CP random blogging

Gentle Readers,

At CPW I don't generally blog on random items; I usually try to come up with a topic to discuss, a particular story to tell, or specific cat pictures to encourage my Gentle Readers to fawn over.

Today I am deviating from that policy. Whereas I have many a story brewing in my head, sometimes it takes a while for the meds to kick in and quiet the maelstrom in there so that I can write. Therefore, Gentle Readers, I have decided it might be better to check in with you periodically rather than make you wait for my psychosis to abate.

With that, here are my random items for today.

1. I have my own driver now. He took me to the airport earlier this year and asked if I wanted him to pick up me upon return. I said "no" at first because I've had car service "appointments" at the airport before and they usually turn into a big mess and take longer than it would just to wait for a cab. But he promised to call the airline to check on my flight number and to be there on time etc. etc. So I agreed.

The first night he met me at the airport he jumped out of the car, grabbed my suitcase, gave me this huge smile and said "Yah, you like me picking you up at the airport, don't you???" It was so cute I nearly swooned. So now I have his cell phone number and I just call him directly whenever I need a ride. He lives only four blocks from me, so I never have to give him directions. And his name is even Mo, but only because he's Egyptian.


2. I just got back from another sales conference I attended with my colleagues. The 3jesus97 lady and I have actually become very good friends, and she giggled like a schoolgirl when I told her my 11 years with Poor George are like 30 straight years.


3. The people that invited us to this sales conference are assholes. They were supposed to be "helping" us; instead, they presented a bunch of bullshit, then made each of us stand up and give a short demo on one of our products so that they could "evaluate" us, American Idol style, and choose a "winner" based on who gave the "best" presentation.

I don't mind contests when they are based on hard & fast data, e.g. on who sold the most or something like that. But to stand up and be judged and compared to colleagues based on nothing other than whom the judges decide they like the best is just offensive. Since no one likes me, of course I did not win which is all the more reason I should be annoyed.

Next time they invite me to one of these I'm going to announce that we, the attendees, will evaluate each speaker and select the "best" at the end of the meeting. And the award will be a swift kick in the ass, but I'll present one of those to each of them on accounta I'm egalitarian.


4. I had a dream this morning that we were meeting our friend Bradley at an outdoor opera, and he arrived wearing a Brunhilde helmet. As we were walking toward the amphitheater, a bunch of frat boys grabbed Bradley's helmet and ran away with it. Bradley looked so forlorn that I took after the boys to try to get the helmet back. I never caught them, but I did run into this guy from my high school who used to taunt me for being gay and then whose father later got in trouble for molesting teenage boys. What a dick. (The part about the guy with the molester father is true, although it is only in my dream that I ran into him.)


Love,
CP

Pabooba pix Redux

Can you believe we had to leave the pool to pee?

TISNF!!!

Heckle & Jeckle, Pabooba style

Poor George befriends the birds.

And Mindy thought HER swans were pure evil. Hah.

CP prepares for his maiden parasailing voyage.

Freaking out just slightly.

Too bad the camera couldn't catch me shitting my pants.

Having to vacation with colleagues is made easier
by the knowledge that we aren't the fattest ones on the boat.

Some stupid buoy or something in the upper right
disturbed my otherwise pristine water + Poor George shot.

Poor George. He doesn't get enough pictures taken of him.

Tacky mall. Cool photo.

Poor George is quite pleased with himself over this shot.
I think I look like a doofus.

CP nurses a sunburn.

Poor, poor George.

Bye.

Return from Pabooba

We're back!

We spent the last 5 days here in Pabooba. I am badly sunburned but am closely approaching the itchy-peeling phase. Poor George is practically vibrating with anticipation because he's a peeling-lover. He's like a "Night of the Living Dead" cannibal that I have to fend off with a garden tool.

I wish this photo could do this place justice. Opulent is a word that comes to mind. Everything about this vacation was perfect, except that there were a few too many work colleagues hanging around, and I've had better food in my life.

But having no responsibility other than to sit in a pool or on the beach and be served cocktails?

I don't think life gets any better. I'm glad we went despite my sour grapes.

Possibly more photos to follow.

100 Things I Have Done part 1

This is Diana Scarwid. She is not scary.

I was loitering at the blog of Gizmorox the other day when I came across a meme where she had to tell of 100 things she has done in her life. Pretty cool, I thought, and so I decided to do the same. I suppose this will be kind of like my 100 Things about Me post from a few years ago, but with a slightly different focus.

Technically you're supposed to write about 100 amazing things you have done in your life, but as I consider all of life amazing, some of these things may seem rather ordinary to the rest of you. Drink up.

