Caterwauling

I decided around 7 p.m. last night that, if the Veggie Patch wants average, they’re going to start getting average from me. Effective today.

I just got a ridiculous letter to the editor, one that was copied to more than 15 people in my organization. The bitch starts off nasty, of course, and talks about my “BI”-line. Um, excuse me, but it’s “byline” you fucking freak. Any ASSHOLE who starts off a letter to me talking about my “BI” line had better prepare to bend over and I’ll show them who’s bi! 😉 I can’t even read the letter. I am certain it goes on to make a good point somewhere, but that shit’s unheard of.

Here’s what I was greeted to:

Ms (Goddess Dawn):

I am responding to the front page article in (The Veggie Patch Gazette) for June 2003. The article was ostensibly written by you as indicated by your BI-line. I am copying others in your organization in hope that my concern will not be trivialized. …”

So, ostensibly, I am bi and now the whole fucking leadership of my organization knows it. Did I happen to reject her at the conference? This is a bitch on a mission.

Oh, and as if that weren’t enough to ruin my day. …

Demure’s secretary sent me an e-mail with a request — she wants her daughter’s school pictures scanned into the computer so she can have them online. She would also like me to print them in color for her, but at least I don’t have a color printer. You know, I work so fucking hard, and for what? I am sick of everyone else being comfy in their fuzzy bunny slippers and bathrobes, waving their pill cups around. I am officially done with this place.

I want every last one of my readers to e-mail me with an inventory of your skills. Do it as soon as you read this message. I’m serious. I am going to start a referral service for companies that need help and I am going to refer those needs to good people who deserve to make the money. And god damn it, I am going to be whoring out my own fund-raising, editorial and party-planning skills. I am through … absolutely through … with the stress and heartache I get every day when I pull into my employer’s parking lot.

Update

You know, I received a beautiful compliment from one of my readers on my VM this morning. Why is it that, when they like what I do, they call and leave a VM just for me, and when they hate it, they put it in writing and circulate it around the country? Why can’t people write their compliments and send them to the people who control my budget?

I sent the offensive e-mail to Demure, as she was surprisingly missing from the distribution list. My note was bitter and pissy, and I said, “If she can’t spell, I can’t expect her to write coherently, either. And it is not my policy to read letters that assault me in the first sentence.” On a final note, the bitch signed the note, “Respectively submitted.” DUMB BITCH, IT’S “RESPECTFULLY”!!!

Oh, and Jackass spelled my name wrong, too.

Now I shall go respectively impale myself on a letter opener on an Exacto knife.

Update 2

Oh, it was a person of male gender who wrote the letter. Everyone in the building is referring to it as a she, so I went with the flow. Well, male or not, it was on its rag today, baby!

Our president sent me a thoughtful reply (he was slammed in the letter too for one fucking quote), and he said he could see the reader’s point. I zipped a note back that the only point said reader managed to make was that he is in fact a moron.

So I am here, trying to cut $37,000 from my next FY budget.

Joke.

So far, I’ve shaved off $900. I have one of the leanest, maximized budgets on the planet. I do not spend money on anything other than printing, postage, occasional generic supplies and freelancers. The freelance and travel budget just went buh-byes. I did allow myself a few stories, but now that Cruise Director has me farming out these ridiculous stories on our divisions to one of my writers, my budget is shot in the ass. Completely.

And for some reason, Ad Angel is making $80K/yr. in commission out of my budget alone. Funny, but the revenues from these ads sure as shit aren’t credited to my budget! My boss is looking into whether that $80K can be broken up among some other departments; otherwise, I’ll finish this year at $20K over budget, and that’s not nice, given how I never, ever apply for reimbursement for my mileage, meals or anything else.

Anyway, I am tearing out my ridiculously red hair right now (I’d like to know why, no matter what color I dye my hair, the red always shines through. It’s that very color that I am sick of! Nothing says Irish chick like the green eyes, freckles and red hair). There is no bloody WAY to cut out the other $36K, although I did suggest that if Cruise Director didn’t just buy $50K in office furniture, and if Solitaire weren’t making nearly double my salary, then perhaps I might be a little bit more willing to do my part. Fuck this shit.

