Shit Luck: 3 Good Luck: 0

Well, what else is new...I lose a metrocard and its holder, I lose a new earring (like RIGHT OUTTA THE BOX NEW), and I can't for the life of me get any of these places to call me back.

I'm floundering. Is it time to beg? Perhaps. Perhaps I'm not paying my dues properly, hence the loss of my $20 metrocard and $16 earrings. Losses always happen in threes, so I know I have to get hit with something else. I need to brace myself for it, it'll sure be wonderful.

Oh! Did I mention the skin outbreak (it's waaaay too mottled and red to be a simple rash) across my neck and chest? What the hell draped over me as I slept yesterday? SARS? Marburg? Ebola? Or is it something with no name?

And tomorrow's another lovely weekend. With no money, since I'm living off my credit card. That will run out, too. And since Mr. Monkey Boy Bush has made it more difficult to declare bankruptcy, I'll just have to sell my corneas, all of my blood and maybe a kidney whilst preparing myself for a life perfecting the principle of indentured servitude. Hell, I'm in that now.

I had noooo idea I'd still be here this long. They say it's more important how you view yourself than how others view you. BULLSHIT, I say. That doesn't work when you're out on job interviews! Dumb-as-dishwater princesses get 70K, and I'm here floundering like a special ed student working at the volunteer level in the Land of Narcissists.

I remember distinctly a lovely Tracy Ullman show back in the year I love (1987) where a bunch of potential employees are told to be as creative as possible and let loose with strange materials for this very non-traditional interview. Tracy chooses chunks of metal and starts tap dancing on a table with exploding caps to emphasize the beat. Another woman chooses a saw and a bow and starts playing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow". Then, there's a guy who picks up a kazoo and a napkin and starts making an ass of himself while blowing notes. Notes with no discernable tune or rhyme. The napkin is draped over one eye, which makes no sense.

HE GETS THE JOB.

The reason? He's the least threatening out of the bunch.

Maybe that's my problem? I'm TOO competent?

All Roads Lead to...

Screw this Job.

That is the resounding thud I'm hearing from everyone. I just returned from a starbucks trip to learn that one of the team leaders who trained me on this monstrous system is also looking for another job. One too many Saturdays without getting paid overtime has fully pushed this person over the edge.

I said, "I know six people who are actively looking to get out, including myself."

The reply? "Make that SEVEN."

Oh, how I laughed.

Every now and then I need things like this to keep me going: it's inimitable PROOF that I am doing the right thing, and above all, I am not alone.

I am beginning to realize that the newbies coming into this place probably couldn't be hired anywhere else. This is becoming a dumping ground. Let's see if I can sail through the rest of July in one piece. I couldn't muster the courage to leave my apartment this weekend for anything but a bagel and a newspaper. It was good to watch Lance breeze through the Champs de Lysee one last time. The man's athleticism is simply staggering.

My favorite fossil, Adrienne, made another appearance on HSN last night. She and the host got on pretty well. Of course, the vitamin C pack is on its way to me. Age gracefully? Puuuhlease. I'm going to need wrinkle cream to cover all the smile lines caused by knowing myself and the crew will all be leaving by year's end. Oh, that makes me so SO happy!

This is like the Titanic, I swear!

Packed like lemmings into shiny metal boxes

Contestants in a suicidal race.

Why I thought of a Police song this morning as I watched the D pull in is beyond me. It's true, however.

I got a nice respite from Pinochet who went home with a toothache. Let's see: pain in the ass last week, computer crashes. Pain in the ass this week: toothache. Karmic justice? Mais, oui! Oh, it's so nice to have quiet.

I've really decided I have no time for intense, chaotic people anymore. I grew up around them. I've had to work with them. Some of them have even been human enough to pay me for my services whether it was editing, cats, dog-walking, babysitting, or answering phones. All these chaotic creatures draw and suck out energy, which in turn makes me tense and unagreeable. I'm rather nice around easy-going people. I turn into Dexter with feral fangs and claws bared when these other types come around. They like the attention, I've learned. They want the control. They love to manipulate and blame the other party. I've learned more about people in the last decade by simply observing than by having my phone ring off the wall as it did in the 80's during my Dawn/L'amour/Stiff Stuff years. It's a different type of fun, I see.

