Since I can't get my thoughts together--that introspective post is still percolating, and it's getting kinda ugly in my head--I offer a meme.
10 years ago: JP and I were about two weeks into the final heroin habit. We'd quit for a few days in mid-July, in the heart of a heat-wave; from then til he died in October, we never really even made the pretense of quitting. We were living in our little apartment with Lou, who we'd introduced to heroin, and the kid upstairs had moved his drums into our living room and JP's band (a nebulous construct at best) would jam in the living room at night and the neighbors would come and stand in the doorway and listen.
5 years ago: I was living in a third-floor walkup with CR, who'd just a few days earlier gotten rid of Bertha, the 400-pound woman he'd invited to live with us. He claimed they were just friends but I knew better; she'd been there since mid-June, leaving her four young kids in Iowa and never even calling them. CR had spent the summer playing each of us off against the other, not even letting us speak for fear we'd trade information. Meanwhile, Tim was living in the back bedroom and not speaking to any of us.
1 year ago: LJ and I had just gotten the truck and were trying to get everything repaired. I was going through all kinds of hell with Bob the Plumber, trying to get the house fixed up, and dealing with all kinds of hell at my job as well. (I had to cheat and peek back at last year's blog to remember this.)
Yesterday: I went to work. Because the big boss is on vacation and my immediate boss is too swamped to even begin to show me the ropes, I spent the entire day e-mailing back and forth with the Brit. I bought my lunch with the last $6 of space on my credit card, and my Pepsi with sofa-change and a "buy one get one free" bottle cap. I came home, ate buttered spaghetti noodles, and went to bed, intending to go to sleep, but instead I read "The Circus Fire" til I nodded off.
Today: Payday! I spent most of the day e-mailing with the Brit (I still fucking ADORE this man).Ten I called HR at Place Where I Used To Work to find out what the hell had happened to the vacation money I was supposed to get; I found out that half of it paid out, half of it didn't, and I should get the check for the other half next week sometime. No big--finally we have grocery money! I spent an hour at Food-4-Less and then made a trip to Target for jeans--a size smaller!
Tomorrow: Tomorrow I have to get up at 6 to go pick up Tim and his stuff from the shelter; apparently he's kicked out for not "making sufficient progress" or something. I'm sure I'll hear the story this weekend. He's going to clean the weeds out of the yard. I'm also going to enlist his help in moving a bunch of stuff out to the trash; then I'm going to rearrange my workspace in the hopes of jump-starting my motivation on the book.
5 snacks I enjoy: Breyers' Heath Bar Crunch ice cream; chips and salsa; caramel corn; really garlicky pickles; Ritz crackers with peanut butter and strawberry jelly.
5 bands/singers to whose songs I know most lyrics: This one is hard to narrow down, as I have an eerie memory for lyrics, but I'll try: Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins, Afghan Whigs, Tool, Alice in Chains.
5 things I would do with $100,000,000: Fix up this house; pay off the mortgage; pay back my mom all the money I've "borrowed" from her over the past 15 years; take a year off and travel around the country in an RV; and give money to Firefly for her Amazon trip, to Tim to get his feet under him, and to the Brit for grad school.
5 locations I’d like to run away to: Seattle; Berkeley; Atlanta; Florence, Italy; Vancouver.
5 bad habits I have: Swearing, overeating, picking at my cuticles, TV watching, and procrastination.
5 things I like doing: Writing, crocheting, cooking/baking, sex, and home improvement.
5 things I would never wear: Anything tight; anything midriff-baring; high heels; spandex; socks with sandals.
5 TV shows I like: Amazing Race, American Idol, Deadwood, I Love Lucy, Aqua Teen Hunger Force.
5 movies I like: West Side Story, O Brother Where Art Thou, Shrek, The King and I, Camp.
5 famous people I’d like to meet: Kurt Cobain, Barack Obama, God, Nelson Algren, Zach de la Rocha.
5 biggest joys at the moment: My new job; my house; the Brit; my own mind; chicken-fried rice.
5 favorite toys: My computer; my sewing machine; my power tools; Legos; Play-doh.
I'm thinking this would pretty much be an embarrasment of riches for any mental-health professional who came across it, but oh well. :) I won't tag anyone, but take it and run with it if you'd like--I'd be interested to see how some of the rest of you would answer these.
Friday, July 29, 2005
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
I Learned A New Word Today
There is, apparently, a reason I'm not in charge of naming enterprise systems.
If I was the person whose job it was to name a system that people would be using every single day in millions of companies all over the globe, I'd like to think I would be merciful. I would name it something snappy, like CODA or ARPI or maybe MEOW (don't ask me what the acronyms would stand for--that's not my point.) Or I would name it something cute, like Rabbit or Ducky or Bonbon. Something easy to remember; something easy to pronounce and spell.
I would not, under any circumstances or for any reason, name it...
...Vormittag.
But apparently that's just exactly what the enterprise system at New Place Where I Work is called. For the past two days I've heard that part of my job is going to be to develop documentation for the Vormittag system. And every single time I heard it, somewhere in the recesses of my mind a little voice said the WHAAAAAAAAAT? (In exactly that voice used by the fat guy in Jaws, right after they catch the little shark. You know: Richard Dreyfuss says "It's a tiger shark," and the other guy says "A WHAAAAAAAAT?" That's the voice.)
Vormittag. It sounds like an obscure Austrian curse-word. It sounds like something Corky St. Clair would fit into his re-enactment of "Das Boot". It sounds like something my cat would cough up. (I would like to see Firefly's reaction to this word, resembling as it does her unfavoritemost word in the whole world, the one we refer to between ourselves as "the v-word". As in, I got so drunk last Saturday that I spent all day Sunday doing the v-word.)
I am seized with a helpless, reckless impulse to accost strangers on the street and startle them with a hearty, "VORMITTAG!!" before capering away, giggling like a madwoman.
Is that so wrong?
If I was the person whose job it was to name a system that people would be using every single day in millions of companies all over the globe, I'd like to think I would be merciful. I would name it something snappy, like CODA or ARPI or maybe MEOW (don't ask me what the acronyms would stand for--that's not my point.) Or I would name it something cute, like Rabbit or Ducky or Bonbon. Something easy to remember; something easy to pronounce and spell.
I would not, under any circumstances or for any reason, name it...
...Vormittag.
But apparently that's just exactly what the enterprise system at New Place Where I Work is called. For the past two days I've heard that part of my job is going to be to develop documentation for the Vormittag system. And every single time I heard it, somewhere in the recesses of my mind a little voice said the WHAAAAAAAAAT? (In exactly that voice used by the fat guy in Jaws, right after they catch the little shark. You know: Richard Dreyfuss says "It's a tiger shark," and the other guy says "A WHAAAAAAAAT?" That's the voice.)
Vormittag. It sounds like an obscure Austrian curse-word. It sounds like something Corky St. Clair would fit into his re-enactment of "Das Boot". It sounds like something my cat would cough up. (I would like to see Firefly's reaction to this word, resembling as it does her unfavoritemost word in the whole world, the one we refer to between ourselves as "the v-word". As in, I got so drunk last Saturday that I spent all day Sunday doing the v-word.)
I am seized with a helpless, reckless impulse to accost strangers on the street and startle them with a hearty, "VORMITTAG!!" before capering away, giggling like a madwoman.
Is that so wrong?
Monday, July 25, 2005
First Day
Today went well--not terribly exciting, honestly, but I think I'm going to like it there...
...once they get the air-conditioning fixed.
I feel as though I've been slow-cooked in my own juices all day--like a pot roast.
I definitely like my bosses, though. They as much as confessed that they're not quite sure what all I'm going to do; the official job title appears to be "Jack of All Trades" and so I'll be doing a little bit of everything. Which is fine with me, but I'm anxious to get started.
(Not that the past is behind me, even the parts I wish would go away: at 9:15 AM I got a call from Amy looking for a password to my old machine. Like the new tech couldn't have reformatted the machine--oh, wait. That would only have worked if the new tech was THERE, as opposed to keeping his own schedule totally not in keeping with everyone else's. Much more pleasantly, around midday I heard from the Brit, via e-mail: "Weird, your not being here." Yeah, to say the least. I miss him so damn much.)
I think I'll like the new job; I just wish it would START.
...once they get the air-conditioning fixed.
I feel as though I've been slow-cooked in my own juices all day--like a pot roast.
