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.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
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?)
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