Rant

Don't Look Down

I work at a biotech company that is facilitating drug studies for prostate cancer. About 6 months ago one of our three drug studies failed. It was by far the largest and most promising of our studies. Our stock has plummeted and employees have been abandoning ship with reasonable concerns that the company will go belly up. This is why I've had so little to do at work the last couple of months.

At our peak we had about 70 employees. As of last week we had 38 due to employees finding other jobs. Now we're in the midst of layoffs. After this Thursday we'll be down to about 23 people. After July 15th, down to a 15 person skeleton crew to keep the company alive long enough to be bought out or miraculously acquire some successful new drug study. I'm part of that skeleton crew which sounds like it would work out well for me financially, but it's still kinda crazy working some place that is slowly plummeting to its death.

Groggy Revival

That whole lack of sleep thing the last few weeks totally killed my blogging inspiration. I mean, how many ways can I say "I just want to get some damned sleep!" before I start sounding like a bitch & moan thesaurus? I finally got some sleep over the weekend and was feeling nearly normal again, but the last few days I've been back to pain and not sleeping great again. Today is my Friday so hopefully I'll find some more rest this weekend. Of course on this "Friday" the auditors have arrived to review first quarter financials. I'm so not happy to see them.

ErgoBead Head Rest

My upper back/neck pain issues have been worse lately and as a result I'm not sleeping much through the night. That's left me quite grumpy and lethargic which makes it particularly hard to find ways to pass the time at a job that currently has very little to keep me busy. I'm practicing my balance skills of sleeping while sitting upright because the excuse "I was meditating" doesn't really fly when I have to wipe the drool from my cushioned wrist pad (which is looking particularly inviting this morning).

Ways to Waste Time

Work is slow. Well, that's a bit of an understatement. It may be more accurate to say that I could fit an entire week's work of work into one day. A day where I came in late and left early and didn't even work that hard while I was here. It's really driving me batty. I'm a productivity addict with nearly 10 hours of unproductive time every day. I've been working hard to find things to do at the office and have been bringing lots of personal projects just to fill up the time. Last Thursday I polished my shoes and filed my nails. That's how bad it's gotten. Add to that the complete unknown of whether I'll still have a job in 3 months and I'm feeling more than just a bit crazy in the head. I've told my supervisor that "my work load is lightening" and I can help him with other things, but nothing has come from that yet. If only I could bring my PS2 to the office. I'd have that Ratchet and Clank game finished by now.

I Hate Beaurocracy

"We are considering several possibilities that could play out in the next month or could take up to a year and may or may not become something viable that we'd choose to consider at this present juncture in our understanding of the facts that have been presented."

So... can you just tell me if I'm still going to have a job next month?

Tough Loving

I've been doing phone therapy on and off with a therapist I saw in Homer before my grand move to California. I love her to pieces and our phone sessions have seemed to work well. Still, I thought it might be better to see someone local fully equipped with eye contact, hand gestures and office visits.

A close friend of mine is a therapist and recommended someone that I've now seen a few times. This guy is good or rather he's good for me in the same way that triathlons and brussel sprouts are good for me: a miserable and unpleasant road to health that makes Damon a grumpy boy. If I can survive the painful blows that our counseling sessions have been so far I might actually grow from the experience.

Of course, I'd have to actually still be seeing him for that to find out if that would be the case.

Our therapy conversations went something like this (liberally paraphrased by yours truly):

me: I've been really depressed lately.

him: That's cuz you're fucked up in the head.

me: Um, okay. I guess I can see that...

him: No, really. I mean it.
him: We gotta fix that shit.

me: But, there seems to be so much difficult stuff to deal with right now.

him: Well the whole world is messed up. There are recessions, wars, conflicts, lost loves...
him: And children?
him: They die.

me: So I should stop hoping for things to get better?

him: Yep.

Yellow Submarine

I'm apparently working on a sinking ship. The biotech company I work at was doing three drug studies for prostate cancer. One of the studies, the biggest one, was shut down due to a little thing like people dying. With over a third of our company's efforts gone, the word is the company will be bought out within the next 6 months or otherwise cease to exist. People are quitting on a near daily basis and I find myself wondering exactly what it would feel like to drown with a biotech company. Due to the terms of my hire last September I can't feasible start looking for other work now. Besides, there's a potential that I could get a nice severance package if I stay till the bitter end. Here's hoping for that. Meanwhile, I think I'm going to start coming to work in a life vest.

Aspirations

In my next life I'm going to be a slacker. Sounds like a much more relaxed existence.

Age-ist Much?

We have auditors here to nit-pick through ever piece of paper that finance touched for the last year. This is the first time I've been through a year end audit and I'm honestly annoyed beyond levels I thought possible. I thought I was pretty damned anal-retentive, but I could never compare with the minute detail fanaticism of an auditor. Beyond that they seem to really have no clue as to what they are doing and I'd swear they're all between the ages of 12 and 12½. Then, of course, my brilliantly flawless filing system is a mess with 20 different people needing to look at invoices all at the same time so that now I can't find what the auditors were looking for in the first place. They probably formed those invoices into origami coasters during yesterday's craft hour. Which of course means they are now creased and covered in kool-aid stains.

Snarky

It was recently suggested that perhaps the sarcastic label no longer applies to me and my "I love my life" attitude. It was even suggested by my snarky comments were at an all time low. I was of course outraged at the accusations and was determined to post an entry dripping with cynicism. And I'd do just that too... if I could actually find anything to bitch about. This whole positive outlook thing is really putting a cramp in my blogging style.

Bearless

I've been in a foul mood since I woke up. Some might think I'm grumpy because I've been fighting a virus for the last three weeks and while I feel so much better it's still keeping me at near death-like energy levels. Others might think I'm grumpy due to self-perpetuated never-ending change, drama and adventure in my life. Still others might surmise that my grumpiness is because this productivity addict got nothing at all done this weekend.

In truth I'm grumpy because I didn't have any gummy bears this weekend. Like all weekend. I mean, how can I be expected to function at peak hallmark level moods without my daily dose of sugar and food coloring?

The Fun I Never Had

So last week I was attacked by the evil venusian death flu that is threatening to take over the universe. The timing wasn't so great what with a killer work week and plans to fly to DC for the weekend. My battle with the cold wasn't going well so I bailed on my DC trip which left me free to take a road trip with Michael and Mike... which I also had to bailed on. That left me free to go with some fun dances in SF this weekend... that wasn't happening either so I figured I'd hang out with some friends I haven't seen in awhile...

Yeah. You getting the pattern here? Nothing people. I did absolutely nothing but fill up the coffee table with snot rags while sitting at home all by myself (cuz my men were on a road trip). Fortunately my men returned a day early so they could "wipe my feverish brow." Still, a weekend of lost opportunities doesn't make for a happy Damon.

