Caterwauling

… sucks.

OK, so I took a chance on a new writer (who worked for free!) who wrote about a pseudo-controversial topic that I thought was interesting enough to be front-page news. I received two requests for reprints, 18 requests for Word document copies of the article and received numerous letters to the editor in favor of the article. I received two negative letters (not uncommon), but then the executive director got the call from hell that got me pulled into his office.

He was cool about it, but it turns out that one of the sources quoted in the article allegedly promotes pedophilia on his website. (eeek!) How fucking disastrous! It’s only part of the problem, but that’s not to say the chick who called isn’t a quack either (she left no phone # but gave us a dozen sources to call to rebut his article). That would be fine, but I’m running a follow-up installment to his article in this issue, too, so the shitstorm isn’t half over. I know the article was kind of self-serving for the guy who wrote it, but I ensured that he quoted one of our division leaders, who endorsed the topic, so I figured it was palatable for my audience.

Ergh. If today weren’t deadline day, I’d write the rebuttal piece myself. Maybe I’ll 86 one of the stories I haven’t started typing in yet and see what I can do. Fuck around! But hey, at least people are reading this shit, right? 🙂

Another day at the Veggie Patch. *sigh* And the following people give whole new meaning to, “It’s like talking to a fern.” …

Stupid Human Tricks #101

E-mail from a guy in our mailroom today (copied and pasted as-is):

“Sent we are closing at 3pm Friday, can everyone have there mail ready for pick up by 1pm and there will be no out going ups tomorrow.”

Stupid Human Tricks #102

In chatting with Programme Directeur the other day, he asked if he could get a *prescription* to my publication. Honey, everyone here is on SOME sort of prescription! Narrow it down a bit, will ya?

This is the same guy who told us he felt “vehiminently” about the work he does. Or, more memorably, after we received some funding (courtesy of moi), he asked us to join him in “commiserating the occasion.”

My mom’s friend’s son Michael is 14 now, and he attends the same schools I went to as a young lass. Surprisingly, he was talking to my eighth grade English teacher about me. Not sure what brought that on, but she swore she remembers me, and apparenly she went on and on about how creative and motivated I was, and of course what a brilliant writer I was destined to be 😉 — she said I was one of her best students, and she always wondered how I turned out. Apparently Michael was bragging about where I live and what I do for a living, and she said that, knowing me, I wouldn’t settle for anything less that what I wanted to do. Heh. That’s kind of interesting, as I haven’t seen her in close to 15 years, but it felt kind of good to be remembered so fondly. 🙂

I also received an amazing letter to the editor today, extolling my leadership and personality. Sent straight to the executive office, too, from one of my column editors. Wow! I didn’t expect that, but that made it even better. The man had absolutely no reason to do it either — he was just generally pleased at the rapport and professional courtesy that we have developed during the last couple of months. Honestly, I’m just doing my job — it’s not like I’ve ever gone out of my way to accommodate him or anyone else, for that matter. But it’s way cool that, not only do they respect the position, but they have come to respect me. I really must rock, ’cause people say so! lol

So I just spent $200 on two tickets to see Bon Jovi at the Nissan Pavilion on July 27. At this point, I’m taking Maddie, unless a better date comes along. 😉

Reality TV has been amusing, of late. Mom got me hooked on “Married by America,” which ended dismally, as expected. Billie Jeanne and Kevin tanked, which I figured because he wasn’t as in love as she; Jill and Kevin had the better chance of the two, but when Jill said her vows, she ended up saying “I don’t” because Kevin is cute and all, but he lacks a job and ambition and what not. Good for her. Good for all of them.

It’s just kind of a sad commentary on relationships — but one I can’t argue with — in the Billie Jeanne situation, when Kevin pointed out that she has enough love in her heart for both of them, but he just can’t guarantee that he’ll ever love her back as much as she loves him. *sigh* And she was willing to let him go on loving her halfheartedly, in hopes that someday, he’d come around.

