About 6-months ago I woke up with a horrible stabbing pain in my mouth. After prolonged agony I found what I thought was a 5th wisdom tooth coming in. After a moment of panic and confusion, I figured out that my wisdom tooth that had already come in, only it had started to shift to the side, outward toward my jawbone and was scraping against bone. It was one of the most painful experiences I've had. I called up my dentist who recommended an oral surgeon for the task. I rang the surgeon's office and they were like, "We can get you in for a consultation tomorrow but we can't extract until about 3-weeks." I gasped (surely a gay-gasp) and replied, "If you don't get this thing out tomorrow I'm going to do have to do it myself." She started to laugh and I quickly said, "Mm, I'm not kidding. This has to come out."
She penciled me in and the doc came in early to see me the NEXT DAY, which was so great, and he removed my wisdom tooth (which was only numero quatro, not a 5th wisdom tooth (which can actually happen, by the way). So anyway I sent them a "thank you" card for seeing me so quickly and being so helpful. Good for me. This isn't the point of this story so let's get to it:
I scheduled an appointment to get my OTHER three wisdom teeth removed preventatively, avoiding the chance of future pain and discomfort. My roommate Mike was free the day of my surgery and offered to take me there and help me out. Props to Mike. So we get to the oral surgeon's office and I check-in with the receptionist, pay my bill and soon after head back. The people had all remembered me from last time and were very nice. I get in the doctor's chair and the oral surgeon comes in the room. He thanked me gratefully for sending a "thank you" card--I guess they rarely get them, considering they torture people for a living. I said, "well, my Mom raised me properly yada yada," or something like that. Props to Momma. So they hook me up to an IV and put a heart monitor on me and start strapping me down to the bed. Like, my arms, legs, chest, everything. He said that I might have a dream when I go under and they don't want to risk me running a marathon in my dreams while they are operating. So I'm all hooked up and have a gas mask on my face and the doctor says, "We just served you your favorite martini, and you're at your best friend's party and..." OUT. The next thing I know, I'm in the lobby of the hospital, in a wheel chair, with a mouthful of gauze and a head wrap, waiting for Mike to bring the car around. There was a lot I missed I guess. Following is the interim:
Mike brought his laptop so he could get some emails out while I was being operated on. A mere 15-minutes after I go back to the OR, the nurse emerges and says to Mike, "We're all finished. Do you want to go back and see him?" Mike walks back with the nurse, walks in and finds me with my pants around my knees saying, "SURPRISE!" I guess I thought it would have been funny--nay hilarious--if I flashed Mike while high as kite. Front side, not back. Front. Well, it would have been funny if the nurse wasn't in the room also. She bolts out of the door, yelping like a kicked dog. She got the doctor and brought him into the room. He sternly questions, "Did you just do what she said you did?" I bashfully remain quiet and he evidently notices my fly is still down. My fate is sealed. He says, "That's unacceptable--but I'll let you get away with it because you're so drugged up,"In like a doctor-y kinda parent tone. Yeah.
The doctor escorts Mike and I to a "containment room" where I can be monitored to make sure I don't have an allergic reaction to the anesthetics. While we are in there some how Mike produces a book on Balboa Park. I start reciting everything there ever was to know about Balboa Park: its history, its origin--all while I have a literal mouth FULL of gauze. I was completely inaudible but Mike let me ramble on, knowing that if he said anything I would try removing the gauze from my bleeding oral cavity.
After everything that happened at the oral surgeon's office, Mike and I head to Rite Aid to get my prescription filled. We do so and afterwards walk across the street to Jamba Juice. Mind you I'm extremely drugged-up and have a mouthful of cotton. The lady takes one look at me, with my puffy cheeks, glazed-over eyes, and icy head wrap and says, "Wisdom teeth, huh?" This little cashier must have seen the like before. We get our Jamba and head back to Rite Aid, get my prescription and head home. I continue to lie on the couch in a groggy, half-lucid state for the next day or so and in a tremendous amount of pain.
