Caterwauling

Subtitle: I *~*heart*~* spandex

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 college university 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!

1. Can I kill Mailroom Dipshit?

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.

What songs take you on an acid trip back in time?

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.)