance review. Spent the whole day dreading it. Demure!TM came into my office at 5 p.m. to ask if I just wanted to wait till Friday, and I said I wanted it then. I walked out at 6:30 p.m. with a 2.8 percent raise (of a possible 3 percent) and with the standard hoopla that I emanate vibes that I "can't be bothered" with work that doens't fall under my jurisdiction. And that pisses me off -- I am always volunteering for more work, particularly in areas that have little to do with running the newspaper. I always get points deducted because I am vocal about hating meetings and potlucks, especially when I have deadlines. I take the attitude that, if that's the worst you can say about me, have at it. Really. But I did get major props for creative budgeting of both time and money (especially in the face of deep budget cuts) as well as for being on-the-ball and completely dedicated to getting the newspaper on the stands, even if that means using my own personal time and resources, which it always does.
I find that, with reviews, everything I say is what ends up on the review. Really, it's not like anyone has to pull any facts out of their asses -- I give the situations to them straight and I figure out the answers myself. So I am happy to report that most of my review was not a surprise, although one of my goals for the year was to "stop fighting the establishment of the Gestapo because it is going to happen whether you want it to or not." How the hell is that a goal? Newsflash: you hired me to act in the best interest of the newspaper. And when you have political types trying to overrun it, it is my responsibility to ensure that, if I can't kill them, then they need to climb the fuck off my back and let me do my job.
The other thing that fried my shorts was that I am still encouraged to interact more with my colleagues. But in hte next breath, I was told that "things get back" to her about my negativity. Jesus Christ, have you ever met a happy newspaper editor? Suzy Sunshine I ain't, and it was duly noted that I put on a smile when I am dealing with the public. What negative things are getting back? This statement went unqualified. So she wants me to talk to more people, only for them to run things back to her? It's not like I am the negative one and everyone else is sniffing helium and saying how much they love the organization. Bah. I'm going to keep to myself even MORE, thanks to that!
Anyway, despite all that, the review was fine. I made it a point during the past year to share my triumphs and challenges, and that worked almost completely in my favor for the fact that I have busted my butt to improve communication with my supervisor. And that's what means the most to her -- knowing every burning, itching detail. Takes a lot of my time, but if that means I get a better review, then so be it. But I did note that I came to this place with a very distinct working style -- and one that works for me -- and I feel like there's a plot to break me of it sometimes. And I admitted that I have a long way to go in understanding how my superiors work and that our methodologies oftentimes clash, but it's not like I haven't asked for personality indexes and working styles reports to help us understand each other better.
In any event, I take a few things out of yesterday. One, my boss, although a lovely person, really needs to retire. I thought she was going to shit her pants when I told Cruise Director that it's a pain in the butt for me to approve my department's invoices, only for her to have to re-approve them before sending them to finance. He must have read my employee survey done a month ago when I said I don't own a single decision I make, and he said fine, cut Demure!TM out of the process -- I've more than proven that I am careful about spending money and that if I am management, then I deserve the autonomy that comes with it. Woo hoo! She looked almost crushed. Anyway, Cruise Director really opened my eyes yesterday to the fact that he is as solution-oriented as I am, and I gained a brand-new respect for him because he really showed respect for me. And it's sad when something so very small means so much, but at the Veggie Patch, you just take what you can get.
I also take out of the day that I am strong. Really, once you accept that you are an amazing worker/boss/leader/project coordinator/planner/strategist, no one can take that away from you. They can either help you or get out of your way, or help you and THEN get out of your way. I've gained my momentum back -- I will steamroll anything that tries to hold me back.
And it also didn't hurt to repeat to myself, "This is my last review here. This is my last review here. This is my last review here."
And those bloody marys to which Angie treated me afterward never tasted so good. ...
1. What is your full name? Dawn Amber (and the last name I try to hide 'round here)
2. How did your parents come up with that? I was born at dawn. Real original. Actually, my mom was dating a guy named Don (clearly, not my father) at the time as well. My father would know me by "Shit, I should have used a condom!"
3. Do you know the meaning of your name(s)? Well, Merriam-Webster's defines me as: Function: intransitive verb Etymology: Middle English, probably back-formation from dawning daybreak, alteration of dawing, from Old English dagung, from dagian 1 : to begin to grow light as the sun rises 2 : to begin to appear or develop 3 : to begin to be perceived or understood
Funny that I feel like I am the complete opposite of my name. I should've been called Irony.
4. Are any of your names patron saints? Goddess of Self-Pleasure
5. Do you like your name? Sure beats Esmerelda or Shaniqua or Fantasia. Dawn has come to fit me. I had an English professor who said she didn't trust the name Dawn -- it was "too new" (the woman was older than the eggnog in the fridge at Ted's old workplace!). I liked my name more for that very reason!
6. Is there any part of your name you don't like? The fact that my last name proves that I am related to some of the most rednecked people who presently walk this earth, although, arguably, some of them are dragging their knuckles in the dirt. I used to think I would keep my name if ever I got married; now, in addition to the other traits I want in a husband, a decent last name is starting to rank higher and higher! As far as my first name, it ASTOUNDS me how many people call me at work and sound perfectly stunned that "Dawn" is a FEMALE name!!! WTF?!?!
7. Do you have any nicknames? Dusk. Midnight. Dawn of the Dead. Bitch. Cunt. Snarky Little Shit. Oh, the list goes on, but I'm sure more of you have additions to the list that I haven't even heard! (And no, I'm not encouraging you to share!)
8. Any ideas of what you'd like to name your kids? Crouton. Seriously, it's the only original name left! Crouton and Cobalt, if they end up being twins. :)
9. Any odd facts about your name? It's in a dictionary and is translated into every language. It's also in the game "Magic: The Gathering" -- apparently it's a deck of cards. And Amber is just a stripper name. No question about that!
10. Just for fun, add up the letters in your name then keep adding the digits until you get one number. What's the number? I did this years ago. We came up with 6, which is also my life number that you get from doing the same math on my birthdate.
On iTunes: Peyote Circus, "Queen Nicotina (ALP remix)"
Many one-way streets in Crystal City are now open to two-way traffic. But the banners now read: "Now you can go both ways!" Kind of rivals the pro-gay slogan for Philadelphia: "Get your history straight and your nightlife gay." I'm sure the marketing genius for the new Crystal City traffic flow is gently banging his or her head off a brick wall right now. ;)
And in a perfect case of irony:
On iTunes: Type O Negative, "My Girlfriend's Girlfriend"
I have a thousand meetings tomorrow, not the least stressful of which will be my performance review. But I asked for and will receive a comp day on Wednesday, so Angie says drinks are on her tomorrow night. On Wednesday, I plan to visit the Smithsonian Folklife Festival, which is part of my plan to enjoy the city I'm in instead of avoiding it like the plague.
I'm also making plans to take a two-week jaunt to the west coast in August to see Shan's new home and to possibly escape to Seattle and L.A. This ain't so bad. I will miss the hell outta her and Alex when they move, but it's nice to know too that I always have a place to escape ... a place to land if all falls to shit 'round here. And after that trip, Journal Con D.C. is another glorious thing to look forward to. Hurrah! I feel vital again -- something I haven't felt in a long time. Not to disparage the life I had/have, but it's great to be involved, to be planning and dreaming and anticipating something, anything. To not be dreading or simply just waiting.
I spent yesterday re-arranging my bedroom. It's still a freakin' disaster, thanks in part to my kitten who trashed the room last night, but I'm preparing for some new furniture and simply wasn't happy just cleaning. Everything is a thousand times more difficult with carpal tunnel, so I didn't quite accomplish as much as I had hoped. But I did spare some time for a hot date with my Jelly Osaki vibrator before "Six Feet Under," and life is good again. For now. :) I may be singing a different tune tomorrow, but the beauty of low expectations is that I don't have too far to fall.
Everybody send warm, fuzzy thoughts over to Amy, who is traveling to see her sick grandmother in the Show Me State (also known as the state of Misery, where I visited two months ago for our corporate idiot convention). Amy has become a great friend to me during the past few weeks, and she needs all the good ju-ju we can all possibly muster up for her!
1. Pumped: This week The Smoking Gun brings us this fabulous case of a small-town judge apparently lacking in certain areas under the robe. But he is working on that, literally, and often during such unimportant occurrences as murder trials, in front of witnesses. What is the worst instance you've ever witnessed of someone doing something other than his/her job while supposedly working? Note: the writers of the Friday Five believe surfing the Internet does not constitute inappropriate workplace activity.
Nothing THAT bad! But I was looking at my performance appraisal from last year, and my boss had noted how she wanted to see me interact with my colleagues more. Jesus Christ, if that means being cornered by her secretary, who takes a half hour to tell a five-minute story, then that's as inappropriate a way to spend time at work as I can think of. And then there's this woman, Popcorn Bandit, who naps in her office between raiding our candy jars. And yet people like ME are viewed as bad for the company!