But moving on to my uber-fave, American Idol, I was pleased to see both Kimberly and Carmen in the bottom three, but as much as Kim annoyed the shit out of me, she didn’t deserve to go. Not this week, anyway. Carmen’s voice was cracking and fading throughout her song. The girl trills beautifully, but the song didn’t call for that — it called for her to hit a fucking note and hold it. And what was up with her garbage-bag-green dress? It looked like something you rake leaves into. Gaah! At least that Kim has some great style. I know Kim will make it, no matter what, based on her appeal to drooling fanboys everywhere, but it is good to be rid of her. At any rate, American Idol can go on hiatus for a week, ’cause we all know Carmen’s next. And praise the lord that America got rid of that nitwit Ricky Smith (aka “Herk-a-leeezzz” boy) last week!

I was chatting with a gal from Two Strikes last night when one of my other cohorts there, Programme Directeur, jumped onto the phone to say hello. Think what I may have about some of his actions and thought process, though, I’ve never doubted that he comes at you from his heart, regardless of where his head might be situated. 🙂 At any rate, he said that he used to read my publication when he was in college — his professors subscribed to it — and he said, “You’re the editor of that! Wow!” He followed that up with a, “You really did what you wanted to do alll along, didn’t you?” He said it proudly.

I kind of smiled because, yeah, I completely backed into my current career path, but beyond all the tribulations I encounter, I suppose it feels kind of good that someone who knows who I am and knows what I do and want to do has indicated that I have done well for myself. I don’t think the folks at Two Strikes ever doubted my talent or ambition, but it’s nice that I didn’t fall on my ass after leaving what was really (on paper) a great job. What my last job really was, I suppose, was an opportunity of a lifetime, and I got out of it what it was worth. And I guess I can say the same of my current situation — it’s an opportunity I am glad to have, but I’m sure it will be even more wonderful when it’s over, too. 🙂 At any rate, Programme Directeur will surely tell Her Royal Pretentiousness how wonderfully (he thinks) I’m doing now, and that’s probably the best feeling of all, that they know I rock. 🙂

I can see how easy it is to get frustrated with my workplace. I really do like what I do, but this micro-management stuff is becoming altogether too reminiscent of Her Royal Pretentiousness at the last job, where I participated in 12 mandatory three-hour meetings (and one eight-hour experience of public humiliation) every month, in addition to a few other impromptu ones. While this place isn’t nearly so bad, I’m getting sick of getting summoned to Pussy Demure’s office to go over all the e-mails sent to me (from members, other staff) that she was copied on. All she wants to do is follow-up on things, and I understand her point of view, but as I am feeling rather combative today (and dreading my supervision meeting with her in a few minutes), she needs to understand that she chose me to handle the responsibility of the position I now have. So for god’s sake, let me do it, instead of calling me to explain how and when I’m handling it when I could, in fact, BE handling it!

Shan’s out today. I hate being here without her — she’s probably the only reason I’ve stayed this long.

One of my teeth cracked last night while I was on the phone with the folks at Two Strikes. A huge chunk of tooth rolled out of my mouth, and a stream of blood followed. Son of a bitch. Not sure where it came from, although I expect it was from the area of my recent wisdom tooth extraction, as one tooth cracked into a bunch of pieces during the procedure. Wonderful.

Well, as if I didn’t suspect it, I completely lose my logic wherever Brat is concerned. I e-mailed him to ask him to come down here to D.C. to accompany me to an event in July, and do you think I’ve heard from him in the past two days? Funny how, when I was on my way to Pittsburgh, he was on the ball and answering messages within 10 minutes. Now that I’m gone, I suppose he had his fun and now he’s done with me. I am too old for this shit. I really am. But the good news is that all I was looking for was a good-looking escort to a cruise I’m taking — and I have no shortage of good-looking men who would be happy to take his place if he doesn’t RSVP soon!

Update

Demure is more than a half hour late to meet with me — her previous supervision meeting has run over. Y’know, not that I wanted to have this fucking meeting, but now I am all antsy, trying not to get too involved in the story I’m writing so that I can jump when she calls. Damn it.

Lunch was good. I helped Shan to set up and decorate the shindig. Other than a handful of people showing up early and trying to sample the food before it was ready to be served, it went well. Some of these folks are just pigs, though — several went back for seconds before half the group even got through the line. Oinkeroo! Shan says they all need to get some class. Especially Jean — the Town Crier’s useless assistant (perfect — they’re both useless) was in all the food with her fingers and shit. I wanted to break her fingers on a number of occasions. Incidentally, she dribbled BBQ sauce all down her purple shirt. Priceless.

