Caterwauling

I’m pissed. I just wrote a mammoth, slightly intellectual blog, and it’s all gone. Down the shitter. Fuck you, Macintosh OS 8.6 for crashing on me just as I hit “post & publish.” Damn you to hell!!!

Anyway, I will give a shorter, less interesting post. The Incoherent Twit got an A on her final paper for her advertising class. I read one page and got a migraine, which incapacitated me from reading till page 16. She told me not to edit it (why would I edit it, when that would result in her getting a better grade?). I was feeling pity for this professor till IT bragged about her stupid grade.

That led me to rant about professors who let students with substandard efforts and abilities to coast through their classes, with no real guidance or support. Perhaps it’s a tad hypocritical on my part (god knows I missed 85 percent of my classes and I breezed by with high grades; further, I tossed term papers together in three days or less and got As as well). However, educators do a real disservice by passing students who turn in incoherent bullshit, and to give her an A on that paper was just a sacrilige. Bad teacher! Bad, bad!!!

The real injustice occurs when these kids end up working for people like me, who have a low tolerance for poor efforts. The Doc has told me I’m too much of a perfectionist and that I have to allow for deficiencies in the Incoherent Twit’s writing and verbal ability, because she grew up in the ‘hood and didn’t have the educational opportunities that other children might have had. Guess what, sugar, I went to public school just like most other Americans, and my grammar is perfect (or damn near it!). I should not have to allow someone who was hired as a writer for my department to be able to crank out the waste that she produces. And the Incoherent Twit is so fucking proud of everything she does, it’s just sickening.

IT graduated college with a 3.6 GPA, which impressed the hell out of The Doc. But I have always wondered if her professors had let her slide, because I don’t know if she learned much of anything at college, because I find myself trying to teach her simple skills that anyone who graduated with a B.A. in journalism should possess. (I should know; I have the same degree in the same major.) Is her new professor being as lax as her previous ones?

This says nothing of the abnormally high standard to which I myself am held at work. I am expected to produce stellar work, and I give them nothing less. Well, I give them less when I have to have IT work on projects alongside me … after all, I must allow for “deficiencies.” (i.e., excrement is fine from her, but all my Ts must be crossed or I hear about it for weeks.)

Anyway, this post is nowhere near as good as the last, but I’m gonna try hitting “post & publish” anyway. Here’s to hoping I don’t lose THIS version. Guys, allow for some “deficiencies” okay?

Today has actually been a bearable day at work, so far. Imagine that! F/OM thanked me and complimented me for pulling that fabulous proposal out of my behind. (well, not in so many words, but you get the idea.) I almost feel bad that I will likely submit my resignation within the next two weeks. 🙁

What I will miss: gossip sessions with B. and D. (in the hallway where we sit), making fun of the Incoherent Twit with just about anybody who will listen, my group of “best friends” (SF, BF, DC, KH, SW … we do it to make fun of the Incoherent Twit and HER best friend), and most of all, my smoking and kvetching breaks with the boys, Brat and the self-proclaimed “Cheap Taiwanese Labor.” (I shall refer to him as CTL from now on.)

It was kinda sweet … I spoke briefly about my impending journey and potential new job, and Brat looked at me intensely and said, “So you’re really going to do this?” I said it was looking more and more likely that it was definitely going to happen. I had told him last Sunday, the day I landed the interview, but I guess he didn’t realize how much of a possibility this really is. I looked at him and CTL and I told them that they’d better come down to visit. They both smiled at me, and my heart was so full … they have really become so special to me. I believe everything happens for a reason, and I’ve been struggling with what kind of joke a mythical higher being has been playing on me with this job. Perhaps the reason I landed at ASCI was to meet the people who would get me through. I just hope their support continues long after I walk through the door of the agency for the final time, because I’ve come to depend on it.