It is sincerely looking like I am going to have to publish 11 issues per year instead of 12. Un-fucking-believable. We pay consultants a LOT more than I make per hour — consultants who overbill and who don’t do half as much work. We pay for our presidents to stay in luxury accommodations all over the country. We pay Town Crier and Mouth Almighty, who seem to have nothing but time on their hands while the rest of us are running ourselves ragged, carrying three or four positions’ worth of work. I am so very annoyed and sick of this shit. So very annoyed. I am going to write a note to Cruise Director right now, proposing some budget-saving ideas whereby maybe I can combine my efforts with Membership’s efforts to save a few bucks.

Spent two and a half hours in a meeting with my supervisor today. I should either get an award or a complimentary day off. This just reminds me why I need to work for myself — I have so many ideas and initiatives, and they’re buried under a mountain of paperwork and malaise. I did get in a few snarks about the workplace, though, and that made me happy. 🙂

Shan and I escaped for lunch today, and I had to come home and blog about it. I decided that working at Club Medicated is like riding the kiddie coaster backward and in slow motion. Makes you nauseated, just thinking about it, and that, my friends, sums up my average workday. 😉

Now that “Six Feet Under” has gone away till next season, I happened to start watching “Out of Order” on Showtime last night. Oh.My.God. Did you girls see the oral sex scene? Sweet Jesus. I think I managed to come, just by watching it!!! And here I was just wondering if I could possibly live without cable. …

And join me in wishing a hearty CoNgRaTuLaTiOnS to Tiff for landing herself a new job!!! And she gets to leave her crappy job, where she is a staff of one who is governed by a crappy board where members are dropping off like flies, a week before their annual conference! Trust me, this is one time when the Inner Bitch needed to make a grand showing, and I’m definitely gonna be looking for updates on her blog about the shitstorm that’s about to ensue. …

Shan and I went for salads and desserts at Ruby Tuesday at Landmark Mall tonight. The workday was particularly depressing, and we laughed it away over tallcakes.

I made a pitstop in the ladies’ room before we went window-shopping for wedding dresses for her, and I saw a discarded pregnancy test kit in the trash. All I saw was the box, and I felt sad. Someone most likely bought it at the CVS down the hall and couldn’t wait till she got home to take it. Or maybe she couldn’t take it home, so she had to pee on a stick in a public restroom. I don’t know who she was or what her results were — or whether she got the results she expected or even wanted — but I have a feeling that somebody in my area is going to be having a difficult time going to sleep tonight.

I’ve never bought the do-it-yourself test. I’ve passed them many times in the drugstores, and once in a blue moon, I wondered if I should buy one. But time passed and the monthly red hurricane arrived right on schedule. It’s easier, really, not having sex. I’ve never really been emotionally involved in the act, save for once or twice. And the only feeling I ever left with, other than occasional exhiliration or disappointment, was fear … fear that I’d have to buy one of those sticks and see it turn blue. I wonder what it would be like to want it to turn blue, to want the man you’re with to be the father of that child.

That’s why I assume that someone who was taking that test in that bathroom wasn’t happy when she did it. I would imagine that, were I to ever take one of those tests, I’d want to be doing it with someone I loved sitting in the next room, someone who was hoping for the white test to show some, any signs of coloration. At any rate, while I will never know the outcome of what I saw so briefly tonight, the person who was there before me will probably remain in my memory for a long time to come.

“Six Feet Under” — it was like butta.

Ok, who didn’t cry when Claire saw Lisa and her son in heaven? And then when Lisa said she’d take care of her child while Claire was taking care of Maia? That reminded me of a conversation I’d had long ago with my mom — good grief, I cried for a half hour after I saw that scene!

Shan and I made a quick breakfast run to Chez Mickey’s, where I chose to abstain from ordering (Shan just seemed like she needed some company). And thank god I did. First, they told her the total was $4.07. When she got to the pay window, they said it’s $4.18. We went to the pickup window, where they handed her the wrong drink. She said no, in fact, that’s not what she ordered, and for that matter, was the sandwich wrong too? In fact, it was, and this woman started bitching in half-Spanish at her that no, in fact, she did not order what she said she ordered. I had listened to her order as well as the total, and I had to reassure her that she wasn’t losing her mind. So then the woman started screaming at someone in the fry line in full-out Spanish — practically burst our eardrums in the car. Cripes, will there ever come a day when you spend less than 20 minutes at the Chez Mickey drive-thru?