Shan and I had a ball, though. We were laughing and cracking jokes and making the event as painless as possible.

Just also had our post-mortem meeting on the California adventure. These people hate hearing anything remotely constructive or, god forbid, negative. I sat with the executive director and made comments under my breath. He was kind of annoyed with me, but I basically said I’d e-mail my commentary to the conference staff, as every time I made a suggestion, I got slammed. Ergh.

Long day ahead. Meetings are finally over for the day, though — now to do some work!

Tuesdays just suck. They are the absolute worst day of the week, save for “American Idol” episodes, when I remember to watch. 🙂 Tuesdays are sandwiched between the hell of Mondays and the joy of three more full workdays after they are done. There ain’t nothin’ to look forward to on Tuesdays … it’s like having some scandalous underwear wedged into your ass that you can’t pick out right away because you’re in a room full of people you need to impress.

Speaking of having objects jammed into one’s nether regions, today will be consumed by a mandatory staff luncheon (!) and a meeting right afterward to decompress about our adventures in California. And tomorrow, I begin the first of weekly mandatory supervision meetings with Pussy Demure. She had a piss fit on me yesterday about blowing off the last meeting she tried to schedule. Um, what part of my e-mail (sent Saturday afternoon!) that said, “I’m deeply concerned that the number of mandatory meetings I must attend will greatly — and negatively — impact the production of the magazine this month,” did she MISS?!?! Gawd, I had it good for awhile when I started here — I was dirt-ass poor, but nobody really even noticed if I showed up or not. Those were the days. …

But I hear King Kumquat, the executive director, purchased an $800 lunch out of his own pocket for us. Can you imagine? It’s all barbecue and ribs and chicken and shit too — reminds me of, oh, every luncheon ever held at Two Strikes (although at Two Strikes, we also had to have cornbread, cornbread-battered fish, cornbread-battered chicken, spinach and greens with every meal, too, so this is a marked improvement).

Speaking of Two Strikes, I am trying to interview one of their less literate employees for an article I’m writing on foster care, which is their specialty. I chose this person based on position only, not for ease of interview. She expressed a great deal of apprehension, at which time I actually e-mailed her the questions and told her to knock herself out. (One only could hope that she would knock herself out … permanently.) I left a message for My Hero last night, asking if they were afraid I would write about how much I hate the agency. lol. I have an interview for that same story today, but if Dumb Bitch at Two Strikes doesn’t come through, I don’t have a story. Humph. Like I need anything else to do — I already have six stories (none of them done yet) and the production of the paper in general. Kill me.

Dave and I did it.

Registered for a dance class, you little pervs. 😉

We’ll be nightclub dancing for the next six weeks. He swears he has three left feet, and let’s face it, I have no rhythm. This should make for massive entertainment and/or injury. I look forward to giving progress reports once we start the lessons next week!

I have so much to do at work, yet a decided lack of enthusiasm keeps ruining it. It’s the week of mandatory, senseless meetings — which as always seems to conflict with Deadline Week. Ergh. Figures.

Escaped with Shan today to eat lunch in the sunshine. It’s gorgeous out here in NoVa today! And it’s about frickin’ time, too.

The Bennigan’s by my building is closing at the end of the month, from the latest bit of news I’ve heard. Not that I go there much anymore, but I will have to say a fond farewell once I put this issue of the magazine to bed.

So I’m signing up for dance lessons tonight, at the urging of a friend. Nightclub dance, too. This should be fun, and I definitely need the exercise as well as the distraction from the all-consuming black cloud that is otherwise known as my life.

Had a wicked bout of insomnia last night, after two solid nights of sex dreams. Egads. Maddie was being a noisy little shit, whining and bitching and knocking stuff over. She also found a shopping bag to dance in, on and around, so all I could hear was crumpling brown paper several times during the night. She gets pissed that I lock her in my room every night, but if I lock her out, she whines, and as I don’t live alone, I would prefer to not have my door open when I’m sleeping. So Tiff, I apologize if I woke you with my constant screaming at the little monster! 😉 It’s not like I was asleep and missing out on it. Gaah.