The Way Things Are






Me and my peeps
2004-04-09, 7:49 p.m.


In spite of the feeling I get that I am completely fucking things up, I can also swoop in the save them! Or at least, I’m brilliant when it comes to finding somebody else to swoop in, and they get to feel like heroes taking advantage of an opportunity! Woo!

So, two major crises snatched from the jaws of defeat in one blow. I said snatch and blow in one sentence, didn’t I? Such is my world – these things abound. Although I do still do doubt my effectivity here, at least I have some comfort in that I can save 1 or 2 out of 20 desperate deals. Or that I had brains enough to hook up with the folks equipped to save it all for me. So now the folks bailing out of the deal are happy and relieved and frankly impressed with how smart a woman can be (who knew?), and the folks swooping in are surprised at their great fortune in stumbling into the deal of the century. I think it keeps getting better and better for them, the more they learn about it. They are highly motivated to make this work on several levels, not least important of which is the white-hot burning desire to one-up their arch-nemesis.

I had a rather greasy, slimy meeting yesterday, with folks that I don’t really care to do business with. They have conflict-of-interest written into the molecules comprising their dna, and they attempted the well-known tactic of “try to make the little nonprofit girl feel stupid and unworthy, and we’ll swoop in for the kill.” I was closed in a small, windowless room with two people sitting and two standing, all very close to me, peppering me with off-hand and random questions, designed to fluster and rattle me. It worked for a bit – about 10 minutes into the drive home, I realized that I had been manipulated again, and starting thinking of my own solutions to problems, not taking what was force-fed to me by a smooth criminal.

Have you ever done this? Where you’re taking leftovers from the bbq joint home, and you have the to-go box sitting on the front seat, and bean juice starts to leak out onto the stuff that lives there…papers, a cd, your purse? OK, so. You pick up the to-go box and set it on the floor, where it will sit still and not leak. Then you try to do as much damage control as possible, and seeing the bean juice leakage on the Sheryl Crow cd, you lick it off. Yes, you lick your Sheryl Crow cd, and it doesn’t taste all that good. Mmmmm, chemically.

But it doesn’t stop there, no. The next morning, on the way to work, you are listening to said cd, and about halfway through, it starts to skip. You wonder how freaking old that cd is, and pop it out of the cd player to investigate the scratchage and smudgage. And that’s when you notice that yesterday’s licking of the cd didn’t do the trick, and the source of the cd skippage is dried bean juice stuck to the bottom. No scratches, no smudges. Dried bean juice. And there’s a dribble of dried bean juice on the cloth seat of the car, and it looks like poop. Like somebody ate too much fruit and had a bit of liquid leakage escape along with the air. Never trust a fart, I sometimes say.

Is it workaholicky to really enjoy working holidays? And is it alcoholicky to really need a half a glass of red wine when you get home every single evening? Because I do both of these things. I get a little thrill of indulgence from them both.

We’ll be at my mom and dad’s for Easter. Going up Saturday morning, coming home Sunday after church and lunch. I have an Easter basket for Lil Guy, and it is filled with green paper grass (these are the Ghosts of Easter Past), and to fill it, I have a Jet Li video game, and much candy. I was hungry when I was shopping, and this may have contributed to the volume of candy I purchased.

So I’ll be globbling lil eggs of different varieties with varying degrees of chocolatey goodness. I don’t even really like chocolate. So I got some peeps, too.

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