I’m home for lunch today. When I pulled in this morning, I immediately wanted to back out and run for the hills. I’ve been left pretty much alone thus far today, other than a query from our next president about our stupid Spanish column. I responded to him and to Cruise Director that those arrive irregularly at best, and although I’ve asked Town Crier to look into getting those supplied to me a year or a quarter in advance, I’ve heard nothing. I chose not to copy her on the e-mail, and what was funny was that when she responded to the query (I was copied on it), she contradicted what I wrote by saying that we always, always have several columns on hand at any given time. What a fucking joke!

Just goes to show that while the right hand (me) is on top of things, the left hand is always playing with itself. No wonder nothing ever gets done correctly.

Cruise Director asked me to run a regular, supplied column every month. So, as I am trying to keep my page count in check, I am getting more editorial content. Sheesh. Seems like somebody (moi) has to put on the fighting gloves and demand a budget adjustment. Or I just take the extra stuff and do less work. Hmm, what ever shall I do? 😉

I had a dream that I personally wrote a column (instead of just straight news features), a la “Sex and the City” (which is shaping up to be an awesome summer read for me, BTW). I would love to write first-person accounts of whatever I see and know. And I will, just not for my own publication. I think that’s my goal this summer, to get an SATC-type column going somewhere, only not about sex, ’cause I don’t know nuthin’ ’bout that. 😉

We got the lease renewal the other day; last night, we found out that our rent is being jacked up almost $200/month in order for us to go month-to-month. Gaah, with everything that goes wrong in this place, one would think we’d get a friggin’ discount for putting up with it. And now that the weather is warm and I’ve been keeping the windows open, I am treated to hysterical Hispanics screaming on the sidewalks. Sweet Jesus, are all apartment complexes like this around here?

Tiff and I are going apartment-browsing this weekend. We’ll probably hang on to the current pad till Sept. 1 or maybe even Aug. 1, if we find a good special somewhere — and who wouldn’t want to have two fabulous young ladies taking two apartments in whatever residential facility appeals to us? 😉 It would be neat to be next-door to each other, so that we can go wireless and therefore, split the bills for DSL. Oh, to dream — keep your fingers crossed! It’s expensive to live in these here parts, and I’m certainly not above keeping a low DSL/cable bill, as I would probably forego it all on my own. (Well, I’ll definitely get DSL — I refuse to pay another phone company to screw me over. MCI is still fretting over the fact that I blocked them from greedily depleting my bank account any further. LOL.

Much as I’ve bemoaned the fact that many of my earthly possessions are in boxes, just as many are not. Not to mention, but when I haven’t felt like pawing through a box for something, I’ve been known to run to the store to buy another one. I do NOT look forward to moving all of my crap across the city, but as Tiff pointed out, it’s easier to move across town than across the Eastern seaboard, where we got rocked for $1,800 for the evil empire of so-called professional movers. I’m not quite sure why they decided to put my kitchen furniture in my bedroom at the new place, but I was so happy the furniture showed up (three and a half days later than expected), the bruises didn’t hurt all that badly because at least I had furniture to move around. 🙂

Maddie is going to be one of my professional movers this year. I’m sure I can strap something to her back and make her useful! And as for the stuff she can’t lift, I have to resort to bribery of human friends… I’d resort to paying in oral favors, but something tells me that with my friends (most or all of whom like men), that just wouldn’t work. But don’t worry guys — I’ll think of somethin’. 😉

Subtitle: Too bad I’m not. 😉

Went with Dave to a party at Lex’s house last night, in honor of Lex’s 29th (again) birthday. Met lots of cool people and had to refrain from lying under the keg-erator spout, although I didn’t do too bad in the beer consumption department. 🙂 We hung out on the patio with Jen’s gorgeous dogs, Annie and Bunny, who provided fantastic entertainment. And was it Andy who brought the Wasabi peanuts? He’s welcome at any party I ever throw in the future, with those in hand!

At any rate, when I told my mom about the kegerator, she said, “And did you even bother using a glass?”

