I don't like my job as a Strategic Sales Executive

There are steps I can take that may help me begin to like my job, but I keep putting them off. This is exacerbated by the fact that I am the world's worst procrastinator. Just this morning I looked at a few websites designed to help you stop procrastinating, but I was overwhelmed by the amount of work it would take to do the things they suggest.

I read "The Road Less Traveled" a number of years ago. The author, M. Scott Peck or whatever his Kristian name is, wrote at length about doing clinical therapy for years on end with a woman who could not stop procrastinating at work.

After several years of working with her, he gave up and basically told her "you know what your problem is? You're fucking lazy."

I am doomed.

Rachael wants my donuts!

I live in a really weird Brooklyn neighborhood, surrounded by drunk Irishmen, junkies, Asian immigrants, Mafia gangsters and women in burquas. No wonder I'm always in the middle of an identity crisis.

One thing my neighborhood has to boast for itself, however, is the food. There is a lot of food here, most of it delectable and just about all of it at least 30% less expensive than Manhattan - probably because it fell off a truck, but we try not to talk about that. For a foodie who usually can't stop stuffing his face long enough to burp, it's heaven living here. Some of the restaurants in my neighborhood are a little scary, but as long as you remember not to use your credit card in any of the Italian places, you are generally fine.

One of my favorite little haunts is Mike's Donut Shop, just up the street from us. It's a small, independent donut shop where they do the baking right on the premises. Who needs Krispy Kreme? Mike's Donuts are delicious, and available to me at intervals when I decide I'm too depressed to get on the subway without a little bag of sugary treats to keep me warm and fat.

And Mike's is cheap! You can go in there and order several coffees and half a dozen donuts, and the bill will come to some ridiculously low price. One time I brought a Manhattanite friend in there for a snack. He ordered a large latte, I had a regular coffee and we each had several donut treats. My friend was in a generous mood and decided to treat me. The cashier told him "$2.50."

"No, I want to pay for his too."

"$2.50."

"Each?"

"No, $2.50." The cashier was starting to look annoyed, so I hissed at my friend just to give the guy $3.00.

I passed by Mike's today while I was out doing errands, and saw a sign in their window to watch for them on Rachael Ray's show this week! Yes, Gentle Readers, my girlfriend Rachael Ray has finally discovered Mike's Donuts.

It's one of those days when all is right with the world.

High school survey

I copied this survey about high school years from Katy. I like reading about what my Gentle Readers used to be like in their youth, so I'm tagging y'all.

I've recently taken a shine to the word "ya'll," by the way.

Love,
CP

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1. Who was your best friend?
For the first two years, Gretchen, who is now a Mormon and has little contact with me. My junior year I was living abroad and got very close to Sarah, who now lives in Sacramento. My senior year I was closest with Beth. (I didn't start having a lot of guy friends until college for some reason.)

2. What sports did you play?
Cross country running. I was REALLY REALLY bad at it, too.

3. What kind of car did you drive?
My dad's Chevy Chevette. Confidential to KC & Min: SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!!!

4. It's Friday night; where are you?
Since high school ranged from ages 14-18, it varied drastically. Earlier on I was usually out to eat with my parents on Fridays. Later on I was with friends.

5. Were you a party animal?
You know it's funny - I was just talking with someone about how I hate parties. I used to like them, mainly for the drinking. And yes, I used to get very drunk and rowdy in high school, so in that sense I was party animal. But I was very good at getting into mischief without getting caught.

6. Were you considered a flirt?
Hardly. It was a miracle to get me to look someone in the eye.

7. Ever skip school?
Twice. Managed to lie my way out of punishment for both, as well. See #5.

8. Were you in any clubs?
I did a lot of activities, mainly in music and theater (how shocking!) Those weren't "clubs" but they took a lot of time. The only official "club" I was in was the Foreign Exchange Club where I was elected President and didn't do jack shit. But I enjoyed the lofty title.