Now I've got five good friends. Not 15. It really simplifies everything. Jesus, I even have less cats! I used to have 5, now I have 3. Quality, not quantity, is the winning element. That's factored into my weekends, my books, even my job hunt. It might take longer, but it's more concentrated. And that's good.

Let's see what happens tomorrow: another interview, and hopefully, I can spring for half a day. If Pinochet feels better.

I think of his famous quote, "They will fear me, but they will fear me with respect." I've got no respect for this one. Another imitator to the throne. Bag O'Rocks haunts us still in these parts...

Welcome to the Bayou

Someone must be sticking pins in mother nature because it's a damn swamp out there! My god, there are people that actually LIKE this weather?! Give me January or give me death. I'll take polar bears over alligators any day, kiddies.

I supremely said To Hell With It and stayed in bed yesterday allll daaaayy looong. Considering the weather? I might have gotten hit with lightning like that poor family on the news. The 12 year old had BRAIN SWELLING. Yikes.

Well, it's another long week in hell for me, and I'm so far past caring anymore, I actually expect to be late everyday. Between my commute, train problems, and my inability to walk fast with leg pain, I could care less.

I've got my plan in action should they fire me, but why would they? They're getting me on the cheap. I know this place enjoys watching its underlings writhe and suffer, so they must be loving this. Little do they know I'm having a damn good time making a profit off all the promo books the special sections people used to review. I think that's hilarious. What will I do with all these books? Selling them is the only answer. And since they're not paying me, so much the better. The money goes into my pocket, someone gets to read a brand-new, never-used book, and there's no wasteful let's-shove-it-in-the-trash ramblings. This place wastes books, food, paper, plastic, and employees.

By the grace of god, goddess, heaven, and all the saints and angels I hope I can get out of here and take Baldo's new assistant with me. She's looking, too. That's just too damn funny.

My bank upgrade/merger takes place this weekend. Let's see if I have access to homelink at all. Ah, the wonders of technology...

As We Approach the Witching Hour

Party on, muggles! (and mudbloods.)

I'll be at 17th St. waiting for Jo's live message direct from Scotland.

Celebrate Number Six

First Word, Four Letters, Rhymes with "Runt"

Would you like to buy a vowel, kiddies? Let us not forget that yet another bullshit hire courtesy of Bag O'Rocks is making not just my life, but also another hire's life--someone who's so new, I can't even fathom her take on the email that follows.

Here, for your sweet perusal, is what graced our inboxes this afternoon. Our crime? I went to the bank and the post office, and my coworker went on an "appointment." That means she'd like to bolt as much as I do.

Read on, it's a doozy....

"Please let us all agree to a lunch schedule that will work for all of us. My suggestion would be "first to come, first to go". Starting from 1pm. Remember that the phones need coverage and we all can not go to lunch at the same time.

Feel free to suggest any ideas regarding this matter.


thanks"

Let's read between the lines: First to come, first to go: that means she MUST go to the gym at the same time every day, no matter what. Physical fitness? No, more like vanity. Did I mention I've been here four years and she's been here since January? I've been going to lunch at 12:30 since April 2001. I ain't changing it except maybe to go earlier. I used to do noon. Hey, fuck you, princess. I'm getting my full hour.

Remember the phones need coverage: Yes, Miss Mensa. I've been answering them longer than you. No one knows that better than I. In fact, I taught you how to pick up and address clients properly so you wouldn't sound like an assmonkey.

What does this boil down to? Spoiled brat bullshit, plain and simple. Just like Princess Brat and Ghetto Cow. Why did Bag O'Rocks have to hire women who were just plain pains in MY ASS?

Jesssssus, I can't wait to get out of here.

Zzzzz

So, a four-day weekend of cleaning, recycling, brushing cats, doing laundry, and total organization. Not to mention a combined total of about 11 hours of sleep each day. Just what I needed to face these fuckwits once more.

