Caterwauling

“You’re the kind of man
A woman thinks she can change
Oh, but the only thing changin’
Is my way of thinkin’
And I’m thinkin’ that maybe someday

“Somebody’s gonna give you
A lesson in losin’
Somebody’s gonna do to you
What you’ve been doin’
And I hope that I’m around
To watch ’em knock you down
Somebody’s gonna give you
A lesson in hurtin’
Somebody’s gonna leave you
With your fire burnin’
And no way to put it out.”

— Jo Dee Messina, “Lesson in Leavin'”

I have no problem ending, or accepting the end of dating or otherwise-intimate relationships. It’s when they don’t work out and then you set your (good) intention on being friends, and yet you get all the side effects of being a person in their life (good AND bad) but none of the sex, that things get confusing and migraine-inducing.

So I hear, anyway.

I was planning to write a three-part “syndrome” series with our office archetypes. You met Helpful Horvath, the grand master of creating churn. And Snooki, the person who has no patience for you from before the moment you open your mouth, but is so integral to the company that you just have to find ways to please or otherwise avoid him or her.

My third one, well, I haven’t named yet. Because I still don’t actually know that every company has one of these. I pray they don’t. I really do.

First, let me say this. I write all of my blogs “to” Rockville, Md. Whenever I fire up my dashboard, I think of my beloved friend Vitamin D and I guess I appeal to her — for laughs, for nods, for approval.

I’ve been envisioning telling her the story I want to tell all of you. And all I can hear is her saying, “Ay yi yi!” Because there is nothing else to say.

I had occasion to talk to someone I don’t normally cross paths with. I wouldn’t say I’ve wronged anyone in this field (fun-poking blog entries notwithstanding) but there are folks I just avoid because an ex-employer got custody of them in the divorce.

Plus, I had a lot of hurt to overcome. You may see a lot more forgiveness in my recent entries; that’s because the burden just got too heavy to keep dragging through the desert, you know? I’ve grieved; I’ve moved on. I’m a vocationally single girl. Party time!

Anyway, let’s just say my eyes got themselves opened. And I find myself at a sadly familiar crossroads, where I either choose to lose all faith in humanity or simply kick myself for being so trusting YET AGAIN.

Seriously, you’d think I’d learn.

So of course it occurs to me to blog about it, to help me make sense of it. Which is pretty hard nowadays because everybody knows everybody in my world. So that’s out.

The thing is, there are lies and misdeeds, and then there’s just plain “asking for it.” And in my field, you have to have a caste system for bad behavior, because it’s so rampant.

However, I can pretty much forgive professional backstabbing. (See how jaded I really am?) But it’s when people start making it personal that really puts a bug square up my butt.

Now, I say this as the same asshole who nicknames people who make me mad. But I imagine any therapist in the world would tell you this beats actually doing something regrettable.

I say all of this because I take my relationships very seriously. Where I’ve failed romantically, I’ve succeeded professionally. I have many long-term relationships that I cherish. Even if we only go on a “date” occasionally, I expect honesty and loyalty and that I’m still talking to the same person every time we connect.

Garrr, I feel like I’m digging myself deeper into this abyss. So, I’m going to forget naming this archetype, in favor of this:

1. I have enough to answer for when I get to heaven. I’d like to see my friends when I get there. If you’re not going to be there with me, I really don’t need to associate with you here.

2. I’m disappointed. Irrevocably so.

3. You don’t deserve what you have, but you will deserve what you get.

I’m not going to lose what makes me “me” because of “you.” But you have lost “me” and if that doesn’t speak volumes about “you,” I don’t know what would.

A full night’s sleep hasn’t done much to take the edge off yesterday’s injustice. Although a full bottle of wine for dinner certainly didn’t hurt.

It’s one thing to receive/read messages from people who didn’t watch the trial about how dumb we all are who care so much about it (as though that could ever be a bad thing) … or how the prosecution clearly failed (really? It was pretty damn airtight, considering how little they had to work with and how mindblowing the “new science” really is) … or how that mud-smearing, see-what-sticks, crude, whiny and inept defense must have done a great job … or how defensive everyone is about the jury’s decision, right or wrong, because that’s our justice system.