I don't have the attention span to think up 100 new things all at once, so this is going to have to come in installments. Which you know will take me over a year to finish.


Oh, and y'all are tagged to do the same.


100 (Amazing?) Things I Have Done

1. Once, when I was about four, I found a huge wad of chewed gum in our yard. It looked really inviting, yet I knew I was not supposed to eat stuff that I found on the ground. I picked it up and just held it, and figured it wouldn't hurt just to take a quick chomp on part of it while holding onto the rest of it. I liked it. So I took another chomp. Yum. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, I had the whole thing in my mouth and was chewing away happily.

Ok, that sounded kind of dirty.

2. One time, when I was a teenager, I purposely turned up our stereo very loud just to see if my parents would make me turn it down. They just closed the kitchen door. I guess it was because I almost never listened to loud rock music and they were glad I was starting to appear normal.

3. Very occasionally, if I become very active without having eaten anything, I am overcome by an intense migraine headache. One morning I was very busy and had to shop for a new car. I was in the final negotiation stage of a purchase when the massive headache hit me. I was hunched over, head in my hands, and the salesman was asking what the problem was. "Low blood sugar, I need something to eat," I was barely able to mutter without throwing up. He ran across the street to get me a sandwich, and then I was fine within 10 minutes. I've never understood exactly why that happens, or at least why it happens so randomly.

4. In high school I used to write my friend Gretchen these horrible notes about how I wasn't going to be her friend any more, but then would never give them to her.

5. One time I was picking my nose (in private.) I got ahold of a small piece, and when I pulled on it out came a looooong string of dry crust that had been stuck all the way up my sinuses. It was outstanding.

6. My third grade Sunday school teacher asked us all to share something that made us feel afraid. When we were done sharing, she told us it made her afraid to see a black man on the street at night. I never told my parents about this.

7. When my cat Samantha disappeared, my dad took me to the local shelter to look for her. When we saw she wasn't there, he said "you can have another cat if you want." I replied tearily, and much more loudly than I had intended, "I don't WANT another cat." Everyone in the room turned and looked at me sadly.

8. When I was living in France I was invited to a "black tie" party, though I didn't know it was black tie because the word in French for tuxedo is "costume." People kept telling me I'd need a "costume" for the party, so I would just tell them not to worry and that I would go dressed as a monster or something. I didn't end up going. I think the people inviting me retracted the invitation because they thought I was insane.

9. When I was 16 I allowed myself to be seduced by this older girl who looked like Diana Scarwid. Ok, she was only a year older but it was still scary. Not Diana Scarwid, but the girl.

10. I completely forgot to go to a piano competition I was supposed to compete in one time. My piano teacher was not happy, but really wanted me to enter so she convinced a judge that I had been sick and the judge let me come play for her at her house. I don't remember the outcome.



Stay tuned for part 2.

Gratuitous cat shots

I've been posting a bit more frequently over at American Idolatry, so forgive my neglect of this blog.

Here are all of my cats.

Love,
CP

CPW Public Service Announcement

Gentle Readers,

Did you know there is a website where anyone with Internet access can retrieve of a copy of your driver's license? Scary stuff.

Fortunately there is also a link where you can request your license be removed. I would also suggest putting a fraud alert on your name with the three credit reporting agencies to prevent your identity from being stolen.

Click here to see if your license is on the website, and if so, take action immediately to get it removed.

CP

Sister Motherf***er

This is exactly the kind of thing I do to pass the time. It's over seven minutes long, but if you're a retard like me it will be worth it.

I don't Awana rock with you

My good pal over at Better Living through Bacon recently wrote about her six-year-old daughter's first (and last) visit to the Awana Clubs, a Kristian organization whose primary purpose seems to be scaring young children into believing in Jesus.

I'm sorry, but frightening six-year-olds into believing what you believe is simply not a legitimate use of religion in my book. Frankly, I think this kind of thing should be illegal.

I was raised as a Lutheran, although because we ended up attending the scarier Missouri Synod part of the church, I got a lot of the fire-and-brimstone education from which my more moderate Lutheran friends were spared.

It wasn't until I was attending a Lutheran college that I discovered mainstream Lutherans, you know, of the Sunday hot-dish church supper variety. We had none of that good stuff when I was a kid; for me, church was all about what would and wouldn't get you sent to Hell.

In my parents' defense, they would have put a stop to it if they'd known exactly what I was being taught in Sunday school and confirmation classes. Unfortunately, they were usually both too drunk to inquire. But that's another story.