9. Suspended?
Are you kidding? I was a parent's wet dream.

10. Can you sing the fight song?
Only the first two lines. My school was so jockish that they used to force us to attend "pep rallies" in the middle of the school day any time there was going to be a "big game" such as Homecoming or when the high school basketball team made it to the state championship finals. I thought that was the most retarded thing in the world. If I'd been the type to smoke pot, I surely would have been under the bleachers with the other stoners.

11. Who was your favorite teacher?
Mrs. Trethaway for English. she was some bitch, but smart as a whip and really good. Plus she introduced me to Holden Caulfield and therefore is a saint.

12. What was your favorite class?
Aside from Mrs. Trethaway's English class, I enjoyed French Conversation the most. This was when we were fairly advanced in our language skills, so class consisted of putting the desk/chairs in a circle and discussing random topics, which sometimes morphed into Franglish when the subjects became heated, causing the teacher to lose control temporarily.

Tom: L'ancien boyfriend de Mary va se marier avec un Freak.

Teacher: Comment?

Mary: ha ha ha

Rachel: Le mot "freak" n'est pas tres sympatique. Les freaks sont des human beings.

Mary: Oui, mais les freaks veulent seulement fumer le marijuana.

Lisa: So what? I toke up! Does that make me a Freak?

Teacher: Ca suffit maintenant!

Lisa: Et vous etes cool parce que vous etes des JOCKS?

Tom: Je suis desole, je croyais que c'etait marrant.

Mary, sotto voce: I hope we don't run into Rachel and Lisa in a dark alley


13. What was your school's full name?
I'm trying to preserve a slight bit of anonymity here.

14. School mascot?
The Pirate! Arrrrgggghhhh!

15. Did you go to dances?
Yes. I went to Homecoming once, Turnabout/Sadie Hawkins three times and Prom once. They were all perfectly hideous.

16. If you could go back and do it over again, would you?
I am obsessed with the idea of time traveling to go back and fix prior mistakes. So in that sense, yes. But if I had to do everything over again the same way I did it the first time, no way.

17. What do you remember most about graduation?
A singing group I was in was asked to perform the song "Hands of Time," that stupid sappy number from the movie "Brian's Song." While we were singing, a group of seniors threw those little snap-pellet things on the floor - the ones that make a popping noise when you throw them down. They did it throughout the whole song and it was really embarrassing. If anyone remembers what exactly those things are called, please tell me.

18. Favorite memory of your senior year?
Going with a bunch of friends to the Turnabout dance, and then bringing them back to my house where we partied all night and got completely wasted while my parents were upstairs in bed. I cleaned up really well so that my parents wouldn't know, but I got busted after Beth went home and threw up in her bed, prompting her mother to demand an explanation. Which Beth gave, of course.

19. Were you ever posted up on the senior wall?
No.

20. Where did you go most often for lunch?
The school cafeteria. I usually had some sort of musical rehearsal during lunch so there wasn't time to do anything else.

21. Have you gained weight since high school?
My first driver's license, which I got at age 16, listed my weight at 140. I was also 6'2". Now I'm the same height and about 80 pounds heavier. I was unattractively skinny for so long that it took a number of years of being a normal weight and/or overweight to stop thinking of myself that way. That's one reason I don't really mind weighing what I do now - I really hated being called "skinny" all my life. I just wish wearing pants was more comfortable!

22. What did you do after graduation?
Immediately after graduation I stayed out all night with my friends, partying in a hotel room. I had one of my parents' cars all night too. They were so mad at me that I was grounded for a week. The next fall I started college.

23. When did you graduate?
1984

24. Where are most of your classmates?
All over - it was a class of over 600 students. A sizeable number of them are in the Chicago area.

25. Did you have a high school sweetheart?
For a while. I dated a girl named Adriana for about six months when I was a senior. She never got any. Poor girl.

26. Have you changed since?
Yes. I'm much, much calmer. And I had my harelip removed.

27. Have you been to your high school since you graduated?
Yes. My dad was a teacher there until he retired in 1992 so I had reason to stop in there when I was home. But I've not yet been to a reunion. I plan to go to one sometime if scheduling works out.

Are you going to let anxiety control you for the rest of your life?