But if a “jury of my peers” is having two people out of 12 who went past 11th grade and four with an arrest to their names, I’d rather take my chances in Perugia with Amanda Knox, thanks, should I find myself in the klink. Clearly our merry band of average citizens saw the same evidence the rest of us did and processed (or didn’t process) it the same way. Is that the system at work, or the system not working?

Someone had a really smart comment on Twitter last night, that the jury system blows and people aren’t educated or smart enough for this BIG responsibility. Well, that’s MY comment, because even my mind was blown at just the jury instructions. 🙂

But the comment I saw was that we should abolish the jury system as-is and have law students from around the country sit in on trials. They should have a minimum number of hours logged/number of cases as kind of an “internship.” That way, they can see justice at work before they ever get to practice law.

Knowing that a friend JUST passed the Virginia bar after about a dozen tries, I think that makes sense. Nothing like putting due process to work to make something stick in your brain. And I’d feel way better having a bunch of law students deciding my fate.

Now, before I receive another message that makes me want to procure a weapon and use it, I absolutely believe we are better off having 10 guilty men go free than having one wrongfully convicted. But I could get more time for HINTING at becoming a Casey Anthony vigilante than she will serve for, as I believe the evidence proved beyond any sort of doubt, suffocating her daughter and tossing her into a swamp to rot. And THAT is what I have a problem with.

These are the same people who elected Rick Scott as my governor. So yeah, I get a little touchy when it comes to the “hanging chad” state. What’s next, my state is going to fall into the Michele Bachmann for president camp? And people still want to challenge me on not having faith in the judicial (or any other) system?

Anyway, make fun of me if you must for actually feeling passionate about something, even if it supposedly has nothing to do with me. And snarl at me all you like that I’m calling out the jury’s decision as NOT the right one and writing off this case as too sophisticated for the bulk of the unwashed masses. But I’m getting a little tired of having to rely on prayer and Karma and, ultimately, God to reward the just, punish the evil, and to let wrongdoing appear to remain rewarded until such time arrives.

Blazing orange sky and ocean

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I am prone to panic.

I mean, it’s understandable now that I’ve become disenchanted and lazy. Who the hell wants to scramble for solutions at this age and energy level?

But since late 2004 and I was out of work for five solid months, I haven’t slept a good night’s sleep. I’ve always been terrified of … well, the worst. Whatever that may be. I don’t speak it aloud or even define it in my mind. Law of Attraction, yo.

A friend confessed the other day that she has the same fear. She’s had it for two years. And it’s all based on the same reason — how idiot employers think their superstars are simply disposable.

We should be the ones with the security, you know? With the knowledge base, the contacts and the reputation, we should be the FIRST ones these guys are fighting for. Not the ones to be carelessly cast aside under the auspices of, “Oh they will land on their feet somewhere else.”

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, THEY are the ones in over their head. They don’t know how to handle ideas that aren’t their own. So they shoot yours down and/or claim them as their own. Why is it your fault that they don’t know what they’re doing?

Speaking of “in over one’s head,” I’ve taken an uncanny interest in the Casey Anthony trial. The defense lawyer, Jose Baez, is every boss I’ve ever hated — he HAS to be the smartest guy in the room. And he will lob slights and personal insults to the people who ARE the smartest in the room.

Arpad Vass testified yesterday, bringing the nascent science of testing air to the courtroom for the first time ever. And perhaps it’s Baez’ job to attack the witnesses’ credibility, but I felt he did so even more unfairly than usual.

(Not saying he didn’t abuse Yuri Melich and, oh, Caylee’s GRANDPARENTS. He did. Seems everyone is on trial BUT the alleged murderer.)

Anyway, Vass seems to have a small speech impediment, and I felt like Baez was treating him like a special category of idiot. But if you actually listened to the guy, he was goddamn brilliant. And passionate. And confident.

Why do people have to try to bring down the Vasses of the world? My kvetch is on a bigger scale than just yesterday’s courtroom interaction. It’s the whole “Swinging Dick” theory — everyone’s gotta wield their widdle weiners and try to prove that theirs is the biggest … particularly those whose weiners you would need a microscope and a petrie dish to see.

I was always the type of supervisor who wanted smarter people on my team. I’m not ashamed to admit that I don’t know everything. Nor do I plan to become proficient at a thousand things. Nor do I want to pretend that I know more than the EXPERTS. (It always killed me how many people thought they were editorial gods and goddesses after one conversation with me. Uh, I forgot more than you will ever learn.)