2. Go cat go! It seems some lucky crack dealer escaped charges when stray cats distracted a drug sniffing dog. What most commonly distracts you from doing your job? And what is your favorite Stray Cats song? (Again, the writers of the Friday Five are imposing the ban on bloggers born after 1980 from answering Part 2 of this question).
Let me just say that I am not a huge fan of rockabilly music. But I did like "Sexy and 17" (if, in fact, I am remembering correctly that the Stray Cats performed it, so there's that answer). I vaguely remember bopping around to it in a jazz dance class I took with my cousin.
But what distracts me from my job? Real life. I don't really surf the Internet unless it's to catch a couple of blogs that show up in Sanskrit when I'm at home (due to unresolved font issues) and to read Slate and Yahoo! News, but I classify that as work, even when I'm reading about how Britney Spears and J-Lo's competition to become the next Liz Taylor with all their damn marriages.
But seriously, I love catching up with my staff/friends about what they did over the weekend, what's going on in their lives, etc. And we all vent and brainstorm and vent and smoke and vent and smoke some more and run out for food and bitch and smoke some more. Yeah, that's a typical day. Then we run out for cigarettes and caffeine. :)
3. Colorful language from white Republicans: A criticism over the current administration's ties to Halliburton ended with Vice President Cheney doling out sage advice to Democratic Senator Leahy: "Fuck yourself." Technically, there is no rule preventing the veep from cussing on the senate floor. If you could publicly give someone the f-bomb, who would it be? Have you ever surrendered to such an outburst? How did the receiver react?
I don't think ANYBODY would be or has ever been surprised to hear me drop the f-bomb. In fact, if I'm not cursing up a storm, someone would stage an intervention and ask what the fuck is wrong with me!
4. Score one for the feminist movement: First Lady Laura Bush and Theresa Heinz Kerry are competing in a cook-off for the ever-modern and edgy Family Circle magazine. Bush's oatmeal chocolate chunk cookies are up against Kerry's pumpkin spice cookies in the contest. Who do you think will win? Which of the two is most likely to cheat by tainting the other's cookie dough with ex-lax and damaging the judge's gastrointestinal tracts? And who reads Family Circle?
My money's on Theresa -- she does, after all, have that Heinz blood in her. Although, I did work at the Heinz factory circa 1998, and let me tell you, nothing smells worse than hot, brewing ketchup, mustard and relish at 7:30 a.m. on a Monday. Sheesh. It reeked faintly of boiling turds and hot sauce. I don't know what the fuck they put in their products, but they sure come out tasting great, so Theresa's pumpkin spice cookies may eat a hole in your stomach, but they'll taste the best going down.
Family Circle is still around?
5. Canadian Trash: Toronto politicians are exploring ways to rid their beautiful city of "tonnes" of garbage, including "sending it to the sun on a rocket ship." What item would you blast to the sun via rocket ship, so you never have to endure it on our green planet again?
Animal, mineral or vegetable? If we're allowed to ship trashy humans up there, then give me a few days to finalize my list. ;)
I am sick of diet pills, especially those fucking Trim Spa ads with Anna Nicole Smith. How can she say she owes her weight loss to those crappy $17-a-box pills? How is she posing naked now? That bitch should have a New York City subway map of stretch marks from dropping that much tonnage -- "I owe it all to Trim Spa, baby. ... and about 60 grand in plastic surgery and another million in airbrushing." Ship that bitch up into outerspace with her goddamned diet pills, please!!!
Inspired by my neighbor Sue who just came back from a two-week tour of Rome, Venice and Assisi, I spent last evening with Shan and Alex, ordering gourmet Italian pasta dinners (with garlic knots -- which are the best part of the meal!) from Valentino's and settling down to watch "Under the Tuscan Sun."
The movie was fantastic, if not slightly unrealistic. But the much–needed escapism on the part of the viewer and on the part of Diane Lane's "Frances" (or "Francesca," as she came to be known by her hot Italian lover) provided so many meaningful lessons, not the least of which is that sometimes you have to stop searching for ladybugs and fall asleep in the grass for awhile; you may awaken covered by those ladybugs and the beauty and bounty that you expected them to bring.
I take two lessons from this. One, that "girl's night out" has become "girl's night in," and while it's different, it's not so in a bad way. Sure, we loved our days past of barhopping, getting drunk and meeting lots of men who were fascinated by the fact that we were so engrossed in our outrageous conversations that we failed to notice them lining up for a chance to talk to us. But we still have those great talks; we just have to move them inside the comfort of her condo so that Alex can crawl and play and try to talk and keep up with us while we are trying to keep up with her as she scoots around and tries to chew our cell phones if we're not quick enough to hide them. And while this isn't the life either of us expected, it's fulfilling in its own right. Watching the wonder in that baby's eyes at simply a cat walking by or the big smile she gets when she pulls herself into a standing position, well, it really makes the pressures and injustices of the world fall by the wayside.
The other lesson, albeit a cheesy one, is that we always find ourselves at a crossroads, and do we really want to remember those moments years down the road as the time we decided to stand idly by and let life happen or do we decide to make something different, maybe even something crazy and unexpected, occur?
We spent the afternoon renting storage units because, alas, she's really leaving town. I went "shopping" in her apartment, picking out furniture that she doesn't feel like paying to move across the country when she goes next month. She has already given her notice at work, and my boss has been overheard stating that she knows I'm out the door right behind her. And the fucked-up part is how McManagement is well aware (and has admitted that much) that they know I'm miserable and wishing to sprint. But what I know they don't understand is that I love my job and my team so much that I stay for those reasons. And I've never been shy in saying how I would like to see things improved and how I would be so happy if they listened to my ideas and allowed me to help implement them. I don't want to be a marked woman -- I don't want them to write me off like this; I want to be given a chance to not only do my job to the best of my ability, but also to expand, to branch out, to try new things and be given a chance to succeed at them. I have so much hope for that company, and I want to see it be the success that it once was. I want to be around to see that. And it pains me that they say, "Oh well," when they decide that I'm not sticking around for the long-term. It's that very behavior that drives out people like Shan and me. And it sucks. I may not love most of my superiors, but I love my work, and that should count for something. The CFO paid me the highest compliments the other day to Shan, and it thrills me that he sees my value, my contributions, my potential. But is he the only one? Why do employers automatically view the vocal minority as simply rebels? I was hired in the best interest of my job. Therefore, if I have a management title, shouldn't I be a contributing member of the management team? Why do they just seem to think that I'll get bored with talking and asking and dreaming until I finally find another outlet for it somewhere else?
Some shit has gone down at work this month, and I have a funny feeling that, even though I played the role in my opinion flawlessly, somehow this will be held against me. Apparently I am too honest. And since when is that a bad thing? I am thinking of renaming Demure!TM as Cleopatra; she is (and I am certain a few others are) in denial about the future of the company if we keep going in the status quo. You can't bandage a wound when it needs stitches; you can't close your eyes and plug your ears when the million-dollar idea is literally floating around in the lower ranks. I'm convinced that my conversations are being eavesdropped on, and while sure, I'm not Miss Politically Correct, but I am Miss Bitch Because I Care. And apparently my name came up for some more responsibilities, but rumor has it that Cleopatra put the kibosh on that one.
I haven't gotten my performance appraisal yet. What kills me most is how nobody outside of my immediate department has any clue how far I have come technologically. I mean, my skills have quadrupled; my problem-solving abilities have sharpened so much that when I do need a hand with something, it's because it's something I would have never known on my own. And I don't just whine and beg for help; I truly try to figure things out on my own before realizing that I could waste a hell of a lot of time being stubborn and not asking for help when clearly there's an easier way. I assume the review will come Tuesday, immediately following a big pow-wow that can go either way at this point on topics I'd rather not discuss here. I hate feeling like I'm being banished to the principal's office, where children are to be seen and not heard. And maybe I'm wrong in feeling that way (and for admitting to it to the powers-that-be), but I'm getting old. I know, 30 isn't old, but I can understand why people who have been in power for longer than I've been alive can be skeptical of "kids" like me who have a million ideas and opinions. But one thing I learned from my mom is that sometimes the child does know best; sometimes it takes someone who is far removed from the processes and the problems to see the answer, plain as day. And I would be perfectly embarrassed if I were the one holding the million-dollar solution and felt too afraid to share it.
I hate to get all "Stuart Smalley," but I am good enough and doggone it, people like me. Scot gave me a reality check recently -- if I think I've done OK, then I've only done OK. If I think I did great, then I did great. Simple as that. If I don't see myself as valuable, nobody else will either. And if I see myself as valuable and others don't, then that's their oversight.
But that's everywhere I've been. I've always written it off as my age -- that you're supposed to blend in and wear long skirts and not be funky and eye-catching and vocal if you want to be taken seriously. I see people every day who pass themselves off as submissive, responsible adults, and they fare the best in the working world. And if I did that, I might achieve the same level of comfort, theoretically. But I would never be able to look in the mirror and believe that I was true to myself.