My diet now consists of pudding, mashed potatoes, soup, broth and yogurt. Wisdom is a dish best served mushy.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Weekend Number 12: Sunday
With Saturday behind us and the day chalk-full (I wonder where that saying comes from) of exciting activities, John and I wake up early (like 7:45 am--and trust me, for gays on a Sunday, that's like walking on water--miracle) and hit the gym. After an invigorating workout we rendez-vous with our friends David and Todd (another gay couple) and get some brunch. We go to a place called the Mission; I have had heard of it several times by this point but still never went. Excellent choice. Great food, good (enough) service, horrible chocolate mike (don't ever order it from them) but in-out-eat-yum-burp-done and that's all I wanted.
We had a task at hand. We had a goal. We--David, Todd, John and I--had plans: we were going to the Cat Show. I said it--Cat Show. It's like a dog show, except there are more gays and old ladies. Not like, the little old ladies with blue hair that drive 110 miles per hour and sit on a stack of phone books to see over the steering wheel, but like, the old ladies with big, homemade earrings and a sweater with a big cat on it and it says "My cat's shit don't stink" or some bull like that. Oh god. The cats were fun--some beautiful and exotic looking breeds--but the real entertainment was the freak show parade of these ladies and gays. It's like, they were so serious about these cats and how they were brushed a certain way and blow-dried and teased and probably sedated that it was a miracle both the owner and the cat actually made it to the venue.
Let me just say something: cats are predators. Brushed fur does not make them happy, death and carnage does. Let them eat cake. Mice rather. Let them eat Micecake. After the Cat Show (I still can't believe I went to a freaking cat show) we walked to Horton Plaza and casually let time slink by before preparing ourselves for a fantastic and fabulous evening at hand. My dear friend, and peanut, Vince had a little b-day celebration at Lei Lounge. Lei Lounge is a venue unlike any other really--it's hip, it's chic, it's smart--it's SO Vince. It was perf'. The event started out with cool cocktails and warm conversations over the fire pit and in the reserved cabanas. More and more people started to gather and a serious crowd had developed. Vince's parents and brother and all of Vince's close friends and it really was just a fantastic time--an enviable birthday event for sure. Allan, Vince's homohusband, even made a video montage of people that couldn't be at Lei (like former Talk Soup personality Hal Sparks) wishing him a wonderful two-five. Then there was cake (but, no Micecake). It was cupcakes on tiered serveware and just lovely lovely lovely. It gets better--there was a hosted champagne toast to accompany these said cupcakes. Let me just explain how I looked: pink shirt, fierce jeans, bitchin' hair, champagne glass in one hand, cupcake AND a partially spilling martini in the other and a big cupcake-eating grin on my face. Oh, to die for. John you're one lucky bitch. OH OH I forgot to mention it was a total pink party, where everyone had to have something on that was pink. Vince, you're a dream come true (and we happen to have identical taste--coincidence? No. Fate.). Fantastic. Finally the night progresses, (remember, this is Sunday the whole time) and it is time for John and I to retire. He pretty much pours me into the passenger seat of my car and escorts us home.
That was pretty much my weekend in review. I learned that my signature sucks (if you're a gypsy), steak is now on the black market (watch out cocaine), animals can be spoiled (and whored) and Vince is truly lovely (with a capital Meow). Thank you for tuning in and there will definitely be more to come shortly. Signing off.
We had a task at hand. We had a goal. We--David, Todd, John and I--had plans: we were going to the Cat Show. I said it--Cat Show. It's like a dog show, except there are more gays and old ladies. Not like, the little old ladies with blue hair that drive 110 miles per hour and sit on a stack of phone books to see over the steering wheel, but like, the old ladies with big, homemade earrings and a sweater with a big cat on it and it says "My cat's shit don't stink" or some bull like that. Oh god. The cats were fun--some beautiful and exotic looking breeds--but the real entertainment was the freak show parade of these ladies and gays. It's like, they were so serious about these cats and how they were brushed a certain way and blow-dried and teased and probably sedated that it was a miracle both the owner and the cat actually made it to the venue.