Pulling Out My Abacus

Because I work at a public company we're having to do all kinds of crazy controls, jumping through hoops and killing entire forests with extra paperwork so that we can be "compliant" with a public company's system of checks and balances. Part of that is splitting duties into multiple parts so that what used to take one person 30 minutes to do, now takes 3.5 people 6.25 hours to get done. To this end our IT department has been putting limitations on my access to certain parts of our financial software to ensure everything meets compliance. On Monday I noticed that I could no longer select checks for a check run. Being the guy who pays the bills, this is a major part of my job duties. IT says that is what our auditors want, but are trying to see if there's some way I can still do my job or if I just need to "compliantly" twiddle my thumbs. This morning I come in to find I can't even log into our finance software because that permission has been cut off. Lovely. If they want to pay me to post blog entries while they try to get a clue, I'm perfectly fine with that.

Not That I'm Complaining or Anything

A few things on my mind:

3+ weeks of no internet at home
after hours and hours of multi-tiered tech support I now have internet back to the house, but my computer continues it's vow of internet celibacy
my celibate computer is now frozen too (frigid bitch)
work is kicking my ass with "OMG Emergencies" every other minute
having to look for a new place to live
having to seriously cut spending to find a place to live that isn't a cardboard box
having to find a multiple roommate situation to be able to afford my deluxe cardboard box

But I wouldn't really say that all this has left me a moody basket case of volatile emotions or anything. My friends, coworkers and the clerk at Walgreens might say that. But I wouldn't.

On the Move

For the last year a friend has been letting me stay in the basement apartment of his house. It's been a perfect location and good situation all around. Now that I'm settled into the city and a good job he said he'd like to have me start looking for another place. Since the housing market is the main factor that drives people out of San Francisco I can't say I'm feeling thrilled about having to find a place. And while my friend has gone far above and beyond generosity, I have to admit the feeling of rejection. I mean, why wouldn't he want me to crash in his basement for ever and ever? Surely he'll miss the warm glow of my presence, my clothes in his washer/dryer and the way I mooched off his wireless internet. Right? Ah well. Moving on to new adventures seems to be what I'm good at.

Work Surfing

My home internet is provided by my landlord friend via a wireless network. Well, the internet has been down for over two weeks now. Over Thanksgiving weekend I figured out that it's a problem with the internet service provider and have been urging my friend to call and get it figured out (since it's his account an all). He's not been too motivated to get it fixed, meanwhile I'm having seizures and foaming at the mouth with home internet withdrawal. On Thursday I was like, "give me you account number, user name and password and I'll take care of it." He said he'd go ahead and call them. Enter the weekend. The weekend which I spent almost entirely at home sick without the warm company of my internet. Sunday comes and I ask him his internet bill so I could get information from that to call. He only gets bills via internet so would print it off for me on Monday morning. I asked him for it this morning and he said he'll call them when he gets home tonight.

Does this man not realize the mental duress he's causing me with denying access to my chatting and surfing addiction? I mean really. I've had to do things like read books, watch movies, frame artwork and actually talk to real people just to stay sane. This isn't humane I tell you. Pretty soon I may actually have to pay for my own internet instead of mooching off of him.

It's hard to believe such oppression still exists in the world.

45 Long Minutes

I'm ready to leave work for the day. So ready in fact that I'm not even interested in goofing off doing personal things just to pass the time. At this point it's a matter biding my time until it's "I'm leaving a little early" as opposed to "I'm taking the afternoon off work." By my estimation I'd say that's another 45 minutes. I'm thinking of spending that time jogging up and down the halls screaming "the little green men have taken all my marbles and they won't give them back!!"

Fondue Emergency

I made it to Cincinnati. The first thing once I get off the plane? A message from my boss wanting to know who ordered the chocolate fondue fountain at work because they want to make sure it gets moved to the new location.

...

Are you serious? You called me on vacation to ask about a frickin' fondue fountain?

Ripe

Work's been kicking my ass for the last week. I had a huge project dumped in my lap last Thursday. So big, in fact, that they brought in a temp to do my regular duties while I work on the special project. So I'm working on this gawdawful project, supervising & training a temp, closing 3rd quarter financials, packing my office for our big move at the end of this week, and preparing to leave on Thursday morning for my trip to Cincinnati. Add to that dealing with extra doses of grieving/anxiety/craziness this week and I'm well on my way to becoming a grumpy old man at the ripe age of 35. I tell you what, getting on that plane and flying away from this place for a few days is going to feel damned fine.

Things Happen

Ok. Things happen. Events and interactions and meetings and stuff. You know: things. Not anything in specific mind you, but general things. Sometimes I will blog about things. Other times I feel it's best to spare my blogging community from the drama of things. Blogging about these general things might include words like "appalling," "ridiculous," "scape-goat" and "don't let the door hit you on the way out." But since I'm not inclined to blog about things today I'll just leave it at "wtf?"

You know. Generally speaking.

Fit for a Queen

Dude. My workplace pays for all sorts of crazy shit. Not only do they provide a fully stocked kitchen for our wanton perusal, but they pay for new keyboards, fans and what not without consideration to whether those things are really necessary. They have fully catered staff meetings and parties all the time. Today I got a flu shot and found that the company is going to reimburse me for it. It's such a different world coming from non-profit companies who can't even pay the electricity to the for-profit biotech world which seems to have a hard time deciding how to spend all it's money. Not that me or my many benefits are complaining or nothing. Afterall, I'm worth it.

Offensive Behavior

Someone just called me nice. "Really nice" in fact. Am I wrong to be offended by that? I mean, I have a reputation to uphold as an edgy, sarcastic guy who doesn't let anything or anyone get in his way. Cuz, you know, I'm so edgy and shit. I'm downright abrasive sometimes. Well, ok, I *could* be downright abrasive if I wanted to and then... watch out! Cuz, I'm a bad-ass and you don't want to get in my way. And... um... just cuz I've been all like "I love my life" lately doesn't mean that there isn't still sarcasm at the very blackened core of my soul. Yep. I'm jaded and bitter as hell. I'm a raging time bomb of fury warping the minds of your helpless offspring with my corrupt and not-so-nice ways!! <insert heavy metal scream here>

Multi-Tasking Is Hazardous to Your Health

Ok, I admit it. I'm a chronic multi-tasker. I'm obsessed with doing at least 4 things at once. And that's on a lazy day. Last night I cooked a teriyaki chicken stir-fry while checking e-mail, listening to an audio book and unpacking from my weekend. While I waited for the oiled pan to heat up I stepped into the other room to finish reading an e-mail. In the mere moments I was away, the pan decided to turn into a pot of flaming death. Fortunately I had just purchased a small sack of flour (the first flour I've owned in over a year). In a comedic routine of sheer panic I tore at the sack of flour until it exploded into the raging fire. With the flame extinguished I stood in clouds of smoke, covered in flour, wondering if the blackened pan would ever be usable again. I guess this should be a lesson to me: multi-tasking kills. Just say no.

Elimination

My root canal went well. Less than a hour, the pain wasn't too bad and I was able to watch The Incredibles while I was being tortured. Sadly the other crud I've been fighting all week hasn't gone nearly as well. I see my doctor again today and will insist that he give me a stomach/intestine/energy transplant immediately, cuz the current stomach/intestine/energy group is so getting voted off the island.

