Caterwauling

After last night’s lesson, I am almost sorry to know that, after two more lessons, this adventure will be over.

We’re learning a combination of both difficult and simple steps, and maybe it’s because we’ve all gained a bit of self-confidence during the past four weeks, but it seems easier. We seem to flow, to meld, to glide way better than we did at the beginning. Granted, I have a long way to go before I can fluidly move from one set of steps into another set, but it will happen. Eventually. 🙂

Although Mike is easy on the eyes and is really starting to get comfortable with the steps, I say, hands-down, my best dancing partner is Dave. After class, we had pizza with Debonair Gary, Deirdre and Bonnie (who missed class but showed up for a glass of chardonnay and some good food), and even they admitted that while it’s cool and a neat way to meet people when we change partners, we really do find that we work best with just one person. Amen to that — let’s face it, assuming I never get Mike’s number, the only person I will dance with after this class ends is Dave, so it’s more important that we learn the steps with someone with whom we will actually use them.

I truly enjoyed meeting the others over dinner. Granted, I was a little perturbed at having to actually get up out of my chair and move across the room to a bigger table, but I was meant to meet that crew. It’s weird — professionally, we all have some sort of connection or similar interest. And everyone’s laid-back and funny when they’re off the dance floor. For most of us, our personalities really shine through on the floor — Dave and I laugh and keep trying or celebrate when we do well. It’s like I’ve finally left the nerves at the door. And wasn’t there an old country song, “I Just Came Here to Dance”? (Yes, my family made me listen to David Frizzell and Shelly West and all the other country artists in the ’70s and ’80s.)

Something about Bonnie intrigued me. Her job, of course, made me salivate. In fact, over dinner, she received a call from someone, telling her about the bombings in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, and I was enthralled. She has that kind of piercing gaze, too, like she’s really trying to see inside you when you’re speaking. It was unnerving at first — because I’m so flippant and so all-over-the-place when I talk, but she really concentrates on you, as if you were divulging the secret of life. I will definitely have to talk to her and Deirdre again — it was great to meet them, as we women typically don’t meet each other and the men don’t meet each other either, because we’re so busy dancing and switching partners of the opposite sex.

At any rate, I was reduced to a fit of giggles during the class, so much so that I blurted out, “I am SO going to blog about this!” But as I couldn’t load Blogger to save my life when I got home from class last night, I forget what inspired me to say that, so I guess I’m not blogging about it. (Dave is breathing a sigh of relief as he’s reading this — I can feel it!). 😉

We did some twirly stuff, which was fun, but then there was that horrid part where we had to dance 180-degree turns on one foot. Gaaah! Luckily, the anticipated casualties didn’t occur. In fact, the easiest way to obtain wounds in that class is when the couples are all doing different things and we end up crashing into each other, demolition derby-style.

Dave is rooting for me with Mike — while I was searching for my keys (which someone was sitting on), he invited Mike and Stephanie to join us for pizza. They politely declined, saying that they had eaten before class. Dave rocks! And I’m okay if nothing happens with Mike — but I would be sorely disappointed if I never ran into him and Stephanie again, because we were all laughing and having a really good time in class, and I’ll bet they’d be fun to hang out with. Not as fun as us, by any means (lol), but I think they’d be a nice addition to the mix of friends. I mean, really, something drew all of us to that class, and I believe that combination of people converged for a reason.

At any rate, as much as I whine and complain about the class, I do like it. And like Gary pointed out, it’s our first class, so it’s difficult but possible to learn rhythm on your feet, even if it doesn’t happen right away. They recommended that we take ballroom dancing, the fox trot and something else (can-can? cha-cha?). I think I might actually be up for that someday. Just not today! 😉

Insufferable training session today. Shan, though, made it so very memorable. Town Crier asked a stupid question, which was reiterating whatever the monotone trainer had said, and the trainer responded, “You get the gold star!” Shan wrote a note to me about TC that said, “You get the gold finger!”

OMG — I was snarfing and snorting and gagging and crying for the next 20 minutes. Otherwise, the hour-plus training was simply painful.

I am trying to reschedule today’s nail appointment — it seems there is a mandatory training that I was drafted to attend, only the thing is, King Kumquat is only now having Shan notify us about this ridiculous training in a few hours.