I definitely like my bosses, though. They as much as confessed that they're not quite sure what all I'm going to do; the official job title appears to be "Jack of All Trades" and so I'll be doing a little bit of everything. Which is fine with me, but I'm anxious to get started.
(Not that the past is behind me, even the parts I wish would go away: at 9:15 AM I got a call from Amy looking for a password to my old machine. Like the new tech couldn't have reformatted the machine--oh, wait. That would only have worked if the new tech was THERE, as opposed to keeping his own schedule totally not in keeping with everyone else's. Much more pleasantly, around midday I heard from the Brit, via e-mail: "Weird, your not being here." Yeah, to say the least. I miss him so damn much.)
I think I'll like the new job; I just wish it would START.
Sunday, July 24, 2005
Regrouping
I am nothing if not resilient.
Also "stubborn".
Plan B: quiet persistence. (Which I don't think will be a hardship for either of us; I just got an e-mail from him at my real-life addy, wishing me good luck for tomorrow. Such a sweetheart that man is.)
Things happen, you know. Stuff doesn't always work out the way people plan. And as long as I'm THERE--as long as we're in touch--there's always the possibility that he'll be whacked in the head by the clue-brick.
In the meantime, I have a new job to start tomorrow. And a house to reconstruct, and a book to write, and...Yeah, I'll keep busy.
Also "stubborn".
Plan B: quiet persistence. (Which I don't think will be a hardship for either of us; I just got an e-mail from him at my real-life addy, wishing me good luck for tomorrow. Such a sweetheart that man is.)
Things happen, you know. Stuff doesn't always work out the way people plan. And as long as I'm THERE--as long as we're in touch--there's always the possibility that he'll be whacked in the head by the clue-brick.
In the meantime, I have a new job to start tomorrow. And a house to reconstruct, and a book to write, and...Yeah, I'll keep busy.
Friday, July 22, 2005
Aaaaaaaaand.........KABOOM.
I don't know which is worse: making an ass of yourself where everyone can see it, so you're at least forced to laugh at yourself and can thus preserve a shred of dignity...
...or making an ass of yourself only in some secret hopeful naive recess of your own mind, so that when the true depth of your delusion and silliness is exposed, you have no recourse but to writhe in the total agony of having been a sucker, AGAIN.
"So I'm going to do this marriage thing again," he said on the last ride home today.
Followed by something something something blah blah something something and counterpointed by the screaming kettle-whistle sound of every stupid, silly hope I had, deflating.
There were times over the past few days when I would catch my mind going in some way-too-hopeful direction and I would open my eyes and say out loud Stop it. You're being an idiot. You know better.
I knew better.
I KNEW I knew better.
You see what good knowing-better does me.
Thirty-five years old and still I haven't learned. Or maybe I have, and I just hoped I was wrong.
Sucker.
...or making an ass of yourself only in some secret hopeful naive recess of your own mind, so that when the true depth of your delusion and silliness is exposed, you have no recourse but to writhe in the total agony of having been a sucker, AGAIN.
"So I'm going to do this marriage thing again," he said on the last ride home today.
Followed by something something something blah blah something something and counterpointed by the screaming kettle-whistle sound of every stupid, silly hope I had, deflating.
There were times over the past few days when I would catch my mind going in some way-too-hopeful direction and I would open my eyes and say out loud Stop it. You're being an idiot. You know better.
I knew better.
I KNEW I knew better.
You see what good knowing-better does me.
Thirty-five years old and still I haven't learned. Or maybe I have, and I just hoped I was wrong.
Sucker.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
What a Day
Oh ho ho ho ho ho.
Wow.
There was a conversation today that I can't quite process yet. (No, nothing definitive or irrevocable was said, but that wall--the one that ensured we talked only about 99% politics, office and otherwise--was very clearly breached today.)
I'll go to the end because it seems illustrative.
We sat in the car for about five minutes in the parking space on the other side of the street in front of his building, talking about international politics as usual (I TOLD you, we're NERDS); then he got out and said "see you tomorrow" and walked away.
As he crossed over to the median he turned and waved.
And a few feet down the street, turned and waved again.
And once more as I pulled out of the parking space into traffic.
I laughed the whole way home.
I'm trying to talk myself out of the things I'm thinking; I'm trying to talk myself out of thinking there's anything more to this than the absolute shallowest surface interpretation of "friendly concern". I'm not succeeding, and for a change I'm not sure I should be.
And ohhhhh, I am going to miss this man.
Wow.
There was a conversation today that I can't quite process yet. (No, nothing definitive or irrevocable was said, but that wall--the one that ensured we talked only about 99% politics, office and otherwise--was very clearly breached today.)
I'll go to the end because it seems illustrative.
We sat in the car for about five minutes in the parking space on the other side of the street in front of his building, talking about international politics as usual (I TOLD you, we're NERDS); then he got out and said "see you tomorrow" and walked away.
As he crossed over to the median he turned and waved.
And a few feet down the street, turned and waved again.
And once more as I pulled out of the parking space into traffic.
I laughed the whole way home.
I'm trying to talk myself out of the things I'm thinking; I'm trying to talk myself out of thinking there's anything more to this than the absolute shallowest surface interpretation of "friendly concern". I'm not succeeding, and for a change I'm not sure I should be.
And ohhhhh, I am going to miss this man.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Okay, I Guess That's Better.
But I seriously have to get a fucking handle on my self-esteem as it relates to men.
It goes a little something like this: if the guy I'm interested in gives me even the slightest, most fragile sign of interest, or of anything my over-eager mind can even interpret as interest, then all is well with the world. Otherwise: gloom and black despair.
Guess which option we went with today?
And he's not INTERESTED. He's FRIENDLY. There's a difference. But someone please explain that to my interior eleven-year-old girl. Preferably using a large, heavy object--a cudgel, perhaps, or a large housebrick. And while you're bludgeoning, please ALSO explain to this interior eleven-year-old brat that she is NOT entitled to control my self-image. Because she's really, seriously dancing on my last fucking nerve.
(Friendly, interested, or in-between, it was still great fun to spend the day e-mailing each other with a running dialogue between George Bush and Karl Rove about (among other things) whose turn it was to feed Cthulhu. (Yes, we're nerds. Don't ask.))
People at work are starting to grasp that I'm not going to be around any more, which is a) true and b) awesome. And it has benefits, as well: Noreen (yes, the same Noreen with whom I spent my first three years at war and the last two in an uneasy detente) brought in my favorite coffeecake--and an extra whole coffeecake for me to take home--this morning. And she hugged me and told me how much she was going to miss me, and how even though we'd had our differences, she felt like she'd learned a lot from me. Which...wow, you know? Just...wow. (Also, coffeecake.)
I'm pretty sure that some of the accolades, though, come from the almost-universal unhappiness with which the announcement of my successor has been greeted. Sam is a great tech, but he's not an easy man to get along with--especially when women try to tell him what to do. (It may be cultural.) Everyone who knows anything about him has had to be reassured, more than once, that he will take good care of them. But what they're really looking for, I think, is reassurance that Sam will be as easy to run over as I was--and I can't give them that. (I've almost killed him three times in the past two days, so you can imagine how reassuring I'd be anyway, under the circumstances.)
Today on the train home the Brit asked me if I'd be celebrating this weekend. And I thought about it for a minute, and I told him: "Probably not. I'll probably go home and go about my business, and get up on Monday and go to work, only it'll just be a different 'work'." And I thought about how sad that was, though I tried not to make it sound to him like "poor me, I have no one to celebrate with"--except...well, I HAVE no one to celebrate with. I SHOULD, but I don't. I don't have a problem with that; I'm a solitary person and people, by and large, are hard work for me. But it just seems kinda wrong to me that even the person I'm supposedly closest to probably won't acknowledge that anything is even worth celebrating.
Two more days, anyway. Woo hoo.
It goes a little something like this: if the guy I'm interested in gives me even the slightest, most fragile sign of interest, or of anything my over-eager mind can even interpret as interest, then all is well with the world. Otherwise: gloom and black despair.
Guess which option we went with today?
And he's not INTERESTED. He's FRIENDLY. There's a difference. But someone please explain that to my interior eleven-year-old girl. Preferably using a large, heavy object--a cudgel, perhaps, or a large housebrick. And while you're bludgeoning, please ALSO explain to this interior eleven-year-old brat that she is NOT entitled to control my self-image. Because she's really, seriously dancing on my last fucking nerve.