So sentimental already, and nothing has even happened. But what I am trying to do is savor the moments while they last. Alexandria is only a few hours away … Lab Rat and I will just have to establish a terrific bachelorette pad, so people will want to come and visit us! God knows we have about four beds, between the two of us. Although I’d much rather prefer the type of guest who stays in MY bed! (preferably male, at any rate!)

Mighty Mouse saved the day, and what thanks do/will I get? Worked my tail off (wait, nope … it’s still there, damn it. How can I not have a smaller behind when I work my ass off?!?!) Ahem. At any rate, spent two glorious days literally throwing together a 30-plus-page proposal to the City. We’d better get that fucking $45K, for all the effort I put into it. Besides, I’d like to leave on a high note. ..

Don’t wanna go to work today. Damn it.

I work for morons. I work with morons. And I have morons working for me (well, one in particular).

All in all, a typical day in the neighborhood (envision Fred Rogers tossing his sneakers around, to the tune of “Won’t You Be My Neighbor?”).

Blah.

I’ve always wanted a Blog, and here I am, inspired by my dear Lab Rat pal, who will also become my new roommate in a few short weeks!

Yup, we’re hittin’ the bricks (cheesy Pittsburghese, but forgive me … I’m a native!) very soon … D.C. or Bust, baby!

I’m slowly telling the gang that I’m almost outta here. There’s an unmistakable mixture of sadness and excitement and relief from my cohorts. One in particular (I shall call him “Brat”) wants to help me move so that he’s certain that I’m gone for good. (I warned him today that he will never forget me … and he’d better not!) But I’ll come back around the ‘Burgh like a scorching case-o-herpes, I can see it now. I’ll be leaving behind too many special folks. The good thing is, Lab Rat and I have become fast friends who share a love of mocking the ignorant, so I know we’re gonnna have a blast in Virginia.

Nobody seems to be surprised, though, at the impending move. Most people are wondering why I never did it sooner. I feel like I’ve been sitting around, waiting for something to happen. But what? At least by moving, I am ensuring that something, anything will happen. And will it turn you-know-who around and make him realize that he can’t live without me? Time will tell. Or he’ll just be his usual passive self and decide it just wasn’t meant to be.

His loss.

My job interview is April 22. I have some apprehension, of course, but I learned that they are just as nervous because my resume and my current salary are so damn impressive that I might not want to join their organization for a huge pay cut, and for the first three months, a not-so-high job title. Whatever. If The Doc knew how to treat me, I’d have stayed with her forever. But since she morphed into a Heinous Bitch shortly upon my entry through the gates of her hell, and hasn’t morphed back into the icky-sweet fake that I always knew her to be, well, I know when it’s time to go.

I will, however, be sad to part with F/OM and the rest of the Operations Team. They have made a home for me in their little corner of the hornet’s nest. F/OM really seems to believe in me, so I think he will be the most disappointed by my news. I feel kinda bad that I didn’t even put in a full year there, but he knows I’ve been unhappy for the past six months of my 10-month tenure. Of course, the source of F/OM’s impending discord may be for the fact that he will have to supervise the Incoherent Twit till they find a replacement for me!!! Ha!!!!!

At any rate, it’s been a day. Looking forward to posting more incoherent bullshit in the very near future! Caterwauling rocks!

Demotion happened; got suspended from work on Friday for an unrelated matter. Expected it but have had it with all of them. I was to take the day to “reflect” but to “not mull over it.” What the fuck?

The following is “borrowed” from Tiffany’s blogger, from March 26, inspired by yours truly:

“You know what bugs me? It really really bothers me when someone is told that a decision is their call, because they’re the expert and this is what they were hired for… and then when that person makes the call, drawing on his or her own expertise, doing his or her job, the person gets called on the carpet for not consulting with their superiors first. Not for the quality of the decision that was made, but for not being dependent on the same boss who just empowered them to make the decision.

I work in a place like that. You’re free to make decisions that come under your jurisdiction, as long as you always make the decision that The Doc would have made in your place. So just in case, you should always check with her just to make sure that she agrees with your decision before you make it.