Let me just say something: cats are predators. Brushed fur does not make them happy, death and carnage does. Let them eat cake. Mice rather. Let them eat Micecake. After the Cat Show (I still can't believe I went to a freaking cat show) we walked to Horton Plaza and casually let time slink by before preparing ourselves for a fantastic and fabulous evening at hand. My dear friend, and peanut, Vince had a little b-day celebration at Lei Lounge. Lei Lounge is a venue unlike any other really--it's hip, it's chic, it's smart--it's SO Vince. It was perf'. The event started out with cool cocktails and warm conversations over the fire pit and in the reserved cabanas. More and more people started to gather and a serious crowd had developed. Vince's parents and brother and all of Vince's close friends and it really was just a fantastic time--an enviable birthday event for sure. Allan, Vince's homohusband, even made a video montage of people that couldn't be at Lei (like former Talk Soup personality Hal Sparks) wishing him a wonderful two-five. Then there was cake (but, no Micecake). It was cupcakes on tiered serveware and just lovely lovely lovely. It gets better--there was a hosted champagne toast to accompany these said cupcakes. Let me just explain how I looked: pink shirt, fierce jeans, bitchin' hair, champagne glass in one hand, cupcake AND a partially spilling martini in the other and a big cupcake-eating grin on my face. Oh, to die for. John you're one lucky bitch. OH OH I forgot to mention it was a total pink party, where everyone had to have something on that was pink. Vince, you're a dream come true (and we happen to have identical taste--coincidence? No. Fate.). Fantastic. Finally the night progresses, (remember, this is Sunday the whole time) and it is time for John and I to retire. He pretty much pours me into the passenger seat of my car and escorts us home.
That was pretty much my weekend in review. I learned that my signature sucks (if you're a gypsy), steak is now on the black market (watch out cocaine), animals can be spoiled (and whored) and Vince is truly lovely (with a capital Meow). Thank you for tuning in and there will definitely be more to come shortly. Signing off.
Weekend Number 12: Saturday
This weekend was particularly kooky. Where do I even begin. Well, let's start with the morning I guess. Saturday John and I woke up, made the bed, un-made the bed (okaay!), and cooked up some breakfast. I love sandwiches, which I've already confessed to you, my faithful bloggettes, so we made breakfast sandwiches. We decided to recreate Jack In the Box's amazing breakfast ciabatta sandwiches . Okay, let's explain these little joyful nuggets: they are warm, soft ciabatta with two fried eggs, melted American cheese and a touch of butter, warmed and made fresh to order. Crap my mouth is watering just thinkin' of them. So we got some ciabatta bread, eggs, cheese, all the goods right? The bread was tough, the cheese wasn't gooey enough and it just wasn't the same--it was good, but not the same. After my tasty yet unsatisfying breakfast we thought to ourselves (outloud), well let's take a walk. Where to? We could walk to the pet store and stare into the windows at all the little kitties and puppies--not enough... we came to a new conclusion: The Zoo.