(Friendly, interested, or in-between, it was still great fun to spend the day e-mailing each other with a running dialogue between George Bush and Karl Rove about (among other things) whose turn it was to feed Cthulhu. (Yes, we're nerds. Don't ask.))
People at work are starting to grasp that I'm not going to be around any more, which is a) true and b) awesome. And it has benefits, as well: Noreen (yes, the same Noreen with whom I spent my first three years at war and the last two in an uneasy detente) brought in my favorite coffeecake--and an extra whole coffeecake for me to take home--this morning. And she hugged me and told me how much she was going to miss me, and how even though we'd had our differences, she felt like she'd learned a lot from me. Which...wow, you know? Just...wow. (Also, coffeecake.)
I'm pretty sure that some of the accolades, though, come from the almost-universal unhappiness with which the announcement of my successor has been greeted. Sam is a great tech, but he's not an easy man to get along with--especially when women try to tell him what to do. (It may be cultural.) Everyone who knows anything about him has had to be reassured, more than once, that he will take good care of them. But what they're really looking for, I think, is reassurance that Sam will be as easy to run over as I was--and I can't give them that. (I've almost killed him three times in the past two days, so you can imagine how reassuring I'd be anyway, under the circumstances.)
Today on the train home the Brit asked me if I'd be celebrating this weekend. And I thought about it for a minute, and I told him: "Probably not. I'll probably go home and go about my business, and get up on Monday and go to work, only it'll just be a different 'work'." And I thought about how sad that was, though I tried not to make it sound to him like "poor me, I have no one to celebrate with"--except...well, I HAVE no one to celebrate with. I SHOULD, but I don't. I don't have a problem with that; I'm a solitary person and people, by and large, are hard work for me. But it just seems kinda wrong to me that even the person I'm supposedly closest to probably won't acknowledge that anything is even worth celebrating.
Two more days, anyway. Woo hoo.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Things of Which I Have Had Enough, Already.
1. Raging heat and humidity.
2. LJ, who didn't come home last night (He said he was staying "at his momma's." File under Excuses, Highly Unlikely; cross-reference with Excuses, Done To Death.)
3. The Brit; or more accurately the Brit and his girlfriend; or still more accurately, the fact that the Brit hasn't the slightest interest in me on anything more than a friendship basis.
4. The fact that ugly, hateful, mean, cruel, vindictive people get laid more than I do.
4a. (Which is "none".)
5. And have someone waiting for them to come home at the end of the day.
Numbers 6-854, inclusive: My job.
855. Missing JP.
856. The guilt that has cropped up in the past few days about JP, about Lou, about Sophia, about everything I've done wrong in the past ten years.
857. George W Bush. And the fact that his quacking has pre-empted "Forensic Files."
858. Too many damn cats.
859. Have you EVER tried to put ointment in a cat's eyes? Not easy. In fact, barely possible.
860. The fact that my mother is not capable of planning a two-hundred-mile journey without leaving maudlin phone messages, laying out all her personal papers, and making a list of phone numbers to call "just in case something happens". I mean, you're going to GREEN BAY, not Calcutta! (Yes, I know it COULD happen; I prefer not to dwell on it, and wish she wouldn't either.)
861. The fucking TAPEWORM. I ate FORTY-FIVE MINUTES ago and I'm already hungry again. Jeez.
862. Feeling like "everything's going right for a change, so why do I feel so shitty?"
863. Feeling this shitty in the first place.
I'm going to bed now.
2. LJ, who didn't come home last night (He said he was staying "at his momma's." File under Excuses, Highly Unlikely; cross-reference with Excuses, Done To Death.)
3. The Brit; or more accurately the Brit and his girlfriend; or still more accurately, the fact that the Brit hasn't the slightest interest in me on anything more than a friendship basis.
4. The fact that ugly, hateful, mean, cruel, vindictive people get laid more than I do.
4a. (Which is "none".)
5. And have someone waiting for them to come home at the end of the day.
Numbers 6-854, inclusive: My job.
855. Missing JP.
856. The guilt that has cropped up in the past few days about JP, about Lou, about Sophia, about everything I've done wrong in the past ten years.
857. George W Bush. And the fact that his quacking has pre-empted "Forensic Files."
858. Too many damn cats.
859. Have you EVER tried to put ointment in a cat's eyes? Not easy. In fact, barely possible.
860. The fact that my mother is not capable of planning a two-hundred-mile journey without leaving maudlin phone messages, laying out all her personal papers, and making a list of phone numbers to call "just in case something happens". I mean, you're going to GREEN BAY, not Calcutta! (Yes, I know it COULD happen; I prefer not to dwell on it, and wish she wouldn't either.)
861. The fucking TAPEWORM. I ate FORTY-FIVE MINUTES ago and I'm already hungry again. Jeez.
862. Feeling like "everything's going right for a change, so why do I feel so shitty?"
863. Feeling this shitty in the first place.
I'm going to bed now.
Saturday, July 16, 2005
A Little Bit Fragile
Reading back through the recent posts, I realize: pretty mundane lately, aren't they. Lots of what-happened-today-ness, very little introspection.
I've been percolating one of those introspective posts--and I think it's gonna be a doozy--but I've absolutely NOT been able to get it out. I don't know if I'm hormonal or what, but I'm in one of those phases where I cry while watching peanut-butter commercials. (And also where the mere act of typing the words "peanut-butter commercials" puts me into a Homer-Simpson-like state: tongue hanging out, eyes glazed, drooling: "Mmmmmm...peanut butter..." I swear those doctors who did the surgery took out my gallbladder and implanted a frickin' TAPEWORM.) I'm serious: the littlest things get me started lately. Of course, writing is just out of the question, which depresses the hell out of me because it's been SO damn long since I've updated anything. And October 30th is only three-and-a-half months away.
It's not that I don't WANT to deal with the underlying emotions--in fact, the other night I had a very bad, very illustrative dream which made it very clear what I need to do--but in between dealing with entire luggage-racks full of emotional baggage, the mundane needs to be attended to. Groceries have to be bought, work needs to be gone to, cats need to be taken to the vet, Brits need to be ogled. (Okay, that last one may just be specific to MY life....)
I'm tempted, of course, to tell the Brit how I feel before I leave. But I won't, and not solely out of cowardice either; I like the level of comfort in our friendship, and I don't want to wreck that. If I really thought my interest was reciprocated and there was a chance of anything more, I'd consider taking the risk--but he seems really devoted to his girlfriend, even when she's being a shrew. From what he tells me, I gather that they've been through QUITE a lot together, and I think he feels a sense of obligation to her as well. Since it doesn't look like he's questioning their relationship at all, I'll take the next best thing I can get: his friendship, unmuddled by open confessions of lust.
(Having said that, however: I intend to still be in touch with him long after I'm gone, and in case he ever leaves her of his own accord, I plan to pounce like a starving tiger on a can of Fancy Feast.)
I'm at the point where I'm starting to get all nervous about the new job. I've realized that I'm going to have to SERIOUSLY adjust my attitude and habits now, and that realization has led to another: I checked out of my current job QUITE a while ago. I slack a lot. I waste a lot of time and do a lot of stupid passive-aggressive things, and I don't work up to my full potential. I think it really started around here; not so much because of the contretemps with RuthAnne, but because I'd crafted a very solid argument as to why the database upgrade shouldn't happen so soon, and no one would listen. I tried to warn them of the problems I was foreseeing; no one listened, and almost every single one of those problems has come to fruition. And realizing that all this bullshit we've all been dealing with since April could have been avoided--that I wasn't just being a doomsayer but actually knew what I was talking about and that I'd been ignored NOT because my facts were off or because I presented them badly, but just because -I- was the one presenting them--that just set off every one of my bad little oppositional ways. Basically I just said all right, fuck YOU too and just dropped the work ethic out the window. Since then I've been getting by on the goodwill of my co-workers (they all give me credit for TRYING to avert this disaster and for doing what I can to help them deal with the aftermath) and by being an office clown. I'm probably much better-liked by my co-workers now than I ever was in the past, but my own level of professional pride in myself and in my work is pretty low. I'm excited to start the new job, but knowing myself, I'm a little afraid of my uncanny ability to make the worst of a good situation.