The Doc has this insatiable Need To Know about what’s going on. She says she doesn’t like to get bogged down in “the minutiae,” as she calls it, but heaven forbid you make a decision that she disagrees with, even about something relatively minor.

I think that’s what makes the agency such a weird place to work. They talk a good game about being a team, and about staff-empowerment, but when it gets right down to it, it’s The Doc’s show, and everyone else just carries out her micro-management.“

Sums it up very well.

Went out “power tag-team knicker shopping” with Leslie and Tiff last night. We bought loads of guchies at Marshall’s in Waterworks. Tiff defines it as such on today’s blog:

“Power Tag-Team Knicker Shopping n. The act of shopping for underwear, especially scandalous underwear, in the context of a group of two or more women. Characterized by assorted ravings about the state of the women’s underwear industry (“Why does all the fun underwear have to be so uncomfortable?”) and the repeated encouragement of members of the shopping party to buy more and more ridiculous underwear because, “Oh, it’s SO you!” Usually preceded by the consumption of alcohol.”

Knicker shopping was most pleasant for me, because it was most happily interrupted by a call from Brat.

I love that voice. I closed my eyes and just listened to him. And for the 10 minutes that we were on the line, I felt wonderful. I guess I was thinking how nice it would be to hear that voice more often.

I had left him a message on Thursday to announce my suspension. He had joked with me before the decision was made that he hoped I would get suspended, so he wouldn’t feel so lonely (he’s been suspended twice, for stupid shit, if I may say so myself). I left the message that he’s not alone anymore – we’re in the same boat, and it’s sinking. In the same message, I’d also wished him good luck in his golf tournament (alas, we both had the day off!).

When he called, he asked how I was doing. I thought that was sweet. (He knows how it feels to be out of work, not even by our own choice.) I was also glad that he wanted to meet Leslie (it could be for the fact that I’d remarked that he never comes out when I ask him to), because I’d made it clear to him that she wanted to meet him.

He ended up meeting us for drinks after guchie-shopping. The girls got tired and I drove them back to their cars around 10:30. Came back because basically we’d told him to wait for me. I ordered a drink, but he wasn’t drinking. I could tell he was tired, and I knew he’d been on the golf course all day. I drank half my beer and suggested we go.

Outside, I regret to say that nothing happened, not even a hug, which was all I was really hoping for, anyway. We talked and parted ways. I cried half the way home. I wouldn’t let the tears fall, though, and if I hadn’t had anything to drink, I don’t know if they would have come at all.

I am certain that I have done everything, or at least, almost everything, to let him know that I am still interested. Therefore, I am left to believe that either 1. he’s still interested but doesn’t know how/if to proceed from here, or 2. he doesn’t feel the same and hopes I don’t push him.

I want to push him. I want to pull him, rather, back to me. I sure as hell wasn’t looking for a one-nighter (been there, done that); I was hoping to hold him and to maybe have him kiss me goodnight. That’s all I need from him, to keep me going. All I want is a sign that he can love me like I think he can. I want a sign that all my waiting has not been in vain.

Granted, one can argue that when I was with Jeff, I certainly wasn’t waiting. But I was biding my time, and anyone who knows me is well aware that Brat was always in my heart.

At any rate, I’ve been loving (or something close to it) Brat from afar for many, many months. And last night, I guess I was hoping that with the whole “director” specter having been lifted with my voluntary demotion, that maybe we could start the ball rolling toward something greater. But I need his friendship right now, too, and that’s why I didn’t just grab him and ask him what our future is.

My heart keeps telling me to hold on, to be patient, because the best is yet to come. Perhaps I am once again entering Denial; maybe I am deluding myself, just to having something to hold on to. I guess I want to give him the benefit of the doubt on this one; that maybe he’s young and unsure and not ready for a relationship. (Rather than facing the possibility that he might just not want a relationship with me.) I do remember an old conversation we’d had with CTL, that why would any woman want to get involved with him, when he has his parents to take care of? (It had taken all the strength within me to bite my tongue and say that I will take the whole package, just to have him).