John lives in Hillcrest and the Zoo is in Balboa Park--not far, not far at all. We took a medium-paced stroll down University Avenue, then Park Boulevard to our destination of the world famous San Diego Zoo. We had a leisurely jont through the park, visiting the petting zoo, the pygmy marmosets and the wolf's monkey exhibit (Kurtis, Matt, Mark and Mike you know what I'm talking about). After dodging strollers and colliding with families no less than 5 strong, we headed to our next destination: The Psychic Fair. My friend Patti at work turned me onto this activity. So freakin' random. It was in like a community center and you pay ten bucks and get two free readings of your choice (permitting availability). First I had my astrology read; she was gooood. I had chills the whole time and everything she said was pretty dead on--she said I was a healer in a past life and I'm very creative and I'm in a relationship right now and I breathe out of my nostrils and I'm so good at blinking it comes almost naturally to me. Amazing. The tarot card lady was next and like "you'll meet a celebrity in 6-months time and you're about to make changes and some things will stay the same and voodoo blah blah"and I just wasn't having her. Lastly they also had free hand writing analysis. This lady pointed at, like a "t" and was like "you're a strong individual" and then would point at a "w" and would be all "you like salty foods" and lastly was like "you're signature is shitty and you push people away." what the hell kind of reading is that!? You're supposed to make me feel better about myself, gypsy whore. I bet her signature is a picture of her shooting up heroine. Bitch.
After the Psychic Fair we were headed back to John's house, but before returning to our destination I ordered a detour. Two words: Cold Stone. oooooh yes, I said it. I love Coldstone Creamery. It's like a vacation to Pleasure Town for my taste buds and oooh was it so well deserved. After all it was reward for walking far and wide. I ordered my ice cream treat (politely if I may add) and sat in front of the store, dining on this confection whilst basking in both the sun's rays and the envious glares of the passer-byers.
One such passer-byer was more like a passer-seller--you know the type: a person of transient status approaches you with the sale of goods. Goods which most likely were stolen or looted and now they are trying to liquidate them into cash so they can buy smack or slick or sluck or whatever it is they buy. Sometimes it's flashlights or radios or Chinese babies or whatever. This particular individual asked if I wanted to buy steak from him. Steak.
Steak.
He tried to sell me steak. Steak that came from Whole Foods. He pleaded that he purchased this steak with his food stamps and is willing to sell it for ten dollars. Is that what steak goes for? How do you meat eaters survive? I mean, no wonder why all you all aren't bitchin' about gas prices as much as I am cuz you're too busy bitching about steak prices. "Come on, buddy. It's grade A, New York Strip [steak]." "No thanks," I quickly and decidedly declined.
I could have said, "Sorry, I'm vegetarian," but that would have been something he would have expected so I just kept it simple. No. Well, the sales person leaves, I finish my delicacy and John and I make our way back to his place, where we play X-men on the PS2 until I cannot even pry my bloodshot, dried-out eyes open any longer. Time for bed. (Continued on next chapter.)
John lives in Hillcrest and the Zoo is in Balboa Park--not far, not far at all. We took a medium-paced stroll down University Avenue, then Park Boulevard to our destination of the world famous San Diego Zoo. We had a leisurely jont through the park, visiting the petting zoo, the pygmy marmosets and the wolf's monkey exhibit (Kurtis, Matt, Mark and Mike you know what I'm talking about). After dodging strollers and colliding with families no less than 5 strong, we headed to our next destination: The Psychic Fair. My friend Patti at work turned me onto this activity. So freakin' random. It was in like a community center and you pay ten bucks and get two free readings of your choice (permitting availability). First I had my astrology read; she was gooood. I had chills the whole time and everything she said was pretty dead on--she said I was a healer in a past life and I'm very creative and I'm in a relationship right now and I breathe out of my nostrils and I'm so good at blinking it comes almost naturally to me. Amazing. The tarot card lady was next and like "you'll meet a celebrity in 6-months time and you're about to make changes and some things will stay the same and voodoo blah blah"and I just wasn't having her. Lastly they also had free hand writing analysis. This lady pointed at, like a "t" and was like "you're a strong individual" and then would point at a "w" and would be all "you like salty foods" and lastly was like "you're signature is shitty and you push people away." what the hell kind of reading is that!? You're supposed to make me feel better about myself, gypsy whore. I bet her signature is a picture of her shooting up heroine. Bitch.