One time when I was in 4th grade my school friend John Hagerson asked if I wanted to attend an Awana meeting with him. "Sure," I said, having no idea what "Awana" was. I was just usually game for anything that would get me out of the house.

When I arrived at the designated address I realized it was a church. "Oh," I said to the other kids there, "do you have to belong to a certain religion to go to this?" They all replied, in unison, "IT'S NON-DENOMINATIONAL!"

Well alrighty then!

There were some preliminary niceties, and then about 50 of us kids were seated inside the church and some guy was in front going on and on about how we needed to be "saved." Pretty soon he had all of us bow our heads to pray, and started asking which ones of us wanted to come up to the front to be "saved."

This was confusing to me. For starters, I had been going to Sunday school for several years by that point and had thought I was already "saved." Why was this guy acting like I needed to be saved again?

Furthermore, what exactly was he going to do to "save" me? Wasn't that God's job, not his?

After an uncomfortably long time sitting there with no one opting for eternal salvation, we were dismissed and the meeting was over. John came up to me holding two Snickers bars and handed me one. "This is our prize for me having convinced you to come tonight," he told me.

Oh, for crying out loud, I thought. Is this what this whole song and dance was about? You wanted a free candy bar? I smelled a scam.

I never went back. Those people gave me the creeps.

As if!

I was quite angry earlier today, despite it being Valentine's Day and all. Read my prior post for the context

But right now, all I can say is "thank God for Poor George!"

One homemade lobster dinner, three glasses of merlot, half a bottle of Proseco and one viewing of "Clueless" later I am not mad anymore! Funny how that works!

Some people in life are bitches, but with what I just described should it really matter?


I don't think so.


Happy Valentine's Day to all my Gentle Readers!

Love,
CP

Some days as a Strategic Sales Executive are annoying days

We have a rollout of a major new product coming next week, a product I will be largely responsible for selling.

Not only do I not yet have online access to the product; I just found out that the product manager from our home office has been scheduling customer visits and demos with my sales reps directly, without telling me.

I take this as a sign of disrespect. It's not like she doesn't know this is my product; she knows it very well. Furthermore, it's in her own best interest to include me in these meetings because otherwise all the sales reps in the country will just go to her with all their questions and requests for customer appointments.

I'm having several conversations about this in my head even as I type:

1. My sour grapes are telling me to say "fine, let her do all the selling if that's what she wants."

2. My inner paranoid-schizophrenic is telling me she's not including me because she thinks I'm annoying and a buffoon and would simply rather not deal with me.

3. My inner adult is telling me it was just an oversight and to chalk it up to a big "whatever, Mary."

I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm going with options 1 and 2.

CP

Pig fuckers

In my last post I bragged about how I won the award for Strategic Sales Executive of the Year. #1 in the whole damn country. I get to go with Poor George to Pabooba for an exotic vacation in April.

Except for one small problem. They forgot me at our company's awards banquet on Saturday night. I was supposed to get to walk across a stage in front of 2,000 of my colleagues and be recognized.

But they forgot me. They gave fancy crystal vases to every other winner except me.

Then, during dinner, they flashed large screen images of the names and photos of all the winners throughout the evening - except for me.

Needless to say, I was puzzled and slightly upset. I asked my boss what was up, so he went to talk to the woman who coordinated the awards.

When he returned to my table he said "Tom, I spoke with Martha and she was really, really apologetic. But there's nothing we can do. You still won though, and you still get to go on the trip."



Bullshit. He could have gone to our president at the front table and explained that they accidentally left out the Strategic Sales Exec category and failed to announce the winner. He could have gone back on stage and corrected it. But I guess they didn't care enough.

I don't care about fucking Pabooba, and in fact we're no longer going. I'm going to stay home and eat my sour grapes instead, or maybe go somewhere else with Poor George on my own dime. I'd be too angry to be able to enjoy myself if I went after this slap in the face.


I kind of feel like a dick for even caring about this, but I do. I worked my ass off last year, and through a combination of hard work, teamwork and good luck I won. I deserved to walk across that stage.

Now, only the people in my immediate vicinity know I won. People in other parts of the company whom I've known for 18 years have no idea now that I have made good. People who might later be able to help me, knowing I have the cache of a national award behind my name, will not know anything about my achievement - unless of course I tell them. Which I don't want to have to do.


It may have something to do with having to get up at 4:00 am to catch my plane this morning, but in the cab ride home from the airport I actually shed tears over this. Maybe I need to get a life.


Fuckers.