Drill Me

So today is the day of my much anticipated root canal. If the procedure is indeed as easy as everyone is trying to coerce me into believing, I should have a nice relaxing afternoon once it's all done. If not... I'm going to hunt down these con artists who call themselves friends and fill their toothpaste tubes with battery acid.

So Polite It Hurts

So there's this guy at work who likes to say hello to the same person like 200 million times a day. He'll pass by my cubicle and say, "hello Damon" in his syrupy southern drawl. He'll pass by an hour or two later and say it again like it's the first time he'd seen me that day. Then he'll pass me in the hall and say it again when we see each other in the copy room. Maybe he's been gloriously liberated of his short term memory or maybe he just misses me terribly in those long minutes we are apart. But it's not just me. I've heard he does it to others as well. And it's not like were bosom buddies or anything. I avoid conversations with him at all costs.

Yesterday he was in the kitchen with another co-worker. When I entered he gave me his standardized greeting of the hour. I went about re-stocking the fridge with sodas and organizing some of the shelves while I waited for my lunch to heat. I guess I delayed long enough for this guy's short term memory to be reset because before we'd both left the kitchen once again I heard "hello Damon." I wanted to slap him. Instead I've just taken to ignoring him. Maybe he'll soon realize his southern hospitality is lost on me and stop being so damned polite.

It's a Girl!

Have you seen the movie Alien? You know, with the pregnant puss pocket of alien goodness bursting from underneath someone's skin? Well, I got that going on in my mouth. There's this little alien growing inside my gums creating quite a sore, swollen pocket of fun. I'm going to see a second dentist about it this afternoon to verify that I need the much hoped for root canal. Of course if they do that does that mean I wouldn't get to feel my alien love child burst from my mouth in a dramatic explosion of blood and flesh? Cuz, missing that would just be sad.

My Evil Brother Doesn't Want Me to Sleep

I'm grumpy from a fitful night of sleep. Things that kept me from blissful and much needed sleep: the excessive heat, the cat banging on the screen door to be let out, the dying cell phone battery crying for help and the dream of my older brother hijacking an online Christmas card my mom made for me so he could log his own version of my online dating profile. Thanks a lot John. Because of you I didn't get any sleep.

Take a Whiff

My supervisor/friend is self-admittedly in serious need of an attitude adjustment (he's also in serious need of getting laid, but that's another post). His attitude adjustment epiphany has obviously not found itself into any modicum of behavioral change because he's currently keeping a tally of how many times someone comes into his office to ask a question. At the end of the day he declares with righteous indignation the number of interruptions he's had to suffer in the course of the day. Besides being offended at being considered a nuisance for doing my job, wading through all the negative energy he's pumping out ain't helping my mood in the least. Add to that his continually stopping by my cubicle to bitch to me about all his other coworkers and I'd say I'm swimming in a sea of bad karma. It may not be my bad karma, but you can't sit that close to rancid stench and not pick up a little stink yourself.

I Ain't So Proud

So my first Pride ever was rather disappointing. I'm thinking that I didn't choose well when it came to events. Friday night Mike, Michael and I were convinced into attending a uniform/leather ball which turned out to be in a grand ballroom with a huge classic swing band. The space and music was actually great, but having about 100+ guys walking around this classy, well-lit place in fetish wear just made the whole thing far too surreal. And I'm not talking about the kind of surrealism that finds itself on the wall of a museum. I'm talking about the kind of surrealism that makes a serial killer cuddle with his blood-stained, headless teddy bear while saying things like "mommy likes it when I'm a good boy."

Saturday evening the three of us decided to check out the infamous Pink Party in the Castro. Beyond the lesbians peeing on the street in front of my apartment, the throngs of drugged out hets whose "best friend is gay," and the complete inability to formulate a thought over the chaotic roar of the crowd... it was amazing. Amazingly horrific that is. I lasted all of 10 minutes before the rending of flesh from bone ensued.

Later Saturday we decided to hit "the big dance" of the weekend. It's odd how a dance can feel so much like one giant commercial advertisement seared directly into your synaptic pathways. I still haven't been able to get that "kill the prime minister of Malaysia" voice out of my head. For additional money - because the $50 entrance fee wasn't enough - you can be one of the cool crowd and hang out in one of the specially reserved spaces for people who want to feel elite. Apparently elite people get chairs. Who knew. Even more exciting were the white, female, rapper djs shouting out bad rhymes which defied all attempts at dancing.

I didn't make it to the parade on Sunday because I was a drama duty as well as just so tired of the crowds. Did you know that the number of people in the city more than doubles during Pride? Next year I've decided to approach Pride differently: I find out where every last big event is taking place and then avoid those areas at all costs. Either that or I'm getting an IV drip of valium to wheel around with me.

Lunch Just Doesn't Pay

I was invited out to lunch today by my supervisor and several other people from work. While my consultant/hourly-wage self doesn't normal take lunches, I thought it'd be fun to socialize a bit. What I neglected to factor in was that everyone else going is salaried and was planning to steal every last out-of-work minute as they could because, hey, they're getting paid for it anyway. I on the other hand was not. I returned to the office 2.5 unpaid hrs later pissed because all I got for that income loss was the privilege of hanging out with three bitchy queens and their two fag hags. As if I weren't going to get enough of that this weekend anyway.

Procrastination Woes

Why'd I have to be so good about getting caught up on my regular work? Cuz, see, now all I have left to do are a bunch of messy projects that have no urgency and are high on the annoyance thermometer. I've rather enjoyed letting those projects sit in a drawer feeling completely neglected and forgotten. Now they are gleefully begging for my attention and all I can think is, "maybe I could spend the rest of the day rearranging my paper clips."

Bad Boy Bangs

Apparently bangs combed over the eyes makes one evil. I saw Peter Parker and his bad boy bangs on Monday. As much as I'm a sucker for superhero movies, the recent Spider-Man movie took hokey to a whole new level. If I comb my bangs over my eyes will I too get black clothes, say hurtful things to my girlfriend and suddenly develop mad piano/dance skillz while behaving like a slimey Casanova with random women on the street? Ooh, eeeeeevil.

Navel Gazing

Self-Discovery Through Art. A workshop with such a title brings up visions of mantras, incense, and a large wall mural personifying my inner chakra's primal need for Reese peanut butter cups. Instead the class was more like "fill the page with color and don't try to create anything worth looking at." That was fun and relaxing, but where's my epiphany? I'm pretty sure the syllabus said something about free epiphany with purchase. It was kinda like the first time I realized adult cereals don't come with toys in the bottom. You mean I just poured that entire box of Raisin Nut Bran all over the counter for nothing? Grrrrrr.

Well, in spite of my missing epiphany I did enjoy the whole "use your non-dominant hand" exercise and loved making a Mandala. It was fun to be all artsy and stuff even if I didn't discover that in a previous life I was the pet monkey of King Tut.

Heavenly

Dear Nice Tech Support Lady,

Thanks for the blissful hour and a half chat this afternoon. Don't worry that we didn't resolve any of the four issues I brought to you. Who needs productivity or return for that lovely hourly rate when I can simply soak in your bubbling personality and charming wit? Hearing your voice was a delightful treat and I wouldn't have wanted to spend my afternoon any other way. And that overpriced, under-equipped abacus software you support? Gives me all kinds of warm fuzzies.