Granted, I’ve known about it for a week, and so has my supervisor, but Kumquat insisted that he be the one to send out the e-mail to announce it. Demure (my boss) has been flipping out and frothing at the mouth at Shan about this, panicking because staff haven’t been notified by Kumquat, but she’s an asshole. What Demure should have done was notified her staff about the training as soon as she heard about it (we have an outside consultant coming in; it’s not like the date was flexible). I just don’t see why people insist on upholding a chain of communication around here some times (i.e., you can only correspond with your direct supervisor), and other times, your direct supervisor withholds information until somebody else wants to tell you about it. And when we’re talking about Kumquat, he’s a nice guy but he isn’t exactly in a rush to disseminate information — instead, he’s got a very pregnant Shan running around the building, begging people to attend this ridiculous training.

I won’t even go into detail about how Kumquat ripped into Shan for 20 minutes, insisting that this is all her fault. She has the voicemails from him to prove otherwise — that he didn’t want her to have any part of this process — so how she kept from popping him in the puss is beyond me. After a great Mother’s Day (yes, you heard it here first — she’s going to be a Mommy!), she had to come back to this shit. This place has such a way of raising her blood pressure and ire (same goes for me, but at least I’m not living for two) — we need to get her out of here first, then me.

I just left a bitter VM for Demure, stating that I will do my level best to attend the training, but that I have to either delay or cancel my appointment (I alluded to it being a medical one), and she called back to tell me I don’t have to attend. LOL. Damn, I’m good! But I know that the more people Shan can round up to attend this useless hour of training, the less Kumquat will get on her back — again, it will be her fault, per him. Although, as always, any victory she does manage to have, he will take credit for. I did ask Demure why, if she knew about this training for a week, she didn’t at least warn her staff to pencil it in until it was confirmed by Kumquat. She avoided the question.

Mailroom Dipshit left me a VM this morning, after I called him on Friday with a request to fix my name in the company phone directory. The only reason he fixed it is because I dropped the names of our current and incoming presidents, both of whom brought the error to my attention. Just to show how little he has to do, he just called me a few seconds ago and said, “Did you get my message?” I said yes. Then there was silence. I wasn’t going to make it easy on him … what did he want, a “Congratulations for flipping a switch” banner or a victory parade thrown in his honor? So finally, he said okay, and I did say thank you, and we hung up. Ergh. Always something around here … and it’s always something rotten.

Decided to split the only hour of TV worth watching tonight between 30 minutes of the “90210” reunion and “Six Feet Under.” Then I watched the final reunion montage and got all weepy and stupid. “Six Feet Under” absolutely rocks, although it’s eerie how often it parallels my world. I’ve most often identified with Claire, although I was fearing recently that I’d end up just like Lisa, but now that Lisa is missing and presumed dead, I’m back to feeling Claire’s pain.

Talked with Gail, Susan and Mom today … didn’t chat with my mom-to-be friend, but we’ll catch up tomorrow. Gail filled me in on her job horrors (we met on the job five years ago) and the boss from hell who hasn’t changed a bit.

Shan and I talk often of the “trail of tears” — that is, leaving one wretched job for another. Trading bad for bad, exchanging intolerable actions at one place to different intolerable actions at another.

I chose not to work this weekend. Didn’t feel like leaving the house today — I was enjoying spending Mother’s Day alone with my furry little daughter. I usually clean during my weekends by myself, but other than hauling a garbage avalanche to the curb, I didn’t do much else worth a mention. Used my foot sauna and enjoyed it immensely. If I know me, now that I’ve used it two times, I’ll return it to its box and forget I ever bought it. 🙂 Now I’m drying out from applying tan-in-a-can. I am just tired of being pasty, and I found a good brand at the dollar store, so I had to use it. I’m kinda up-and-down lately moodwise; I usually dye my hair when I’m feeling this bland and annoyed in general, but I couldn’t find a good brand on sale, nor could I decide whether to go dark or play up the red a little bit more (and I look hideous as a blonde — and the carpet would definitely not match those drapes!

Good Saturday in the neighborhood. Traipsed around the Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden with Shawn and enjoyed some nifty modern art. Saw some stuff from The Warhol Museum in Pittsburgh, where we’re both from, so that was a nice touch of home, only in a more fabulous city. 🙂 Shawn took me to dinner at this great Thai place in Dupont, and all in all, ’twas a good day. …

… Except that my shoes — albeit stylish — essentially raped and massacred my feet. Damn studded denim platform thongs. Damn them to hell!

So I went to Springfield Mall and picked up a fantastic foot massaging unit. Aaah. Also picked up some ridiculously expensive socks (that have heated pads in them) and all kinds of bath stuff. Got catty litter and food for the furry princess and went grocery shopping (to replace all the shit that went bad that I never ate from my last shopping extravaganza). Have already used the foot massaging bath killed a pint of apple pie ice cream while I soaked. Decided to save the socks until after my fourth dance class on Monday … believe me, I’ll need it then!

