Caterwauling

My phone rings. “Hello?”

“Um, hi.”

“Um, hi.” I was hoping he’d be an obscene caller.

“I just found your number. Sorry it took so long to get back to you.”

“Can I ask who’s calling?” I was downright gleeful — could it be a potential date?

“Mike.”

“Mike who?” Oh, god, could it have been Hot Mike from dance class? The one who never called, even though I gave him my number?

“Mike … the one with the aromatherapy products.”

*crushed silence*

“Anyway, I was just doing some laundry, and I found your number. Wanted to get in touch and see if you were still interested.”

“Aromatherapy?” Damn it, it wasn’t the Mike I wanted it to be. Fuck.

“Yeah.”

“How’d you get this number?”

“Um, you gave it to me.”

“No, actually, I don’t give out my number to people. What number are you trying to reach?”

“(976.whore.ny)”

“That’s my number, but I suspect someone gave you my number in error. Is there a name written with the number?”

“No, you just scribbled it down on a scrap of paper.”

“Look, it sounds like someone gave you a wrong number. I only give out business cards — I don’t scribble my number on anything.” *Bathroom walls, maybe, but not on papers. Heh*

“No, you gave me your number.”

“Oh, for christ’s sake, I did not. And I’m still not interested in whatever the hell you’re trying to sell.”

“Um. Okay.” *click*

*screams*

Moved my first load to the new apartment. I was treated to a vomit-scented stairwell at my current abode, and an Eau de Fresh Dung aroma at the new place.

I’m glad I have another 15 days to make this move — I have entirely too much crap. Friends keep asking what they can get me as a housewarming gift (let me point them toward my Amazon Wish List), but then again, do I really need more stuff?!?! < / shameless plug for gifts >

One thing that will NOT be on my wish list is Mariah Carey’s rendition of Def Leppard’s “Bringing on the Heartbreak.” Sweet jesus on a pogo stick, bring on the earplugs!!!

At any rate, a Haunted Housewarming Soiree is on the horizon. I love my new balcony, and once I go back to Pittsburgh for my grill, there will be much meat consumption at my hacienda. 🙂

Step 1: Click this link.

Step 2: View the photo

Step 3: Laugh ass off. 🙂

For both the hiring and the moving.

Don’t get me wrong — the apartment is perfect for me. But I’ve just made a major purchase (not to mention getting raped by Comcast for digital cable/internet when it comes on the 7th), so I feel kind of drained, both financially and emotionally.

I’m really tired. I was psyched about starting to move tonight, but I think I’m going to crash and just get an early start tomorrow. I just can’t decide whether to cry or to laugh — I know I’ll be laughing soon, but I guess I’m really missing my family today. My mom never missed a move and always worked round-the-clock with me to get it done. Although, the poor woman always ended up helping me do the final cleaning of the apartment, as nearly all of my roomies in the past saw fit to take off and dump it on me because I actually cared about leaving the place in good shape.

At any rate, I just don’t know what I would have done without my mom during those stressful times, but I guess I do know now … I wish she were here. *sniff*

Well, I’m officially a tenant at my new abode. The place is immaculate and the carpet is brand-new (let’s take this opportunity to admit that I already stained the carpet with an air freshener that must’ve melted in my trunk this morning — purple spots o’plenty, but it smells like lilacs in there now!) I can’t WAIT to start lugging carloads of crap there (as I’ve run out of boxes and patience so I would like to get my unpacked items there pronto).

The bad news comes from Sports Guy, who politely declined the job to my voice mail. He sounded sincere in that he feels he’s missing an incredible opportunity to get to work with me, but alas, he got another offer — from a daily newspaper — which he thought would be the better choice for him.

Maybe it isn’t bad news, though. Things happen for a reason — maybe this is fate’s way of kicking my ass and telling me that it’s not too late to undo a screw-up.

1. What time do you wake up on weekday mornings?

8 a.m. — I usually get up around 6:30 a.m. but go back to sleep.

2. Do you sleep in on the weekends? How late?

Not big on sleeping in, not even when I’m up till 3 a.m. My standard waking time on the weekends is always before 9 a.m., unless I’ve partied a bit, at which time, 1 p.m. sounds about right. 🙂

3. Aside from waking up, what is the first thing you do in the morning?

Curse.