After the Psychic Fair we were headed back to John's house, but before returning to our destination I ordered a detour. Two words: Cold Stone. oooooh yes, I said it. I love Coldstone Creamery. It's like a vacation to Pleasure Town for my taste buds and oooh was it so well deserved. After all it was reward for walking far and wide. I ordered my ice cream treat (politely if I may add) and sat in front of the store, dining on this confection whilst basking in both the sun's rays and the envious glares of the passer-byers.
One such passer-byer was more like a passer-seller--you know the type: a person of transient status approaches you with the sale of goods. Goods which most likely were stolen or looted and now they are trying to liquidate them into cash so they can buy smack or slick or sluck or whatever it is they buy. Sometimes it's flashlights or radios or Chinese babies or whatever. This particular individual asked if I wanted to buy steak from him. Steak.
Steak.
He tried to sell me steak. Steak that came from Whole Foods. He pleaded that he purchased this steak with his food stamps and is willing to sell it for ten dollars. Is that what steak goes for? How do you meat eaters survive? I mean, no wonder why all you all aren't bitchin' about gas prices as much as I am cuz you're too busy bitching about steak prices. "Come on, buddy. It's grade A, New York Strip [steak]." "No thanks," I quickly and decidedly declined.
I could have said, "Sorry, I'm vegetarian," but that would have been something he would have expected so I just kept it simple. No. Well, the sales person leaves, I finish my delicacy and John and I make our way back to his place, where we play X-men on the PS2 until I cannot even pry my bloodshot, dried-out eyes open any longer. Time for bed. (Continued on next chapter.)
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Weekend Number 10
This weekend was for sure a blast. For sure. I've got to say that moving to San Diego was a blessing, and the climate alone has really made me enjoy life a little more. Saturday was a busy day. Saturday wasn't much, however I did see "300" and let me just say this, it was bad ass. For sure. It was such a manly, epic, visually flawless, beautiful, strong and just a kick-butt, drag-out, bad-ass awesome movie. You have to go see it in the theatres. For sure.
Sunday aka daylight savings was the highlight. I think it was the warmest day San Diego has had all year, and if not the warmest, definitely the warmest I've been able to enjoy. I met up with a smattering of close friends for brunch. We went to Dmood. For you non-SDers, Dmood is a Persian restaurant serving breakfast, lunch and dinner and has great decor, lounge music, very cheap cocktails (comparatively), a tasty array of food and is still "undiscovered" by the other brunch-goers and therefore very low traffice still. At one point we were the only party in the restaurant. It was fantastic. Fore sure. I will say that I've heard from people--as was Sunday--the service is inconsistent. Sometimes good and sometimes bad. Either way it was a smashing brunch full of conversation and merriment. And Marys (mom, that's a gay term used for "gay guy," like "Hey, Mary...")
Anyway, that was just the beginning; apres brunch we went to my friend Vince's condo at the El Cortez to lounge by the pool in the smoldering winter sun. What a wonderful idea. For sure. The El Cortez used to be a hotel and since has renovated and converted to a condominium building. Anyway, back to the day at hand: we made vodka-lemonade-something-or-others and just had a pleasant time. The story doesn't stop there; several of Vince's fellow condo tenants showed up around the same time as we did, and we all got to talking and laughing and conversing and lying poolside, simply soaking in the company as well as the rays for hours. Once the sun hid behind the neighboring buildings of downtown, we moved to one of the condo tenant's places, with access to a large patio area and a barbecue on-site. We drank more, barbecued (I had some vegetarian meat stuff) and spent the cooling evening with all these new friends. Nine o'clock rolls around and after the sun, food, and booze it's time to retire early. John and I go back to his house and just crash. What a wonderful weekend. For sure.
Weekend number 10, you will surely be remembered as the must unexpected weekend of them all.