Definitely enjoying my weekend. Have to do some work tomorrow, but I tend to kick ass when I work on holidays. Mom got her flowers and a package of goodies from Maddie and me, and everyone else important to me received their cards and/or gifts that I sent, so life is good. I had to laugh at everyone cramming into Hallmark stores and grabbing floral arrangements from the supermarket at 10 p.m. — usually, that’s me, but I did manage to plan ahead a little bit for this holiday.

Ah, sweet cigarette. I’m gonna go watch the rest of “Trading Spaces” and get my tired ass to bed! I just wish I could find an ass-soaking machine — ’cause I encounter enough (human) pains in my ass to justify the expense!

You Are A Insatiable Bitch!

You reek of sex. Married men, old men, and young men…

You don’t discriminate – as long as they get you off.

You’ll seduce anyone, from gay guys to your friends’ boyfriends.

What Kind of Bitch Are *You*?

More Great Quizzes from Quiz Diva

You are Lust.

Every part of you screams "Do me now!"
You exude sexuality and while others sometimes
view you as a slut, you see yourself as only
giving into your base desires.

What Emotion Are You?
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Somebody’s in for a rotten day:

“You may find yourself in intense arguments that explode into verbal wars that you are not happy about, dawn. Your nature is expansive and generous, but you find that if this good nature is taken advantage of, your mood quickly turns to anger and detachment.”

I just essentially threw Demure out of my office. I swear, she sounds like Charlie Brown’s teacher, and I wanted to kill her at that moment.

It was the second time I had lost my patience with her. And this time, it wasn’t really her fault, but she came to me with a command from King Kumquat that annoyed me. I had assigned one of my editors to do a brief story on something that Kumquat had wanted to see covered, only for him to today insist that I must be the one to cover not only that story, but about four accompanying stories. Damn him. Deadline is next week, for Christ’s sake. I farmed out the story because I have enough to do, but it’s back with a vengeance. Fuck it.

I realized that I have officially succumbed to the utter laziness of my workplace with that. Honestly, I never back down from more work, because hey, what else do I have to do? But I was just pissed that my functional, effective solution was thrown out the window and back onto my plate.

Mouth Almighty and I are on the outs. She keeps trying to talk to me (just saying hello, nothing major) and I keep pretending I didn’t even see or hear her. It just escalated in the hallway a few minutes ago, when we almost ran into each other. She said “Hello Dawn” very poinedly, and I just put on a tight-lipped smile and kept going. She said again, “HELL-O DAWN” and I snapped back, “How are you?” in a tone that showed that I did not want a response. She kept walking her way, and I kept walking mine.

She and Shan have had similar interactions. Bitch needs to stay the fuck out of our way, because she will be run over and she will be destroyed.

Town Crier is no better. She has been monitoring conversations between Shan and Deb and reporting every last detail back to Mouth Almighty. It’s so comical, that our lives concern the two of them so damn much. Just goes to show that they obviously don’t have enough work to do.

When I left work yesterday around 6:40 p.m., I passed no fewer than 10 police cars. Having been pulled over one block from here, I was glad that my car’s stickers and taxes are up-to-date. But I wasn’t pulled over. In fact, other than a cop on foot looking in my window at an intersection, none of them batted an eye at me.

Turns out that an escaped prisoner had invaded my area. Shan notified me when I got home that, through the special connections her fiancee has, he learned that the convict was in one of two apartment/condo complex buildings in our area — either hers or G3’s. I was dumbstruck that the cops had narrowed it down to two buildings where I actually knew people. I was just hoping that nobody would get hurt (even though G3 would be one less prick to disappoint women with!).

In the end, the guy was found in a tree on my street last night. Heh. It’s comical, that he escaped prison and got chased up a tree like a scared little pussy. But now, the entertainment is over, and alas, I guess I must actually start doing some work! (But why?) LOL

Tiff brought this “A Flight Risk” blog to my attention yesterday. It’s supposedly a true tale of a young woman who has fled from her oppressive family and is writing from undisclosed locations about her childhood.

Tiff and I think it reads too much like a novel for it to possibly be true. It’s a good story, don’t get us wrong, but it seems more like it was written by a verbose screenwriter than a girl named “Isabella” who is finding her freedom and giving us up-to-the-minute details of her time on the run. I figure, if she’s so technically inclined, wouldn’t someone in her family know how to rev up the Internet and find her, especially with the buzz this blog is creating? At any rate, our problem with it is that people from all over the world are really caring and praying for this girl, and all we can say is that they will be really pissed if/when they find out that they’ve been falling for yet another Internet hoax so that some asshole can write a book about the emotions s/he manipulated in his or her readers.