Bitchiest Bitch That Ever Bitched

I didn't get the Dream Job. But I don't feel bad about it, because nobody else got it either. Apparently after the hiring guy went back to the East Coast, the Powers that Be decided it was time for a 6-month hiring freeze. So now the Chicago office has no tech. Wonder how they're gonna handle THAT?? Still, I'm disappointed.

I'd be less disappointed if I wasn't so sick of my job. Without going into the details, because god knows I've raved on enough about my job and I hate the feeling that it's somehow become the center of my life when it's actually the part that means the LEAST, I'll just say: it ain't good. I mean, I'm not the only one who thinks so, but that's small consolation. And if anyone can tell me how "not following the consultant down the stairs to make sure he talks to the person he said he was going to talk to" equates with "not being in charge"--particularly when I AM NOT THE PROJECT MANAGER--then you are cordially invited to take over my job and more power to you. Those of you who CAN'T explain how those two things equate are in the same boat as I, and we can all go out for drinks.

I finally got to give the Cute Brit a ride home from work yesterday. He's just so very damn cool, and one of the few people at Place Where I Work who understands the magnitude of the fuckuppery re: the new database. (I advanced the radical suggestion yesterday that all the work that's been entered into the new system should be re-entered into the old system, and the new system scrapped til it works. Never gonna happen, but it's the way to go. Everyone I've mentioned this to agrees with me--and that includes the Brit, who would be one of the main people doing the work of re-entering the data if it DID go down that way.) I think people are starting to think there's something going on between us, or that there should be--in no small part due to Evil Stella, who has just been eviller than evil every time he shows up. But even Irene, who shares an office-space with him and is just the sweetest lady in the world, gave me one of those encouraging motherly looks yesterday when I came over to let him know I was ready to leave. My motto applies here: "Let 'em wonder."

The high point of my day came at 8:26 PM, however, when Ryan Seacrest spake the immortal words: "Constantine. You are going home tonight." My whoop of joy woke White Cat from a sound sleep. That's what you get for singing a shitty Nickelback song, you ass-chinned tool. (In other American Idol news: Bo Bice. I would SO do Bo Bice. And I agree with the poster over at TWOP who said that she would have to rethink her usual "doin' it" music and put on KMFDM instead, for all the dirty rough things she'd do to him. MrrrrrOWRRRR. The man is hot, people. Hot like a cult leader, but hot nonetheless.)

And now that I have outed myself as a total dork, I will slink off to sleep.