Anyway, the good news is that Baez has no defense and Casey is surely soon to become the fourth woman on Florida’s Death Row.

And the better news is that Vass had jokes and zingers that he lobbed right back to Baez. I am ready to start a fan club for him. 🙂

But take that with you — it’s usually crystal-clear to others who’s the brains in the operation and who’s throwing roadblocks in their path to LOOK like the smart guy.

And when your credibility and experience gets attacked and patronized, just sit back and talk above their heads. Shouldn’t be too hard because the smartest people in the room are smart enough to know that they can stand to learn something from everyone else … and they will be laughing WITH you while the mean asshole struggles to come up with his next baseless insult because it’s the ONLY TRICK HE HAS.

CityWalk at Universal

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I keep dropping in on the Casey Anthony trial in Orlando (via the TV, not by driving north for three hours!), and I’m feeling sort of nostalgic for Universal Studios, where she claims she worked but no one can prove it.

Anyway, in comparison to her fucked-up existence, mine seems like a damn dream!

I have the mother of all blog posts brewing in my head. But alas, you’ll hear about it another day, Grasshopper.

Let’s just say that I officially have no proof that anyone has a soul.

It’s like when princes and princesses get divorced. Like, wait a minute — we HAD the fairy-tale ending. What’s THIS shit?

I take back everything I said about the Twunt. God, at least that person emblazons their character on their sleeve. I’d rather be screwed by someone who is CLEARLY INTENT on screwing me than being fucked by a longtime friend. Gimme a chance to lube up, at the very least — no need to make me bleed, too.

Anyway, long story. One in which I am complicit to a degree but I don’t want that to be the long-term situation. I prefer to be “in the know” — and my eyes are WIDE open.

But everyone has a good side — at least, I hope so. And I have a network that’s really going above and beyond to rescue me. It’s basically my opportunity to lose.

And while I’ll still be OK if I do lose it, or if it turns out to be not “just right,” I would like that to be MY decision … not anyone else’s.

The one thing I can leave you with is this: Be careful what you wish for. Because when you’re down to nothing, God is definitely up to something. And I think He likes to give us what we want, just to fuck with us. 🙂

It’s funny how a whiny post makes me feel so much better. 🙂

Anyway, I saw this article and it made me feel the need to share it on a greater platform than Facebook:

Creating Workplace Civility: Why Courtesy is Critical for Businesses

I’ve avoided many a boss in my day, not because I wasn’t doing the work or doing it WELL, but because every goddamned thing was met with a snarl or a hiss or a random comment that no one would have anticipated. (And nobody anticipates landmines quite like I do.)

I’ve also watched many a subordinate go out of their way to avoid a peer on the same or slightly higher level just because they were surly. Well, not “just because,” but that’s what it boiled down to.

Companies identify certain “star players” who take it to heart that the company simply CANNOT run without them. I know; I’ve been one. And I wasn’t above using my awesomeness to get out of, oh, all-staff meetings. 😉 But some stars are also socially inept; it’s not even that their pseudo-celebrity gets to their head — they just identify more with projects than with colleagues and don’t see when their attitude and comments are actually poisoning the environment.

And the problem with today’s companies is that they stick everyone in cube farms and/or in a “war room” with a dozen tables and chairs. You can’t avoid the people who drive you crazy. If they’re not assaulting you with unhinged e-mails at all hours, then they’re in your face, reminding you how much you disappoint them.

And you don’t get to say a word back. You have to be poised and gracious and remain beyond reproach. And every time you do that, you may earn your angel wings, but you get that much closer to death because a tiny bit of air comes out of your heart.

If you’re like me, you write it off as they may have problems at home or they are just having a bad day. Not that it excuses them giving YOU a bad day, but we’re all human here. It’s just when you excuse it for the 300th time and you’ve only worked there 299 days, that’s a problem. 🙂

If you’re like how I USED to be, I always found my revenge in little ways. Sending a large funeral arrangement to a beloved colleague whose wife died young when I was told my limit was $30. Planting a seed of paranoia just because I could. Doing “informational interviews” with other companies to stay sharp. Etcetera.