Of course, I still have five days to get through at the old place--six, actually, since I'm spending most of tomorrow in the office trying to get all caught up in peace and quiet. They're slamming me with meetings all week, which seems counterproductive to me but--oh well. Whatever doesn't get done just won't be done, that's all. And I'm going to try very hard not to feel bad about that.
And: only five days left!!!
I've been percolating one of those introspective posts--and I think it's gonna be a doozy--but I've absolutely NOT been able to get it out. I don't know if I'm hormonal or what, but I'm in one of those phases where I cry while watching peanut-butter commercials. (And also where the mere act of typing the words "peanut-butter commercials" puts me into a Homer-Simpson-like state: tongue hanging out, eyes glazed, drooling: "Mmmmmm...peanut butter..." I swear those doctors who did the surgery took out my gallbladder and implanted a frickin' TAPEWORM.) I'm serious: the littlest things get me started lately. Of course, writing is just out of the question, which depresses the hell out of me because it's been SO damn long since I've updated anything. And October 30th is only three-and-a-half months away.
It's not that I don't WANT to deal with the underlying emotions--in fact, the other night I had a very bad, very illustrative dream which made it very clear what I need to do--but in between dealing with entire luggage-racks full of emotional baggage, the mundane needs to be attended to. Groceries have to be bought, work needs to be gone to, cats need to be taken to the vet, Brits need to be ogled. (Okay, that last one may just be specific to MY life....)
I'm tempted, of course, to tell the Brit how I feel before I leave. But I won't, and not solely out of cowardice either; I like the level of comfort in our friendship, and I don't want to wreck that. If I really thought my interest was reciprocated and there was a chance of anything more, I'd consider taking the risk--but he seems really devoted to his girlfriend, even when she's being a shrew. From what he tells me, I gather that they've been through QUITE a lot together, and I think he feels a sense of obligation to her as well. Since it doesn't look like he's questioning their relationship at all, I'll take the next best thing I can get: his friendship, unmuddled by open confessions of lust.
(Having said that, however: I intend to still be in touch with him long after I'm gone, and in case he ever leaves her of his own accord, I plan to pounce like a starving tiger on a can of Fancy Feast.)
I'm at the point where I'm starting to get all nervous about the new job. I've realized that I'm going to have to SERIOUSLY adjust my attitude and habits now, and that realization has led to another: I checked out of my current job QUITE a while ago. I slack a lot. I waste a lot of time and do a lot of stupid passive-aggressive things, and I don't work up to my full potential. I think it really started around here; not so much because of the contretemps with RuthAnne, but because I'd crafted a very solid argument as to why the database upgrade shouldn't happen so soon, and no one would listen. I tried to warn them of the problems I was foreseeing; no one listened, and almost every single one of those problems has come to fruition. And realizing that all this bullshit we've all been dealing with since April could have been avoided--that I wasn't just being a doomsayer but actually knew what I was talking about and that I'd been ignored NOT because my facts were off or because I presented them badly, but just because -I- was the one presenting them--that just set off every one of my bad little oppositional ways. Basically I just said all right, fuck YOU too and just dropped the work ethic out the window. Since then I've been getting by on the goodwill of my co-workers (they all give me credit for TRYING to avert this disaster and for doing what I can to help them deal with the aftermath) and by being an office clown. I'm probably much better-liked by my co-workers now than I ever was in the past, but my own level of professional pride in myself and in my work is pretty low. I'm excited to start the new job, but knowing myself, I'm a little afraid of my uncanny ability to make the worst of a good situation.
Of course, I still have five days to get through at the old place--six, actually, since I'm spending most of tomorrow in the office trying to get all caught up in peace and quiet. They're slamming me with meetings all week, which seems counterproductive to me but--oh well. Whatever doesn't get done just won't be done, that's all. And I'm going to try very hard not to feel bad about that.
And: only five days left!!!
Thursday, July 14, 2005
Yeah, Another One Of Those Unresolved Drama Things.
The meeting happened, and no one killed me after, so I guess it went okay. Then there was another meeting, of which I was a part, which went slightly less-okay but in a quiet way, after RuthAnne and Noreen and I were exiled to the lunchroom to update a list. We could hear voices raised in the conference room, but not the content of what they were yelling about. As they passed through the lunchroom on the way out, Stan patted me on the back and Beverly rolled her eyes at me as if to say "What a clusterfuck." So I don't know who won.
And ohhhh, the Brit. I stopped by his building on the way back from another, because his building is air-conditioned and it was a long walk and people, it is FUCKING HOT here, and humid beyond belief. And purely by coincidence we discovered that we both needed to make a trip to the same satellite office--stop laughing, all of you; it really WAS a coincidence!--so we first piled everything we needed to carry into the 'Ho, then realized: the office van? Has AIR CONDITIONING. Which the 'Ho does not. Needless to say, we took the van. And the offices are about twenty minutes apart, so we got to talk for a bit.
My first husband would have called this "intellectual fornication".
There was a weird little moment when we got back, right after we got out of the car--I can't describe it any better than that: "a weird little moment". But in a good way. I seriously think I'm starting to imagine things.
When I got back to my MERCIFULLY AIR-CONDITIONED office, there was an e-mail from PTHGE, telling me about his new job and mentioning the existence of a girlfriend. So why e-mail me in the first place? Suspicious, if you ask me. We'll see where this goes. (But I have a better new job than he does, so nanny nanny boo boo, regardless.)
Something has got to be done about this humidity, though. Even my SKIN feels frizzy.
And ohhhh, the Brit. I stopped by his building on the way back from another, because his building is air-conditioned and it was a long walk and people, it is FUCKING HOT here, and humid beyond belief. And purely by coincidence we discovered that we both needed to make a trip to the same satellite office--stop laughing, all of you; it really WAS a coincidence!--so we first piled everything we needed to carry into the 'Ho, then realized: the office van? Has AIR CONDITIONING. Which the 'Ho does not. Needless to say, we took the van. And the offices are about twenty minutes apart, so we got to talk for a bit.
My first husband would have called this "intellectual fornication".
There was a weird little moment when we got back, right after we got out of the car--I can't describe it any better than that: "a weird little moment". But in a good way. I seriously think I'm starting to imagine things.
When I got back to my MERCIFULLY AIR-CONDITIONED office, there was an e-mail from PTHGE, telling me about his new job and mentioning the existence of a girlfriend. So why e-mail me in the first place? Suspicious, if you ask me. We'll see where this goes. (But I have a better new job than he does, so nanny nanny boo boo, regardless.)
Something has got to be done about this humidity, though. Even my SKIN feels frizzy.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
By Popular Demand...
You know what sucks?
When you have a story with a big dramatic build-up and then nothing happens.
I seem to have several of those in the hopper at the moment.
1. I never heard back from CR about the "help" he needed.
2. I never heard back from PTHGE about...anything. Granted, it's only been a couple of days, but still.
3. Nothing new from the Brit.
4. I gave notice on Monday and...
Yeah, that's the one everybody wants to hear...except nothing happened. I slipped a perfectly-civil resignation letter onto Beverly's chair when she stepped out of her office for a minute (never let it be said that I'm not a total coward). Beverly read it, ran down the hall and got Amy, and they dragged me into Beverly's office...where they congratulated the heck out of me and generally acted like civilized humans. (It seemed a little insincere, but maybe I'm just paranoid that way.)
I think they're glad to be shut of me, actually. And if they're not glad today, they'll certainly be glad tomorrow...they're meeting with Stan the Big Tech Guy, to whom I've been feeding info about the database catastrophe for months now, and The Boss of All Bosses--their supreme overlord, to whom Stan has been passing along my info from Day One. I have a feeling this is not gonna be a pretty meeting, and I have a feeling that Joanie, the Brit, and I (the three who Stan's spoken to about the database) will all be even deeper in the shit afterwards.
Of course, this could be just another nothing-comes-of-it drama.
Seven days left!!!!
When you have a story with a big dramatic build-up and then nothing happens.
I seem to have several of those in the hopper at the moment.
1. I never heard back from CR about the "help" he needed.
2. I never heard back from PTHGE about...anything. Granted, it's only been a couple of days, but still.
3. Nothing new from the Brit.
4. I gave notice on Monday and...
Yeah, that's the one everybody wants to hear...except nothing happened. I slipped a perfectly-civil resignation letter onto Beverly's chair when she stepped out of her office for a minute (never let it be said that I'm not a total coward). Beverly read it, ran down the hall and got Amy, and they dragged me into Beverly's office...where they congratulated the heck out of me and generally acted like civilized humans. (It seemed a little insincere, but maybe I'm just paranoid that way.)