My fishy witchy tendencies are spot-on lately, too: I knew that Jill at Venturi partners would get me the interview downtown first, guess what? It came. I will now have a "dental appointment" Tuesday afternoon. I was thinking of Mr. Q Sauce from Tennessee, one of my former co-workers. Guess what? He sends me an email. I was also right about the power-3 workout on the ice Friday morning. Yup, I'm right. I'm not paranoid. It's going to happen. And the Fuckwit Circus will probably be pissed off about Tuesday. I could care less. I'm getting so desperate I'm ready to quit and just go temp to perm somewhere. Then, I think to myself, if I survived that acting school shithole with a job hunt that lasted 11 months, I can keep going.

The kindest thing they could do would be to give me a package and shove me out, but that won't happen. They're going to torture me.

Doesn't matter. I still have 11 vacay days left (that's two per month for the rest of the year), and I'm going to do whatever I want.

With Bag O'Rocks snippy comment in my head, "You're not here more than you are."

That's going to be what they say when I finally leave ONCE AND FOR ALL.

This job market truly sucks.

Short Week

Well, I've decided to be a complete bitch and take the next two days off. I feel like a swollen marshmallow with a Quasimodo hump in her back, and cannot move fast in all this humidity. So fuck it. I pulled a Janis Powell this morning (for those of you might enjoy the reference) and came in late, and I will leave early.

I am now blasting The Cure. Bobby Smith always suits my morbid tendencies. I actually took a taxi for four blocks this morning because my legs hurt so badly.

There will be no wasted vacation days at all this year. I've got roughly 13 days left, so that's about 2 days per month. I lost 5 days without pay due to Bag O'Rocks and his shifting fuckups with hiring J, who quickly disappeared, and I was supposed to fit them in by the end of March. Didn't happen. Since I refuse to beg like the whipped dog they think I am, I will do whatever the hell I want.

A nice chat with a very useful member of Benefits told me that I would be able to take a medical leave of absence if I needed to. 4 weeks at full pay, 4 at half pay. Wouldn't it be nice to finagle something with a new employer and tell them that I could start on the first of the month, then bolt from this place? And of course, I'll tell them I resign. "Sorry. I'm not coming back." Presto! An entire month off. And all that lovely cash deposited in my bank account! Fuck these dimwits, I've always tried to do the right thing and play by the rules. What does it get me? NADA. BUPKUS. ZILCH.

The kindest thing they could do is fire me, but that won't happen, since that would cost them money. I saw a lovely document with all sorts of numbers on it, so I know exactly what's going on around here. Who does what, who gets what, who actually does the work, who gets screwed. And there won't be any sentimental email to anyone at this place, maybe just the people in the field. It's quite fitting, since they're getting my work. They can see how much SAP really sucks.

Nope, I ain't playing the game, kiddies. The only rules I'll follow are MY rules.

Never Silenced

All I can think about is that steamy summer of 1981 when all I heard was Luther's first song. I made it a point to follow everything he did since. Roberta Flack found my beloved Donny Hathaway and she found Luther, too. He's now with his departed brothers and sister. Here's that song I'll always love.


"Never Too Much"

I can't fool myself, I don't want nobody else to ever love me
You are my shinin' star, my guiding light, my love fantasy
There's not a minute, hour, day or night that I don't love you
You're at the top of my list 'cause I'm always thinkin' of you

I still remember in the days when I scared to touch you
How I spent my day dreamin' plannin' how to say I love you
You must have known that I had feelings deep enough to swim in
That's when you opened up your heart and you told me to come in

Oh, my love
A thousand kisses from you is never too much
I just don't wanna stop

Oh, my love
A million days in your arms is never too much
I just don't wanna stop

Too much, never too much, never too much, never too much

Woke up today, looked at your picture just to get me started
I called you up, but you weren't there and I was broken hearted
Hung up the phone, can't be too late, the boss is so demandin'
Opened the door up and to my surprise there you were standin'

Well, who needs to go to work to hustle for another dollar
I'd rather be with you 'cause you make my heart scream and holler
Love is a gamble and I'm so glad that I'm winnin'
We've come a long way and yet this is only the beginnin'

Oh, my love
A thousand kisses from you is never too much
(Never too much, never too much, never too much)
I just don't wanna stop

Oh, my love
A million days in your arms is never too much
(Never too much, never too much, never too much)
And I just don't wanna stop

Oh, my love
A thousand kisses from you is never
(Never too much, never too much, never too much)
I just don't wanna stop

Oh, my love
A million days in your arms is never too much


1981, Epic Records