No harm, no foul — just validating my existence a little bit unconventionally, since everyone seems hellbent on making themselves feel better by making you feel worse.

This is why I can’t go back to work. It’s that whole doing the same thing again and again, and expecting a different outcome. And I have a couple new ideas how to occupy my time productively. I just wish I could come up with one that would bring in money. 🙂 But seeing as though it’s already tomorrow in New Zealand and no one has yet been raptured, I figure, I have time. …

Women in power are just wrong. I get why everyone wants us back in the kitchens. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if the next political uprising was over the proposed revoking of the women’s suffrage movement.

Given some of the people I’ve dealt with lately, I might be willing to give up my right to vote if it meant getting THEM out of the workforce and FAR AWAY from the ballot box.

I wasted four hours last night and four hours this morning over just the most inane shit. I don’t care how old or young anyone is — just don’t try to bullshit me that you know more than I do, when you are literally going to the Web for “helpful tips” on how to do the job I have been doing since you were in middle school.

I had all my work done on one project at 5 p.m. yesterday. It is now 1:30 p.m. and I’ve had enough of the quibbling/squabbling/mind-changing/hemming/hawing/whining/”just trying to help”-ing and CC’ing my friend the CEO on how you hate everything I’ve done that YOU TOLD ME TO DO IN THE FIRST PLACE.

And I did it better. That has to be the sticking point. It certainly is on every other day.

I’ve been standing up for myself. I’ve had it with mood swings and egos and shit. But damn, the emotional toll it takes when people are fighting to prove how much book knowledge they have (and, ergo, why they are omniscient or omnipotent or, more appropriately, just plain ominous).

And seriously, do not think for one second that I don’t forward dippy e-mails to every state in the continental U.S. You better get good at your job because you will NOT be getting another.

One of these days, I really need to have a “Come to Jesus” with our mutual friend about this b.s. But right now, I have to walk out of the house and leave my phone inside it so that I don’t make that call in as much of an utterly pissed off mood as I am right now.

Of course, as my beloved Lady T said to me, “Don’t let her take up real estate in your mind. She can’t afford it, and neither can you.”

Words to live by, kids. If you can’t pay penthouse prices, get off my ass and out of my brain. Because we haven’t hit the threshold where I am paid enough (or anything) to deal with your crap, and I’m letting you take away time from the assignment that IS paying the rent.

I understand men now when they scoff, “Ugh! Women!!!” This is why I’ll never go gay — I can’t TAKE IT ANYMORE!!!

As part of the “child-free” set, it’s a wonder I clicked on the link to read My Blog Got my Daughter Kicked Out of Preschool.

But I’m glad I read it — it reminds me that whistleblowers (like me) are the ones who get in trouble for questionable behavior and actions on the part of people who should know better than to act that way. Yet, it’s us who blog who are faulted for putting our lives online. As though talking openly and honestly with friends were a crime.

Read it if you wish. I’m not going to talk about it. It just made me mad and it makes me wonder whether I lost yet another job because of something I put online. (That is, when I finally got sick of being belittled for how I ran meetings, I put a note up here that I am not measuring my career by meetings.)

As the author of the preschool post noted, this is our coffee klatch. And to some degree, for the people who are interested in our lives, we almost owe folks an update on where we find ourselves. I almost feel that I need to integrate the occasional snark so that folks know I haven’t gone all “goodness and light” on them — that the Goddess they subscribed to, perhaps as early as 2001, is still here.

But our coffee klatch is an international one. It’s not like everyone is in my area of Florida and can attach names to people and organizations … not the way they could were all my friends local. That’s the real danger — when, say, a mom has a shitty experience with a daycare and tells all her local girlfriends about it. Then people pull their kids out of school and spread the gossip to people who can and do send their kids elsewhere.

I have a friend up north who pulled her two kids out of their private school because the math teacher was bullying her son. No amount of complaining made any difference. Then she found out that another little boy was being bullied even harder by this same guy.

Long story short, she pulled her two kids out of the school AND the other mom pulled her kid out of the school. Even worse, my friend’s husband coached soccer and served as a substitute teacher at the offending academy. Because the school refused to do anything about the bully teacher, the school lost three students AND a faculty member.