I think they're glad to be shut of me, actually. And if they're not glad today, they'll certainly be glad tomorrow...they're meeting with Stan the Big Tech Guy, to whom I've been feeding info about the database catastrophe for months now, and The Boss of All Bosses--their supreme overlord, to whom Stan has been passing along my info from Day One. I have a feeling this is not gonna be a pretty meeting, and I have a feeling that Joanie, the Brit, and I (the three who Stan's spoken to about the database) will all be even deeper in the shit afterwards.
Of course, this could be just another nothing-comes-of-it drama.
Seven days left!!!!
Sunday, July 10, 2005
Just Weird, Maybe In A Good Way
So this morning I logged into my e-mail and there was something there I didn't recognize. The subject line was "I probably ought to let sleeping dogs lie, but..."
I had read through half the message before I realized who it was from. And then I yelled "Oh, no fuckin' WAY!" loud enough to send the cats running and get a quizzical look from Tim.
Shortly after CR left, I put a personal ad up on Yahoo. And early in the process, I got an e-mail and a pic from Possibly The Hottest Man Ever. Seriously. This dude was not fine--he was FOINE. He was...yummy. Like as in, I'll take two of those to go, please.
So PTHME and I corresponded for a couple of months, during which he was slightly alarmed by my heroin history--"not sure I can deal with that", he said, which...whatever...but he finally decided he wanted to meet me when he was back in town (he was originally from Chi, but was away at school in Wisconsin somewhere.)
That meeting goes down in my personal history as one of the greatest ideas ever. Let's just say that after dinner, he was invited back to my apartment at the time. And that, in true invited-back-to-the-apartment fashion, one thing led to another....ohhhh, man, did it ever.
(If you sense a bit of drooling in my prose? You are not imagining things.)
And so he left the next morning, and I went back to work with a biiiiiiiiig grin, and he was supposed to leave two days later and I figured I'd seen the last of him for at least a while. And then the night before he was supposed to leave, I was sitting around feeling fairly sorry for myself, when guess who tapped at my apartment window?
THEN he left, the next morning. And we halfway, sorta, kinda stayed in touch for a while, though he made it clear that he wasn't looking for a relationship; then one day I e-mailed him that I was buying a house on the West Side. The reply I got was not what I expected; it was a litany of all the horrible things I could expect to endure living in this neighborhood--and, he claimed, he knew just what he was talking about, since he used to be a cop in a neighborhood just like this. In fact, his reply to that e-mail was instrumental in my decision to create this blog. And I never wrote back to him after that.
Well, today:
...you pop into my head every now and then, and I
wonder where you are, and how you are doing. I also
remember how much of an ass I was to you. I never
apologized for it, and knowing you, especially after
all of this time, you don't need it. For what it's
worth, I am sorry, and I have been for a long time.
Anyway, I hope this letter finds you well, and if I
don't hear back from you, take care of yourself.
Believe it or not, you did make a positive impression
on me.
Just....weird. Weird weird weird weird weird.
Also, :::drool:::.
(Hey, what can I say? I'm only human...and in the grip of yet another drought. All other considerations aside, I wouldn't mind another little visit along those lines...NO, I'm NOT being fickle...Stop looking at me like that, all of you! I mean, damn.)
I had read through half the message before I realized who it was from. And then I yelled "Oh, no fuckin' WAY!" loud enough to send the cats running and get a quizzical look from Tim.
Shortly after CR left, I put a personal ad up on Yahoo. And early in the process, I got an e-mail and a pic from Possibly The Hottest Man Ever. Seriously. This dude was not fine--he was FOINE. He was...yummy. Like as in, I'll take two of those to go, please.
So PTHME and I corresponded for a couple of months, during which he was slightly alarmed by my heroin history--"not sure I can deal with that", he said, which...whatever...but he finally decided he wanted to meet me when he was back in town (he was originally from Chi, but was away at school in Wisconsin somewhere.)
That meeting goes down in my personal history as one of the greatest ideas ever. Let's just say that after dinner, he was invited back to my apartment at the time. And that, in true invited-back-to-the-apartment fashion, one thing led to another....ohhhh, man, did it ever.
(If you sense a bit of drooling in my prose? You are not imagining things.)
And so he left the next morning, and I went back to work with a biiiiiiiiig grin, and he was supposed to leave two days later and I figured I'd seen the last of him for at least a while. And then the night before he was supposed to leave, I was sitting around feeling fairly sorry for myself, when guess who tapped at my apartment window?
THEN he left, the next morning. And we halfway, sorta, kinda stayed in touch for a while, though he made it clear that he wasn't looking for a relationship; then one day I e-mailed him that I was buying a house on the West Side. The reply I got was not what I expected; it was a litany of all the horrible things I could expect to endure living in this neighborhood--and, he claimed, he knew just what he was talking about, since he used to be a cop in a neighborhood just like this. In fact, his reply to that e-mail was instrumental in my decision to create this blog. And I never wrote back to him after that.
Well, today:
...you pop into my head every now and then, and I
wonder where you are, and how you are doing. I also
remember how much of an ass I was to you. I never
apologized for it, and knowing you, especially after
all of this time, you don't need it. For what it's
worth, I am sorry, and I have been for a long time.
Anyway, I hope this letter finds you well, and if I
don't hear back from you, take care of yourself.
Believe it or not, you did make a positive impression
on me.
Just....weird. Weird weird weird weird weird.
Also, :::drool:::.
(Hey, what can I say? I'm only human...and in the grip of yet another drought. All other considerations aside, I wouldn't mind another little visit along those lines...NO, I'm NOT being fickle...Stop looking at me like that, all of you! I mean, damn.)
Saturday, July 9, 2005
Details
Okay, now that the SQUEEEEEE!ing has died down somewhat (and I thank all of you for joining your voices to my chorus of SQUEEEEEE!), I'll tell the whole story.
Having spent most of the day Thursday trading outrage with the Brit over the London terror attack--we're both solidly among the Tinfoil-Hat People, convinced that there are far greater powers behind these attacks than a nest of Muslims who "hate freedom" and all that hogwash--anyway, let's just say not much work was getting done, regardless. I was hiding out at the other building because I knew that if I was in my own office, I would be expected to "touch base" with Amy. I hate "touching base"; I also hate "stepping up to the plate", "thinking outside the box", and all other corporate crap jargon. And "touching base" has got to be my least-favorite of all concepts, at least as it applies to my current work environment, because it invariably results in a headache and a need to strangle someone.
But alas, eventually the moment of critical slacker-mass arrived, the moment where I could no longer justify the amount of nothing I was doing. So I wandered back to the main office, with the Brit in close pursuit--he had errands that could justify a nice early-afternoon stroll, and so we took the longest possible route back to the main building, laughing and goofing the whole way.
I am totally crazy about this man, have I mentioned?
Back at my office, I wasn't there ten minutes before Amy came sashaying in, wanting to--you guessed it--"touch base". Yecccch. I spent about half-an-hour in her office, listening to her "suggestions" about all the things I need to do differently in my job, which is to say, everything. By the time she was done, it was time for her to leave--you know, 2:45 and all. That's the end of a long day, expecially when you get in at 9:30.
Around 4:00, as I was sitting at my desk, my phone rang. "Gladys?" said Rachel. "Can you take this call?"
I sighed. The only "can you take this call" calls are generally from vendors, and I hate dealing with vendors because they always want something I can't give them. "Yeah," I told her. "Put 'em through."
"Hello, Gladys? This is Lois, from Human Resources..."
I knew immediately what she was going to say. Tuesday afternoon I'd gotten an e-mail from her, asking for my references, and Wednesday RuthAnne--about whom more later, because she was totally instrumental in getting me this job--called and said she'd been contacted for a reference. So I pretty much knew this was it.
And it was! "We'd like to offer you the position...."--details about money, vacation days, etc. So far, so good.
And then, the words that strike terror into the heart of any recovering addict: "...contingent on passing a drug screen."