Eternally yours,
Damon

Where's the Gun to the Head Module?

There's this financial software we use at work: Microsoft Great Plains. And by "use" I mean we kick and scream until we finally accept the fact that it's not going to do what we want without elaborate blood offerings and white-out induced spirit quests. The thing about the software is that in addition to being proudly anti-user-friendly the creators have chosen to hack the program in many useless bits which can almost, nearly function independently. They then turn around and charge large sums of money for each hacked off piece and make reassembling this puzzle so complex that it requires highly paid professionals, a lucky rabbit's foot and the proper lunar alignment to make it work.

To actually track accounts payable (a crazy notion, I know) we had to buy a additional "module." To track spending by project code: new module. To be able to modify a vendor's ID: new module. To combine vendor records: new module. To enter purchase orders to match the newly purchased accounts payable module: new module. To pick your nose while running reports: new module.

I think the core $10,000 software package is something akin to a digitized abacus.

Part of the Process

Yesterday I spent 5 hours processing photos from last weekend's shoot. 5 hours correcting lighting, color balance, cropping, and making black and white versions. I have 65 great photos to show for my work, but me thinks I need to learn how to attend to these things subtleties *in* the camera, cuz I soooo didn't get paid enough to put in that many hours. What? Oh, yeah, I almost forgot to mention: this was my first paid photoshoot. Yay me.

My Purifier Needs a Makeover

So, is it possible that the crackling, sparking, flash of light thing that my new air purifier is doing is just an indication that it doubles as a bug zapper? Or perhaps it has aspirations to be a strobe light? Cuz, it certainly can't be that this $500 over sized eye-sore is defective, right? And next time I buy what Consumer Reports says is the best model out there, I'm going to ask that they factor a queer eye vote in the stats. This thing is so ugly it makes the rest of my appliances weep in pity.

D.E.B.

I've been at this new "accountant" job for about 2 months now (I'm changing jobs next week, but that exciting news would completely derail this rant so I'll save it for later). When I finally got all the checks for the previous 3 months entered into the system I proudly announced that I was done. I was then informed that there's a year and a half of credit card payments to be entered.

"We didn't want to give you everything all at once and overwhelm you." <doh> Alright. Wish I would have had a sense of the big picture, but I can deal with that. So I got those entered and was finally done!

"Oh by the way, you still have this pile of *other* credit payments to enter." Ooookay. <grrr> Those are entered... so... I'm done, right?

"I forgot to mention that you have a stack of wire transfers to be entered." <wtf!> I'm so gonna hurt someone. Ok, wire transfers entered. Checks were entered. Credit cards were entered (both of them). All caught up. Now I can start doing my real job. It's about frickin' time. <whew>

"And, um... we've been holding on to a lot of the checks that have come in because we didn't want to overwhelm you with them..." <steam pouring from my ears> Three *hundred* check entries later... I'm so done with this job. Where's the door?

"And... here's the box of mailed checks that we've not even opened. There's probably only a hundred of them." <evil eyes promising a slow painful death>

Aside from my desire to set the remaining checks ablaze, I'm scared to finish these entries because they might start opening up more file cabinets, boxes and even pulling shit out of their pockets that no one felt the need to accomplish for the last year. Apparently in the case of this job, it turns out that "accountant" equals "data entry bitch."

Ask and You Shall Receive

All weekend I was still dragging from this flu-like-what-cha-ma-call-it. There were many things I wanted to get done including shaking my booty to throbbing dance floor beats (a very important to-do indeed), but instead I watched videos, napped frequently and filled up the remains of my free time with the obligatory "I hate being sick" bitching and moaning. I just wanted to be able to get a few things done. All weekend I prayed for some amount of productivity. This morning, I started to have a productive cough. Next time I'm going to be more specific with my prayers...

Trigger Happy

So I think I might be grumpy today. It's not one of the things that's like a perpetual cloud of gloom over me all day. It's more like I'm all fine one moment and then ready to start my new career as an psychotic murderer the next. "What do you mean you used the last of my staples?! YOU MUST DIE A SLOW AND PAINFUL DEATH!!!" Yep, that's me today. So... anyone wanna hang out?

Tell Me About Your Childhood

How pathetic is it that I can't even tell the difference between being depressed and the exhaustion of a cold? And to think I paid for those three hours of therapy for nothing...

Lord Makalotamoolah

This 2nd job and it's constantly shifting "OMG NOW *THIS* IS TOP PRIORITY" routine is starting to make Damon one very grumpy boy. I need to tap into my inner money whore and remember how much I'm getting paid for this pleasure. Anyone know any rain dances to invoke the god of greed? No? How about chants to magically produce high quantities of Valium?

A Picture of Hope

Friend: "You're in your drama decade."
Me: "What?"

Friend: "Your drama decade."
Me: "Um... okay."

Friend: "My thirties were full of drama. And you're only half way through."

Gimme VD Already

I started my day thinking, "I'll just ignore Valentines Day. No reason to obsess about it either way. I'll just let the day go by like any other so my hopelessly romantic self doesn't focus on the fact I can't do the snuggly romantic thing with whom I'd like." Great plan. Brilliant plan in fact. It's just a day. Nothing to worry about.

Enter the rest of the world...

I completely neglected to take into account the incessant barrage of plasticized "HAPPY VALENTINES DAY!!!!!!!!" greetings from everyone, their dog and their dog's fleas (I did get one of the flea's phone numbers... woof).

So, fine, happy day of love and romance and candy and whips and chains. Well, maybe not so much with the last two, but if you're into that, happy day of that too. Me? I'm pouring my gushing passion into my two lovely jobs. Maybe tonight I'll get lucky and get off early. Yes, I said "lucky" and "get off." It was an innuendo. Try to keep up.

Happy day. May VD burn within your loins.

Well Isn't That Special

Um, who decided that all the Chicago art galleries would be closed on Mondays and didn't tell me? Grrrrr. I guess I'll have to find some other way to amuse myself, like stealing ice cream cones from small children.

Wonderland

Chicago in January... I woke up this morning and looked out the window to see snow gently falling from the sky. I felt a stirring inside and thought, "wow, this the wonder and awe that so many people experience with the sight of snow." But it was just gas. I guess everyone can't love the snow.

No Pedicure?

A friend went to a "dental spa" today in the Castro that included a facial as part of the routine dental work. The best part... his insurance paid for it all. Welcome to the land of the queer.

Driving Me Crazy

So I commute to Mountain View for work. It's something like 10 towns away from San Francisco, but since they build towns upon towns here, that's not necessarily saying a lot. I think it's about 40 miles. Of course, during commute traffic that could take at least an hour and a half each way. For some crazy reason I've decide to get ahead of commute traffic and leave at 6am. While this makes for a 30-40 minute drive, it also means I have to be up by 5:30am. Fortunately it's just three days a week at the moment or I might have to do the whole head-spinny, green vomit routine on my coworkers.