I guess I struggle because I've been a dismal failure in relationships; work is all I really have. I mean, people always meet you and ask, "What do you do?" or "Who are you?" And one's job title or profession always comes out of his or her mouth when posed such a question. And my answer has always been, "I'm a writer" or "I'm a budding entrepreneur" or "I'm a problem-solver." I've held positions in many companies in many different roles; to say I am just one thing is to discount everything else of which I am (or could be) capable. I am a GODDESS!!!
Quote of the day: "I'm ready to cut off my hair, braid it and hang myself with it." -- Angie, wondering whether the July issue of the paper would ever fucking just die already.
And it won't, but we had some bloody marys tonight to take the sting out of the ream of pain that never ends.
On iTunes: "The Weakness in Me," Melissa Etheridge
Four nights. It is now four nights in a row that I cannot sleep. I'm mentally exhausted, but my eyes are wide open. I seek to eliminate drama, but it just ends up bursting through the seams in unexpected places. Why can't my brain just shut off for a few hours?
On iTunes: "Aquarius/Let the Sun Shine In," The 5th Dimension
I put in a very tense half-day today. The payment situation was promised to be resolved, not without a few meetings, though, by tomorrow. Still no newspaper in-hand. The print shop is ready to kill me, because today was to be press day. My superiors are ready to kill me for what they view as an overreaction to a late check that they say isn't late. So I figured I'm already high up on everyone's shit list, so Angie and I took off in the afternoon for some well-deserved retail therapy at Wallyworld and Kohl's, where we found a shitload of sale items. I haven't been shopping in weeks, so it was great to fuck off the afternoon after a horrid staff luncheon with Princess Fatass.
Nothing more to say today. I'm just tired and frustrated. When I dropped Angie off at her car a half hour ago, I saw Demure!TM's car was still there. Shit. We had left our stuff in our offices, but we didn't want to be seen, so we figured, well, we have our keys and wallets; go home and face the consequences for disappearing tomorrow. Not like we had anything to do, had we stayed.
The Veggie Patch Playset (i.e., my commentary on the workplace) continues to grow. Today we add "Pee-Brain." We have a gal who pees every 15 minutes; Shan should know because she sits across from the ladies' room and sees her wearing a path in the carpet all day, every day. Pee-Brain's office is directly behind Shan's -- I keep joking that one day, she's going to have to pee so badly that she's going to burrow a hole in their mutual wall, just to get to the toilet sooner! This chick is also one of those who sits quietly in the stall when you arrive, do your business and leave. Shan is convinced Pee-Brain is going to have 'roids from pinching her ass cheeks together for so long! I always like to fuck around in the bathroom when I know P.B.'s in there -- I fuss with my hair, over-straighten my clothes, touch-up my makeup, etc. And she never makes a peep or a poot or anything like that, although you can just feel the hatred emanating from "her" stall.
Oh, I have to talk about her stall. She always uses the same one. One day, I went to the bathroom and the other two stalls were occupied, so I went into the one with the open door. Imagine my surprise that she was standing behind that open door! Did she get lost and forget her way out? Shall I leave a Metro map in her stall so she can have some sort of direction in finding the lock? I shrieked when I saw her, and she just looked glazed and confused, like she always does. I ended up running into the now-open accessible stall, only for someone else to take the middle stall and start pooping, unabashed. Oh, god, their bathroom antics are so symbolic of being surrounded by shit and dumb shit every day at that hellhole!!!
Heard from my bank today about the extended overdraft fee. They said you get charged that if your account is in the negatives for more than seven days. So, kids, float, don't bounce, your checks!
Work was its usual cyclone of stupidity. Due to an outstanding invoice, I am not getting the paper to press tomorrow as scheduled because I don't HAVE the paper. I can only wonder how many shades of purple Cruise Director is going to turn over this, and I'm certain Demure!TM's head is going to explode, but I am at peace with it. I haven't finished proofing the beast anyway, but I am not doing it tonight, that's for sure. I don't get paid more when it does hit the newsstands on time, so I'm not crying an ocean over a delayed schedule.
I talked to Demure about Angie's raise, which is of course above the up-to-3 percent that everyone else is getting. I am fine with this because she deserves it, although I am torn because she walked into an easy situation, whereas the designer and I did not but we didn't see any real bonuses out of creating order from chaos. I asked if I were getting a special favor raise-wise, and I was told that NOBODY else in Demure's staff was even getting near 3 percent. Surprisingly, I wasn't angry. I am going to budget for a raise for the designer, and I will approve Angie's increase. The thing is, I took the high road in every possible instance, and when I have my own company, I take with me a sense of knowing that, where my staff is concerned, I will take care of them wherever and whenever possible. Yeah, that and $3.50 will get me a grande sugar-free vanilla latte right now, but you know what? This unpaid-invoice crap will hopefully awaken them to the fact that I have kept these messes out of their hair for more than a year, and now that a situation has cropped up that I haven't been able to resolve (because it's out of my hands), maybe just maybe they will see how large a role I play in keeping everyone looking good. Or, more likely, it won't do anything but antagonize them, but let's face it, do I care? Not right now, no, not particularly. No incentive to.
I got a regular (read: non-furloughed) paycheck this time around. Woo hoo! In great news, my rental company is convinced I overpaid my rent last month (I'd turned it in a day late and added the $50 late fee). They said to forget the late fee and to pay $50 less this month. I ain't arguin' with THAT! It's so sad when $50 will literally make or break you.
The H.R. assistant is one of the happiest people you will ever meet, but we have an unwelcome guest in the office this week, and she was uncharacteristically frustrated today because of this person. I told Angie about it, and she said you know someone is a really bad human being if they "break" the happiest person on earth. LOL. Sad but true!
On iTunes: "Let Me Touch You For Awhile," Allison Krauss
Everyone at work is in a funk. You can tell it's performance appraisal season and, in my case, deadline season. Anyway, for all you worker bees out there, here's an article on how to land your dream job.
I checked my online bank statement today. They charged me an extra $30 insufficient funds fee, only they called this one an "extended" fee. I shot them a nasty note that if I had the money, I would've put it in sooner, for cripes' sake -- did I really like having my account at -$230 for the past 10 days? I am hitting the bank tomorrow and closing my account, and I told them as much. I titled my trouble ticket "insult to injury." Have you ever heard of an extended overdraft charge? Damn. God forbid my car insurance check didn't clear for two weeks, so I'd forgotten all about it. Without all the $30 charges for lack-o-funds and bounced checks, I might not have been so destitute.
Does it ever get easier? Wait, don't answer that. I did have a coupla fabulous things happen this month (that are simply not blog-worthy just yet; let me enjoy them and start to get used to them and try not to fuck them up!) to offset the agony, but it's always such a precarious balance between pleasure and pain that you just can't forget that the other exists and is equally as powerful.
I *~heart~* my new computer. That's all I have to say today.
Got it set up with relatively few injuries, save for hitting my head on the underside of the desk and getting a two-inch, bloody scratch from Kadi, who thought the 10 wires I had in my hand looked mighty tasty.
Spent today uploading MP3s. Still not done. What a PITA! I've got about 2,000 songs total, including the 350 that were on there, waiting for me from the darling lad who configured the beast for me. I've been happily grooving all day. I deserved for something to be good in my otherwise stressful existence!
My Internet was down overnight. I'd brought work home and couldn't tackle it till Comcast left around 10 a.m. I spent the last four and a half hours working on one document, after spending six hours on it yesterday. Someone had given me an Excel spreadsheet full of crap submitted by 40 people, unedited. I thought the editing part would be the easiest. Turns out that things were not inputted in date order and could not be sorted, so I exported the load of crap to Word, where it turns out that after my sleep-addled self went and formatted every entry, only to find that nearly half of the entries were duplicates -- the two people who compiled the document put in the same events only with different contact information for the parties responsible for the events. Is 2:30 p.m. too early to have an adult beverage?
In better news, I got a new computer. I have a shitload of work to do this afternoon/evening, but tomorrow, I get to set it up. Yee-haw! It will be nice to start using Panther at home! Today, my little crappy system kept crashing because I had too many documents/applications open. Oh , to move into the new millennium technology-wise! Hurrah!
Word to the wise: please pause your iTunes at work because when your boss might just be standing at your desk when Lords of Acid's "You Wanna Suck My Pussy" comes blaring on. *sigh*
Is this month OVER yet? Angie and I are convinced that the month of June is the root of all evil and that we are adopting the saying, "That's so June!" whenever shit sucks.
I am inspired by a fellow blogger (who shall remain nameless) who is changing the focus of her blog to be more about the good things she's doing and less about the bitching (although we all know and adore her for her superior rants about asshats, fucktards and the intellectually underachieving).