Sunday aka daylight savings was the highlight. I think it was the warmest day San Diego has had all year, and if not the warmest, definitely the warmest I've been able to enjoy. I met up with a smattering of close friends for brunch. We went to Dmood. For you non-SDers, Dmood is a Persian restaurant serving breakfast, lunch and dinner and has great decor, lounge music, very cheap cocktails (comparatively), a tasty array of food and is still "undiscovered" by the other brunch-goers and therefore very low traffice still. At one point we were the only party in the restaurant. It was fantastic. Fore sure. I will say that I've heard from people--as was Sunday--the service is inconsistent. Sometimes good and sometimes bad. Either way it was a smashing brunch full of conversation and merriment. And Marys (mom, that's a gay term used for "gay guy," like "Hey, Mary...")
Anyway, that was just the beginning; apres brunch we went to my friend Vince's condo at the El Cortez to lounge by the pool in the smoldering winter sun. What a wonderful idea. For sure. The El Cortez used to be a hotel and since has renovated and converted to a condominium building. Anyway, back to the day at hand: we made vodka-lemonade-something-or-others and just had a pleasant time. The story doesn't stop there; several of Vince's fellow condo tenants showed up around the same time as we did, and we all got to talking and laughing and conversing and lying poolside, simply soaking in the company as well as the rays for hours. Once the sun hid behind the neighboring buildings of downtown, we moved to one of the condo tenant's places, with access to a large patio area and a barbecue on-site. We drank more, barbecued (I had some vegetarian meat stuff) and spent the cooling evening with all these new friends. Nine o'clock rolls around and after the sun, food, and booze it's time to retire early. John and I go back to his house and just crash. What a wonderful weekend. For sure.
Weekend number 10, you will surely be remembered as the must unexpected weekend of them all.
Thursday, March 1, 2007
Chocolate Ain't So Sweet
Firstly, Jessie don't worry--this posting isn't really about chocolate (she has a small obsession--and by small I mean she can't go a day without).
As most of you may know I have the LG Chocolate phone. It's sleek, it's modern, it's stylish. It's perfect for a sleek, modern, stylish man like myself, however... Chocolate ain't so sweet.
Firstly, let's talk about the sheer mechanics of the device; the "end call" button is NOT located on the front face of the phone with every other button ever since the history of telephones, rather, it is located on the side. The side of which a right hander's index finger will be on or where a left hander's thumb will be on. furthermore, it is a sensitive button. I've hung up on people tons of times. Tons. Sorry everybody.
Battery life. Or, battery half-life more like it. When one purchases the phone they give you two batteries--that should have been a red flag in hind-sight.
Next, I've never had so many problems with dropped calls. "System Is Busy," or "Connection Lost," or "Network is Unavailable," are all common excuses--excuses which my phone casually alerts me. Those should be the names of CDs, never error messages.
Grrr!! I feel like pulling a Donatella and just throwing my phone at somebody--like Catherine Zeta Jones. I've had a Nokia ever since day 1 of having phones and I sincerely miss the sweet, subtle and user-friendly ways of the Nokia. T-Mobile has been great to me, and again I've never EVER had an issue until this damn phoned marched it's way from the advertizers to my front, right pocket. Oh yeah, Chocolate doesn't have speaker phone either. Chocolate has circular, non-terminating menus. Chocolate is a sleek, modern, and stylish disaster. I'm bitter. I'm bitter from Chocolate.
As most of you may know I have the LG Chocolate phone. It's sleek, it's modern, it's stylish. It's perfect for a sleek, modern, stylish man like myself, however... Chocolate ain't so sweet.
Firstly, let's talk about the sheer mechanics of the device; the "end call" button is NOT located on the front face of the phone with every other button ever since the history of telephones, rather, it is located on the side. The side of which a right hander's index finger will be on or where a left hander's thumb will be on. furthermore, it is a sensitive button. I've hung up on people tons of times. Tons. Sorry everybody.
Battery life. Or, battery half-life more like it. When one purchases the phone they give you two batteries--that should have been a red flag in hind-sight.
Next, I've never had so many problems with dropped calls. "System Is Busy," or "Connection Lost," or "Network is Unavailable," are all common excuses--excuses which my phone casually alerts me. Those should be the names of CDs, never error messages.