Needless to say, I haven't done any heroin. I haven't even smoked any weed, though I was briefly concerned about the effects of secondhand smoke. But--remember after my surgery, how I was having minor withdrawals from all the morphine and Vicodin I'd been given? How I was going to taper myself down on the methadone over a couple of weeks?
Well, I did. But I wasn't sure how long ago I'd last taken any methadone, nor how long it lasts in the body. The second question was easily answered via Google: 1-7 days. It hadn't been ONE day, but I wasn't sure entirely that it had been more than seven, either. PRETTY sure, but not 100% sure.
So I did the prudent thing, and didn't tell anyone about the offer.
Well, except the Brit.
And LJ.
And Mom.
In that order.
(Somethin' ain't right here, folks.)
Everybody else, I figured, could wait til I was safely certified drug-free. Because on the off chance that I WASN'T...much less scandal this way, you know? I don't really need any more scandal.
At the risk of giving away the ending: I went yesterday to take the drug test, at a little facility in North Hell-And-Gone (thank god no one was at work to notice that my lunch hour was a bit...extended) and I passed with no problems whatsoever. Which I SORTA thought I would, but... just nervewracking, you know?
Back to Thursday. I had the truck, so of course I gave the Brit a ride home. I swear, he could not have been more thrilled if HE was the one who'd gotten the new job. In fact--and if you knew him and knew me, you'd be as amazed by this as I was--he actually patted me on the back, touched me on the arm, little things like that--more than once, even! (I am extremely standoffish, physically--like, to the point that when someone's last day at work comes around and they're going down the line hugging everyone, they put their arms out about halfway when they come to me and then hesitate a little, with that expression of "if I try to hug her, is she gonna snap at me?" I'm not at all sure where they get that--body language, I'd imagine--but it's fairly accurate. I am extremely guarded that way, and I'm not sure why. The Brit seems to be the same way--not a toucher, not a hugger, purely verbal. So for him to breach that invisible wall...um, SQUEEEEEE? Or am I overanalyzing things here?)
About halfway through the ride, he stopped in mid-sentence and said "God, I am REALLY going to miss these talks!!"
"Oh, we're GOING to keep in touch," I told him. (Though how I'm going to get around his girlfriend to talk to him will be another question entirely--he hasn't got a cell phone, so I'll have to call him at home. I can't imagine that will go over real well. Thank god for e-mail...but then again, e-mail doesn't have that gorgeous accent.)
So Monday morning, I'm putting in my two weeks' notice. RuthAnne and I had a long talk about that on Friday afternoon, when I called to tell her the good news. She had acted as one of my references--I didn't trust Beverly or Amy, and RuthAnne and I have consistently been on the same side of the database controversy--and she did an excellent job. (She told me exactly what she said, and at one point I stopped her and said "RuthAnne, that was some EXCELLENT bullshit! Thank you so much!" I mean, she made me sound like the Second Coming or something.) She's very disappointed that she won't be there on Monday to see the fireworks--an opinion echoed by everyone who's going to be on vacation next week, or out of town. I've offered to sell videotapes....Anyway, RuthAnne asked me what I was going to say in my resignation letter. I told her I'm going to be very straightforward and diplomatic...but that in my head, I was going to write a letter that would rival Tasha's exit letter.
To which RuthAnne responded: "Write THAT one down too, and send me a copy."
RuthAnne and I have had our problems--boy, have we!--but since the nightmare of the actual database upgrade began, we've pretty much patched up our differences and moved on. I realized that she's done most of the less-than-honest things she's done because she's in the same boat as I am--she's Beverly's whipping-child, and she's trying to cover her own ass. Which is a reaction I sympathize with, though it doesn't excuse some of the stuff that's happened--almost everyone in that entire office is, to one degree or another, trying to cover their ass against Beverly's irrationality. RuthAnne and I have been two of the people who have gotten the worst of it; finally we realized that and banded together against it.
I am seriously thrilled, now that it's all for real, all sinking in. The next two weeks are going to be rough--Beverly's going to make sure of THAT--but when they're done, they're DONE. I'm also really nervous about the new job, but then again that seems perfectly natural.
Mostly, though, I'm just gonna miss seeing the Brit every day.
Having spent most of the day Thursday trading outrage with the Brit over the London terror attack--we're both solidly among the Tinfoil-Hat People, convinced that there are far greater powers behind these attacks than a nest of Muslims who "hate freedom" and all that hogwash--anyway, let's just say not much work was getting done, regardless. I was hiding out at the other building because I knew that if I was in my own office, I would be expected to "touch base" with Amy. I hate "touching base"; I also hate "stepping up to the plate", "thinking outside the box", and all other corporate crap jargon. And "touching base" has got to be my least-favorite of all concepts, at least as it applies to my current work environment, because it invariably results in a headache and a need to strangle someone.
But alas, eventually the moment of critical slacker-mass arrived, the moment where I could no longer justify the amount of nothing I was doing. So I wandered back to the main office, with the Brit in close pursuit--he had errands that could justify a nice early-afternoon stroll, and so we took the longest possible route back to the main building, laughing and goofing the whole way.
I am totally crazy about this man, have I mentioned?
Back at my office, I wasn't there ten minutes before Amy came sashaying in, wanting to--you guessed it--"touch base". Yecccch. I spent about half-an-hour in her office, listening to her "suggestions" about all the things I need to do differently in my job, which is to say, everything. By the time she was done, it was time for her to leave--you know, 2:45 and all. That's the end of a long day, expecially when you get in at 9:30.
Around 4:00, as I was sitting at my desk, my phone rang. "Gladys?" said Rachel. "Can you take this call?"
I sighed. The only "can you take this call" calls are generally from vendors, and I hate dealing with vendors because they always want something I can't give them. "Yeah," I told her. "Put 'em through."
"Hello, Gladys? This is Lois, from Human Resources..."
I knew immediately what she was going to say. Tuesday afternoon I'd gotten an e-mail from her, asking for my references, and Wednesday RuthAnne--about whom more later, because she was totally instrumental in getting me this job--called and said she'd been contacted for a reference. So I pretty much knew this was it.
And it was! "We'd like to offer you the position...."--details about money, vacation days, etc. So far, so good.
And then, the words that strike terror into the heart of any recovering addict: "...contingent on passing a drug screen."
Needless to say, I haven't done any heroin. I haven't even smoked any weed, though I was briefly concerned about the effects of secondhand smoke. But--remember after my surgery, how I was having minor withdrawals from all the morphine and Vicodin I'd been given? How I was going to taper myself down on the methadone over a couple of weeks?
Well, I did. But I wasn't sure how long ago I'd last taken any methadone, nor how long it lasts in the body. The second question was easily answered via Google: 1-7 days. It hadn't been ONE day, but I wasn't sure entirely that it had been more than seven, either. PRETTY sure, but not 100% sure.
So I did the prudent thing, and didn't tell anyone about the offer.
Well, except the Brit.
And LJ.
And Mom.
In that order.
(Somethin' ain't right here, folks.)
Everybody else, I figured, could wait til I was safely certified drug-free. Because on the off chance that I WASN'T...much less scandal this way, you know? I don't really need any more scandal.
At the risk of giving away the ending: I went yesterday to take the drug test, at a little facility in North Hell-And-Gone (thank god no one was at work to notice that my lunch hour was a bit...extended) and I passed with no problems whatsoever. Which I SORTA thought I would, but... just nervewracking, you know?
Back to Thursday. I had the truck, so of course I gave the Brit a ride home. I swear, he could not have been more thrilled if HE was the one who'd gotten the new job. In fact--and if you knew him and knew me, you'd be as amazed by this as I was--he actually patted me on the back, touched me on the arm, little things like that--more than once, even! (I am extremely standoffish, physically--like, to the point that when someone's last day at work comes around and they're going down the line hugging everyone, they put their arms out about halfway when they come to me and then hesitate a little, with that expression of "if I try to hug her, is she gonna snap at me?" I'm not at all sure where they get that--body language, I'd imagine--but it's fairly accurate. I am extremely guarded that way, and I'm not sure why. The Brit seems to be the same way--not a toucher, not a hugger, purely verbal. So for him to breach that invisible wall...um, SQUEEEEEE? Or am I overanalyzing things here?)
About halfway through the ride, he stopped in mid-sentence and said "God, I am REALLY going to miss these talks!!"