Why as a matter of fact, yes, Lucinda Bassett. That is my plan

Coaster Punchman's Pretend Interview with Lulu

Several of my blogger friends like Bella Rossa and Chris have recurring series involving interviews with other bloggers. In fact, Chris just recently interviewed Lulu on his blog.

Then there is Echo, whose own recent project involves stealing from others' blogs.

To honor the genius of these three excellent writers, I figured it would be a good idea to throw my own idea in with theirs by pretending to interview Lulu. See how that works? I'm stealing from Chris and Bella by interviewing Lulu, and then stealing from Echo by stealing from other bloggers. To top it all off, the idea only to pretend-interview Lulu, rather than actually interviewing her, is my own. This works well for me because I'm lazy and real interviews are more work.

And so you see, Gentle Readers, that four heads working together are much better than one!

************************************************



Coaster Punchman's Pretend Interview with Lulu


Coaster Punchman recently pretended to sit down with Blogger matron Lulu to have a chat about her sex life, former modeling career, her Monty Python Pot'o'Beans nightgown and her obsessive love for They Might Be Giants.

Ok, well the interview is really only about her obsessive love for They Might Be Giants. But we might get to those other topics eventually.

************************************************

CP: So Lulu, I understand you did business with some Johns at least once in your life. Did you have a pimp-daddy to help arrange that, or were you on your own?

Lulu: Fuck you, CP. Go call yourself a whore for a change. I am out of here.

CP: No, wait Lu... here, I've got some bacon.....

Lulu: Mmmmmmmm, bacon.....

CP: There, do you feel better now?

Lulu: Yes CP, you are just as brilliant as ever, and gorgeous too!

CP: Why thank you! Now can we talk about these Johns for minute?

Lulu: Yes CP, I did tell you that I have engaged in a business transaction with at least one John before. However, it was not when I was out turning tricks. The John I'm referring to is one of the Johns from They Might Be Giants. He came into Starbucks when I was schlepping beans there.

CP: Wow Lu, that's really cool!

Lulu: I know! Please worship me now.

CP: I already do. So anyway, which John from They Might Be Giants was it? John Linnell or John Flansburgh?

Lulu: I don't know. I'm not really doing this interview, remember? This is just you pretending to be me.

CP: Yeah, that's right. Maybe you'll clear that up when you comment on this brilliant post. So anyway, tell me more about this chance meeting with John from They Might Be Giants.

Lulu: Well, one morning I was at work when this guy comes up to the counter and orders a cappuccino or something like that.

CP: How unusual for that to happen in a Starbucks!

Lulu: Shut your god-damned mouth and let me finish the story. You always have to be a smart-ass.

CP: Sorry.

Lulu: So I look up at the man who ordered the hot beverage and behold, it's John from They Might Be Giants!

CP: Wow! So did you like swoon or something?

Lulu: I didn't really swoon, but I did say "Hey, you're who I think you are, aren't you?" And he replied "Yes! I'm Elton John!"

CP: Elton John? Why did he pick Elton John? Is he gay or something?

Lulu: CP, I swear....

CP: Ok, ok. Go on with the story.

Lulu: So he's smirking, telling me he's Elton John. So I say "But you don't understand. I LOVE you!" And then he says "I love you too!"

CP: Oh my God. You probably giggled like a school girl!

Lulu: In fact, I did! And then I wet my pants a little because I was so giddy!

CP: You wet your pants, really?

Lulu: No, this is just you pretending to be me, remember? You're trying to embarrass me.

CP: Yeah, I keep forgetting. Well anyway, thanks so much for sitting down with us today, Lulu. It's always so great to see you.

Lulu: You too, CP. Can I get back to my own blog now? You're a real pain in my ass.

CP: I know. But I'm trying to change. Bye Lu!

These are the Johns from They Might Be Giants. One of them is in love with Lulu, but we don't know which one.

************************************************

Stay tuned for more of Coaster Punchman's Pretend Interviews with Bloggers!