Some days as a Strategic Sales Executive are good days

Hi all,

Greetings from a warm southern city - I can't get too specific because I don't want to be Googled by my colleagues. I am currently attending our annual sales conference. Me and 2,000 sales reps. It's just this sort of thing that normally puts me over the edge.

But this year is slightly different. You see, Gentle Readers, last night I learned that I am the #1 Strategic Sales Executive for 2007! I guess my Amanda Woodward-like attitude has finally gotten me somewhere.

Poor George and I will be joining my company's senior executives for a fancy award vacation on a tropical island. Again, I don't want to say where for fear of being Googled, but it rhymes with Pabooba and it's near the coast of Venezuela.

Finally, the recognition Poor George deserves for putting up with my non-stop bitching!

Love,
CP

Vote for the cutest picture Vol 1

Which is your favorite? You can vote more than once.

One nation under insanity

I don't blame people for being up in arms about Fred Phelps and his crazy family deciding to picket Heath Ledger's funeral because of his portrayal of a gay cowboy in Brokeback Mountain. But for me it becomes increasingly difficult to remain incensed about something that no longer surprises me.

The world has always been chock full of all sorts of crazy. I should know, I grew up surrounded by about ten different varieties of it in my own house as a kid. At some point I started to draw a distinction between arguing with someone who might actually be convinced by what you say versus attempting to reason with a crazy person.

But at what point will my lack of surprise at craziness cross over into complacency and resignation? I've already been suspecting for the last few years that we are becoming more and more like the German citizens who lived in the 1930s and 1940s. People who grew resigned to the crazy around them to the point that sixty years later they are still eating the world's shit because they didn't take extreme enough measures to put a stop to it.

I'm not sure I know what to do anymore.

3jesus97, or socio-political leanings of a Strategic Sales Executive

I have a new Strategic Sales Executive on my team, and few weeks ago she hosted a Webex for us. (For you non "Office Space" types, a Webex would be an audio/video conference call where the host can share his or her computer desktop with the call participants.)

When you set up a Webex you have to supply the participants a password. I usually choose a relatively neutral, innocuous sort of word like lawyer or chlamydia. Always does the trick.

Sandra (the new Strategic Sales Executive) however decided that her password for the group would be 3Jesus97. I thought that was odd. Then, when we were trying to log in to the call one of the participants said "what is the password again?" Sandra replied "3Jesus97. I guess that wasn't very politically correct of me! Giggle!"

Let us note that Sandra is based in Oklahoma. Just sayin'.

To get back at Sandra for her inappropriate behavior, the next time I hosted a Webex I made the password 3Buddah97.

No one laughed, which disappointed me a fair amount.

Bastards.

Happy Birthday in the Land-o-Lulu!

Happy Birthday Lulu!

You'll always be older than me!


Love,
CP

My childhood ex-neighbor Jenny is a total bitch

Trevor in his box.

My new friend Chris over at Inane Thoughts and Insane Ramblings recently bought a new dryer and let his little boy Trevor play in the box.



I am nearly green with envy.



Playing in huge boxes was the coolest thing ever - probably even cooler than building a fort out of sofa cushions and assorted furniture. It probably still is that cool or little Trevor wouldn't be sitting all high & mighty in his box right now.



This post of Chris's reminded me of the time my mom had a new refrigerator delivered to our house. It was the summer before I started 7th grade, when I was 12. My next-door-neighbor, Jenny, was 10.



Jenny and I had been best buds in earlier years, but as we both approached adolescence we didn't hang out so much any more. Not that I didn't want to, but she and her other little friends were starting to do that tween all-girl thing where they would hang out in the bathroom for hours washing each others' hair and trying on bras and stuff. I was totally excluded. Probably a good thing too, because I'd make a hideous drag queen.



Anyway, on this particularly beautiful summer day when I was 12, I hadn't spoken with Jenny for months and months. But about 30 minutes after our new refrigerator arrived, she showed up at my door with her new best friend from down the street, Joanne. I was really happy to see her because I missed hanging out with her, and I was becoming too nerdy for anyone else to want to spend time with me.



"Hey Jenny! How are you?" I said as I opened the door. "Hi, Joanne," I added, a bit less enthusiastically.



"Hi."



"What's going on? Do you want to come in?"



"Did you get a new refrigerator?" Jenny asked.



"Yes, it's really nice- want to see it?"



"No. Do you still have the box?"



"The box?"



"Yeah, you know, the box the refrigerator came in."



"Oh, no, the delivery guys took it away with the old refrigerator."



"Oh, ok. We thought maybe we could play in it. See ya later." They turned to leave.



"You guys, wait!" I called out. "We can do something else if you want!"