4. How long does it take to get ready for your day?

About six hours. Just because I’m awake and functioning within an hour doesn’t mean that I want to talk to, look at, listen to or just plain put up with stupidity. I need about four cups of coffee before I am fit to deal with others.

5. When possible, what is your favorite place to go for breakfast?

Around here, I could give a rat’s ass about breakfast places. But in Pittsburgh, I died over Pamela’s and DeLuca’s. And Eat ‘n Park. And even Shitters Ritter’s.

Town Crier (everybody’s favorite villain) just stopped by with a big stupid grin on her pointy little face. She sing-songed, “It’s (Cruise Director’s) birthday!” I just glared at her and said, “Um, yeah, I know.” She still had that goofy smile and said, “All right then,” and danced out.

Dipshit.

Today brings a new month, a new apartment and eventually, a new life.

I’m signing my lease at 10:30 a.m., although I just got a panicked call from the apartment complex folks, asking why I hadn’t come in yet. Turns out that they lost their appointment bookings and have simply been relying on people showing up as scheduled. I offered to come in earlier, but they said no. Oh well. As long as the place is neat and clean and ready for me to move in, I’m cool.

I am taking two things with me to commemorate my move: My friend Leslie had brought me back a gorgeous slate mirror from Ireland, which I typically keep above my silver jewelry armoire, and that’s definitely coming with me today. I am also taking one of my big stuffed Garfield dolls (yes, Dave, the one sitting on the couch with Tinky Winky), and I have a scarf wrapped around the doll’s neck that I picked up in New York.

At any rate, I just finished the world’s most boring conversation with Demure’s secretary. She does not stop. Sweet gal, but didn’t she see me falling asleep during the hour that she had me cornered in my office? I came in at 7:30 a.m. for a reason, and I’m no farther along now than I was when I arrived. Gaaah! Luckily, my phone rang, and that ended that, or else she’d probably still be in here. 🙂

When asked my sexual orientation, I usually say, “Yes, please!” But after a trip to the ladies’ room here at the Veggie Patch today made me shudder at the thought of all the stanky pussies in this building. Good lord, do these people wash themselves? *twitch* These women leave a trail of stench behind them — I can’t imagine anyone wanting to venture into that territory. *gag*

*updated*

Well, H.R. swears she contacted Sports Guy on Tuesday about the job offer. He left her a VM at 8 p.m. Tuesday night. She called him again Wednesday morning. Here it is, Thursday morning, and I still don’t know if he is accepting the job or not.

The cynical side of me wonders if H.R. isn’t sneaky enough to claim to be calling the guy but isn’t bothering. I mean, sheesh, the one time I sent him an e-mail, I received a response within 10 minutes. And of course, Witchy Woman has already called H.R. to find out where we are in the process (just like she called to bug me after her first interview — career coaches need to quit telling people to do that, because people like me don’t view it as being efficient and interested — we take it as call number 56 of 100 to answer in a day).

In a strange way, I like her. I felt like she was “the one” from the beginning. But my feeling is that she’s too good for the job — that she’ll spend one week in that loony bin and run screaming.

When I told H.R. that I chose Sports Guy as the lucky winner of the position, she was crushed. She said she hates to let the better candidate go. But really, ARE we letting the better candidate go? I chose Sports Guy based on his potential to grow into his, and eventually my, job. I feel like Witchy Woman would take to her job immediately … and then want mine six months later. But I could be wrong. In fact, I think, given her work experience to date, she’s dealt with enough corporate idiocy to know how to hang in a wacky environment.

We’ll see, friends. We’ll see.

I’m feeling like I made the wrong decision with Sports Guy. I really do. But my decision is based on who can roll with the punches … who will just grin and bear it … ’cause that’s about 50 percent of the job on any given day.

UPDATE

We think Sports Guy must be waiting for an offer from someone else. H.R. did make the offer to him, but he wanted till noon tomorrow to think about it. H.R. won’t be in the office, so he’ll call me with an answer either way. We don’t have enough of a grasp on his personal integrity to know whether he will accept this position but then bow out if someone comes in with a better offer. I’d just like to know if they’re interviewing elsewhere, ya know? Makes ’em much more appealing, to know that somebody else might get them first. 🙂