Caterwauling

George and Cow

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I always said that for as long as Lady L lives in Florida, I don’t need a dog of my own when George has enough cuteness to go around.

So now that she’s leaving, do I need a dog? Meh. Like the UEOEH needs one more reason to stay here.

I think she has amnesia. She forgets all the fights and tension and stress in the house, and texts me about going out to dinner. At a Mexican place. When I’m leaving for Mexico TOMORROW MORNING.

Not to mention, but I haven’t hung out with her since Easter, save for one trip up to Boston’s on the Avenue. She convinces herself I’m embarrassed of her. I’m embarrassed instead that 18-year-old kids can live on their own and I CAN’T.

Today she pitched all the leftovers in the fridge from when she made lasagna and a couple other types of pasta. Then she promptly said to her friend on the phone, “There’s nothing for me to eat here.”

Asshole.

It’s my fault, don’t'cha know, that there is nothing for her to eat at my house?

I left the rent check out. Maybe she will turn it in. I doubt it. I just want her to see how BIG it is — it’s four times what she was paying in Pittsburgh. To see that maybe she can, I don’t know, swing her own car insurance payment or toss in a few $20s for cable each month since she insists on living here.

One of my boys in Ohio said I should visit, if ever I’m in his ‘hood. Methinks it’s time to drive the UEOEH up there, drop her off at the cousin’s house, and fly my ass back alone.

And that, friends, is my Christmas wish. You wouldn’t want to disappoint a girl, would you now, Santa?

Mirror at DaDa

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

This photo has nothing to do with anything, other than that it’s cool. And given that Lady L and I calculated that we’ve dumped about $5,000 into booze and brie at DaDa in the past 10 months, it’s only necessary that I share the decor of the restaurant that we (should) have part ownership in!

I leave for Mexico on Monday. (Yes!) Doing laundry right now. Stayed up late at a Halloween party, so I woke up late. Ah, luxurious AND glorious!

Yesterday was a funny day. My driver’s license got suspended because I didn’t pay a $60 fine. So I had to pay a $150 fine BECAUSE I didn’t pay that fine. Since, you know, I sort of need identification to travel!

I had driven past the Den of Iniquity to the courthouse. As usual, I gave it my double-barreled-salute. Then I got to the courthouse and realized I forgot my fucking wallet. Grr.

I went back to the office, and once again headed past the Den of Iniquity to the courthouse.

I did my double-barreled-salute when … whoops … I noticed my two least-favorite people out on the steps. I think one of them saw my salute and recognized my dented-up car. But I didn’t care. Fuck them, indeed!

Just to see the leader — in the same stupid blue shit/black pants uniform that he wears seven days a week — made me ill. He was, in true form, ranting and flailing his arms and mind-fucking and aurally raping his victim.

God, I don’t miss those days.

I think the other idiot was the one who sent me 3,000-word manifestos every Tuesday on exactly why I suck as a human being. And although I could have matched him word-for-word on any given day, I refrained from answering because I knew that NOT engaging him in dialogue pissed him off more.

Grr, fuck you idiots. FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU!!!

I did have a point here.

As I watched some episodes of “Medium” and “Paranormal State” on the DVR this afternoon, I remembered that what we focus on, is what we can’t get rid of.

DailyOM.com said it best: “Giving all of our attention to the unwanted aspects of our lives allows what we resist to persist.”

And hello, UEOEH!

I felt bad for her today. She wanted to go to the Farmer’s Market that is literally a block and a half away.

I had just awakened and had barely had a sip of coffee. She asked me to go. I said no. (I say no to everything in hopes that she will do it herself.)

And true to form, she stayed in the house and missed out.

She said she was afraid to walk by herself because she’s feeling funny and woozy. So I told her to drive — parking is free for market-goers. And she said she’s afraid “about the car.”

I can’t figure that one out. I’ve paid it up. I’ve insured it. I own it. What’s the problem here? She couldn’t answer, other than that she’s “afraid of everything.”