Somebody made things "right," or at least "even," for me at work. That's not to say that I have any inclination to retire from this place, but I do want to be at peace and be able to take things in stride while I am still around. I think a big part of my problem was an altogether too clear picture of the unfairness of it all. But I have to keep remembering that no matter what they say or do, I should be treated as their secret weapon instead of as a thorn in their side or a bug up their asses. Isabel made it crystal clear in previous comments to not give work my all because I will have nothing left when I can enjoy my personal time. Of course, I'm in crazy-busy mode again now at work, but there is a lot to be said for going home, enjoying a cocktail (or a cold glass of soda, which I tend to enjoy even more), watching a mindless sitcom and getting a good night's rest. It may not be the most productive use of my time, but it does allow me to recharge and not have to think too hard about the injustices of the working world in general. Because, as one of Shan's old friends put it, workplaces are nothing more than the same cast of characters in different buildings with different names. So in my hurry to job-search, I have to remember that there are going to be trade-offs, and jobs that sound damn good in print may only sound good that way. This clarity gives me the freedom to go into an interview and truly say that I like what I do and to wait for the employer to impress me just as much as I am expected to impress him or her.
Speaking of a good night's sleep, I didn't get one. The apartment cooled down to 84 degrees, and I slept for two hours, after 5 a.m. The a/c is supposedly going to be back on today. Turns out that my whole block in my complex lost the a/c, and we were being offered temporary shelter at a local middle school. I sat on my balcony most of the night and enjoyed the breeze. I hate having the screen door open because Kadi knows how to get outside, but she only tried to get out once, and I had to take my chances during the night. But she was dancing on my head around 7:30 a.m., so all was well. I am dressed like a hooker today, practically. Just a T-Shirt, short skirt and some shimmery scarf around my waist. I know I'll need to meet with my boss later today, and I know she'll eyeball me like she always does when I'm not dressed too well for work, but my ass was hot and I wasn't about to bury myself in layers of clothing in my hot little abode.
Ergh. Anyway, back to work! Another working weekend awaits, oh joy! Happy Friday to all!
It is 89 degrees in the old hacienda this evening. Shit.
I knew the a/c was going to go, so I did put in a call to maintenance late last night. But it totally went kaput today. By the time I got home from work ('round 8:15 p.m.), it was blazing hot. The cats started bitching at me the second they saw me.
Oy vey. I guess that means no getting any sleep tonight. Bah.
In better news, other things are just peachy. Peachier than ever, if I dare say so myself. And one thing I must mention, the H.R. director showered me with compliments today over Angie's review. Really complimented my writing and my extensive comments. I refrained from making any snarky remarks about what a sham I anticipate my own review to be -- best to keep her thinking I am a true professional! ;)
Oh, and I was caught headbanging again in my office by the same executive who caught me last time. Today's music? Winger. LOL. I think he's just surprised to see any signs of life in the mausoleum we know and love as the Veggie Patch!
Mom just sent two loaves of banana bread to the inferno workplace, which I am sharing with Scot and Angie. And she even finally sent the recipe! It is a good day in the 'hood. Mmmm, bananas. ...
Angie suggested we hire him at our newspaper to be our cartoonist. LOL. The Newspaper Gestapo already wants us to not have a toon anymore in the first place. :)
So today is performance review day (not mine, thank god. I'm writing them for my staff.) Demure!TM called to tell me, in not so many words, that my review of Angie doesn't mean crap. Apparently she is hoping to just give her a better salary in line with some salary survey that the mcmanagement got their hot little hands on. And no matter how I rate her performance (which will be decent), we have to pick a percentage number out of the air, but I have been told to go beyond the up-to3-percent that the rest of us are working with.
Shit, at that rate, the way Demure!TM hates me, I'll end up OWING them money for the negative percentage I'm sure to get!
Anyway, about the salary survey, I was FURIOUS! I reminded her that they paid me less than than she's getting when I was in that position myself; furthermore, I've seen no compensation for holding the department together when the previous editor left, not to mention that my salary is about half of what it is supposed to be (per the salary survey I brought in when I earned my recent job).
Not to mention, we were careful to keep her salary at a safe distance behind mine because mine is so low for the skills I have and duties I perform. I don't hear anything about adjusting MY salary!
What did I do to constantly be overlooked? I feel like I am bound and gagged and held prisoner in somebody's trunk when I'm here. I told my boss to skip giving me a review and just send me a check for my aggravation. :)
We need a little bit of fun around here. :) This meme has been whored with screaming orgasmic ecstasy from Tiff.
A - Act your age? Yes and no. I refuse to be "30" in the sense that I would have to dress like an adult. I will always be in miniskirts and trendy tops and funky jewelry, as long as I can get away with it. The thing is, people with whom I went to high school are on their second or third spouse/child by now, while others are barflies. I might someday like to have the whole familial unit thing going (or at least a regular sex partner -- the idea of taking romantic weekenders to Europe sure beats changing diapers!). But I hate bars and singles events and stuff. I'd rather go out to dinner and dancing and have a night that doesn't involve four hours dedicated to finding parking at four different establishments.
B - Born on what day of the week? Friday, May 25, 1974. Anyway, Mom says it was a Friday. She went into labor when she was watching a movie, and I popped out Saturday morning at, get this, dawn.
C - Chore you hate? Litter patrol. Maddie refuses to cover up her shit so the apartment stinks. Then she wipes her furry butt on the floor. And now Kadi has learned to do it, too. So not only am I constantly sanitizing the litterbox, I am also cleaning the fucking carpets.
D - Dad's name? Fucking Worthless Piece of Shit.
E- Essential makeup item? Foundation. Eyeliner. Mascara. Eyeshadow. Tweezers. Lipstick. Blush. Almay Bright Eyes. Don’t make me choose!
F - Favorite actor? Johnny Depp. That’s one sexy mothafucka. *drool*
G - Gold or silver? Always silver.
H – Hometown? Scenic White Oak, Pa., just south of Pittsburgh. Born in West Mifflin, moved to McKeesport, then to White Oak, then to Pittsburgh, where I rented places in Shadyside, Bloomfield, Highland Park and Mt. Washington. The latter being my favorite. Also lived in the dorms in Downtown (better known as "Dahntahn").
I - Instruments you play? Used to play violin and viola. My middle school didn't have enough kids in orchestra, so I got nominated to join. But for the life of me, I couldn’t read music. So I would hear the music and mirror the girl across from me before I could play it back … and that worked, surprisingly.
J - Job title? Corporate Chew Toy. But it’s "Editor-in-Chief" on the business cards.
K - Kids? My children are two ridiculously adorable felines named Maddie (age 8) and Kadi (age 1).
L - Living arrangements? A lovely one-bedroom with a balcony in Alexandria.
M - Mom's name? Robin. I also have a cousin named Robyn, who was named in honor of my mom.
N - Need... To grow a set and turn my life around in my favor. To get a new job, get healthy physically and get laid on a more regular basis!
O - Overnight hospital stays? One week in hell INOVA Alexandria. Fucking death-trap.
P - Phobias? Heights. Love being up high and seeing a gorgeous view, but I threw myself down some steps as a kid and broke my wrist (see X-Rays, below), so I get terrified of stepping onto an escalator and looking down.
Q - Quote you like? "There are so many selves in everybody, and to explore and exploit just one is wrong, dead wrong, for the creative process." -- James Dickey
R - Religious affiliation? I guess it would be Pagan. I don't know -- I'm spiritual and attuned to the universe, but I tend to run screaming from organized religion.
S - Siblings? No biological ones. I have a half-sister and -brother somewhere. But I always refer to my friend Shannon as my sister.
T - Time you wake up? The alarm goes off at 6:35. So around 8:10 a.m., I get out of bed. On an early day.
U - Unique talent? For pulling myself out of horrible situations. I just have to be ready, then it's full steam ahead.
V - Vegetable you refuse to eat? I remember something called wax beans. Ugh. Just as bad as lima beans. Nasty.
W - Worst habit? I have to finish the food on my plate. My ex-stepfather used to beat the shit out of me if I didn't finish my vegetables or my dinner or whatever (when Mom wasn't looking; I never told her until after she left him). Now it’s like I can't have half a container of ice cream in the freezer -- I must consume it all!
X - X-rays you've had? Quite a few. Broke my wrist when I was one and a half years old. Then I had a shitload of sonograms when I was trying to convince the hospital that I had appendicitis last year at this time. They didn't believe me. The organ turned to gangrene in the meantime. Yeah, I've had my innards examined on camera a lot!
Y - Yummy food you make? I am best known for my party appetizers, but what keeps people talking is my alcoholic apricot slush.
I'm overwhelmed with the public and private outpouring of support for me over my job situation. All I have to say is, "I love you guys!" I'll be contacting a few of you separately with more information, but really, y'all have restored my faith in humanity. To have (sometimes) complete strangers taking an active interest in my well-being has knocked off my frog socks (thanks, Janna, for sending those!). And thanks for humoring me and sticking around while I alternate between whining, sharing my journey and dreaming out loud. As a blogger, you sometimes wonder if people are really out there reading this stuff, but I can attest that I have the best readers in the blogosphere. So, again, thanks. And I will be here to help you as soon as I get back on my feet!
