Caterwauling

I’m having one of those days in which I am a twee bit sensitive to criticism. I’ve been busting my hump and taking a whole lot of shit, and I swear, even so much as a “did you think about …” comment is enough to make me want to *stabstabstab* the nearest possible victim.

I don’t think I’ve ever made it a secret that I work with “rock stars.” They’re at various stages in their career path. I’m sort of like the band manager — I get rid of the brown M&Ms if that’s what they want, and I give the groupies the backstage passes.

But a relative newcomer who would fall into the, ah, drummer position in my rock band, thought they deserved lead singer status and, let’s say, trashed not only the hotel room last night, but damn near burned down the entire wing.

And blamed it on me.

And admitted to it (at gunpoint) with a simple “Hehehe.”

*pimp-slap*

In the grand scheme of things, it’s no big deal. But then I had to pay off the hotel staff to keep quiet AND hose the vodka and puke off of all of us today. And I’m a little bit crabby about it all because, even though it’s only the drummer, you can’t vote half your rhythm section off the island when the show’s gotta go on.

In a small “pity party” moment, I seriously stopped to wonder why I’ve got to deal with all these crazy folks — parking lot cunt, fuckhead Alexandria police officer, “Animal” from “The Muppets,” and a whole lot of smaller but equally annoying exchanges and actions — and have to always rise above them. It’s getting kind of old.

At some point, when everyone’s wiping their asses with your hair, you’ve got to explode. And while I stop to wonder why everyone’s dumping/blaming their shit on me, I notice that I am struggling (and oftentimes FAILING) to maintain an “inside voice.”

I mean, I finished an argument first thing in the a.m., only to roll into work early for something that instead came TWO HOURS LATE. The two-hour delay made me miss my 10 a.m. engagement. Then I had two make-up meetings to cover the ground I wasn’t there to cover in the original planning session. And anyone who approached me in the interim damn near got their heads bitten off. NOM.

I’m not snapping and have no plans to, but seriously, when all of these tests abate, I’m accepting no less than an A-plus for effort.

You know, I will regret till the end of time not taking the gondola to the top of the mountain in Aspen, Colo.

Hell, I’d even bought the ticket and had it refunded, my fear of heights was so grand at the time.

And then I saw the story about the gondola crashing into a bus shelter (!) after a tower snapped, and suddenly I am SO GLAD I was a giant crybaby back in the day:

Dozens Saved From Dangling Gondolas After Tower Snaps

Sometimes, it pays to be a puss!

Last night’s “Biggest Loser” finale is an epic example of what I’ve been ranting about here for days, of horrible, undeserving people getting exactly what they want — and what we want.

America got to vote on the third finalist. And there was Heba — 150 pounds lighter and smug as a bug in a rug that we were going to vote for her miserable ass — who was outvoted 80/20 in favor of having her husband Ed as the finalist.

Oh, was she pissed.

So they weighed in all the ex-contestants for a chance at $100,000. And she won it. Humph.

I mean, based on the work she did to reduce her body weight by nearly 50%, that’s great. Congratulations and respect for that are definitely in order. I’m far from my goal and it ain’t easy. And it only gets harder, the closer you get to where you want to be.

But still, hateful twat, much?

When the finalists were weighed in and she saw Ed’s HUGE weight loss (but admittedly it was several pounds shy of her own), OMG the ugliness on her face.

And I got where she was. My empathy gene is always working overtime since I feel that people, and certain ones in particular, seem to make it at least a part-time job to try to ignore what’s running through my head. Ahem.

I mean, she could have won that quarter-million. No question. When the sweet and beautiful Michelle (yes!) took home the grand prize with a weight loss of more than 100 pounds, sure Heba’s suddenly scrawny ass would have kicked her newly bony ass.

But whatev, bitch — if you weren’t such a self-entitled bitch, we would have voted you through to the finale.

I was thrilled that Michelle won — I was rooting for her all along, mostly because we were about the same age and starting weight (sigh) so even though she was pulling 10-pound weight losses out of her ass each week compared to my paltry half-pound to a whopping 2 pounds, she was “me” up there, you know? The one with the strained relationship with her mother. The family who needed, and got, to start all over again.

Imagine what $100K could do to help us in my cramped little quarters to get a fresh start. Can we say separate apartments in separate cities for starters, boys and girls? I know you can!

Anyway, speaking of impossible people to live with, Heba is like the Dallas Cowboys to me. I won’t intentionally root against either one of them. But I’m not exactly celebrating either’s victories, because all their arms are apparently long enough to pat their own backs.

So the only reason I am not angry about Heba getting the $100K is that it’s also going to Ed, who is too good for her and I’m hoping now that he has his looks and self-esteem back that he will realize that and LEAVE her ass.

Heba has always stated that her goal is to have a healthy pregnancy. Gah. She’s reproducing? Lord help us all. Hopefully her steaming-cunt genes will be heavily diluted by Ed’s sweet and nice ones.