Poor George's Haiku for Ted Haggard

Eyes glazed with Jesus,
Fluids dripping down his face,
What is he thinking?

CPW Confessional: Just like Ronnie sang

I don't normally think much of Eddie Money, but yesterday our neighborhood Italian grocery store was blaring "Take Me Home Tonight" and I started to sing along in the checkout line. At one point the checkout girl and I locked eyes and simultaneously belted out "Be my little babaaaaaay!"

Just like Ronnie sang.


It felt dirty, but I kind of liked it.

Pain in my ass

My cats, the cutest cats in the world, have decided they are going to be the kind of cats who jump up on tables and knock over water glasses. I've seen this problem in other cats, but never in any of the 21 cats I have owned over the years.

I always assumed the glass-knocking-over problem was merely indicative of certain personality defects in the owners of said cats. I'll admit, I have always been fairly smug about the genteel behavior of my cats.

But tonight I'm singing a different tune, because the glass-knocking-over problem is happening to me now.

I'm not going down without a fight, however. If this continues, I'm going up the river. And I'm taking names.

Hook & Eye Dutch

Legacy CPW members are well aware of my fascination with religious freaks. Ever since I declared CPW an autonomous dictatorship, there is no First Amendment here which means we are able to place undue burdens on the freedom of religion as often as we'd like. This also means that if you are religious, especially in a Celestial Underwear-wearing or dead-relative-marrying kind of way, we have no qualms about ripping you limb from limb at CPW, the Internets' most friendly, tolerant and inclusive webspace!

Today's lesson in freaky religions is on the Amish. I don't have anything against the Amish, really. As far as I know, they keep to themselves and try hard not to get involved in things like book burning or voting to incinerate homosexuals. Therefore, I pretty much leave them to their barn raisings and other early 19th-century-loving oddities.

But naturally, that won't stop me from making fun of them. What would be the point of that?

One of my favorite things is when whacked out religious groups sub-categorize themselves into even stranger subsets. Like the Mormons with their cute little intragroup arguments on the propriety of marrying off one's 11-year-old daughter to some old geezer who already has three other wives. "You won't let me sell my little girl the minute she starts to menstruate? Fine! I'm starting my own denomination!" I bet the Grand Schism of Mormondom (as I like to call it) involved a conversation exactly like that.

If you're familiar with the Amish, also known as the Pennsylvania Dutch, you may know that they also have several subcategories. My personal favorite is a subset of Amish who consider it too vain and worldly to use buttons. Yes, I said buttons, Gentle Readers. Those round things you use to fasten your sweaters and coats and such. Buttons are strictly verboten in the world of this little Amish sect, and so adherents are instructed to use other means to fasten their clothing, such as hooks & eyes - you know, those things women use to fasten their bras with.

Now don't get me wrong here; hooks & eyes are all well and good. But what really makes me laugh is how the non-Amish refer to these people. When you spend time in places like Wisconsin and Iowa, you get to talk about this stuff a lot, which to me is one of the main benefits of visiting those states.

Like one time when I was visiting Mindy's parents in rural Iowa. We were sitting around discussing corn de-tasseling or some other Iowan thing like that when Mindy's mom started talking about their "Hook & Eye Dutch" neighbors.

"Hook & Eye Dutch?" I replied. "What is that?!"

"The Hook & Eye Dutch! You've never heard of them? It's those Amish people who aren't allowed to use buttons!" Mindy's mom replied. She almost sounded incredulous, as if having a non-button-believing religious sect for your neighbors was the most normal thing in the world.

I suppose it might be when you live in rural Iowa. Which is why every time I go there I come home understanding Mindy just a little bit better than before.



*Props to Pink Fluffy Slippers for putting the whole "Hook & Eye" idea in my head when she blogged about her new hook & eye skirt. She could almost be Amish although she would have to give up her cello.

I'm a Sick F*ck - Glass Bowls

I'm a Sick F*ck is a new CPW series wherein I will share the reasons my Gentle Readers may want to consider having me committed. In fact, I might even end each entry in this series with the words "Perhaps I should be committed."