Speaking of CTL, well, the propositions continue. He’s so sweet, and would probably be a great guy for me, but well, it isn’t going to happen. He tries so hard, and it is endearing, in a way. But his attempts have made me more cautious about my own dealings with Brat – I am aware of how quickly it can push somebody away if you try too hard to yank them close to you. I take comfort in the fact that CTL and I have a friendship, which is all I need from him. He lets me know that he’s always here if I change my mind, which makes me wonder if he’s just staying friends with me in the hope that I have a change of heart. But that can’t happen until two things occur: 1. I officially give up on Brat, and 2. CTL breaks up with his girlfriend (yeah, he’s all talk, ‘cuz he claims to be miserable yet he stays).

My guess, with Brat, is that if he doesn’t make a move by my birthday (that gives him two months), then this will never work. Lying in bed on that cold October night, discussing the fact that what we were doing was wrong (his words) because I was a director, has never left my mind. I remember lying next to him, kissing his shoulder, with him holding my hand, and I recall how sick and sad and desperate I felt, that he was leaving me there because of my position at work. Was it an excuse then? I’d asked if it was me, not work, and he’d said no. So let’s assume that was the case – I’m not a director anymore. In fact, I just got my “administrator” business cards, and I gave him the first one (and let him know that he was the first). It’s not that he needs my business card for any purpose – I simply wanted to show him that the big, scary title has gone away, and now it’s literally in his hands what happens next.

And I hope it’s something.

I thanked him for coming out with us. It meant a lot to me that he did that. We’re a lot more alike than we ever dreamed possible. I just hope that the road to freedom leads us out of ASCI and into each other’s arms. And I hope if it can happen, it happens soon.

I hope the girl he claims to be seeing is as miserable with him as I was. At least he was a good lay. I got the best of him. That is all he had to offer.

And to clarify, the bullshit about him not being able to leave Tom’s if he wanted to, is, well, bullshit. He called to find out where I was so that he could come out and meet me. I lied and said I didn’t know what bar I was in. I said I knew I was in Brighton Heights, but I didn’t catch the name of the place. He was disappointed and suggested that I join him at Tom’s, then. I told him I had to go, and I hung up on him. I guess this is his way of retaliation. I’ll bet anything that he told his buddies he was going to get laid and that I’d be gullible enough to fuck him. Forget that shit. I will not respond to this email. It is not worth my energy.

Jeff’s response:

Hi Dawn,

I’m sorry you feel that way about Sat night, I was at Tom’s house partying and thought I would take a chance on calling you figuring you were out, and you were. I didn’t want a “Booty Call” if that was what you were thinking, I just wanted to say Hi to you since I haven’t talked to you in a while. I couldn’t have left that night if I wanted to, I was too trashed, Roy tried getting me to go to this bar in Bellevue called Jackmans that night, and I turned him down. Besides I’m seeing someone now, and were getting along great, I still want to be friends, I think your a nice person and I enjoy talking to you. Well, got to go for now, hope to hear from you sometime.

Jeff

Fucking prick.

Message sent to Jeff via email today:

Jeff,

I was hurt and upset by your call last night. It disturbs me that you only call me now under two conditions: 1. if it’s after midnight, and 2. under the influence of alcohol. I think we’ve had some fun together, and I think we both got exactly what we wanted, at the time. You’ve told me often of your lack of desire to have a serious relationship, and I have the same feeling about that. However, I am interested in dating — you know, the dinner-and-a-movie, fuzzy-wuzzy, spending time together kind of thing. The booty call thing, while fun, is getting old, and frankly, I can’t continue putting my health at risk. I wish I’d had the courage to say all of this last night, and I’m surprised I didn’t, given the enormous amount of alcohol I had consumed. At any rate, I guess I was hoping that you thought more of me than that. If I’m making an erroneous assumption about your call last night, then I apologize. If we can be friends, that would be great, but things are not working for me as they are.