Thanks to each and every one of you who have offered me kind and helpful comments, and a special thanks to one of you in particular who contacted me to offer personal assistance in the job search. The resume is updated, it's been sent to my lovely reader (I'll keep you anonymous for now!), and I also applied for a job in my area! Unfortunately, some application error ensued during the last adventure, so I will send a hard copy post-haste.
I didn't sleep well, thinking about another fault of my boss -- she criticizes the person, not the behavior. When she stepped into my office on Thursday, she said, "I am embarrassed. You embarrassed me and I apologized to (the staff person) for your behavior." Several months ago, she'd said, "I am disappointed in you."
Mom has been great. She said she did not abuse me as a child; she did everything she could to instill confidence and the ability to dream as well as to be proud of who I am and to share my gifts with others. And it pains her to see the "spiritual massacre" that keeps occurring at all of my jobs. She knows I'm in trouble spiritually when she doesn't hear from me. And she's right -- the worse things get, the more inward I turn. That's basically because my lack of brain/mouth filter will get me into even more trouble. I have always been excoriated and definitely punished for saying exactly what I think at the exact moment I feel it. I pull no punches at work -- everyone, at any given time, knows where they stand with me. And I get in trouble because I fight for my job, for my product, for my well-being. I do not feel this is a punishable action. Sometimes my methods aren't what others would view as politically correct, but I always, always put on a good face for the public and for stakeholders. Companies brag that they foster communication across departments as well as levels of management, but they sure do slap you on the wrist the second you share with them your doubts, your ideas, your struggles, your values.
Don't worry -- I will start my business someday. Isabel had asked what was holding me back. I will tell you. I give myself to my job full-throttle. And when I come home, I lie on the couch and am too tired to function, either mentally or physically. Angie says it's like when you break up with someone -- it takes twice as long to get over the relationship. Same thing with meetings, with workdays, with setbacks -- you need to allow some time to lick your wounds and repair your armor so that you can get through the next day. You take eight hours of pain, then 16 hours to recuperate so you can go into your next eight hours of hell.
No more.
No more.
No MORE!!!
I registered a professional domain for myself. I am not good with the web design, though. There is a SiteStudio where I can plug in stuff and the Web host will crank out a page for me. I don't have a lot to put on the site, other than my dreams. But I will get there. Where there is a will, there is a way, and I've never fallen short on having ideas.
So, anyway, bear with me during this difficult time. I took my coins and turned them into grocery money, so I am OK till payday on the 22nd. Just no going out till then, which is fine. I guess I needed a reason to sit at home and spend some time salvaging my career and my sanity. In a year from now, none of us will remember how taxing these days have been. :)
Psst, click the link above and get the questions for yourself!
Now, on with mine. ...
1. Fat, drunk ... and stupid: Light beer sales are set to overtake regular beer sales for the first time, as trend-chasing cattle, er, Americans, latch on to low-carb diets. What1s wrong with this picture? And is light beer a sick joke? Discuss. Meantime, the writers of the Friday Five will keep drinking Bud and Sierra, and not watching American Idol.
I've always been a fan of light beers. That is, till I tasted the sweet nectar of Yuengling. Now, Coors Light really does taste like the lead-infested water from the Potomac River. But I can get down with Miller Lite for dieting purposes. I had lots of sex after drinking Miller Lite (I'm not much of a beer drinker anymore; perhaps if I started again, I could get laid a lil more often!).
And don't fuck with "American Idol." The show is fine; it's some of the contestants who make me want to stab my aorta with a letter opener. (Read: As the winner of the 2004 competition was about to be announced, Ryan Semencrest found a necklace on the floor. He asked whose it was, and Ghetto Fabulous shrieked, "It's MINES!")
2. Hershey Lite, please: Candy-makers are now making low-fat and healthy candy, while this guy is breakdancing to lose, oh, 700 pounds! If you could do one non-traditional activity that would help you lose weight, what would it be?
Masturbating. No question. My Jelly Osaki is the best fucking invention on earth, next to the vibrating bath ball. I'd prefer to have marathon, championship sex, but like I have a dozen toys to choose from, I would need at least that many different partners in order to keep the bonus rounds more interesting!
3. More reasons to avoid fast food: This poor grease-eatin' schmuck was knifed when he took too long in McDonald's drive-through. Tragic. But let's back up: we've all wanted to shank an obnoxious customer taking his or her sweet-ass time while we're in line for something really important, like the bathroom or the bar. When was the last time this happened to you, where were you and who was the self-important jerk? What did you do?
Oh my fucking god. I am loath to name one single time in which I went out and DIDN'T want to smack someone over the head with my organizer bag.
I'll give you the most recent example. I was at the dollar store last week, and the schmuck in front of me gave the cashier four items. So he was charged the $4 and change for sales tax. He threw a FIT and said he only had two items. I'll spare you the agony I witnessed; suffice to say, he'd bought two candle-holders and two candles but assumed a holder and a candle could be sold as a unit. *exasperated, heavy sigh* So he put back a candle and a holder. So now that his purchase totaled just above $2, he handed the cashier a $50 bill.
I still want to hunt that motherfucker down and hold a blowtorch to his dangly bits.
4. More from the creative eBay-er files: In possibly one of the greatest high school pranks of all time, this ingenius soon-to-be grad posted his high school's building for auction on eBay. (chuckle, chuckle) Yeah, yeah, we remember the rebuffed ex-husband who posted the wedding dress and the guy who auctioned himself, but ... what clever item would you dare to auction off on eBay? How would you advertise it? How would you avoid legal implications after the auction?
At this point, where I am so beyond broke it ain't even funny (and payday is 11 days away and I'm still half a car payment behind!), I am trying to figure out how to make some fast cash. So I think I will have to sell my bitching services online. Yes, I think that would do just fine. I would target my campaign to (wives of) husbands who get tired of their nagging old ladies -- I could harass the hell out of them and withhold sex from them, and by the time they get home to the ol' ball-and-chain, she will suddenly look appealing to them again. For extra money, I might even toss in a bad blow job. Or is there such a thing? I am sure I could do a bad hand job, though, because of my carpal tunnel.
I would avoid legal implications by saying that I am a family counselor and I went to great extents to save a marriage. :)
On second thought, I would rather auction my boss off to a mortuary school as a practice body. And she won't be dead when I ship her ass fourth-class, but she should be by the time she arrives to the lucky winner!
5. From the "you deserved to be scammed" files: Grandparents now taken for all they're worth (fine, no more than $800, but it's principle we're going after here) by callers claiming to be their grandsons. How, oh how does dumb stuff like this happen? What was the dumbest scam you ever heard? And your explanation for the idiots who fell for it?
Oh, for shit's sake, I'm sick of these scams. I just heard today about another one where scammers are calling, supposedly from Visa or Mastercard, and basically feeding you all the info about yourself and your card. All you have to do is say yes or no, then give them your three-digit security number. As soon as they have their hot mitts on that number, you suddenly see charges on your account because you were dumb enough to enable them to order shit off the Internet.
All you have to do is get Caller ID. Really. Or turn the phone off (as I am apt to do) and pretend no one is calling. Really, studies show that answering your phone is bad for your mental health anyway -- does anybody ever call you just to say hello and ask how you are? Most people call because they want you to do them a favor or lend them money, or they want to say something to you that you probably don't want to hear (admit it, how much unsolicited advice do you get?). Nobody ever calls to say, "Hi, you mean a lot to me and I just wanted to say I care." I'd fall over dead in shock if someone other than my mom did that. Hell, I don't even do it. Hence, you need to remember that, when you pick up the phone, it's going to end up with you agreeing to do something you don't want to do. And if you're that fucking stupid to hand over your credit card information (or, for that matter, give your *real* telephone number to creditors), then you better hold your nose, 'cause you'll be sailing down shit creek.
Not only does the job suck, but I somehow fucked up my checkbook, to the point of being in the negative numbers -- negative $200 to be exact. Oh, and don't forget the additional $30 insufficient funds fee that will be slapped on. I do keep a checkbook, but I somehow am off by about $400. Why god, why do you not love me?!?!
I should have taken it as a sign when I drove to work today and the front entrance to the parking lot was closed for construction. I should have kept driving instead of going to the back entrance.
Apparently I am still in kindergarten, only I get paid.
My boss just had a closed-door meeting with me to tell me that she's embarrassed by me and that I should be embarrassed of myself, essentially. See the previous post for my snarky comment. I had sent the same words to the person who set up the conference call (a fellow staff member who hates the evil cunt bitch just as much as I do). Demure!TM apologized to the staff member for me being a jerk and came to give me hell and to suggest that I should no longer be allowed to send e-mail to anybody but Angie.