I often joke with myself that I can’t wait to meet my Inner Skinny Bitch. Heba’s is, sadly, still an Outie. She went from pudgy bitch to skinny bitch, but again, she didn’t lose the BITCH!

My mood today has been downright manic, oscillating between “awesome!” and “omgwtfbbq is this day over yet?” And not stopping at any points in the middle of the two.

I’m still mad over Cuntasia in the previous entry. I can’t even read/link to it or else my head will asplode. I mean, really, WTF is up with all these bullies in the world who think that just because they want something, they should have it?

Ever since I decided to become a “God follower,” as my church calls it, several years ago, I’ve made a very strong effort to look the other way, to never retaliate and to never, ever put myself in a situation where I can’t look at myself in the mirror afterward and feel that I rose above the situation.

But man, to take these people who think their opinion matters, that they have the right or even the place to degrade others, and clunk all their heads together … ah, it remains a dream.

I think the bug that’s still up my ass is how these wretched, horrible, hateful people are having holidays and good things happening to them that give them their sense that the world owes them.

Of course, are they really so fortunate when perhaps the only kicks they get in their day is to try to ruin someone else’s?

Speaking of those kinds of days, I actually achieved a HYOOOOGGEEE victory this morning. The product launch that was slated for, oh, 12 days ago happened today. Mostly because I put my foot down and all but threatened to put it UP someone’s butt.

What’s really nice is that we had a major breakthrough today. And nicer still that the whole upper echelon has acknowledged that, without my pointy-toed shoes being dangerously close to someone’s tender bits, it wouldn’t have turned out as well as it did.

I needed this victory today.

But alas, the oscillator turned when some information came my way that I wasn’t looking for (anymore). And it kind of fired me up all over again about Cuntasia from the BBBY parking lot. Not that the person in question is anywhere near cuntiness on any level, but I kind of got sucked back into that vortex of “OK, so once again, victory isn’t mine in this particular area.”

And I have to remind myself that, if the only battles I win are at work, well, that’s a hell of a lot more than others can say, right?

But another really nice note from today (I warned you it was manic!) was that I ran into people I haven’t seen in months at our Christmas party holiday fete thank-you luncheon. I mean, I only had time to grab a plate of cold food and drag it back up to my cell. But for the few minutes I was down there, man, the compliments I got on my de-pudgifying pork roast ass! (As opposed to the usual “pudgy pork roast ass” terminology I use.)

A part of you wonders whether you really looked that bad before. And that answer is of course yes. And judging by all the crap I’ve eaten in the last two days (thank you to my beloved boys who sent a GIANT box from Cherry Republic yesterday to make the holidays bright (and wide), I’m sure tonight’s weigh-in will bring the next round of epic failure. But, the way this is going, do I expect anything less than abysmal news when I waddle my ass onto the scale that I was looking so forward to confronting this week? (Well, before Cherrypalooza yesterday and catered lunch today.)

Oh well. I’m going to offset whatever chunky-butt catastrophe I endure tonight with doing some daydreaming about the vacation to Barbados that The Girls^TM and I are plotting. A real vacation — not just two or three days tacked onto a work trip! While I will hate paying the airfare, I mean really, it will be nice to burn off more than one or two personal days at a time.

Speaking of all things delightful, we have TONS of cherry-related goodness available at my desk. Come eat my cherries, people, while they’re still good!

I decided to roll up to the Bed Bath & Beyond in Rockville, Md., as it is was my favorite location of that store. And I will gladly give away all my BBBY discount coupons to anyone who wants ‘em, ’cause I ain’t going back there.

The store’s fine and delightful. It’s the customers who’ve turned me homicidal today.

I was having a perfectly pleasant day till I pulled into the parking lot. As I was pulling in, a car was leaving. It was too awkward to pull in and I didn’t want to block traffic, so I waited till the guy left (I went past the spot) and backed in.

It was a first spot — the type of spot I never get. The holy grail of parking spots, if you will, during this ridiculous holiday season. (Whoever said we’re in a recession clearly hasn’t shopped in Montgomery County lately.)

So anyway, I needed to straighten the car because I didn’t pull in very well. And this raving lunatic cunt who had wanted the spot — and CERTAINLY felt entitled to it — because she’d been behind me, decided to park right in front of me. Like, BLOCkING ME IN.

I figured she was trying to be intimidating. But you know, for all the spots that have been stolen from under my nose, and for all the assholes who went through the four-way stops when it was my turn to do so, and for the dumb bitch at the previous parking lot (Old Navy) who took SO FUCKING LONG to vacate a spot that I just simply moved on to another one, I wasn’t exactly concerned that I had ruined her day.

So I was fussing with stuff in the car. I wasn’t getting out. She and her two kids all shoved their ugly faces out of her window and GLARED at me. I looked up once or twice and went back to rooting around in my purse for my BBBY coupons.

After I’d wasted at least five to seven minutes and a Beltway-sized traffic jam was consuming Congressional Village, I finally looked at her. With a big smile.

She wasn’t going anywhere and those ugly, surly faces still stared back at me.