Before the kickin’ soiree, I’d gotten a manicure/pedicure. Friends, get a pedicure. Now. Trust me, I’ll be here when you get back. Half an hour in a chair that massages your neck and back, and I swear, all of your problems will go down the drain with the bubbly water. Other women chose to read magazines — I lay back and let my eyes roll back in my head a few times. You’re so vulnerable there, and it’s divine. I will definitely be building regular pedicures into my tiny monthly budget from now on.

One of my friends at work was telling me about this new apartment she is moving into on Seminary Road. I was sniffing around for info about it on the ‘Net, and I’m hoping that my current management company doesn’t own it (I fear they do). She got a great summer special, $800 with utilities included. But as the current leasing company doesn’t allow for transfers, which means I wouldn’t get a discount, I may have to cross that place off my list of places to visit later this summer. My buddy lived in Mt. Lebanon (just down the street from Mt. Washington, where I lived in Pittsburgh), and we were bemoaning the fact that, for $800, we could’ve gotten upscale two-bedroom units in our old city. I just can’t see spending a third of my net income on housing and another third on utilities, DSL, cable, etc. We’re truly working to survive down here, and that just sucks donkey balls.

I haven’t done much this weekend. I may dye my hair before the day is through — it became naturally uber-highlighted while I was in California, and it just doesn’t match the dark roots, so I’m going to go for a light-brown tone. My hair is fragile, so I really shouldn’t be abusing it much more than usual, but I love how soft it becomes after I nuke it with the post-dye conditioner.

For those who didn’t know, my mom is the coolest gal on earth. She was telling me how, last night, she was watching “Real Sex” on HBO and something on Skinemax where there was this big FFM threesome going on. She hasn’t gotten any in awhile, and I s’pose she’s just horny as hell (as am I — damn hot summer weather gets me every time!). She was wishing that she actually paid for those channels (they were just coming in really clearly last night) so she can see more cable-TV B-movies. I was surprised that she’d be turned on by anything remotely related to two females gettin’ it on, but I think after years of having me being undecided on what the hell it is that I want in my bed, she’s seen the light. Go, Mom!

I asked her if she were leaning over to the other side — that given her disastrous dating history, perhaps she might want a chick next time around? We laughed, and I said that’s just another gender to reject us. She agreed and said it’s enough getting rejected by men — no sense in having no luck with two genders!

I credit Mom with exposing me to porno. I used to have a TV and VCR in my bedroom, and she would hide pornos in my collection of Bon Jovi and other ’80s hair-metal video compilations. But I wasn’t stupid — I saw those unmarked tapes (as I so painstakingly inventoried my own tapes) and popped ’em on into the player when nobody was around. Woo-hoo! Mom was into some trashy shit, and it just served as a foundation for my own love of porn. 😉 And she also bought me my first vibrator too.

Warning: Reminiscing ahead!

I will never forget the time that Shawn and I were moving into our apartment in Pittsburgh’s Highland Park neighborhood. My current vibrator had broken in half (yes, my muscles are that strong, and no, I’m not going to share THAT story!), and instead of throwing it away, I figured I’d duct tape it or something once I settled into my new home. Well, the base of the vibrator came rolling out the side of one of my boxes, and it looked a little bit like one of those personal hand fans, with the motor hanging out there. Shawn’s friend Dustin picked it up and showed it to all of us (with Mom standing there) and commented on my little fan falling out of the box. ROFL. He had no idea. But Mom did. And Shawn and she never fail to remind me of that day. 😉 I wasn’t overly mortified, although after Dustin removed his paws from my vibrator, I did end up throwing it away and Mom bought me a replacement.

Mom used to make my old roommate Janna and I the best Easter baskets. They were filled with vibrators, lube samples and condoms. And candy — can’t forget the candy — she didn’t want us to have any kind of aftertaste lingering in our mouths after we used the other items. 😉

I need to get Mom laid. Really, as I am not currently getting any, perhaps I should use my free time to find someone for her. At any rate, she’s 45 (looks 27), blonde, loves sex and has been known around town as giving “the best blowjobs ever!” She also thinks like I do, so if you enjoy reading the blog and happen to find yourself in Pittsburgh, PLEASE let me know so I can hook you guys up!

< / shameless pimping of Mom >