Oh was I pissed. I have hundreds of letters from readers, contributors and leaders who thank me profusely for my time, energy, patience, consideration, kindness, etc. And I told her I would be more than happy to give her a copy of each one. Hell, I had someone call me screaming about something right before this debacle ensued. And I handled it with grace. And I was not even the right person for the caller to contact, but I said I'd handle it for them and do whatever I in my limited power could do.
Anyway, the staff person is at a level higher than me, so I of course got reamed for being rude to a "director," even though this person, for all intents and purposes, is my equal. And all I had said was that the committee's failure to consider the publication schedule, especially when they claim they want to be helpful to the publication, seemed ironic and perhaps a sign of future obstacles. THIS is why I am an embarrassment to my boss. THIS caused her to call and apologize to this staff member. THIS incited a half-hour meeting with me to tell me what a fuck-up she thinks I am.
I think she was just fishing for something negative to go on my review that is coming this month. A reason to not give me a raise.
I never get a thank-you or a compliment when I pull off miracles or do something really creative. I never hear about my performance in general, only when she wants to tell me I'm a disappointment or an embarrassment. Indeed, that only racks up to two instances, and I am not saying I agree with either one. I beg for feedback on my performance, but this is what I get -- a pitched bitch about an e-mail she thought was in poor taste. For cripes' sake, the other staff member hates the Queen as much as I do! She hates being caught in the drama, and we have had many aside conversations about this ridiculous proposal to form a Gestapo. I wasn't criticizing her for coordinating the call on the particular date (she'd sent a snotty e-mail my way to remind me how difficult it is to coordinate 11 people for a phone call, whereupon I admitted I was just being bitchy about the committee call in general).
I feel like I'm at the wrong end of a landslide. I feel today like I have no peace. I dread work, I dread e-mail, I dread hearing what everybody thinks is wrong with me. I'm fine. I am a hell of a worker and person in general. I do not question my worth. I do, however, question why I deal with shit from people who no longer (or never did) matter.
So the Queen of the Underworld, the asshole who is trying to form a Gestapo to oversee newspaper operations (she would be the self-appointed leader of said Gestapo, despite no qualification to do anything but make people miserable), has ordained that we must all be on a conference call on June 23. The problem? That's the day my paper goes to press! You know, if you're going to create another worthless committee and it's going to discuss how they can supposedly help me, wouldn't you THINK that they'd find out the fucking publication SCHEDULE?!?! I refuse to participate in a call that talks about how they can overrun my job when I have to go DO the job!
That I filled out an extensive survey commanded by the Cruise Director of Club Medicated that will probably end up collecting dust in my personnel file. And it ain't an anonymous survey.
In my "drafts" folder, I preserved my survey in its entirety, being that it will probably be ignored or I will be punished for it, which I did note in the "additional comments" section at the end. Cruise Director says he will be the only one to read the surveys, and he will present a summary to the other execs. Which means that the people who either couldn't be bothered to write real answers or those who simply went all Stepford on us and said they love Club Med and have no complaints, well, those will probably be presented, and the rest of us (okay, just me) who went apeshit and wrote five full pages of commentary will have wasted a hell of a lot of time and effort for, probably, nothing.
Anyway, here is part of my completed survey. And yes, I have no problem telling the CEO what's on my mind. He usually rejects my ideas to my face anyway or embarrasses me in public. I owed him a piece of my mind. Unlike a few of my colleagues, I can spare it.
3. Name three things that prevent you from doing a better job here at (the Veggie Patch).
Semantics. I am very much a decision-maker and if I don’t make a decision (or get an answer) on the spot, I lose my sense of urgency. When we have to schedule five meetings and run the idea up the flagpole, I forget why I even asked or involved anyone else in my process. Sometimes, I don’t feel like I own my decisions. I’ve got a great title and job, but I don’t possess a great sense of empowerment. I just feel like I have to check with everyone on decisions I make, or solicit input on trivial things, just to Cover My A**. The whole CYA mentality that mandates us to copy 10 people on our correspondence (or be one of the people copied) is tiring. I personally don’t give a hoot who’s responsible for what, just as long as the work gets done. And I don’t get why people can’t forward an e-mail to the right person, instead making us re-direct our requests. What a waste of time! I can’t count how many times I say, “Forget it, I’ll do (whatever the task) myself,” and that only serves to reward bad behavior and keep me from my work.
Even though you may see three answers in that statement, that was only my first answer. :)
So I was sitting at my desk, headbanging, today to a nice little tune by Motley Crue (I was downloading some Dokken at the time as well). I was happily singing "Girls Girls Girls" when I tossed my hair and noticed one of the executives standing in my doorway. I tried to explain that I was inspired by the "hair metal" specials on VH1, but he kind of Krispy Kremed and got all glazed and confused. Oh well. I think he was just shocked to see me happy at work!
Another colleague noted that I've been smiling a lot today. Yes, I have. :) Life is good. I've got hair metal on the iTunes, lots of plans for the summer and no desire to succumb to stress that I didn't create. I'm so very Zen today. That, and I just downloaded some Vinnie Vincent Invasion! ;)
Town Crier looks more like hell than usual today. Seriously, she paid somebody to make her look like a toilet brush. Her hair is all bleached on top and dark shit brown at the nape of her neck. It looks like a feathered bowl cut. I want to turn her upside down and clean the shit streaks out of the ladies' room bowls.
OK, so I am watching the "Top 40 Hair Bands of All Time" series on VH1. This, of course, is the follow-up to the "100 Most Metal Moments of All Time" series that I am almost caught up on.
I am very glad my shipment of vibrators just arrived, because after I saw Kip Winger interviewed at No. 12, I have all the mental fodder I need to break in those bad boys. Jesus Christ, all I have to do is think of that man, and I suddenly feel the need to wring out my panties. *slurp*
I assume Bon Jovi will be at the top of the countdown when it ends at midnight. The Vibrator Consultant had to instruct me how to load up the battery pack on the Jelly Osaki, and it's buzzing quite happily now. I think I'll wait till midnight, then, to really be ready to ride that purple plastic up and down the damn Beltway.
One thing I do know, my ass is gonna be downloading scores of hair metal from Limewire tomorrow. Not that I don't have every single fucking one of the Top 40 Hair Bands' albums, but they're on cassette. I just had a flashback -- I was listening to all of these bands 17 years ago. Seventeen years! Christ, why do I feel so YOUNG when I listen to this stuff, especially when it should be making me realize how OLD I am getting? I am groovin' to Bulletboys, Saigon Kick, Kix, Cinderella, Ratt, Warrant, Danger Danger, Steelheart, White Lion, Whitesnake, Great White, Vixen, Lita Ford and a shitload of others, and I have never felt happier to have my ass parked on the couch, reliving my early years. *happy sigh* Viva le spandex!
The training from hell ate up my morning, and recovering from it (read: bitching) took up the next two hours.
Essentially, we learned nothing — we had to count off by fours and be arranged in groups. (Note to self: stop sitting with friends when you arrive.) The trainer is a dumb bitch who is friends with Frosty, and she was spotted reporting to Frosty the activities from our time with her — time she spent watching us as we did our group work.
I rather enjoyed my group. (Miracle of miracles.) I was nominated to be the silent observer, facilitator and spokesperson, so I had lots of notes that I chose not to share with the larger group. Ah, but not to worry — I got my zingers in. I just asked someone else to read my notes aloud. ;)
Although I was supposed to be silent, I noted that they seemed to me to view this as an exercise in futility (’cause that’s what I felt). They opened up immediately and stated that they were reluctant to participate, due to a general distrust of the activity as well as what would (or, more likely, would not) happen with any information shared. They said they knew it was only an exercise, but there was no point to it. They also said they were kind of intimidated/uncomfortable, because we all know the trainer is Frosty’s best friend, and even though the Upper McManagement wasn’t included in the trainings, we know nothing is a secret.
Once this was established, everyone suddenly got with the program and decided to do the exercise how they wanted to, not how they thought the “instructor” would want it. God, that woman was worthless. Didn’t do anything to tie the exercises together (we were given a tray with construction paper, copy paper, pipe cleaners, tape, scissors and straws, and we were to build something out of it with no clear objective as to what the fuck we were wasting our day there for). Didn’t tell us how to apply teamwork to our jobs. Didn’t say anything memorable.
I did break my silence to suggest using the pipe cleaner to hang ourselves or maybe make some construction-paper characters we could bring to an untimely demise in the same manner, and they realized that even though I work all the damn time and speak to no one but my friends, I’m actually not horrible to be forced to sit with!
Oh, but that fucking trainer watched me fill out my evaluation — do I just emanate “troublemaker”? It was two pages — I was so busy spewing vitriol on the first page that I decided I didn’t have the energy for the second page. I rated her as a “2? as a trainer, being that she didn’t, oh, TALK or teach us anything. There was a question on “What tools did you acquire that could help you better in your job?” I answered, “Pipe cleaners.” LOL
The evaluation asked what we learned. I said I was shocked to find that people here really do have ideas and motivation and can solve problems creatively when asked.
