That Old Familiar Contempt. …

Touched base with Two Strikes today … after email from Lori and IM from Susan, re: damn dinner theater.

You know, I have to rant. I have been gone from that place for two months, yet I still get that bizarre mixture of panic and frustration and fear and heartache every damn time something arises that pertains to the work I did there. And the reason they needed me was no big deal, and if Incoherent Twit were the least bit competent, she could have figured it out for herself. But what does it say about her that people are more willing to contact me at my job in Virginia than walk down the hall to ask her stupid ass a simple question that they know they can’t answer?

I’m at the end of my pier of guilt, the one that makes me feel terrible about some of the loose ends I left there in June as well as because I only spent a bit more than a year on-site there (on top of nine months as a consultant, of course, but somehow that never counts in my mind). But maybe if those assholes hadn’t given me projects up till my second-to-last-day there, after having given a month’s notice that I was leaving, perhaps I could have finished everything I started. Damn it, how can Twit not know that she could simply call Victoria Hall to find the date for which I scheduled the dinner theater? How fucking dumb must one be? Why did the task find its way to Lori and Susan, who have higher-level tasks to accomplish? It’s not their jobs to deal with such piddly shit … if it were, I can guarantee that both of them would have thought to call VH for any info on whatever plans I had made at the venue that Twit knew I had reserved. AAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!!!!!


As far as I am concerned, HRP et. al. know damn well that I would be more than willing to serve as a consultant. Even F/OM had joked with me during my final days, wondering if I’d be answering the phone when they called to ask me to work on the event. I had said flat-out that I’d love to do it … for a fee. That hasn’t changed. Granted, F/OM had nothing to do with today’s events, but still. I could always make the argument that calls from Two Strikes shouldn’t happen while I’m at my *paying* job, but then there’s that pesky twinge of guilt that occurs when Two Strikes has my friends ask me stuff, because OF COURSE I want to help them … it’s a masochistic impulse that keeps people working there, and I take pity on them and want them to have at least one easy moment in their days. And besides, I really do believe in that stupid charity and would love to see it succeed … because I know I had something to do with that success.

But that got me to thinking … Twit is making more money than Tiff and me, people with genius-level IQs, educations we didn’t squander, common sense (for the most part!), ambition and most of all TALENT, and Twit sits on her stupid fishnet-clad ass all day, staring at the ceiling because she’s too dumb to form a thought. And I tried, oh how I tried, to drag her kicking and screaming into caring about doing a good job. I wasted weeks and months of my life, trying to re-do her second-class work, which HRP had deemed perfectly acceptable because Twit went to public school (LIKE I DIDN’T!!!!).

Oh, gawd. Here I go again. …

I stumbled across some old journal entries last night that were written BB … Before the Blog. I saw the hurt, anger and pain in my words, and I had written so elusively about the situations and events that had I not been there, I would never know the true motivation behind the words. But as I said, the pain was there, and that’s enough to show me how bad things really were.


Oooh, “The Virgin Suicides” is on Showtime right now. Must watch!

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