IE Conspiracy

Apparently there is a conspiracy with the new Internet Explorer to keep you, my loyal fans, from commenting on my blog. If you use the overstuffed and over-glorified IE7 it won't let you click in any of the fields on my comment form. Never fear because you can stick it to IE by the simple use of a tab to get to those fields. So tab one for the little guy and send a message to IE that we won't be stopped, we won't be deterred, we won't be silenced!! *insert crowd roar here*

Liquid Sunshine

Ok, I can't tell you the details cuz it'd be way inappropriate even for my blog, but suffice it to say that it was just nasty. Like one of those instances where you used to love cottage cheese and then one time it was like insectoid-fuzzy-green-cottage-cheese and now you can't ever eat cottage cheese again no matter how fresh you know it is. In fact you're so phobic about cottage cheese that even getting near the stuff induces dry heaves to the point all your friends are convinced you have epilepsy. Yeah, its like that. And, no, I'm not going to tell you about it no matter how much you beg. Cuz, believe me, you really don't want to know. I can't even believe you got me to talk about it. You're such a sick, sick person.

With a Side of Cheese

My body is all achey. The kind of ache when you have a flu or when you have that lactic acid response after an intense workout or when you fall into a vat of ache-all-over serum. It makes me the king of the grump parade. I'm not sure if this amusing little scenario is due to physical therapy, rehearsals, some alien flu that doesn't involve any other symptoms, or just the change in seasons here. Whatever the cause I'm feeling oh so incredibly whiney and thought I'd share. Cuz, you know, I'm thoughtful like that.

Stop

Supervisor away [stop]
Temp replacement denied [stop]
Head meeting wall repeatedly at high velocities [stop]

Myositis

Awhile back I saw my doctor for what I've been calling tendonitis. He clarified my diagnosis by calling it myositis. I looked that up when I went home and found it curious that the words "auto immune disease" were immediate following the words "Myositis is an". This was particularly curious because my doc gave me this diagnosis based only on my descriptions of my condition. No tests. The man didn't even touch me (hard to believe, I know).

I saw him again yesterday and questioned his diagnosis. He was like, "Oh, I was just using the word in a very general sense to indicate muscle inflamation and not refering to the common disease associated with the name." Oh right. Why would I have assumed he meant the most common usage of the term? Silly me.

Of course, now that I don't have some death-inducing disease I suppose I should return all the stuff I charged to my credit card and should probably tell my boss that I didn't really mean it when I called him a "whore-mongering son of a she-devil without a moral fiber in his being."

When Friends Try to Be Helpful

For an Executive Assistant position in the biotech company at which my friend Michael works...

Me: "What should I wear to the interview?"

Michael: "Spandex shorts and a tank top, preferably something with a rainbow flag design."

That'll Be Ruling Out the Face Shots

Something to add to my list of questions to a model before signing them up for a photo shoot:

"Do you currently or have you at any time in the past utilized a facial expression?"

The Adventures of Online Dating

"Hey boi! I am looking for a male slave(s) to train to serve ME. VERY interested in slave training you..."

I hate when my schedule, location, values, independence and self-respect won't allow me to take advantage of such amazing offers.

It's Like Glee in a Bottle

This place is just the bestest place to work. Everyday I'm flooded with reasons to love this job and to have every confidence that I'll still the job tomorrow. Never is there a worry that my head will be on the chopping block or that the powers that be will make some random decision to hinder my ability to accomplish the given tasks. Their recent mandate for everyone to cut back to 36hrs/wk is simply their concern for how much personal time we have to focus on the things that really matter in life: like how to pay our bills.

Not That I'm Keeping Track

9 people have been fired from my workplace in the last 2 weeks. None were given notice or severance. Most remaining employees were forced to cut back hours. The phrase "unstable work environment" comes to mind.

Carpe Away

At Lazy Bear I was completely disappointed with the lack of grabbing my ass that went on. I mean, what's with that? I've had this problem at other events as well in spite of my "HEY THERE, LOOK AT ME!!!" tendencies (I did earn the nickname of "Gecko Boy" at the event... some of you will know what that means). It's not like guys aren't checking me out and they certainly seem to be interested.

After much discussion on the topic, I've determined that some people might actually see more to me than my chiseled physique and strikingly handsome features (as Madonna may say: Because I'm livin' in a delusional world and I am a delusional girl). I mean to say, they might actually have respect for me or something. Well, naturally I'm appalled and offended at the very thought and must find a way to remedy this gross injustice. To that end I'm going to start wearing a sign that says "Carpe Ass-um."

I Ain't Touching That

I should have known it was going to be a freaky day when it started with a clown asking me to remove the box from between her legs.

Like, Totally Man

The more I learn about health issues in the California's central valley, the more freaked out I become. I'd already heard that the valley has worse air quality than L.A. due to being a valley and having so many farming chemicals in the air. I'd also heard that people who've never had allergy or respiratory problems often develop them after moving to this area.

This morning I discovered that the valley has it's own special brand of pneumonia called valley fever. And no, that's not the condition in which you say "totally tubular" a lot. It's a serious condition which can be life threatening. While it's not limited to the central valley, it is certainly prevalent here. And with this summer being hotter than normal, all that tasty air sludge is bubbling over with glee. My body doesn't know what to do with this toxic soup after breathing crystal clear Alaskan air it's whole life.

No big deal. I'll just be huddled in the corner gasping for some semblance of real air amidst the coughing, sneezing, wheezing and eventual dying. At least I won't be bored.

Be Careful What You Wish For

One of the big reasons I wanted to live in California was for the warmer weather. Well, it was 100° at 8pm last night. I believe it got up to 110° during the day. I've never sweat so much in my entire life and I've definitely gotten my "warmer" weather. Perhaps next time I should be a little more specific.

Grow an Opinion so I Can Bludgeon You With It

Me: "So are we still on for tonight?"
Him: "Yep. Where do you want to eat?"
Me: "I don't know restaurants in San Francisco. Since you live there, do you have any recommendations?"
Him: "There are tons of good places to eat in the city."
Me: "Ooookay. Well, I really like Asian or maybe someplace that has good salads."
Him: "There are tons of Asian places in the city."
Me: "..."
Me: "Do any favorites come to mind?"
Him: "Well, what part of the city do you want to meet in?"
Me: "I don't know the city very well. What part of the city are you in?"
Him: "We can meet anywhere."

This is the point in the conversation where I should have said:
"Tell ya what, you eat wherever you want, I'll eat wherever I want and we'll just call the whole thing off."

Butch with a Lisp

I had this guy last weekend tell me with a swish about how he created this water feature from scratch, building things out of scrap metal and rocks and other manly materials. When, with a hand on his hip, "it was really butch" came out of his lisping lips I nearly died laughing. If you have to actually say that something is butch, it's pretty obvious it's nothing even close to that.