This morning I had a dream. I was at work in a new office, and needed to use the restroom. I asked someone where it was, and was given a series of confusing directions that took me down various hallways. I kept asking people along the way, until finally I was directed into the lobby of what looked like a restaurant. I saw the door that said MEN and, relieved, stepped in to do my business.

This men's room looked like a small, well appointed apartment with a kitchen and a long dining table. The table was fully set, with dinner plates and glass soup bowls. There was a family sitting and enjoying a meal at one end of the table.

I walked up to the other end of the table and started peeing into one of the soup bowls.

I was thinking "boy, this is embarrassing, having to pee in front of this entire family."

Then, after I left, I started thinking about what I had done. I felt really embarrassed because I suspected I may have been muttering to myself while I was peeing. I do that sometimes.


Perhaps I should be committed.

Let's play dodgeball

My job as a Strategic Sales Executive is sapping my time, as well as what little energy and creativity I ever had. Therefore, I can only rely on the tales of others, such as our lovely (and evil Rachael Ray hating) friend Dale, to inspire me with blog topics. Today's creative plagiarism was borne out of Dale's story of his recent brush with a Z-list celebrity.

My story begins in 1989 when I was still living in Minnesota. Mindy and I, being recent liberal arts college graduates, were working various McJobs, the kind that involve food service, retail, and other gigs that leave you plenty of time to drink and smoke. Since we both worked odd hours, I thought nothing of calling her up at 10:00 pm on a Tuesday night and saying "want to come over and watch movies?"

One night I did just that, and put her in charge of running to the video store to select some filmage. By the time she arrived at my apartment, I had a fresh batch of pig juice (alcholic fruit punch made for doing shots) ready and the VCR primed to enjoy whatever fine cinematic work she had selected. Mindy arrived with the movie "Hairspray."

We were hooked the second the movie began rolling. We laughed hysterically at various times, but otherwise didn't talk much because we were so mesmerized by what was happening on the screen. When it ended and the credits began to roll we both felt incredibly sad that it was over.

"I want to watch it again," I said.

"Ok, lets!" Min replied. So we rewound and watched the whole thing over from start to finish. Except that this time we got up and danced along with every dance number, and we paused and rewound repeatedly during "Ladies' Choice" so that we could each make our own selection.

It was a classic Tom & Mindy evening. Beyond fabulous.

There are many, many perfect little moments in that movie that bear non-stop watching and repeating. One such moment, which happens to be my personal favorite, is right before the dodge ball game between the Special Ed and "normal" kids. There is this blonde gym teacher who belts out in a really hot, raspy voice "OK everyone, let's go, let's play DOOOOODGEBAAAAALLL!!!"

For me, that was just about the most memorable line from the movie. My queeny friend David and I used to walk around the dark streets of Minneapolis after bar-time and randomly scream at each other "Let's play DOOOOODGEBAAAAALLLL!" As only two fags could do.

About three years later I found myself living in Los Angeles working as a technology consultant for the same company I work for today. My duties consisted of going to law firms and bullying their IT departments into installing and maintaining our software, as well as working with the customers to fix whatever bugs that arose post-installation. At certain firms I made weekly or bi-weekly visits to deal with upgrades and the like.

One of my regular clients was this blond woman, Kathleen, whom I loved visiting because she was silly, goofy and kind of a spaz. We would usually spend about half the time working with the software and the other half just laughing at each other. There was something familiar about her that I liked but couldn't quite place. I had thought she kind of reminded me of the gym teacher from "Hairspray," but I figured maybe I had met her somewhere else or something. Anyway, I visited her about once every two weeks for many years.

Flash forward to 1995. By this time I had moved up the chain and had become the Technology Manager in my division, and supervised the techs who did the same kind of work. I started sending Mark, one of the other techs, to do the software work over at Kathleen's firm. One day Mark and I were on a business trip together, and we were talking about some of our customers. I was recalling how much I loved visiting Kathleen, and Mark said "I know, she's great. She's really funny. And she played that gym teacher in "Hairspray!"