"That's ok, we just wanted to see if you had the box. Talk to you soon."





I didn't think much of it at the time because I was used to that sort of thing, being the geek that I was. But tonight, after seeing Chris's post about Trevor and the Box, I came to the conclusion that my childhood ex-neighbor Jenny is a total bitch.



I suppose some scars will never heal.



Sigh.

Dream

"Artwork" by CP

Last night I dreamed I was a father. I was telling my kid that he would probably want to follow people around with a red marker so he could correct their mistakes. I told him he shouldn't do that.

I so should have had children.

I still love all my stalkees

This is Grant Miller's cat. Mine are cuter.

Hey everyone,

Just a few quick notes:

1) I have been totally remiss in catching up with all of your blogs and leaving profound comments. Not for lack of love, just for lack of time. I'll make it up to all of joos shortly.

2) As if I don't have enough to catch up on already, I agreed to guest post over at Grant Miller Media while he's out of the office. Maybe I should get someone to guest-comment on all your wonderful blogs so that you don't feel so neglected.

3) It's my birthday today. Please worship me.

Love,

CP

Virtual Round Table, or how CP became overwhelmed

Lulu and Melinda June can attest to the fact that I'm a strange bird and a difficult person to get to know because I feel shy and awkward around people I'm not well acquainted with. When you combine that with the fact that I am both a freak AND borderline retarded, people often walk away from their first few interactions with me thinking "what the hell was THAT all about?"

It is only due to some sort of miracle that I manage to earn a living in sales. I suppose 42 years of life experience and some decent legal training have taught me a thing or two about sucking it up and just talking to people, but none of it comes naturally. I'm much more comfortable sitting at a keyboard with unfettered access to my "backspace" and "delete" keys. If only I could carry those with me everywhere I go.

All of the foregoing are reasons why, when Lulu first got together with a large group of bloggers about a year ago, I told her I wouldn't want to do that. One or two at a time maybe, but not a whole room. I'd probably freeze or start babbling like a retard when faced with having to talk to that many people.

"No you wouldn't, you'd be fine," she replied.

"Well of course I'd be fine. I'm only slightly retarded, not a complete moron."

"Yes, and your point is. . . ?"

"It's just that I would find it overwhelming to have all these people come to life right in front of me. We know each other on paper and everything seems to work well that way. Why would I want to screw it up by making them deal with me in person?"

"No one is looking to get married here, CP - they just want to talk to us. You're so uptight. Why does everything have to be some sort of religious experience with you?"

Of course, she was right. Which is why this year, when Lu and I were both planning to be in Chicago for the holidays, I agreed to accompany her to a large gathering of bloggers we've gotten to know over the past few years.

It's not that I have anything against meeting bloggers or pen-pals. Dale, Chelene, Beckeye and I have all become semi-regular real life friends and I haven't managed to alienate any of them yet though I am still working on it. And I've had great single face-to-face interactions with Wonderturtle, Hapabukbuk, Write Procrastinator and Deadspot. I just wasn't sure how I'd react to a whole room of them at once.

I was able to lay a few of these concerns to rest after last night's blogger party in Chicago. The experience was definitely overwhelming, but mostly in a good way.

This is going to sound weird, but it was kind of like how I've always imagined it would be to die, go to an afterlife and then meet your cat from childhood in person form. "Hi Tom, I think you remember me - I'm Betty."

I'd say "Betty, is that really you? Wow, it's so great to meet you in person!" And then I'd stand there and feel overwhelmed.

That is how I felt when Lu, Poor George and I walked into a crowded room last night at the Hala Kahiki Lounge in River Grove, Illinois. Within the space of five minutes I shook hands with and looked all of the following writers straight in the eye:

Grant Miller from Grant Miller Media
Chris from Some Guy's Blog
Megan from By and By
Bubs and MizBubs from Sprawling Ramshackle Compound
Splotchy from I, Splotchy
Johnny Yen from Here Comes Johnny Yen Again
Chaylene from Better Living through Bacon
Vikkitikkitavi from Bells On
Bubbles from Anonymous Blogger
Sharon from Tenacious S (though I've known her for 20 years so that meeting wasn't quite as intimidating)

Vikki's sister from Two Minutes in the Box was also there but sadly I did not get a chance to speak with her - either that or she heeded someone's sage advice and avoided me.

I don't have time to say a whole lot more about it right now except that it felt natural and easy for me to talk to all these people, which only enhances my astonishment that we have all been able to come together because of our writing. It's like a virtual Round Table, only maybe even slightly more bitchy.

Which is always a good thing.

Except who gets to be Dorothy Parker here?