I wonder whether the power of the blog would have gotten the situation some well-deserved attention, or whether my friend would have just been branded a troublemaker instead of being begged to keep her kids/husband right where they were, in an overpriced private school with a “zero tolerance” policy for complaints.

Now, I don’t take the power of the blog lightly. I don’t use names, companies or job titles for a reason. I try to skew the city name where possible. And again, it’s so that I can kvetch to my far-away friends while NOT starting a revolution on local soil. Quite simply, anyone can start up a blog and I’m certain that, if they had, my name would be quite happily smeared on their Web space. The hypothetical knife cuts both ways.

Anyway, this story just made me so mad, that if people can’t take out their frustration with you ON you, then they do it on your kid or someone you love. And that’s just bullshit.

There was a wonderful comment that you would think more people would want to do their jobs brilliantly, what with the risk of your shortcomings appearing on the Internet for the world to see and mock. But oh God no, let’s blame the bloggers instead.

I know I personally get under the skin of a lot of people who keep me around as a guilty pleasure — scanning the metaphors for their likeness. I don’t mean to. This isn’t for their eyes and I don’t expect them to understand where I’m coming from. I don’t desire retaliation toward them, and certainly not FROM them if their widdle fee-fees get hurt.

I just need to make sense of things so I can move on from them. Other people pay thousands to therapists for the same result that costs me a whopping $11 in Web hosting fees every month.

What I’m saying, I guess, is that if people get their dander up about honest, heartfelt and confused sentiments tacked cryptically on their constituents’ blog pages, they should be quicker to try to figure out how they contributed to the situation and how they can rectify it.

We’re not all troublemakers. We’re just analytical people with audiences who clearly come to us for our way of looking at the world. And that frightens people whose only audiences are those who are compensated to listen to them — the rest of us, to whom people willingly come in their free time, are the ones with the real power. And we’re not dumb enough to abuse it.

You’d think the school director in the linked article, and everyone like her, would be smart enough to use their power for positive means so that people like us don’t have anything to write about!

OMG.

I left Mexico, oh, Sunday morning. I got to Miami on Monday afternoon.

Hence why my Facebook status has said, “I’m in Miami, bitch!” since about 12:30 p.m. Eastern. *bounce*

Grr.

So, apparently Continental and United have merged. My fellow stranded passengers and I declared that the name of the newly joined companies is, appropriately enough, Cuntinental.

You know, so they can lick you where you pee when they won’t let you on your connecting flight that you RAN LIKE THE WIND to catch.

All right, so leaving Los Cabos wasn’t a joy. We stood in one line for 90 minutes and another for 15 minutes. I didn’t get to do ANY shopping on my trip. Which pisses me off, as all I want to do is shop.

Well, since we got thrown out of Cabo Wabo — the other thing I wanted to do on the trip — after 30 minutes (and how DOES one get thrown out of a bar in goddamned MEXICO, you ask? Good question), well, this trip was full of enough FAIL for a year.

But wait … there’s more!

My travel karma must have gotten lost in the time zones, as Cabo is on Mountain Time but they turned back their clocks a week before the States. So, while she got me onto the plane in Mexico, she left me to ROT in fucking Houston for more than 12 hours.

*shoots self in head*

I’m sure it’s not entirely Continental’s fault. God knows that the rep I spoke to in person and the other one on the phone were QUICK to say that NOTHING was their fault.

Remember when the customer used to be right? That was before their share price was dependent upon recording flights leaving on time/early … at the expense of hundreds of passengers whom they got to their gates LATE.

Ahem.

So I was told we arrived at the gate at 6:05 p.m. last night in Houston. (Note — I got ticketed on George Bush Boulevard in Florida last month, which ended up in a suspended license. And then I get trapped at George Bush Intercontinental for half a day. I HATE THAT NAME. Love, Goddess.)

Well, I tweeted FROM THE PLANE at 6:07 to say we were stuck on the tarmac in what they call “bank.” (What us laypeople call “clusterfuck,” or, “traffic as usual on 95.”)

OK, so whenever we DID get to the gate, we were in the back of the plane. Then we had to go through U.S. Customs. THEN we had to pick up our checked luggage, go CHECK IT BACK IN, and then rip upstairs to go through security AGAIN.

Our beloved travel agency gave us an hour to do this.

