50 years of average continues

I decided around 7 p.m. last night that, if the Veggie Patch wants average, they’re going to start getting average from me. Effective today.

I just got a ridiculous letter to the editor, one that was copied to more than 15 people in my organization. The bitch starts off nasty, of course, and talks about my “BI”-line. Um, excuse me, but it’s “byline” you fucking freak. Any ASSHOLE who starts off a letter to me talking about my “BI” line had better prepare to bend over and I’ll show them who’s bi! 😉 I can’t even read the letter. I am certain it goes on to make a good point somewhere, but that shit’s unheard of.

Here’s what I was greeted to:

Ms (Goddess Dawn):

I am responding to the front page article in (The Veggie Patch Gazette) for June 2003. The article was ostensibly written by you as indicated by your BI-line. I am copying others in your organization in hope that my concern will not be trivialized. …”

So, ostensibly, I am bi and now the whole fucking leadership of my organization knows it. Did I happen to reject her at the conference? This is a bitch on a mission.

Oh, and as if that weren’t enough to ruin my day. …

Demure’s secretary sent me an e-mail with a request — she wants her daughter’s school pictures scanned into the computer so she can have them online. She would also like me to print them in color for her, but at least I don’t have a color printer. You know, I work so fucking hard, and for what? I am sick of everyone else being comfy in their fuzzy bunny slippers and bathrobes, waving their pill cups around. I am officially done with this place.

I want every last one of my readers to e-mail me with an inventory of your skills. Do it as soon as you read this message. I’m serious. I am going to start a referral service for companies that need help and I am going to refer those needs to good people who deserve to make the money. And god damn it, I am going to be whoring out my own fund-raising, editorial and party-planning skills. I am through … absolutely through … with the stress and heartache I get every day when I pull into my employer’s parking lot.


You know, I received a beautiful compliment from one of my readers on my VM this morning. Why is it that, when they like what I do, they call and leave a VM just for me, and when they hate it, they put it in writing and circulate it around the country? Why can’t people write their compliments and send them to the people who control my budget?

I sent the offensive e-mail to Demure, as she was surprisingly missing from the distribution list. My note was bitter and pissy, and I said, “If she can’t spell, I can’t expect her to write coherently, either. And it is not my policy to read letters that assault me in the first sentence.” On a final note, the bitch signed the note, “Respectively submitted.” DUMB BITCH, IT’S “RESPECTFULLY”!!!

Oh, and Jackass spelled my name wrong, too.

Now I shall go respectively impale myself on a letter opener on an Exacto knife.

Update 2

Oh, it was a person of male gender who wrote the letter. Everyone in the building is referring to it as a she, so I went with the flow. Well, male or not, it was on its rag today, baby!

Our president sent me a thoughtful reply (he was slammed in the letter too for one fucking quote), and he said he could see the reader’s point. I zipped a note back that the only point said reader managed to make was that he is in fact a moron.

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