I stopped dead in my tracks, and felt the blood begin to drain out of my face. I thought I was going to faint.


"WHAT DID YOU SAY??????" I screamed.


Mark confirmed what I thought I had heard. I totally freaked out. I mean, TOTALLY. I had a complete conniption right in the middle of the street upon hearing this news. Suddenly it all clicked into place. Her goofiness. Her bawdiness. Why I liked visiting her so much. Why she reminded me of the DOOODGEBAAAAALLLL gym teacher.


KATHLEEN WAS THE DOOODGEBAAAAALLLL GYM TEACHER!!!!!


I simply could not believe my good fortune at the realization that I was already so well acquainted, and unknowingly so, with this gem of a C-list celebrity. Especially one that I went around randomly imitating as a stupid, drunk 23 year old.

Having called her weekly for over three years, I had her office phone number memorized. I ran into a pay-phone booth and dialed her right then and there. When her voice mail picked up I shouted "TRACY TURNBLAD IS A HUMAN ROACH-NEST! IS THIS THE CALIBER OF TEENAGER WE WANT REPRESENTING BALTIMORE AT THE AUTO SHOW??????" and then hung up. I was too stunned to go any further.

When I finally reached her in person a few days later, I violently berated her for having kept this juicy tidbit from me all those years. "You have no idea what that movie, and your infamous line, have meant to me!" I told her repeatedly. She giggled, and I could tell she was quite pleased with herself, and me for being such a lunatic and crazed fan.

"God, Tom, calm down! Are you obsessed with me or something? You're not going to try to kill me or anything are you?"

"No, but you do realize that we're best friends now, right?" I replied.

We did become friends after that, and she even joined me and Mindy for Thanksgiving with our friends KC and Kent when they were living in California.

But sadly, about a year later Kathleen left LA for Atlanta, and since then we have lost touch. I hope she's doing well, wherever she is.

Now that I think of it, I should really get down to cyberstalking her one of these days. I mean, what else am I good for anyway?

LET'S PLAY DOOOOODGEBAAAALLLL!

Katie + LeeWee + CP + Jo = Awesome Foursome!

I could not resist getting in on Katie Schwartz's hilarious (to us sick twisted folk at least) series of letters to Lisa Whelchel, previously famous for her portrayal of rich bitch Blair Warner on "Facts of Life" - and now famous for being a pious Kristian homeschooling mom.

Katie has now posted our first ever joint letter to LeeWee. For some reason, talking to Warnsey brings out my inner Valley Girl - my apologies in advance.

Oh, and yes, I am in fact going to Hell. But as cold as it's been here lately it might actually be a relief.

CP

ps: I had a crush on Jo when I was a kid. Could I be any gayer?

Happy Birthday to one of our favorite bloggers!

A little bird told me we have a blogging friend in our little community who is a year older today. Let's toast! With cupcakes!

Help Wanted: Duane Reade/Rite-Aid/Walgreens Counter Clerk

National drugstore chain seeks surly, mildly retarded professional for full-time counter work. Successful applicant will possess no discernable customer service or problem solving skills, yet will have demonstrated ability to ignore long line of customers while taking personal phone calls. Experience with providing churlish responses to customer inquiries is a plus, and applicants with prison or reform school records are strongly encouraged to apply.

Tales of a Strategic Sales Executive: Bitch from Hell *

My first full week as a Strategic Sales Executive has left me exhausted. Mainly because I have a whole line of new products to learn about and I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. It's kind of slow-going when you have so much to slog through. I feel I'm not yet quite behind the 8-ball.

Since I suffer from a chronic self-confidence problem, I feel like my first week was a waste. Except for this one juicy bit I have to tell you: I've already administered my first bitch-slapping. Which is an important milestone in the career of a Strategic Sales Executive, if you ask me. Here's how it happened.

We sold one of my products to one of the Big 4 firms back in November or December. Note the timeline here. We sold it LAST YEAR. I didn't become a Strategic Sales Executive until February 1 of THIS YEAR.

