Caterwauling

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. …

On iTunes: Seven Mary Three, “Wait”

Another glorious meme stolen from Tiff:

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!

On iTunes: Winger, “Written in the Wind”

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!!!

On iTunes: Janice Ian, “At Seventeen”