// Cuz Tuck suggested I post this he somehow thinks he deserves the credit. Whatever. //

Feel Like a Petrie Dish

This whole triple digit heat outside and 24-7 a/c cooled inside existence is evidently sending my Alaskan blood into shock. I've been fighting a cold since last Thursday. My routine of vitamin C, herbs, zinc, tons of fluids and rest has kept the symptoms from getting too severe, but I'm still wiped out and not getting over it. Having a cold when it's over 100° outside just seems wrong.

Like Shaving with Barbed Wire

You know how painful it can be to watch someone on stage who can't act, can't remember their lines and frequently messes up their songs? Well, imagine seeing this performance 16 times (not to mention the countless rehearsals prior to that). It's a joy I tell you. A pure and utter joy.

Light This

After a glorious opening weekend... apparently this show has used up it's talent. The last two nights have just been off and while the show hasn't been horrible, I've been embarrassed with how things went.

During performances there is a quite bright beacon of light on me so the orchestra and the singers can see cues, tempos, etc. Well, last night it didn't come on so I was conducting in near blackness. I sent the bass player to get the light turned on. He came back to the pit and told me they couldn't turn on the light until intermission then he held up a flashlight and said the stage crew had said to use that.

...

Now mind you, I'm a resourceful person, but I couldn't for the life of me think of what I could do with that flashlight other than bludgeon the idiot that sent it into the pit.

Productivity at Work

I'm not entirely certain, but I think we just had an hour long meeting which can be summarized into "there are problems, but we're not going to do anything about it." Cool. Thanks for wasting my time and paving the road to a brighter future. We're having another meeting next Thursday. Maybe I'm psychic because I feel nearly certain that I know what the outcome of that meeting will be.

Counting Down the Days

I love myself some micromanagement. Give me a big heaping dose of it please! Cuz, there's nothing funner than having someone stand over my shoulder and telling me how to do every detail of my job. Gee, that's a swell feeling.

Pull My Strings

Things I love more than life itself:

someone reading over my shoulder to make sure I've played the music correctly
someone making random comments like "are you really going to do the song that way?"
someone taking it upon themselves to sit at the piano and teaching my soloist to sing her song differently
this someone being the person who writes my checks and has ultimate authority over the show

Seduction By Stalking

So being in the performing arts field I'm used to people being a bit "ga-ga" over the whole talent/stage persona. People seem to think that being good in music is somehow more sacred and special than being good in business or in interpersonal interaction or whatever. Considering my line of work, it's not like my ego's going to complain about that twisted logic. Well, in this musical I've had one teen girl that's all like "you're so talented and funny and a lot of fun to work with..." All while batting her eyes and swooning. Ok, that's sweet. Whatever.

Well, enter teen boy... He's been going out of his way to be near me and it's getting really creepy. Yesterday I was sitting at the piano in the pit and he slides to the edge of the stage on his side, head propped up on his elbow, other hand on his hip and he says (are you ready for this?) "Play something for me Damon." After much internal deliberation and tremendous effort to stiffle an avalanche of sniggering, I crafted my response: "no." The unedited, internal version was something in the realm of things that are best not posted on a blog.

Welcome to My Box

I've found an apartment and start moving in this weekend. It's cute with laminant floors, fresh paint. It's in a duplex with front and back porches and a back yard. Nice and cute. The only ever so slight draw back of the place is that it's a tad bit on the small side. Not quite the nearly 2000 sq ft place in which I've been living. It's a studio apartment with two rooms, each 11'x11'. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think that quite adds up to 2000 sq ft. Oh, and there's two stove top burners but no oven. And only a half-sized fridge.

I'll likely put my bed in the room with the kitchenette and my computer, piano keyboard, and chair in the front room. So I'll basically be living in a bedroomette and studyette. And cooking a hell of a lot of stir fries.

Am I crazy? Damn straight. Is it a budgetary decision? You better believe it. Well, that and it's a few blocks from my work, one block from the Thai restaurant (the most important consideration), month-to-month rent and it's just a short term plan as I'd like to move into the Bay Area this fall.

Now I just need to pick up a few incidentals. You know things like a bed, a tv, a chair, bedding, towels, silverware, and let's not forget TP. Fortunately Curt's willing to loan me whatever I need as I get myself set up. Still, for some odd reason the word "overwhelmed" is swimming through my brain this morning. Odd.

Bitter, Party of One

So the new guy at work is gladly filling the unoffical role of supervisor for the graphics department. The only snag with that plan... he doesn't come in until 12noon. Guess who has to put out all the fires, problems, changes during the morning hours??

<insert snarky title here>

Work's whooping my ass this week and I don't mean in the "spank me harder you hot stud of a man" sort of way. We're short 48 hours of staffing this week with a co-worker on vacation and that's in addition to being short-staffed anyway (heh, he said "short-staffed"). I came into work almost an hour and a half early today and have spent most of the morning putting out fires. Today we're running a two-for-one special at Grumpy-R-Us.

Vortex of Marketing

Casinos/hotels - or hotesinos because they are, in fact, one in the same - in Vegas have mastered the unique scientific feat of creating buildings without exits. Well, technically they have exits, but force fields fueled by raw marketing power continually repel you from those exits and increase in strength the harder you try to get to those exits. You can't get out. It's a scientific fact.

Curt and I tried to leave our hotesino to walk the area. We dutifully head toward the nearest "exit here" sign. 5 blocks later led by a trail of exit signs, through twists, turns and hoardes of shops, buffets and slot machines we found we had passed through our hotesino, across an overpass and into the next hotesino now one level higher with even less clue how to get out. In a panic we realized that the only "exits" we could find were emergency exits with huge warnings stating something like 'the world will end if you try to use this door.'

Finally we ditched the exit sign approach and headed for what seemed like the edge of the building on the lower floor. And I say "seemed" because buildings in Vegas don't operate on the same scientific principles as they do in the rest of the universe. There is exponentially more space inside each hotesino than the actual physical space it occupies. If you don't believe me... try to get out of one.

Another block or two of roulette, craps and buffets and we finally found the a sidewalk bathed in the dank, alcohol rich air of Vegas' great outdoors. The panic calmed and we set about our task of avoiding the multitude of drunks and "all girls, all live" pimps as we walked up "The Strip."

After we'd had our fill of blinking lights, video billboards and many other technical feats created with the express purpose of wasting money wantonly, we decided we were too tired to walk the entire way back to the hotesino. We headed for the huge sign on the front of another hotesino labeled "Tram to South Strip." This would drop us off a mere two blocks from our hotesino and the bed we were so ready to sleep in. We headed into this hotesino with the promise of a nice ride back because, apparently, we hadn't yet learned our lesson regarding the spacial anomaly that is a hotesino.

To reach the tram we traveled several blocks winding our way through shops, blackjack, drunks and a plethora of cigarette smoke before we even saw the first semblance of a tram. We could have been half way back to our hotesino by then. Once we got off the tram - in yet another hotesino not even remotely our own - we were fighting back anxiety attacks and determined to find the nearest exit even if we had to create it ourselves by chiseling our way through the floor with a rusty penny and a stick of gum.

We surprisingly found an exit right away only to discover that it fed into a busy street that bascially promised certain death. I have to admit that we contemplated that option long and hard before heading back into the fray.