"Oh, we're GOING to keep in touch," I told him. (Though how I'm going to get around his girlfriend to talk to him will be another question entirely--he hasn't got a cell phone, so I'll have to call him at home. I can't imagine that will go over real well. Thank god for e-mail...but then again, e-mail doesn't have that gorgeous accent.)
So Monday morning, I'm putting in my two weeks' notice. RuthAnne and I had a long talk about that on Friday afternoon, when I called to tell her the good news. She had acted as one of my references--I didn't trust Beverly or Amy, and RuthAnne and I have consistently been on the same side of the database controversy--and she did an excellent job. (She told me exactly what she said, and at one point I stopped her and said "RuthAnne, that was some EXCELLENT bullshit! Thank you so much!" I mean, she made me sound like the Second Coming or something.) She's very disappointed that she won't be there on Monday to see the fireworks--an opinion echoed by everyone who's going to be on vacation next week, or out of town. I've offered to sell videotapes....Anyway, RuthAnne asked me what I was going to say in my resignation letter. I told her I'm going to be very straightforward and diplomatic...but that in my head, I was going to write a letter that would rival Tasha's exit letter.
To which RuthAnne responded: "Write THAT one down too, and send me a copy."
RuthAnne and I have had our problems--boy, have we!--but since the nightmare of the actual database upgrade began, we've pretty much patched up our differences and moved on. I realized that she's done most of the less-than-honest things she's done because she's in the same boat as I am--she's Beverly's whipping-child, and she's trying to cover her own ass. Which is a reaction I sympathize with, though it doesn't excuse some of the stuff that's happened--almost everyone in that entire office is, to one degree or another, trying to cover their ass against Beverly's irrationality. RuthAnne and I have been two of the people who have gotten the worst of it; finally we realized that and banded together against it.
I am seriously thrilled, now that it's all for real, all sinking in. The next two weeks are going to be rough--Beverly's going to make sure of THAT--but when they're done, they're DONE. I'm also really nervous about the new job, but then again that seems perfectly natural.
Mostly, though, I'm just gonna miss seeing the Brit every day.
Thursday, July 7, 2005
News
I GOT THE JOB!!!!
(Note: That was not quite the text effect I was going for there, but when you look at it, it kinda fuckin' RAWKS, no?)
Well, Speak of the Unconscious Devil
Got this e-mail at work yesterday morning.
Subject: in need of help
hey when u get this message contact me it's urgent at (buttheaded_ex_hubby)@hotmail.com
--CR
I did reply, yes; I'm curious to see what "help" he needs.
But he better not be looking towards MY checking account for relief; aside from the vehement and repeated "fuck off" such a request would elicit, that account's got $85 in it right now, and I don't next get paid til 3 weeks from tomorrow.
Subject: in need of help
hey when u get this message contact me it's urgent at (buttheaded_ex_hubby)@hotmail.com
--CR
I did reply, yes; I'm curious to see what "help" he needs.
But he better not be looking towards MY checking account for relief; aside from the vehement and repeated "fuck off" such a request would elicit, that account's got $85 in it right now, and I don't next get paid til 3 weeks from tomorrow.
Tuesday, July 5, 2005
Verdict
He (It's not a good sign, is it, when I say "he" and it's just sorta implied that "he" is probably NOT the "he" I live with, because why would I be writing about HIM?)--anyway, he was very impressed with the book--even offering substantive praise/criticism, which I just love (especially, if we're going to be perfectly honest here, when it's coming from a hot guy I wanna screw.) And yes, to those of you inclined to notice such things (as I am), I am aware that it is now a month since I last updated. Two weeks of that time doesn't count, though, since I was grossly and violently ill.
I'm working on it, y'all. And if I wasn't, I am now.
Other than the Brit--my usual bright spot--this day was completely and utterly for shit. You know what I did at work today? I sat in meetings, or dealt with the results of said meetings, for six and a half hours. Which I will NOT get back, in case you're wondering; they're lost forever to the mists of time and bad fortune. Worse, they were meetings about the infernal database, which remains a clusterfuck of inhuman proportions. Six and a half hours of "why doesn't it work?" "I dunno...it just doesn't." And tomorrow doesn't look much better. No news on the job, either...It's a good thing I'm a patient woman. But if I don't get THIS job, I will not be happy.
The best thing about today? It's Tuesday, not Monday. Which means that Friday will come one day earlier, thank god. The other best thing: my skinny jeans are getting to be too big for me...although if I keep eating like I did today, that trend is gonna reverse in a big blazing hurry.
I'm a little afraid of what I'm putting on the Brit, in my own mind. I have to remind myself to be very, very cautious and not expect...well, anything, yet, but even if there ever comes a time when I CAN expect anything, not to expect the past to repeat itself. I think that's part of the reason I've confined myself to guys like CR and LJ--the unconscious type; I'm afraid if I get a conscious one, that I might chase him away with the weight of too much hope. And the Brit most certainly is a conscious one...
God, I'm such a mess. (shrug) At least I recognize it.
I'm working on it, y'all. And if I wasn't, I am now.
Other than the Brit--my usual bright spot--this day was completely and utterly for shit. You know what I did at work today? I sat in meetings, or dealt with the results of said meetings, for six and a half hours. Which I will NOT get back, in case you're wondering; they're lost forever to the mists of time and bad fortune. Worse, they were meetings about the infernal database, which remains a clusterfuck of inhuman proportions. Six and a half hours of "why doesn't it work?" "I dunno...it just doesn't." And tomorrow doesn't look much better. No news on the job, either...It's a good thing I'm a patient woman. But if I don't get THIS job, I will not be happy.
The best thing about today? It's Tuesday, not Monday. Which means that Friday will come one day earlier, thank god. The other best thing: my skinny jeans are getting to be too big for me...although if I keep eating like I did today, that trend is gonna reverse in a big blazing hurry.
I'm a little afraid of what I'm putting on the Brit, in my own mind. I have to remind myself to be very, very cautious and not expect...well, anything, yet, but even if there ever comes a time when I CAN expect anything, not to expect the past to repeat itself. I think that's part of the reason I've confined myself to guys like CR and LJ--the unconscious type; I'm afraid if I get a conscious one, that I might chase him away with the weight of too much hope. And the Brit most certainly is a conscious one...
God, I'm such a mess. (shrug) At least I recognize it.
Monday, July 4, 2005
Saved By Cowardice And A Lack Of Information
I was in just the sort of mood tonight that, if I'd been feeling brave enough, I would have called the Brit and told him to meet me downtown at the fireworks. And maybe I would have even been brave enough to steer the conversation in a certain dangerous direction--hey, I said "maybe".
IF I'd been feeling brave enough. And IF I'd had his phone number, which I don't. Probably a very good thing--no use letting my brain write checks my mouth can't cash, or something.
(I did, though, e-mail him a copy of the book thus far--since he had to work today, I figured I'd give myself a one-day buffer zone between when he would read it and when I would next see him. We'll see what he thinks.)
Back to work tomorrow, and it's a two-supervisor day: Beverly AND Nancy (who the Brit and I have taken to calling "Socks", after I advanced the opinion that Nancy couldn't spout the party line any better if she were made of felt and had Beverly's hand up her ass.) I'm hoping to hear about Consolation-Prize Job this week...they asked for my references, so I'm hopeful.
IF I'd been feeling brave enough. And IF I'd had his phone number, which I don't. Probably a very good thing--no use letting my brain write checks my mouth can't cash, or something.
(I did, though, e-mail him a copy of the book thus far--since he had to work today, I figured I'd give myself a one-day buffer zone between when he would read it and when I would next see him. We'll see what he thinks.)
Back to work tomorrow, and it's a two-supervisor day: Beverly AND Nancy (who the Brit and I have taken to calling "Socks", after I advanced the opinion that Nancy couldn't spout the party line any better if she were made of felt and had Beverly's hand up her ass.) I'm hoping to hear about Consolation-Prize Job this week...they asked for my references, so I'm hopeful.
Conversations In Passing
Yesterday, walking towards Pulaski to catch the bus, I was stopped in my tracks by a teeny-tiny little girl on a Big Wheel. She was adorable, maybe about two or three.
Looking at the house I was walking past, she informed me "Nobody lives there."
"Really?" I asked, and she nodded.
"Where you goin'?" she asked me.
"I'm goin' to my momma's house," I told her.
"Where your momma's house?"
"Well, it's kinda far, so I have to take the bus..."