Grrr!! I feel like pulling a Donatella and just throwing my phone at somebody--like Catherine Zeta Jones. I've had a Nokia ever since day 1 of having phones and I sincerely miss the sweet, subtle and user-friendly ways of the Nokia. T-Mobile has been great to me, and again I've never EVER had an issue until this damn phoned marched it's way from the advertizers to my front, right pocket. Oh yeah, Chocolate doesn't have speaker phone either. Chocolate has circular, non-terminating menus. Chocolate is a sleek, modern, and stylish disaster. I'm bitter. I'm bitter from Chocolate.
Off With Their Heads!
Today was a day that shook the walls of my office; today three people were laid off. That may not be a big deal to all of you, my faithful readers, but to me that's 3 less familiar faces I have at work every day. I loved these people professionally and personally and only wish good things for them.
One was an accountant: she has been with the company for 9 years or something like that, has a 1 year old (or 2--same thing), and really is sweet. But I saw that coming; they are "centralizing" our accounting so it all comes from one office. She was to be expected.
Another blind-sided me: she was a sales person and just finished a $1 million (or 2--same thing) program and then, comes back to the office with a pink slip on her chair. That sucks!
The third was completely out of the blue: she was a sales assistant to our VP of West Coast Sales. She didn't deserve it at all--she's talented, she's energetic, NEVER complained a bit about anything, loves the industry (well, okay likes) and is just a great, great person. She should have never been cut.
So get this though--One quit yesterday and another is in the process of quitting and yet another had her last day last Friday. Add my GM who resigned in January that's 7 people out the door in 60-days. Holy (insert garage word here)!!
Why so shaken, Stevie-hates-bacon? If anyone else is going to get canned next--it's me. No, no, don't say it "You could lose your job at any time. You could get in a car crash or wake up in a coma (which actually that's like saying 'you'd fall asleep alert')." Whatever, anyway, if there is any more fat to be cut from the money pig, it would be me. I was close to the bottom of the pole and now I AM the bottom of the pole. I'm not going to let it get to me though. There's plenty of fish in the barrel to shoot (is what it seems like, okay). It's fine. I'm fine...
But lord knows I'm gonna start lookin'--just in case. I'd rather have an ace up my sleeve than leave the table with no chips. You got it? Damn right you do. Signing out and sorry again it took me so long to get another post up. Bite.
One was an accountant: she has been with the company for 9 years or something like that, has a 1 year old (or 2--same thing), and really is sweet. But I saw that coming; they are "centralizing" our accounting so it all comes from one office. She was to be expected.
Another blind-sided me: she was a sales person and just finished a $1 million (or 2--same thing) program and then, comes back to the office with a pink slip on her chair. That sucks!
The third was completely out of the blue: she was a sales assistant to our VP of West Coast Sales. She didn't deserve it at all--she's talented, she's energetic, NEVER complained a bit about anything, loves the industry (well, okay likes) and is just a great, great person. She should have never been cut.
So get this though--One quit yesterday and another is in the process of quitting and yet another had her last day last Friday. Add my GM who resigned in January that's 7 people out the door in 60-days. Holy (insert garage word here)!!
Why so shaken, Stevie-hates-bacon? If anyone else is going to get canned next--it's me. No, no, don't say it "You could lose your job at any time. You could get in a car crash or wake up in a coma (which actually that's like saying 'you'd fall asleep alert')." Whatever, anyway, if there is any more fat to be cut from the money pig, it would be me. I was close to the bottom of the pole and now I AM the bottom of the pole. I'm not going to let it get to me though. There's plenty of fish in the barrel to shoot (is what it seems like, okay). It's fine. I'm fine...
But lord knows I'm gonna start lookin'--just in case. I'd rather have an ace up my sleeve than leave the table with no chips. You got it? Damn right you do. Signing out and sorry again it took me so long to get another post up. Bite.
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