Just when I was about to turn into a sobbing mess and succomb to my fate of being the eternal bitch of the hotesino buffet gods we turned a corner and came face to face with huge picture windows which deceptively made it feel that there was indeed a world outside of this glittering existence. Staring at the thing I wanted most in the world with only a thin invisible wall keeping it from me, I lost all grasp on sanity and things became a blur. I think Curt must have torn me away from licking that oversized glass barrier, hoisted me over his shoulder and jumped through it because somehow we ended up back at our hotesino.

I still have nightmares about being chased by hungry slot machines screaming "ALL LIVE! ALL THE TIME! ALL LIVE! ALL THE TIME!"

Ultimate Shame

I don't know how it happened exactly. In fact, I'd like to pretend it never happened at all. You see, somehow I was sitting on the couch watching t.v. and then it happened. The horror of it all kept me from being able to change the course of events. I sat in stunned silence trying to comprehend what had possessed me, trying to determine who's invisible hands were guiding me down this wretched path. After enduring my 60 minutes of personal torment and shame, it was over as quickly as it began. With a click of the remote I hung my head low and vowed Curt to never tell a soul that I had not only watched, but actually enjoyed an episode of Wife Swap.

Oh the Drama

Management doesn't really think they want to hire a supervisor for the graphics department. They really just want all the staff to kind of pick up the slack and make sure things get done. BRILLIANT plan. Basically we'll all do extra work, but not get paid anymore plus there'll be no one to go to with problems, no one to lead the department out of the chaos, no one to interface with the multitude of outside departments...

Oh, wait. You know how in groups a leader sort of informally emerges from one of the fold? Yeah. That'd be me so far. So now I see my options as fight to #1. get paid to be official supervisor, #2. be the unofficial supervisor without the pay or #3. run from the newspaper screaming obscenities while throwing Molotov cocktails over my shoulder. Here's hoping for the sudden appearance of a door number 4...

Affirming Terminology for the Modern Terrestrial Being

"Heterosexism," "ableism" and whole host of other "isms" were terms that were bountifully tossed about in a church service I attended yesterday. The Oakland Easy Bay Gay Men's Chorus (the choir I've joined) was invited to sing at a church in Oakland as they were having a service to celebrate the fact that they are "open and affirming."

I felt like I needed a handy gay friendly, politically correct dictionary with me to sort through the all the terminology of the service.

Make Your Move

Does everyone but me thrive on the "Reply to All" button? Do you just sit around salivating over the opportunity to hit that most sacred of all buttons? I so can't stand the whole decision-by-committee routine in the first place, and when it becomes an e-mail free-for-all of useless opinions I feel the need to go e-postal on your ass. You've been warned. The next move is yours.

I Don't Wanna Grow Up

Do you remember as a kid, how everything that was touted as being "important" was boring as hell? Yeah. Like the arduously important church sermons that seemed to go on for hours while I imagined that my left piggy toe has been asked to dance with the singing frog in his latest cartoon debut. For some reason it was "important" that my leg not be in the mist of a spasmatic fit of gleeful abandon when the pastor got to "bow your head in a moment of reflection."

Well we're learning a really "important" song in choir. The piece is based on four texts of Thomas Jefferson and boldly proclaims the need for freedom. And by boldly I mean smacking the audience upside the head with every painstakingly important syllable. How necessary is it to separate every syllable of the word ci-vi-liz-a-tion into a two measure chant of epic boredom? At first I wanted to hurt myself every time we rehearsed the piece. Now I just want to hurt the director...

Culturification

Last night I saw Theatre District in San Fransisco. While I may have been the only one in our group that enjoyed it, I thought it was cleverly written, funny and had interesting character relationships (which, in my opinion, is what the entire thing was about: relationships). I'm really glad I got to see this show (which no one else liked). Prior to the show I had dinner with Curt (who didn't like it), four of his friends (most of whom didn't like it, but one was the director and another his partner so, you know, they were like contractually obligated to like it) and the playwright, Richard Kramer, who's written for tv shows such as Thirty Something and My So Called Life. Going out on a limb: I'd guess that Richard liked the play. All in all, it was a fun evening and I was really moved by a great play. I'd recommend it to you, but... you wouldn't like it.

Start Your Day

I started my day with Buttons & Bows because, really, what better way to start one's day?

Teacher: Grilled, Not Fried

The family of a potential new student came over last night to meet me. It became quite the intensive interview as the father pulled out a list of questions for me. He asked for references, how long I planned to stay in the area, etc. I kept trying to engage the student-to-be, but the father kept answering for her and continuing his barrage of questions. While his approach was overbearing, it was refreshing to see a parent being so thorough in finding a quality piano teacher for his child. Most parents are like "You teach? When can we start?"

Birthing Property All Around the Valley

If your business's name was Preferred Real Estate Group would you go by the acronym: PREG? No? Me either.

Home Bound

This furnace replacement process has cost a lot more than the money we've had to shell out. I've had to arrange time to be stuck at home a total number of seven times now with each red-tape stage of the process. Today I found out that I'll now need to have at least two more appointments. Grrrrr.

Sing a Song

9am-4pm. On a Saturday. Working intensely. Yes, I did in fact have a choir rehearsal that lasted all day on the weekend. My voice isn't too happy at the moment and the rest of me is downright grumpy.

Whistle While You Waft

The whistler who sits next to me? Yeah. He doesn't bathe.

Lia 6.0: Haunted Dreams

On our cruise we were haunted by the demon of endless torment wrapped in the disguise of a girl child, Lia. This seemingly adorable six year old greeted us and everyone on her stateroom floor with chicken scratched love notes when we arrived on the ship. Her deceptive charms soon vanished. We rather quickly came to the conclusion that the entire Lia clan were on the ship with the express directive to torment us and keep us from the sleep we so desperately needed. The gleeful jungle gym in the hallway at all hours and crossing paths with them an innordinate number of times on the ship was just the beginning. Soon we were running into Lia's family on land as well.

On the day we drove to catch our volcano tour - a considerable distance from the port - we had to wait for our volcano tour. As we sat waitng to get on our tour van, Lia's father climbed out of a taxi followed by his little 'angels.' I have no idea the cost of a cab from Taraunga to Rotorua, but evidently no price tag is too great for their commitment to our perpetual torment.

In Napier we were enjoying Marineland before my big dolphin swim experience when directly behind us we heard some man yell "Lia!" Before we even turned around we knew that they had found us once again.

The final evidence of the twisted plot against us was when we were flipping through tv channels in our cabin and santa invited a little girl into his lap who announced herself as Lia. Our lovely shipmate had found her way into our stateroom as well.

I wouldn't be the least bit surprised to discover that Lia's family had followed us back to California, bought up the house next door, and got a job at the newspaper where I work with the primary duty of scratching her fingernails on a chalkboard all day.

Paying the Bills

3 reporters were fired yesterday, a full-time graphics employee was cut back to half-time and I'm not allowed to go over my 20 hours. And to think I came to work this morning with the plan to offer to work close to full-time. I'm leaving wondering if I should start looking for other jobs....