I shrugged and said, “What?”

She yelled that I am a “very rude and inconsiderate young woman who TOOK MY SPOT.”

I said, “And?”

I mean, WTF, right? I couldn’t pull out WITH HER BLOCKING ME IN. And God forbid I get the good spot so I can run right and use the bathroom quickly, since my bladder has the capacity of a shot glass. GOD FORBID GODDESS GETS A FUCKING BREAK ONCE IN A WHILE.

She kept saying — with EXAGGERATED PATIENCE — what a terrible person I am. I liked my spot but I admit, I was afraid to get out lest the cunt whore would dent it. In retrospect, I realize it’s already dented so what’s a little more damage?

And seriously, the traffic jam was out of control. So I figured, fuck it. Even though she was convinced I was the Antichrist, I would be the better person and leave the spot.

I debated ramming her. I really did. If she wanted to prove a point, so could I. I can out-cunt any of you cunty cunt bitch whores out there. Don’t test me. That’s all I’ve got to say.

In fact, I did turn on the car. Ugly whore and her ugly kids were all still giving me the same ugly look. I hoped God would freeze their faces like that. Of course, maybe those WERE their faces. Who knows?

I thought OK, maybe fat bitch couldn’t waddle very far. I was trying to be nice (that was as close as I could get). My fat ass might be healthier and could stand to walk a little farther.

Now, I refuse to be intimidated. But as I debated about whether to ram the whore or to actually tell the fucking cow to move her ugly family out of my goddamned way, I figured it just wasn’t worth it. She seemed perfectly happy to park there for the next two hours. And I’m sorry, I gots shit to do. (Well, more like “piss” to do, but whateev.)

So she’s still telling me how little she thinks of me in her extreme-calm voice. I yelled. “Fine. How do you expect me to move if you keep sitting there?”

So she moved the car in reverse, creating even more chaos in the parking lot. As I drove by, I yelled, “Since having this spot is so FUCKING important, enjoy it!”

She yelled back in a “nice” voice, “You’re such a rude person.”

I said, “Oh yeah? Well FUCK YOU.”

I of course could not find a spot in the rest of the lot but her very-able ass walked into the store with her two kids (who were middle- and high-school aged) just fine.

I did park and did make it into the store. I noticed I was walking around with a very tight fist. Don’t make me use my left hook on you. My rings alone will cause some dents. And if my jewelry breaks on your face, it’ll only piss me off more.

I did see those dumb bitches in the store. And you know, factoring out their ugly faces in mine in the parking lot as they BULLIED ME out of my spot, they actually could have been considered attractive.

And instead of punching them (I wasn’t seeking them out, I promise! They just happened to be blocking me from leaving an aisle. Now who’s rude and inconsiderate?), I decided to feel sorry for those kids.

I’m sure the mother was trying to make this a teachable moment to stand up for what you feel entitled to, and to use intimidation as force and to never, ever raise your voice.

Misguided, much?

I’m always bemused by people who resort to name-calling and insult-hurling when they are out of other options to resolve a situation. I can just imagine them cussing me out long after I’ve laughed them off. (Laughing *at* them, let’s be clear, not *with* them.)

I know that’s what wounded people do — pitch a bitch and use foul language to express their frustration. It’s not a grown-up way to handle a situation, but I hate to say, I understand feeling like you’ve just got to let people *know* how much you hate them.

And yes, that’s what I did here. But anyone who knows me, knows that swearing is just a way of life. I have so few vices — don’t take my “fuck” word away from me.

And maybe I *am* growing. I did not tell her how I plan for her to perish. (I’m thinking fire, as in DIAF.) I figured someone THAT intent on proving a point to her kids probably didn’t curse much. I was actually going to yell, “And by the way, there’s no Santa!” but I certainly didn’t want to ruin it for the GOOD citizens of MoCo just because this twat nozzle was worthy of that and so much more.

Although I was HIGHLY tempted to go let the air out of the tires of her silver Nissan — Maryland plate M542627 — I figured she can stay smug all she wants to but I’m still the better person for not feeling the need to inconvenience the City of Rockville to prove a point or try to intimidate someone who is just trying to get through a day, too.

I admit I was annoyed to see all the crap in their cart. Her family is having a Christmas. Mine isn’t. I ain’t got shit to celebrate. Thanks for taking away my joy for the brief amount of time I allowed her to do so. Whore.

Again, I’m trying very hard to think that maybe she simply needed to win a battle (that didn’t have to be one) to feel whole and good and not take it out on her kids. I dunno. I’m not feeling overly sympathetic right now. The way I look at it, I solved a traffic jam that she created. I got some exercise. And I was too annoyed to really shop and therefore didn’t spend any money in the store.

So, really, didn’t I emerge the winner in this?

But if anyone sees that car on the road and just so happens to cut her off, hit her as she’s traversing a crosswalk, or otherwise shove a large Christmas tree up her ass, color me grateful and know that I appreciate that more than anything Santa could bring!