The Account Manager who handles this particular account told me she was going over to this Big 4 firm to do some training on the product and discuss with them some implementation problems they've been having. She invited me to tag along so I could meet them and learn more about this new product. I thought that was really nice of her, and I told her I'd go with her depending on what else came up on my calendar.

This Account Manager sent an email to a group of us asking for a conference call so we could all discuss the account and help her get ready for the training session on Monday. The email went to me (as a courtesy), the technology team, a few other marginally related people, and Anne, the Strategic Account Executive who is in charge of general oversight of this Big 4 account.

I didn't reply right away because I wasn't sure if I was going to participate.

A few hours later, one of the tech consultants and I received the following email from Anne, the Strategic Account Executive:

"Tom and Jim, we would like you to attend the training session at the Big 4 account on Monday. It starts at 3:00, but please arrive no later than 2:30. (no name as a signature)"

Hmmm, I thought to myself. I hadn't even committed to the conference call, let alone the actual training session. I mulled it over, and a few hours later sent the following reply-all email to the conference call group:

"I will make every effort to attend this call. Thanks, Tom"

A few hours later I received the following reply from Anne:

"Tom: We need you at the customer site on Monday. Please be there by 2:30. Thanks."


?????


Did this Strategic Account Executive just issue me a command? WTF? I don't even know this person.

I decided to call one of my Account Manger friends, Kate, who has worked with this group for several years.

"Hi Kate!" I said. After exchanging a few pleasantries, I asked her if she knew this Anne person.

"Oh yes, very well," she replied, rather cheerily. Hmmm.

"Oh. Well.... what is she like?" I asked.

Long pause.

"What's she like?"

"Yes."

Long pause.

"Well...honestly?" Ooh, this sounds promising!

"Yes, honestly."

Kate replied "I've requested several times to be removed from every single one of her accounts."

She went on to explain that Anne is a bitch from hell who would try to order around God Himself if she thought He might actually do her bidding. People involved in this salesy line of work, or at least the ones who are complete assholes, are often like that. Instead of asking people to do things, they just bark out orders, figuring a certain percent of the population will just do what they say even while resenting them for being so bossy.

Well Gentle Readers, the CP is not so easily pushed around. Especially by some bitch from hell whose job title is clearly on par with his own.

I spend too much energy fuming over things like this, especially when I'm new on a job. It's very important to me to be seen as a helpful person and a team player. I've never been one of those "that's not my job" people, because I hate those people. But I decided that the audacity of this Anne person was going to be nipped in the bud, at least as far as my dealings with her are concerned.

I called my boss.

"I just wanted to confirm the duties of my position. Am I supposed to be helping them clean up this mess with the product at the Big 4 firm?"

"Absolutely not," he replied. "I need you to concentrate on making new sales."

Just as I thought.

I related the story of Anne's charming emails. He promptly sent out a reply-all to Anne's message, clarifying my role and telling her he expects no involvement from me on this project.

A few hours later she replied "Ok, sounds good. I just thought he could be there for moral support. But he doesn't have to if you don't want him to."

?????

OMG, what a fucking bitch.

Moral support? She was ordering me to go there to provide moral support? What the fuck does she think I am?

And I love how she tacks on that I don't have to go if my boss "doesn't want me to." Seemingly to imply that if he didn't have an opinion on the matter, my ass would be there if SHE wanted me there.

"Watch your back. She is pure evil and will stab you hard the second she gets a chance," Kate warned me. I checked with my other friends who know her and they all said the same thing.

So now it looks like I have a witch mad at me. Just like poor Dorothy. This is exactly what I need as I begin a new career path as a Strategic Sales Executive.

Just to be safe, I did call my old boss yesterday, asking if (theoretically) I could have my old job back if I wanted it.

I'll keep you posted.

* Inspired by the now defunct Melinda June series, Satan in the Office. Her mom made her take down those posts for fear of professional retribution.

A pair of Celestial Underwear for every pot!

Grant Miller has joined the bandwagon of cool kids by (finally) posting about Mormons.