This has been my eternal problem here. I realized many years ago that her problems were too big for me. I can point her toward resources but I can’t make her better.

And I don’t know how to motivate her to take care of things. I can threaten her all I want with eviction and being dropped off at a women’s shelter. But then she worries about what will happen to her, and it paralyzes her, instead of saying hey — maybe I need to follow my little action plan to KEEP me from the streets.

Alas, the point here is that she worries about everything. And does nothing. I don’t worry that much anymore. I probably SHOULD. But meh.

If hanging around with Lady L has taught me anything, it’s that dreaming big means getting bigger things than you have. So I spend a lot of time dreaming that I should spend, oh, working. But it feels good to get out of the here-and-now by looking straight past it and on to the next thing.

Speaking of life being way too short…

There was a woman’s body found in a car at our favorite pizzeria this week — we were drinking there the same day the body was discovered. *shudder* Of course, all my friends started inquiring about the UEOEH’s whereabouts.

Well, I have two parties left this weekend. And a photo shoot. And a shitpile of work. And packing. And trying to catch up with people before I shut my phone off till the 9th.

I really need this escape, but I need for it TO BE an escape. And I am not gonna be that lucky. I am also not confident that I’m not going to shove someone’s Bumpits up their butthole. But that’s a story for another day. …

So we did a teambuilding event for the Florida office today. (We have a joint event in December with the Teamsters … er, the Baltimore office.)

It was a lovely day outside — at least 85 degrees — for several hours in the sun at a new putt-putt place that serves alcohol. How perfect for us!

South Florida: For Alcoholics in Either Recovery or Denial. New license-plate slogan, ahoy!

(Says she with the soon-to-be-suspended license. Le sigh.)

Anyway, I was on a team of three. The guy brought his own putter and consistently hit 2 par. He did well because he takes it seriously.

The other gal is on my editorial team. And she consistently hit 4 on every hole. She is a very consistent performer on my team too — you always count on her.

Then there’s me. From a hole in one … to the maximum six strokes … and everything in between … that’s my performance on the whole. I am as hit-or-miss on the productivity scale as it gets. My ideas are either home runs or you’re fishing them out of the fountain and wondering what they were before they shriveled up.

I found it kind of funny, how a simple 18-hole golf game could turn into a management lesson for me.

My teammates and other teams behind and ahead of us were impressed with some of the shots I made. I had many people ask if I play pool or whether I like to golf. I am the queen of the bank shot. I can sail my little pink golf ball down a straight-and-narrow path like a perfect pinball … zig-zagging beautifully for 50 feet.

But alas, am I all style and no substance, as well, in the office? It happens. A lot. I can talk in circles when I want to … er, when I know I have nothing to say.

Anyway, we all walked away with our livers full of Guinness and our skin full of new pigmentation. And the teambuilding lesson was a simple one: We suck mightily, mighty well together.

Five days till Mexico. I can make it. I think I can, I think I can. …

I’ve decided I like being in meetings all day because it means I don’t have to do any real work. Now, to figure out how to offload the remaining work!

How (and when) did I get so useless in my old age? Probably when I realized that all those years of working 80-hour weeks could carry me into my 50s. Can’t I take the next 14 years off, then?

I’ve had occasion to think about an old supervisor, whom I called Miss Piss, from my non-profit days in Pittsburgh. I was working hard and, I think, doing a great job. I was also not pleased that I was making a paltry $18K/year until I was 27 even though I raised money (as a grantwriter and event coordinator) for a living.

When I was 26, the company denied me a promotion and eliminated the position above mine. Then they brought in a 28-year-old to be the vice president to whom I reported.

Poor girl was uptight as all hell. She had a million ideas and came in to find out what a useless jackass ran the place. We were a regional branch of a national charity. He had financially burned down a branch in Texas, and I don’t know why they put him in charge of Western Pennsylvania. Crazy talk!

