Mussolini with a weave

I think I’ve been doing a good job of whack-a-moling the “Your friend works directly for Oprah and lives in your favorite city. Where did you go wrong?” that is on repeat in my defeat-addled brain. 

But I know me. One thing will eventually set me off and it’s going to come out at exactly the wrong place and time. 

I’d prefer to channel that outburst into calling an ex-employer I particularly loathe. To gloat. 

When I worked at Two Strikes, the CEO was taking her choir to Chicago. Two weeks before it, she told me to get her booked on the show. 

I was the communications director and the token whipping girl. I was good, yes. But I wasn’t that good. And I did try. 

The staff found it all hilarious. They sided with me (um, impossible task) but told the CEO I must be incompetent if I couldn’t get Oprah to rearrange her vacation to get a bunch of foster-care executives on her show on command. 

And yes I was punished for not making it happen. Public excoriations ahoy. 

Anyway. I wish someone would tell Her Royal Pretentiousness that I have her right-hand person on speed-dial now. 

And I would tell Lady O to never, ever associate her good name with that crazy Mussolini with a weave. 

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