Wayward Jackets

New Zealand Trip - Day 6
Our tuxedo jackets have been on a tour of the ship the last 2 days. We're hoping they find their way back to the ship to join us for our first formal dinner.

All My Bags Are Packed

Three ad reps were fired yesterday. Bah-bye.

Whistle While You Work

You know some people like to hum and others like to whistle? Some people seem to find comfort in whistling while they work. Some people seem to find comfort is whistling out of tune while they work. Some people who sit two feet away from my computer seem to like to whistle all freakin' day long as a constant pecking at my brain drawing that ever so small flow of patience right out of me.

Take the High Road

My supervisor went to turn in two weeks notice yesterday to work for a competitor. She wasn't allowed two weeks or even to finish out her day. She was told to leave immediately. Then the boss called the graphics department into his office and proceeded to trash the supervisor as well as the business to which she was going. Besides losing a supervisor we all enjoyed we had a big 'ol dose of the lack of character that runs this newspaper. He's got a history of behaving this way and reacting especially childishly when when it comes to his competitors. Gotta say that my experience thus far is not leaving me feeling all that positive toward the newspaper industry.

Human Experimentation

New Zealand Trip - Day 5
I'm in the midst of a 3 week experiment to discover how sleep deprivation affects my 'no violence' resolve. Side note: the family with the 'no discipline' resolve seem to think the hall outside my room is a jungle gym... which opens at 6am.

Death Defying

Our furnace kicked the proverbial bucket on Monday. It breathed it's last warm, raspy breath sometime around 5am. The new furnace can't be installed until Thursday so we've been living with a space heater following us around the house. What's really freaking me out is that we only need the space heater for comfort. In Alaska, if a furnace went out this time of year it became a matter of life and death (or at least a few bursted water pipes). It just seems wrong to not be tempting fate with this lack of heating thing. I guess I just need a near death experience to make me feel at home.

White Trash Roadtrip

Saturday I went again to see Curt a stage production of A Christmas Carol and to join he and some of his aquaintances for dinner afterwards. At intermission I went to say hello to the group of people who had come to see him perform. I walked down the aisle in what was a really nice theatre, making my way to their row. As I got to their seats I see all nine of them with paper plates in their laps buttering pumpkin bread with plastic knifes and chowing down gleefully. Now, we're not talking about them nibbling on a cookie they had stashed in their pocket, but having a full blown dessert buffet with gingerbread butter spread and everything. I smiled, nodded and returned to my seat.

I'll Tell You Where to Put That Deposit

Even though I have familial connections with Wells Fargo bank, I have been utterly appalled at their lack of customer service and inability to follow through with what they say they will do. After a stupid incident involving me mistakenly trying to deposit a sizable check written from the very same account (instead of my Alaska bank, which is what I was meaning to do). That set off all kinds of alarms (understandably) and of course I'm now considered a hardened criminal.

Accounts were frozen, ATM cards were canceled... it was a fun filled ride, let me assure you. I understand why my error was such a big deal so no angst there. After speaking with three different representatives and them subsequently each speaking with a phone support person, I was passed off to the manager who assured me he'd get back to me the next day. A week later he assured me he'd clear up the problem within 24 hours. Another week passes before I go back in to sit down with him, rehash the incident and promise on the life of my first born iguana that'd I'd never do it again. 3 days later my account was released.

Or so I thought.

What was actually released was one joint account that Curt and I share because evidently my name had become the mark of the devil and anything that bore that name must be terminated (thank God I don't write my name on my underwear anymore). My individual account was still as frozen as my sister's golashes in January. Another call to the manager, more waiting on the phone, more getting back to me... finally that account was thawed as well. I only had to wait a few more weeks to get my ATM cards back...

But wait, there's more.

We just discovered that the savings portion of both those accounts were not, in fact, defrosted and had been pending closure "in 10 days" for the last month and a half. Meanwhile the savings accounts are racking up monthly fees even though we had been told they'd be completely free.

Curt literally spent an hour (that's 60 whole minutes for those on the slow learners program) on the phone just getting that savings thawed enough to close it.

Fortunately they did notify us about all these problems and closures and... wait. Nope. Didn't happen. A week after finally getting everything cleared I get a letter stating there was a problem with my deposit.

No shit.

Curt had the grand pleasure of receiving no notices whatsoever (not even jointly). It's all part of the paper reduction act, I'm sure. "We now screw you online to save our precious trees."

Glad we could help the environment.

Whew. Okay, that wore me out. I'm gonna sit down now. Talk amongst yourselves.

Next to Godliness

Evidently it's been a good financial week at the paper because for the first time since I've been here the men's bathroom actually has some handsoap. I feel like royalty.

Bah

I'm sitting here at my part-time job and we're listening to Christmas music. All the 50's, sappy, syrupy voiced classics which inspire me to want to shoot myself in the head. In fact, I think as I sit here the Christmas spirit is slowly being sucked from my very being. Quick someone give me either an ancient Silent Night or even a Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer. This golden age crap is constipating my merriment.

Global Warming

Would it be considered innappropriate work behavior for an ad rep to grab his cahones and say "What do you think you call these?" in a room full of people of both genders? Having worked at home for several months now, perhaps the sexual harassment laws have changed...

Tell Me Something

When the conversation started with an ad rep saying, "I really am a nice person, I am," I knew the conversation wasn't going to go well.

Name That Stereotype

Why in the name of my creative left pinky are people so predictable? This morning at an "open and affirming" church (i.e. they cater to queers) it was all women in mullets and men with lisps. And, no, I don't consider getting your mullet permed as some grand break from the cookie cutter that stamped you out. I'm in desperate need for some originality. Anyone? Anyone!?!

That Might Just Be Me

If I were, perhaps, a person working on a customer's kitchen tile I may not be terribly inclined to be trashing the last client for whom I worked. I may also not be inclined to schedule a day to work on said kitchen and then tell the customer that I could still do it on that day, but it'd involve "more work that I'd like to do." After canceling the first work day, I might also not be inclined to show up an hour and a half late for my next two days of work. But even with all that, I'm nearly certain that while at the customer's house, with the customer there, I wouldn't pee with the bathroom door open.

But that might just be me.

Middle America

Does the average American truly prefer their movies/books to have predictable plotlines and cliche endings? Do they want their logos and brochures squeezed from a can? Do they really enjoy having their music mass produced with only slight lyric and label changes?

In spite of mounting evidence to the contrary, I've remained blissfully hopeful that the world at large really prefers creativity, diversity and uniqueness. As a person loathing anything cliche or ordinary I simply can't stand the thought of living in a world where there's a formula for "art" and where the most used/obvious aesthetics are the ones the consumer will choose every single time.

I understand the comfort concept, but am personally offended when watching a movie that has the standard five characters and three plot twists. When character #3 (the angsty street kid who's never known real love) gets killed off by a "shocking" turn of events I want to shoot myself repeatedly with my 2.5 horse battery powered nail gun. When we think all is finally safe, but the evil villian rises once more I want to bludgeon the tv with my rusty pocket-sized collapsable tire iron. And the moment when we find that the villian's side-kic