I used to write thousands of thank-you notes and pleas for money under his name. Unfortunately, there was one time that I needed his real signature (not the one I forged so beautifully so that I didn’t have to talk to him). I walked into his office, only to find him sleeping (face on desk) and drooling orange crackers, which he was eating when he must have nodded off.

Yeah, you can see why I wasn’t the happiest of campers.

Anyway, I was great about omitting information for Miss Piss. I didn’t need a layer of management inserted between the president and me. And certainly not one two years older who was brought in at way more than twice my meager salary.

One day, she called me in and gave me a stern talking-to about my piss-poor attitude. That she was only keeping me because I knew my shit and I was good at it. But that she really didn’t need the snark and the bullshit.

I walked away wanting to kill her.

I came back the next day with a new fire — to COLLABORATE against that snoozing, orange-cracker-drooling asshole and that cunt who ran H.R. (I really did hate that bitch.)

And while there was always competition between us (as I had to introduce her to my beloved wealthy volunteers. And I daresay they liked me better), my life was easier when I realized I should just learn from her … to let her be the asshole accountable for everything now.

I don’t think I ever stopped working hard. I just stopped fighting the system and channeled my energy into my work instead of doing double-time between work and assholitry.

I share all of this to say that I see a similar situation unfolding before my eyes. And now I’m the asshole inserted into the process and screwing up other people’s lives.

And I refuse to believe that they DON’T have the same potential I did. Sure, I shitcanned Stripper Girl quite gleefully — I have my theories about her undoing, but suffice it to say that I tried everything and still didn’t get through.

But I feel like I owe it to Miss Piss to be that “new” supervisor with a plan and an honest conversation. By proxy, I owe it to the employee. But really, it’s a thankless job and I’m sure my efforts to get to this point (downright heroic, if you ask me, but I digress) will be mostly unknown and certainly unacknowledged.

So, Miss Piss, thanks for being my wake-up call. I hope to achieve a similar result.

And if it goes the way of Stripper Girl, I once again will have tried and can have a clear conscience. And if I do get a turnaround, then I can feel good that I did someone a favor by knocking them down a few pegs and reminding them that — just because they are the smartest person they themselves happen to know — it would do them some good to learn from those who can make their journey so much easier and productive.

Five days and four nights away from home = bliss.

Being home again = meh.

I left all my crap at Lady L’s. I meant to keep George at the office with me till lunchtime, then go clean really fast and then let him greet her.

But I was out walking him near the office circa lunchtime. I actually was near the Den of Iniquity with a steaming bag of dog poop, debating about what to do with said bag of poop plus some unresolved venom toward its majority owner and also the president of that joke of a lifetime. (Two different idiots, whom I differentiate by drug of choice.)

Anyway, I decided not to set it on fire and drop it off, since neither one actually shows up unless it’s to terrorize, belittle and otherwise offend the senses (in the olfactory sense) of the good employees. Besides, I like the restaurants downstairs and really don’t want the building to be (rightfully) condemned because of the physical AND mental health hazards upstairs.

So, I stopped to give a snowbird directions, and Lady L happened to pull up on the corner where we stood. George was so happy! I lifted him up to the window to see his momma, and he jumped for absolute joy. She picked up some sammiches and we ate in my office with our little furbag.

Today, I also had a guest in from Philly and another from Baltimore. Which meant there was Amarone and carbohydrates in it for me. And it was just a lovely day all around.

So being home sucks ass. Mostly because I just want to jump the fuck out of my skin and go to bed. But it’s good to be with my kitty again. I’ve missed her. I was going to let her keep the UEOEH company if she ever moved out. But that’s no fair to Kadie. She’s mine and I adore her. I just wish I still felt the same about her Grandma.

I do see a couple of pans of pasta in the fridge. Tiny pans — I didn’t give her THAT much money. But how fucked-up that she makes food and doesn’t eat a single bite of it. Freak.

Oh well. Gonna go play with my kitty. (Get yer mind outta the gutter.) I left my favorite vibrator in my suitcase, anyway, so Kadie’s the only cat in town tonight. Lucky her!