Dawn

This job is going to kill me if I don’t do something about it. And with $300 dropped today on a decade-overdue eyeglass prescription (holy shit are my eyes in bad shape), I can’t go anywhere due to finances. Then there’s another $300 that I have to fork over for a fellow employee’s car that I tapped the other day (I think that’s fucking ridiculous – there is no damage to either of our cars), while pulling away from our Homewood location (why the fuck would he park so goddamn close to me anyway?). Of course, the expensive car payment (for a low-end vehicle, damn the high finance rate), rent, insurance and the insane credit card bills (due to marathon retail therapy sessions), I’m in a financial rut. If I run from this job, I’ll save my sanity, but not my life.

And hence, after a lot of thinking, I have come up with what I think is a fair, viable short-term solution to my problems.

I am going to voluntarily take a demotion.

Sounds heinous, but let’s face it – Her Royal Pretentiousness (all hail the queen) makes me nuts. F/OM and I had a long talk on Thursday, and it was a good one. HRP has been treating us all like shit, but all the directors are used to that. I am not. And she is frustrated with me, that I am not making much progress or showing much leadership. I told F/OM that if I am not good enough for the job, just tell me and I will go. And furthermore, I should hope that they account for all the barriers I experience, including the staff that they gave me.

We talked about HRP style of leadership (as if that’s a word that it could EVER be called), how she tries to beat her passion into us. I asked F/OM at what point does it become obvious that she has beaten it out of us.

The conversation was long but amicable. I know it was hard for him to say the things he had to say about my performance (however brief the commentary was, it was still tough matter), but the conversation really revolved around issues in all of F/OM’s departments as well as HRP’s recent rampage toward all of the directors. I learned that this is nothing really new to them, but the frequency is a lot higher right now than normal.

And frankly, I don’t want to be a part of that.

F/OM told me that it reflects poorly upon me that I don’t pal around with the directors. I think his exact words were, “You hang around with Brat and CTL – what does that say about you?”

I was slightly furious (well, not slightly) at the insinuation. F/OM reminded me that it’s lonely at the top, and that it’s best to just retain my professional distance from everyone. (We’ve had this battle before.) He said I don’t carry myself as a director, that I don’t exude the confidence or command the presence (might I remind him that they have me sitting with secretaries? I am nice to everyone because they help me out when I need it). Aloud, though, I said I don’t have the confidence because I have HRP constantly telling me that I am a “failure.” And then how she embarrasses all of us in front of each other (and the recent b.s. at the leadership retreat), how I can I have any confidence to face the people who hear her tear me apart?

I let the Brat/CTL thing slide. Man, that infuriated me. HRP is only married to the janitor, for Christ’s sake, and her cousins and relatives are at all levels of the organization — and godchildren galore in my own department-from-hell. Maybe she doesn’t pal around with them much during the day, but the fact is still out there that she is the only one who can have relationships with people who aren’t on her level, because nobody is on her level.

Mom pointed out that I hang out with people who look/act like me. I hang out with the single white people (including Tiffany, too) – I don’t hang out with the married-with-children crowd of directors, all of whom are African-American except F/OM, who happens to be the only other director with whom I have a relationship. It’s not racially motivated, though — it’s more like an attempt to find people who are bleeding from the same wounds that HRP inflicts upon our group. SHE is the one who creates a racially charged atmosphere. I was FINE with being in the minority … until she started her shit about “white folk” versus “brown babies.”

F/OM wants me to show the personality and spunk that I show him behind closed doors. But on the other hand, they say I’m too “cavalier” and that HRP doesn’t know how to handle me. (She can start by not belittling me at every opportunity.) He also wants me to show more leadership, to take charge and make important decisions, to tell them what to do instead of asking what I should do.

I didn’t remind him that I just received a written warning for running ahead and doing things on my own without asking if it’s okay. I do see all of his points, and he presented them pretty well to me, but I also realize that it’s hard for me to be a leader when nothing I say/do is “right.”