Pretty much the only joy I derive from Evangelicals is watching them attack Mormons. Like during the Olympics in Salt Lake City, when they cooked up this big scheme to convert the Mormons en masse. That was pretty fucking awesome. Having those two groups at each others' throats gets them off my back for a change.

Katie Schwartz, if you're reading this I think it's about time we get cooking on a joint letter to LeeWee about Mr. Romney. I think she'll agree that one Mormon on Capitol Hill is enough!

Anna Nicole, we will miss you

I am strangely saddened by the news of Anna Nicole's death today.

I had wept for her back in September when her son Daniel died suddenly, having observed in recent years, all too closely, the devastation the loss of a child can have on the parents and family.

George and I watched Anna's TV show religiously, albeit in a gawker-slowdown kind of way. It seemed apparent she had wetbrain from imbibing in too much of God-knows-what over the years. We mocked and ridiculed her each week, and certainly held very little respect for her, if any.

So why am I shedding tears over this news?

Maybe it's because I see Anna Nicole's life as tragic. The girl was from white-trash roots and was making her way in life as a stripper when she had the good fortune to land the Playboy gig that led her down the road to wealth and infamy. If it weren't for that one turn in the road that got her noticed, she would have gone down like so many other poor, uneducated, underserved and underinsured people in this country. Like that inbred cousin who guest starred on her show a few years ago.

And that is something to cry about.

RIP, Anna Nicole. Say 'hi' to Daniel for me.

Can I just tell you?

Our new kittens have taken a shine to our nicest and most expensive piece of furniture, a (formerly) lovely upholstered chair in the living room. If things proceed as they are, this chair will consist of four metal legs and a ball of thread in about three weeks.

My friend Pearl told me to cover the entire chair in Saran Wrap, the idea being that when they try to claw it they will get stuck on the plastic and never go near the chair again.

I'll admit, wrapping the chair was kind of fun, at least after I got the cats to stop trying to play with the plastic while I was unrolling it.

Now that the chair is covered, the cats will not leave it alone. They currently possess little interest in any activity that that doesn't involve climbing all over the chair like monkeys, using it as a launch pad to make gigantic leaps onto the dining room table, playing with the ends of the plastic in an effort to unwrap the chair, and finding ways to go right underneath the wrap so that they can work the upholstery with increased fervor and delight.

This little experiment has failed. Pearl is going to be fired the next time I see her.

Tales of a Snubbing and Other Adventures

I've missed you, Gentle Readers!

My attendance was required at a sales conference in Phoenix this week, and I have just now returned to New York. I could not have gotten out of there fast enough. I can't stand those things.

The following events transpired during my trip:

* I was ignored by an old "friend" whom I helped train back in 1995. He has become a manager in a different division, which apparently makes him too important to talk to me now. Unfortunately for him, he is probably unaware of my recent promotion to Strategic Sales Executive. His ignorance will likely prove tragic for him as I consolidate my new power and set my vindictive gaze upon him. His won't be the first career I've destroyed, and certainly will not be the last. My inner Amanda is already sharpening her claws.

* After said snubbing, I informed another friend of my new-found hatred for the snubber. She looked at me as if I'd had too much wine and was on the way to losing control, both of which may have been true.

* During a company banquet I was declared to be one of the two most attractive sales professionals in my division by one of our drunken sales reps. At first I was pleased, but then spotted a 300+ lb. man completely disrobing at his table while some other colleagues laughed and egged him on. He was really hairy, too. I decided not to take the compliment to heart.

* I cornered my old boss at an awards dinner and demanded a $5,000 payout from a sales contest that my old territory won shortly after I left the territory for a different job within the company. She told me to go fuck myself, albeit in slightly nicer language.

* I sucked up to several bigwigs, one from California, in hopes that he may one day agree to hire me. I also gushed compliments at our new Senior Vice President, partly because I'm nice, partly because I'm a suck-up and partly because he was kind of cute and charming.

* I reminded myself not to repeat George's comments about the Chinese being cheap to my work colleagues. I only partially succeeded at this.


So you see I've been busy, Gentle Readers. But I'm glad to be back here with you.

Love,
CP