Suddenly from the porch came another voice--a woman smoking a cigarette, evidently the little girl's mother. I hadn't seen her.
"You live around here?" she asked.
"Yeah," I said. "Just the other side of Kildare."
"You do drugs?" she asked.
"No," I said, and didn't add not anymore.
"That's good," the woman said. "You live with your family?"
"No, just me. And my boyfriend."
"Your boyfriend black?"
I nodded.
She took a long drag off her cigarette. "That's why, then."
"Actually, he came along AFTER I decided I wanted to live here. Mostly I just like it here."
"Well, that's good...I don't discriminate. Fact is, most of y'all treat us better than the black folks treat us, sometimes."
I laughed. "Honestly? Sometimes I think y'all treat us better than the white folks do. There's some times even -I- don't like white folks much."
"I heard that," she said.
I was getting ready to move on when she said, "You got kids?"
"Nope," I told her.
"Kids are a gift," she said. "What you waitin' for?" she asked.
"Really? I have no idea," I said.
THIS, should you wonder, is why I love my neighborhood. People will stop you on the street and ask totally inappropriate questions in a totally comfortable, natural way. I'm all about motivation when it comes to asking questions, which is why I'm okay with this--in this case, she really wanted to know. No artifice, no dissembling--just a rapid-fire series of highly-personal questions interspersed with her opinions of the answers. What's not to love??
Looking at the house I was walking past, she informed me "Nobody lives there."
"Really?" I asked, and she nodded.
"Where you goin'?" she asked me.
"I'm goin' to my momma's house," I told her.
"Where your momma's house?"
"Well, it's kinda far, so I have to take the bus..."
Suddenly from the porch came another voice--a woman smoking a cigarette, evidently the little girl's mother. I hadn't seen her.
"You live around here?" she asked.
"Yeah," I said. "Just the other side of Kildare."
"You do drugs?" she asked.
"No," I said, and didn't add not anymore.
"That's good," the woman said. "You live with your family?"
"No, just me. And my boyfriend."
"Your boyfriend black?"
I nodded.
She took a long drag off her cigarette. "That's why, then."
"Actually, he came along AFTER I decided I wanted to live here. Mostly I just like it here."
"Well, that's good...I don't discriminate. Fact is, most of y'all treat us better than the black folks treat us, sometimes."
I laughed. "Honestly? Sometimes I think y'all treat us better than the white folks do. There's some times even -I- don't like white folks much."
"I heard that," she said.
I was getting ready to move on when she said, "You got kids?"
"Nope," I told her.
"Kids are a gift," she said. "What you waitin' for?" she asked.
"Really? I have no idea," I said.
THIS, should you wonder, is why I love my neighborhood. People will stop you on the street and ask totally inappropriate questions in a totally comfortable, natural way. I'm all about motivation when it comes to asking questions, which is why I'm okay with this--in this case, she really wanted to know. No artifice, no dissembling--just a rapid-fire series of highly-personal questions interspersed with her opinions of the answers. What's not to love??
Sunday, July 3, 2005
In Case You Thought It Ever Went Away
Conversation from today's ride home with Mom:
Me: (talks about the Brit extensively, recounting various conversations, etc.)
Mom: You sound...smitten.
Me: Yeah, kinda, a little.
Mom: Well, just keep losing weight and who knows--maybe you'll have a chance!
:::sigh:::
Me: (talks about the Brit extensively, recounting various conversations, etc.)
Mom: You sound...smitten.
Me: Yeah, kinda, a little.
Mom: Well, just keep losing weight and who knows--maybe you'll have a chance!
:::sigh:::
Weird Science
All the 'phobes out there who claim homosexuality is "unnatural" and doesn't occur in other species might want to either stay away from or check out my living room, where for much of the past few days we have had Hot Male Cat-On-Cat Humping Action. Which...not that there's anything WRONG with that, but it's a wee bit disturbing to watch. It's like, could you please go do that somewhere else?
Tim's big cat, Cassidy, is the top in this whole scenario, which is probably why I'm so conflicted about the whole deal; I don't LIKE this cat. I feel it's safe to say that this is perhaps the only cat I've ever met which I have actively disliked, even before he bit me on the finger for no reason, hard enough to draw blood. Anyway, Cass is the humper; Mikey and Sosa, Tim's other two cats, are apparently interchangeable as hump-ees. And they don't seem to be enjoying it, either, judging from their expressions and their struggles to get the big lummox off them--Cass is about thirty pounds, I would guess, whereas the twins are of average cat size. They seem a bit...submissive, though...sometimes they just lay there and look resigned.
The funniest thing about all this, though, is that Whitey--my cat--has proven once and for all that he is a thug among thugs, a true cat of the 'hood: Every time Cassidy so much as LOOKS at him, Whitey sets up an unearthly growl of purest hatred. "Don't you come near me," he says (I speak fluent Cat), and then some less-than-polite feline terminology regarding same-sex humping.
My cat is a Republican. Who would have thought???
Tim's big cat, Cassidy, is the top in this whole scenario, which is probably why I'm so conflicted about the whole deal; I don't LIKE this cat. I feel it's safe to say that this is perhaps the only cat I've ever met which I have actively disliked, even before he bit me on the finger for no reason, hard enough to draw blood. Anyway, Cass is the humper; Mikey and Sosa, Tim's other two cats, are apparently interchangeable as hump-ees. And they don't seem to be enjoying it, either, judging from their expressions and their struggles to get the big lummox off them--Cass is about thirty pounds, I would guess, whereas the twins are of average cat size. They seem a bit...submissive, though...sometimes they just lay there and look resigned.
The funniest thing about all this, though, is that Whitey--my cat--has proven once and for all that he is a thug among thugs, a true cat of the 'hood: Every time Cassidy so much as LOOKS at him, Whitey sets up an unearthly growl of purest hatred. "Don't you come near me," he says (I speak fluent Cat), and then some less-than-polite feline terminology regarding same-sex humping.
My cat is a Republican. Who would have thought???
Friday, July 1, 2005
Significant?
Fridays before the holiday weekends are generally ghost towns among the staff at Place Where I Work--at least, among the higher-up staff. The nice part of that, of course, is the sudden ability to do whatever needs doing without having to report to six different people about where I'm going, what I'm doing and why.
So this afternoon, when I went to the other building on the way to one of our offsite offices and the Brit mentioned in passing that he had some errands to run, including a stop at the same office I was headed to, you can imagine who jumped at the chance to drive him there.
We spent most of the afternoon together, driving all over the North Shore in search of sidewalk chalk, a helium tank, and a network connection for the offsite office. We ended up with two out of three--the office just won't connect, but that's a problem for Tuesday morning, not Friday afternoon. And somewhere along the line, between the non-connecting office and the helium tank, he started talking about his home situation--most specifically, a couple of issues with his girlfriend, who may not be quite as cool as I envision her. Lots of yelling from her end of things, it sounds like, and some moderate-to-severe, totally unjustified trust issues, as well. He's always, up til now, painted a fairly-rosy picture of life chez Brit, so this was a departure--enough of a departure to give me pause.
He also told me a couple of other secrets, which I am not at liberty to discuss (yeah, I know--like anyone here could do anything with the info--but I PROMISED) but I'm glad he trusts me enough to tell me.
All in all, an interesting afternoon to say the least. Fridays are just the best.
So this afternoon, when I went to the other building on the way to one of our offsite offices and the Brit mentioned in passing that he had some errands to run, including a stop at the same office I was headed to, you can imagine who jumped at the chance to drive him there.
We spent most of the afternoon together, driving all over the North Shore in search of sidewalk chalk, a helium tank, and a network connection for the offsite office. We ended up with two out of three--the office just won't connect, but that's a problem for Tuesday morning, not Friday afternoon. And somewhere along the line, between the non-connecting office and the helium tank, he started talking about his home situation--most specifically, a couple of issues with his girlfriend, who may not be quite as cool as I envision her. Lots of yelling from her end of things, it sounds like, and some moderate-to-severe, totally unjustified trust issues, as well. He's always, up til now, painted a fairly-rosy picture of life chez Brit, so this was a departure--enough of a departure to give me pause.
He also told me a couple of other secrets, which I am not at liberty to discuss (yeah, I know--like anyone here could do anything with the info--but I PROMISED) but I'm glad he trusts me enough to tell me.
All in all, an interesting afternoon to say the least. Fridays are just the best.
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