Despite Customs being on one end of Houston and our gate being ON THE OTHER, the three of us traveling together ran our ASSES off to get to our gate before our 7:15 p.m. departure time.

I was in misery, I tell you. MISERY. I just spent a week eating Mexican food and consuming tequila by the truckload. My pudgy pork roast butt is a LOT of ass to haul!

Anyway, my more-athletic travel companion got to the gate at 7:09. I know this because of the CLOCK above the gate.

The other colleague got there at 7:10 and I made it at 7:12. Yes, it was a goddamned marathon.

Even though the gate was open … and even though a whole bunch of people were on the Cabo-to-Houston-to-Miami itinerary (as I know the people at the travel agency) … they told us we weren’t allowed on.

And then they shut the door at 7:13 p.m.

OMG, I was furious. I had to stop and catch my breath. Had to save it so I could yell at people later. 🙂

There were no other flights out that night. There was a flight to Fort Lauderdale at the same time, which my other colleagues made. I don’t know how, since one of them is 72 and I don’t know how the fuck he managed to make it.

Lord knows I tried to flag down one of the golf cart drivers, but naturally they didn’t stop. FUCK CONTINENTAL.

You would think they’d have carts at security for those of us about to miss a flight. You know, like in San Jose, where they asked those of us on the Houston flight to please let the Newark passengers ahead of us, as the plane left a half-hour before ours and it was BEING HELD FOR THEM.

*scream* Why is it so hard to get good service in the U.S.? I’m ready to expatriate to Baja California Sur. Mark my fucking words.

Anyway, they had two monkeys working at the Continental desk at Houston. And Sha-nay-nay was happily telling everyone that it was all Customs’ fault that we missed our planes, not theirs. And too fucking bad for all of us, but she had to jump on the next flight out.

So I called Continental customer service. And I got through before I even made it through the ever-growing line. They basically listened to me and said they could only put me on the 7:30 a.m. flight today. But that the gate monkey could check other airlines for us.

So of course, the gate monkey said there was nothing he could do. I said, “Well, your headquarters said to check competing airlines.” And he was all, oh yeah, sure I can look at our partner itineraries.

You know that I did not carry a firearm into any of these airports, because I would be in jail right now. People are lucky I’m a liberal Democrat!

The long and the short of it is that the “bank” (i.e., high traffic, meaning that there was a plane at our gate when we landed and then two planes sat between us and the gate anyway so we were fucked) of which our pilot spoke was suddenly, “We don’t know what you’re talking about” at the gate.

“Well, it says here that you were at your gate at 6:05, which is plenty of time to make it to your boarding time at 6:40.”

I’d say “die in a fire” to everyone at Continental, but I’ve said that to my landlady, and my building (and my FLOOR) caught fire while I was gone. So I’m gonna be careful about my curses from now on! 🙂

Long story just beginning, we took the 7:30. They said we could have a discounted hotel room. But at this point it was after 8 p.m. and I didn’t want to go through the hassle and expense of going to a hotel, showering and putting on the (now-sweaty) same clothes.

You know, since my luggage was IN MIAMI by the time we got this resolved.

CUNTINENTAL, ahoy!

But it gets better.

While arguing with the ticket monkey, my friend said he should write an article about it. And since I’m, oh, HIS PUBLISHER, heheheheheh. I announced to the monkey that we have access to a half-million names and a publish button. Where’s the Wi-Fi?

*muahahaaa*

So, we took a hiatus from our frustration and enjoyed an expensive French meal in the airport (viva Pappardeaux — SO GOOD), with lots of wine, Cajun food and desserts for everyone. Which I am going to bill to our travel agency for making this STUPID booking.

(Another colleague got stuck in Phoenix. You know, the one who LIVES in Miami. He was flying into Fort Lauderdale. While us Fort Lauderdale people were flying into MIAMI. I am also billing my fucking therapy to our travel agency!!!)

We took the fucking Miami itinerary to save $200 on our tickets. Which ended up losing us a whole day of productivity for three employees. So, we saved $600 and lost three salaries this Monday. Fucking brilliant.

Anywho, we had a “Breakfast Club” kind of night. We talked. We bonded. My writer wrote about how much Continental blows. (In a way that relates to our business, of course.) I approved it, we sent it to home base, and we settled in for a ridiculous night.

