The Way Things Are



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I wanna party with YOU
2005-05-13, 10:17 a.m.

LAST BEST SPAM

From Betty: “Now, it’s finally possible for you to enlarge your penis”

You know, Betty, if that’s your real name, and I suspect it isn’t…I appreciate the offer. I really do. Because up til now, all of the other methods of penile enlargement I’ve been offered and tried have fallen flat. Literally.

But now, I can see that it truly is finally possible for me to enlarge my penis. Thank GOD! Now I just have to figure out how I’m going to use the durn thing because my husband has made it very clear to me that he is exit-only. If I could master that yoga position that makes it possible to orally pleasure my own privates, I’ll be in business. I mean literally in business: I’ll take pictures with my camera phone and email them for a price.

Oh, God. I’ve sunk to a new low. On second thought, let’s no go there. Tis a silly place.

LET’S DIGRESS TO A BETTER PLACE, SHALL WE?

Well, my sweet little pets. My 10:00 deposition has been canceled, or as we in the legal bidness say (I’m from the law school of the streets, the law school of hard knock(er)s, the law school of the hapless bystander), I’ve been quashed. Which loosely translated, and you know I’m all about the loosely, means “Shut her up. We’ve changed our minds and don’t want to hear it after all.”

Oh, yeah, you got it right. The folks who just breathlessly HAD to videotape me hemming and hawing and trying to ‘splain stuff to do with easements and plats and access and deeds of trust that happened 4-5 years ago, have quashed me. I feel so dirty, so…used up and tossed aside, like a blown-out Kleenex.

SOB!!!

Where does that leave me now? Well, it leaves me better dressed than a Friday has seen in a long time. It leaves me well-versed in the various plats and corrections and title exceptions of a certain parcel of land in the Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex. It leaves me sleepy, as I got up super-early to prepare myself. And it leaves me unworked-out, since I skipped my workout in order to study.

ABRUPT TOPIC CHANGE

Y’all, did Tana just blow it last night, or what? Delicious crash and burn. And we all know what it was. It was the incessant bitching and insulting and snarky comments about her team members. I think she got a little too big for her Bedazzled britches, and I’m firmly in Kendra’s camp now. That girl did some bedazzling herself, but it was of people, not tacky t-shirts.

These special event tasks that folks get thrown into on The Apprentice give me great anxiety. It is too much like real life for me. I have been thrown into too many special events at the last minute with too little preparation, and there is no greater stress or panic. We do fundraiser special events here at work to raise money for our scholarship, and if I don’t get a good 2 or 3 months advance notice, I quash the deal.

Tana’s Olympic event was too big for a team of 3 or 4 people to pull together in 2 days. I grant her that. But if she had made her teammates fall in love with her all over again right from the beginning, she would have had a successful event, i.e. warm fuzzies at the end of the day. No matter how well her event turned out, she left a very sour taste in folks’ mouths with her snarkiness and condescension. I wouldn’t have wanted to work for her. She set up a very negative vibe for the job, and made the task unpleasant for everyone associated with it.

Listen to me, I sound like I was there or something.

I have been there. I worked for a promotions and special events firm for about a year when I was first out of college, and the owner of the firm was quite the unstable lunatic and procrastinator. I was her admin assistant, and found myself in a position of having to almost single-handedly run events. It was an office of 3 people: her – the owner, me – the admin, and her sister-in-law – the receptionist. I was paid $1000 a month cash because her checks bounced consistently.

Eeeenyway, let’s just say that I suffer from Post Traumatic Special Event Stress Disorder from the 1989 L*U*L*A*C National Convention. If you were there, yes, I was the 98-pounder getting chewed out by various Hispanic dignitaries because my boss was in her hotel room sobbing on the phone to her mother and making arrangements for her children because she was going to kill herself then and there. And I and one accomplice (and Mr. Surly – he was there and was pressed into service as a driver of said dignitaries to and from the airport) were left to take care of 2000+ angry convention-goers and a puzzled hotel staff.

If any L*U*L*A*Cers are unwittingly reading this, please…I am so sorry. So so sorry. I was there to make nametags and put the flag centerpieces on the tables, not run it.

I guess she sobered up because she didn’t off herself. We all lived. And to this day, I am a’skeered of special events, but I do ‘em anyway.

I will say this: at the end of the day, the success of a special event depends only partly on how much money or awareness was raised, how smoothly it ran, and how many people showed up. The most important thing is how many people come up to you and hug you and tell you what a good job you did, and that they can’t wait til next year. And if the huggers are your sponsors, baby, you are golden.

Bonus points if you can get the president of your board and your biggest sponsor to skinny-dip with you.

And just on a personal note, if you can get one of your sponsors (you know who you are, dude) to sleep with you, well – you’re in like Flynn.

What really impresses me about Kendra is that she pulled it off without resorting to public nudity or one-night stands. She used the ethical kind of warm fuzzy, if you know what I mean, and I think you do.

I’m so inspired, I’m going to work right now on an event we have coming up in August. See y’all Monday. Until then, I bestow upon you the highest form of praise from my high school days: I wanna party with YOU.

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