I tried to misspell a bunch of words, but the way Dumb Bitch was watching me (I was practically ripping holes in the paper because I was pounding out my words. No wonder I have carpal tunnel) and saw how much I bled blue ink on my paper. I don’t care — I don’t have to impress her, because she got paid for her work and sure as hell didn’t impress any of us.
Goody, now I get to stay late an extra five hours while the rest of these idiots go skipping home early. But maybe the day wasn’t so futile after all — I actually realized how smart some of these take-it-easy (insofar as working a full day) types actually are. I learned maybe we should be giving them real challenges. Too bad I’m the only one in the building who seems to share that sentiment.
Subtitle:'Redneckopoly' comes to my apartment complex. Rejected title: Put down the word-of-the-day calendar if you're illiterate. For the love of god.
Typically, I benefit by living next-door to a gal who works in the rental office. I get special considerations and favors when I need them. Unfortunately, other residents know she lives next door, and that tends to mean that she has assholes knocking at all hours.
Tonight was no exception. From 10:30 p.m. till 11:20 p.m., some jackass stood outside and knocked. Yes, he was here for an hour. I kept hopping over to the peephole, and he never lost patience. I went over to my balcony, and I saw not only her car, but also her brother/roomate's motorcycle (which fuckface likes to sit and rev in the parking lot, especially at 7 a.m. this morning, but that's a topic for another day). She was ignoring him. How nice for the other residents on this floor.
Someone ended up coming up and talking to Redneck. I overheard him say that he has "persistency" -- that's why he kept a-knocking. Finally, dumbass just left. I kept turning up the TV volume but still couldn't drown him out. Ugh. Kill. I don't even care that he wasted his time in the hallway -- I just weep for the human language. It's bad enough that I don't often have opportunity to hear English spoken in my city -- and when I finally do, it is massacred. Oh, the humanity. And the "persistency" of illiteracy.
1. My kitten, Kadi, turned 1 year old yesterday. Hurrah! Now if she'd only calm the fuck down, I'll be a happy kitty mommy.
2. Vibrators are in! And I shall get them tonight! Yay!
3. My horoscope keeps saying shit about me finally getting into a long-term relationship soon. That will be good for me, assuming it's true. I wouldn't say that my life is incomplete without a relationship, but I will say that it could definitely enhance it. Now, to find some contenders! A friend of a friend put an ad on Craig's List and got 50 responses within the first day!
4. Scenes from a yard sale: Angie had a yard sale this weekend, and all we can say is that people are really fucking cheap, especially people with "diplomat" plates, who bartered because they didn't want to pay a whole dollar for a purse she only used once -- they only wanted to pay a quarter. And what's up with people buying used lipsticks? Ugh!
5. Cruise Director just sent us a survey about our jobs. He promises that if he gets 100 percent participation, we get to dress down for August. Um, what part of "we already dress down from June 1 to September 30" did he forget? Anyway, I want to answer honestly, but I just don't see the point. I mean, he wants to know what three things about our job and agency communication drive us nuts, as well as three things that would improve our performance and make us happier employees. I want to say we should burn down the place. Think he'd be amused?
6. Children in stores are the best birth control. Really. Screaming little banshees, they all are. God. Store managers need to do us a favor and put condoms in every aisle. Although, I might just want to hand the condoms to the parents of the unruly mongrels. ...
7. Scenes from a Popeye's: This happened awhile ago, but there was an Arab, an Asian and a Hispanic (doesn't this sound like I'm setting up a joke?) waiting on me. I asked for a Number One. Seriously, how can you fuck it up when I order a meal? Well, they did. They all started yapping at each other in their native tongues, but they didn't understand each other, so they turned on the poor, unsuspecting white girl (moi) to translate Spanish to the Asian lady. I couldn't. Fifteen excruciating minutes later, I was handed a non-spicy meal, when the Number One clearly indicated it was a spicy chicken sandwich. The saving grace was that, while I waited, I watched another Hispanic change the sign outside, and he misspelled "chicken." For the unfamiliar, the restaurant's name is Popeye's Chicken and Biscuits. And chicken was spelled wrong. Bwah ha ha.
8. I am forced into a "teambuilding" traning tomorrow. With these colleagues. Kill me now.
9. My readers are idiots. I got a call from some nitwit this morning, asking for an article. I said I'd e-mail it, but she doesn't have e-mail. So I said I'd have to call her back (we're supposed to charge people when we mail them articles, but I didn't have the price info handy). So what did she say? "Don't call me. Here's my e-mail address." So as soon as I wrote it down, I said fine, I'll e-mail her the article. What the hell was that shit all about? How'd she SUDDENLY get an e-mail address?
10. Why I suddenly love Ronald Reagan: We are off on Friday because the feds are shutting down in his honor. Hurrah! Here's the deal: it was supposed to be a half-furlough day, but instead, we are closing for the whole day and GETTING PAID for the whole day! Sad when you have to be grateful to get your whole paycheck, isn't it? I will likely work a full day, but it will hurt less to be getting paid for it, for a change!
1. Get up, Poindexter! Yesterday, this kid fainted onstage while trying to spell a word during the National Spelling Bee (there's video of this here). What was your most horrifying childhood moment? This little dork stood back up and correctly spelled his word - how did you recover?
Ugh. I remember spelling bees (I was one of the little dorks who won them!).
Oh, the horrors of childhood. The worst might have been when my first-grade teacher wouldn't let me use the lavatory and thus I consciously decided to pee on the floor (it's not that my bladder exploded, just that I decided to teach that bitch a lesson); however, next time she refused me a trip, I did it again, and someone actually noticed that time, and I never did it again (although, admittedly, I was never refused another bathroom break!).
2. Trendspotting: This week the New York Times chimes in on the "new trend" of vintage video games, which means they've officially been en vogue for at least a year, but we digress. As dorks clamor for the next Grand Theft Auto and jerk off to Tomb Raider, it seems the 4-tone slate of Pac-Man is what real gameplayers - or at least throwback hipsters - want. What was your favorite (now vintage) video game as a youngster? (Note to the blog community: if you were born in or after 1980 you may not answer this question, because nobody will care about your bullshit answer.)
Not only did I have IntelliVision, but I also had a table-top version of Pac-Man, which was an exact tiny replica of the real arcade game. I loved it! But when I would go to the arcades, I always gravitated toward Donkey Kong, Ms. Pac Man, and some stupid thing that hopped all over the place (Q-bert?). Damn, it's been a long time if I can't remember! And I did love me some Super Mario Brothers, I have to admit. Holy throwback!
3. From the annals on the questionable definition of art: Can this man really be considered an artist? Likewise, British artist Damien Hirst, uses dead animals in his installations. What is your take on this sort of abstract/modern art?
Modern art to me is highly computer-generated, although I must say that when I see recently-created art done in more traditional media, I dig that way more because the artist could have gone the digital route. Not saying digital art is easy, of course. Just less messy.
I also like live human installations, too. Kind of creepy if you think you're looking at mannequins and one suddenly blinks or twitches, though. But note the "live" factor -- no dead animals for me, thanks! Really, between the stench and the flies around their lifeless bodies, I might get confused and think I'm at work!
4. Top-shelf pussy? Some idiot in New York is suing Scores after running up a $100,000 strip club tab! (What an eejit.) What do you think of strip clubs, and more importantly, how much 'nanny do you think this guy saw in order to rack up $100,000? If you had $100K to spare on your personal entertainment, where would you dole it out?
You know, I'd love to blow that kind of money in a strip club, and in the female clubs, if you can believe it (most of you can). Seems that the women at least put on a better show and "work hard for the money," so to speak. I found that I could blow $100 to $120 a night on four beers and lots of fivers in the G-strings. But $100 THOUSAND?!! Jimminy fricking Christmas, that's like 50 lap dances with tips that have commas in them! God DAMN and people like me can't even afford to pay their cable bills.
In any event, if I really did have that kind of money, my ass would be at the Apple store, buying a G5, a PowerBook and every last piece of software I could stand to install. THEN I'd go to the strip bar for one last lap dance. ... ;)
5. At least they weren't passing out lube: Parents in a Pittsburgh suburb are freaking out because high school students are handing out shot glasses as prom favors for the guys, champagne flutes for the young ladies. (The writers of the Friday Five have no comment.) Did you attend your high school prom? Good memories, or would you rather have drowned them in Aristocrat and cheap champagne?
Another reason to love Pittsburgh. You need to drink to appreciate it. Hell, my mom used to buy me alcohol when I was 16 -- it's a rite of passage!