We basically rode the people-movers for a while. Backward. Our own personal gym!

The airport was COLD. And we were all in summer clothes. We all managed to curl up into a ball (on separate chairs, of course) and get an hour or two of sleep each.

I wandered the whole airport while the others slept. There were clusters of other stranded travelers, since there were no flights out of IAH after 7:30. It was depressing.

What I found funny was that our whole plane leaving Cabo was seated and boarded early. And they announced that we were leaving the gate early … BECAUSE everyone was on board. I do not know how Continental justifies closing the door to the 7:15 Miami flight at 7:13 when you just know that there were a ton of people still coming.

Fuck Continental!!!

I watched “My Sister’s Keeper” during my flight. And I cried at the end because it was sad. And I cried even harder when I saw the Biscayne Bay (which is BEAUTIFUL from above).

I met up with my colleagues outside the gate, put my arms around their shoulders and bounced with glee the whole way down to the Lost Luggage office. I told them that my travel karma was back and that our suitcases would be waiting for us.

They were!

I’ve been snoozing on the couch and emptying out my DVR for the last few hours. But yeah, I left my hotel in Cabo at 11:30 a.m. Mountain Time on Sunday, and got to my car at 12:30 p.m. Eastern on Monday.

AND I got thrown out of Cabo Wabo.

Here’s to hoping for an uneventful week … although I know better than to expect one.

And Cuntinental? Call me. Really. Or burn down. At least, IAH can burn down. That would be fine.

Mark my words, I will NEVER fly Continental, and I will NEVER set foot in Texas, for the rest of my life.

Fuck y’all!!!

I have a huge pain threshold, but my boundaries are quite defined.

And that is why I have no idea why people are tap-dancing on my last nerve. Do they not realize what happens when I snap?

So I mentioned I had to ask a friend to stop contacting me. That was Monday. A Facebook message Monday, a Facebook comment Wednesday and a weird text message Friday does not constitute “not contacting” me. Grrr.

This is a person who wouldn’t apologize even if you were about to clamp his widdle wee-wee in a vise. He could have the cookie jar STUCK ON HIS HEAD, and insist that he doesn’t eat sweets.

And yet, I have nothing but apologies and “hope I haven’t disappointed you” and “your friendship is valuable to me” messages.

Yeah, he’s up to something.

Men are so transparent. This one in particular.

And he managed to blame someone else in the whole equation. Which, this is between you and me, bud. I owned up to my end of the deal. I could have blamed someone else, and I chose not to. You, on the other hand, have no right to throw anyone under the bus. Excuses are unbecoming, yo.

I am too annoyed to reply. Because that’s what I do — I tune out and give up. The end. Love, Goddess.

It’s not that I want to kill the friendship. I invested a lot of time and effort into this. And frankly, I’m not mad. Just … done. Whether for now or for good, I’m over it and out of it.

This is the longest break-up I’ve ever had with somebody I wasn’t even with!

Speaking of people who don’t realize the love is gone, I had to explain where I got the UEOEH’s name. It’s Ultra Extra Over Extended Houseguest. She started as the Houseguest. But I add an adjective for every year that she’s underfoot. Who the hell knows what I can add for 2011, but I’m hoping to ship her ass back to Pittsburgh by then.

I couldn’t sleep this morning. I mean, I went to bed early last night and I was up before dawn today. But it was nice. Kadie and I were curled up on the bed, listening to the waves lapping against the dock and enjoying the breeze now that it’s FINALLY cool enough to have the windows open.

I thought about how much I love coastal living, and yet, how much it costs. I don’t want to move inland, even though I’d get more space for less money. I already tried living inland with the UEOEH (back when she was just the OEH), and I’ve since discovered that having salt water within smelling distance helps immensely.

But now that I have a travel itinerary that includes Mexico, Baltimore, Dublin and Paris, I realize that I need money. The dollar ain’t worth shit when you’re buying euros, people.

I don’t need another job. I just need to stop stress-shopping as a way of avoiding coming home. (Oh, what a grammatical nightmare that sentence was — says she who also just corrected a romantic text sent her way!)

Anyway, I like having “international travel” on my list of stress-relievers. I just wish my list of “stressors” were shorter than my cures for them.