That said, I "just said no" to prom. My gay boyfriend decided to take his middle-school girlfriend (who had moved to another school) so that she could see all her old friends. He apparently had no problem with me sitting home. The great news was that she ignored his stupid ass the whole night and partied with her friends. Hah! Served his royal bitchiness right! Mom and I picked up a case of wine coolers and drank ourselves silly. Much like we do every time we are together even now, only we have graduated to tequila and other fine liquids. ...
1. The Marines look HOT in tight pants. Even when they're not cute per se, their lust factor increases when you see how snug their trousers are. *drool* I salute you!
2. Please Stand to the Right. We even make T-shirts to remind you that just like when you're driving, the left is the passing lane. Outta my way!
3. Do you really need to have lengthy cell phone conversations during the ride? From what I ascertained, the guy next to me was meeting the person on the other end of the phone after the ride. Oh, and the baby talk? Nobody else finds it endearing. Sheesh.
4. Bathe. Use deodorant. Spritz yourself with something from the Bath & Body Works sample table. Treat it as a public service.
5. Dear god, is it necessary to nap against the windows? I don't like being two inches from your hair gel droppings when I take your seat.
6. A large fuck-you to the Starbucks at the Farragut North metro stop. Seriously, I bought a decaf, walked over to the table where all the coffee stir-ins are, and the pimply teen-ager who was closing tonight jerked all the creamers off the table and put them away before I got to the station. I went to the counter to ask for creamer, and the kid got annoyed with me and said they were closing. Another worker graciously busted out the half-and-half and hooked me up, for which I was grateful, but still -- could the first one at least have asked if I needed anything before he snatched it away? I didn't need the fucking coffee -- I just wanted to break a $20 to pay for parking.
7. This was the first night that I didn't get into a fight with the parking attendant at the Van Dorn stop -- parking is $3, and usually I hand him a $20 and he bitches me out. Today I handed him three singles, and he smiled at me. Must've remembered me from the last 40 times we got into an argument over how he supposedly didn't have enough change for me, whereupon my standard retort is that ATMs only dispense $20s, so if he didn't have change, then he shouldn't charge me.
My collegeuniversity held a little get-together for D.C.-area alumni tonight at the Capital Hilton. It was small and cozy. I was shocked that some of the employees actually remembered me. I figured it was going to be an ambush a la Mary Kay Amway, where they do a big push for donations. It was a small push, granted, but mostly an information-sharing event about all the progress the institution is making and how they want us to attend Alumni Weekend in September. Anywho, I was impressed with their milestones and goals, although it kind of sucks that I will never benefit from all the new programs and locations they are opening. They have some new master's programs that sound appealing, but as I am dodging the student loan officers because of my default account, I shall never be back in school again. In any event, they treated me like a success story, and it's nice to know that, even though I know my job is total bullshit sometimes, it sounds really good to the people who trained me in my professional career of choice (for now). My old adviser wasn't there, but she had told the president to catch me and say hello for her. How 'bout that? I almost wept. Well, not really, but it was refreshing to be among people who actually thought I might be capable of achieving something. Wish I could say the same for my employer!
2. An acquaintance wants to start a blog where she publishes all the shady shit she caught her hubby doing behind her back. Should she print the real name/contact info of the (engaged!) hussy who won't go away?
To explain:
Mailroom Dipshit has struck again. I had a mailing of about 15 envelopes, each one containing a copy of the newspaper I produce. Because I was doing it after-hours and don't get paid all that well, I sent the envelopes to the mailroom unsealed. He threw a fit on my staff writer and told her to tell me that he refuses to mail anything unsealed. So she had to take time out of her day (I was at lunch) to tape up the envelopes because they are cheap and don't stay shut when you seal them.
What I would like to know is WHY he makes DOUBLE my salary and can't seal the fucking envelope when he's putting insufficient postage on them?!?! Why the FUCK is it my job to do my own FEDEX, UPS, get/seal/prepare my own boxes for Priority Mail shipping, and now SEAL the envelopes? Jesus Christ!!! I am all for taking on additional duties if they enhance my skill set, but come ON!!! There just HAS to be a bus with his name on it somewhere in this city, I just know it!
As far as the other issue, I said it all up in No. 2. I know the hubby is the jackass in the situation, but Hussy is no angel, either. My buddy would like to expose her for the skank that she is. How much trouble can she get in for posting the gal's personal info, all of which my friend obtained on the Internet? (We're trying to locate her blog, too. Give us time on that one!)
In celebration of getting old, I've officially maxed (and then some) the credit card I attached to the iTunes Music Store. I've been a little bit sentimental about my youth -- Mom and I always listened to music together. She was (is) a young mom, so I was exposed to a lot of really cool stuff, like the rock 'n roll of the 1970s and the classic ballads that you hear "American Idol" contestants butchering crooning.
Today's downloads included "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face" by Roberta Flack, "Coming In and Out Of Your Life" by Barbra Streisand, "Through the Eyes of Love" by Melissa Manchester, "Tell me a Lie" by Janie Frickie (although I swear it was Sammi Jo who was the original artist), "Like We Never Had a Broken Heart" by Trisha Yearwood and Garth Brooks, "Magic Man" by Heart, "Have You Ever Seen the Rain," by Joan Jett, and way too many others to continue mentioning, although I am sure we all know names like Sergio Mendes, Peabo Bryson, Dionne Warwick, the Bee Gees and Patti Labelle.
Jeebus Crisp, I feel old, but in a good way. I was transported to a time when nothing else mattered but having fun, listening to old 45s with Mom, reading books and dreaming about everything I didn't know about yet and all the places I wanted to go. All I ever wanted to do was to be in the music business. Now, for those of you who know me, I neither look like Britney Spears, dance like Janet Jackson nor sing like Melissa Etheridge, so being the on-stage talent is out. But I've always wanted to be behind-the-scenes, maybe as a publicist or stylist or something to that effect. When other kids were listening to their "Strawberry Shortcake" or "Cabbage Patch Kids" 33s (and believe me, I owned them, too, but I digress), I was groovin' to "Incense and Peppermints," "Crimson and Clover," and just about anything by The Doors, Janis Joplin and other drug-addled artists of the era. And to this day, when I hear them, I remember the absolute magic that seemed to just pour out of the stereo speakers.
One of my favorite colleagues was in need of some help stuffing envelopes this afternoon, so I crawled out of my hole and helped out for a coupla hours.
I have never seen anybody work so hard at this place. Really. The half-dozen people (including Town Crier, whom you know I can't stand) really put forth a great team effort, and we cranked out more than 1,600 envelopes (filled with letters, ballots and return envelopes). Makes me realize that these really aren't inherently evil people -- just those of whom nothing is really expected, so they produce nothing. Or maybe that is just my perception, as I have a measurable product and outcome each month, whereas not too many other people do.
Nah. We still have our lazy, worthless shits. :) But I did get to see how hard our finance people work, and even though I always knew they were ball-busters, it was neat to interact with them -- to be working shoulder-to-shoulder with the handful of other hard workers in the building.
My problem is that my brain-mouth filter collapsed. I made about a zillion comments to myself (and way too many out loud) about how I've never seen some of these people with a fire lit under them. And of course, I figure Mailroom Dipshit won't even get all the envelopes in the mail tonight, after we busted our asses to have everything done by 4:30 p.m. (his usual leaving time). This is the same asshole who took a package my mom sent to me here at headquarters and shipped it out to Oklahoma to a gal with a similar-sounding name. We'll be lucky if this time-sensitive mailing doesn't end up in Taiwan.
Actually, that's another problem I've had with him. I do a lot of airmail to Japan and other Far East locales. And I put a note to that effect that my mail needs a lot of fucking postage because it's traversing the ocean. Nine times out of 10, the package gets returned to me stamped "insufficient postage." We did come up today with an envelope to Taiwan that he had stamed 37 cents. I laughed heartily. Again, you bust your ass, only for you to wonder if the final guardians of your product will do their jobs effectively. Seems to me we might have just addressed the envelopes to outer space. :)
I have absolutely nothing to say today. Does that ever happen to you? That you've got a million and a half thought fragments polluting your brain, but you just can't string them together to present a clear paragraph? Or maybe a blog isn't the right forum for it, but if you can't share it here, then where can you share it? And if you can't say whatever you're feeling, then is the feeling even worth having?
In any event, I am avoiding my one co-worker who is running around with a birthday card for Demure!TM and wants me to sign it. My birthday was three days before hers, and what did they do for me? I'm certainly no gift whore, but come on -- my special (milestone, even) day went by unnoticed (which, by the way, I am perfectly OK with -- it means I don't have to acknowledge anyone else's). The beauty of your birthday coming first is that you have the option of giving what you get. Which, in this case, is zilch. Shan said to just suck it up and sign just my name, but I'm not even interested in that. I already had to suffer through hearing (at our weekly meeting) what she did on her birthday -- isn't that enough?
Word for today: creative visualization.
Thought for today: "Go to hell." "Too late!" (Shan and I commenting about work.)
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
