I'm too keen on Joaquin for the Man In Black purist...

I've been a busy chick for the last several weeks. Been doing some more volunteer work, filling out mountains of paperwork for my Master's program (I start in the fall, and I'm already sick of the work involved...should be a helluva trip), putting in crazy extra hours at work, and, um, I went on a blind date. We'll explore this last item for the purposes of this post, m'k? Despite my aversion to being set up on blind dates, I succumbed to the pressure that a work friend (JF) has been placing on me and went out for drinks with her hubby's friend, a.k.a. "Johnny".

I insisted that the date be more of a "team" versus "singles" event, and made JF and her hubby accompany us. I decided that Kathy's Pub would offer me safety (my bartender boys are always looking out for me), as well as the easiest escape route should Johnny turn out to be a raving lunatic (twice bitten, thrice shy), so we met there. JF and I left work early on Blind Date Day and, shockingly, I was planning to drink diet sodas (mostly on account of not wanting to ruin my weight loss streak, partially because I get a little loose-lipped under the influence, and didn't want to, y'know, scare the poor fella). Johnny entered with JF's hubby and I regarded Johnny as a nice enough looking guy (JF knows well of my taste for pretty eyes/nice smile/decent build). First hurdle cleared. He introduced himself and opened the conversation with "so I hear you like music". Second hurdle cleared. We ran through my faves (and I observed his ever-so-slight grimace when I mentioned Motley Crue, so the red flag started to rise), but he seemed otherwise interested in actually hearing what I had to say. I volleyed the music question back, and he stated his fondness for the music of Johnny Cash. Since I've seen 'Walk The Line' somewhere around 7 times, I thought we might have broached a topic of mutual interest. I mentioned that I loved the movie and have listened to the soundtrack pretty much non-stop since it's release. This is where things got weird.
Johnny: "You do realize Johnny Cash is not singing on the soundtrack, don't you?"
Me: "Oh, yeah, I know it's Joaquin Phoenix. I just think he's amazing in his renditions of the songs. He's quite gifted."
Johnny (firmly): "Well, he's an actor. He's no Johnny Cash."
Me: "Um, ok. I just think it takes incredible talent to learn how to sing and play the guitar for a role like that. Knowing that the soundtrack was Joaquin Phoenix singing Johnny Cash songs was the reason I bought the CD."
Johnny: "So you're a fan of Joaquin Phoenix's music and not Johnny Cash's, then."
Me (red flag rising higher, not sure why I had to explain myself): "No, I mean, yes, I mean, uh, my parents were and are huge fans of Johnny Cash, so growing up, I listened to him and carried that appreciation into adulthood. I'm just saying that Joaquin Phoenix CAN sing and that he sang Johnny Cash songs well."
Johnny: "Hmph."
Me (Hmph? He's actually annoyed, I think): "Um, I feel like I've struck a nerve of some sort here."
(JF and her hubby are anxiously giggling at this point, likely desperate for a change in subject)
Johnny (eerily serious): "I don't think you're a fan of Johnny Cash at all. I think you bought into the whole Joaquin Phoenix Oscar-hyped performance, and HE'S who you actually like. I mean, really, how can someone who likes Motley Crue and Tesla possibly enjoy the music of a legend like Johnny Cash."
Me (deciding that this particular Johnny is a class A nut-job): "Well, what a strange conversation we've had here. I'm going to be leaving now."

I got up and walked back to the bathroom, and JF followed me in. I told her she was fired from her self-appointed matchmaker duty. She laughed and said she had no idea he was so weird, blah, blah, blah. She'll make it up to me, blah, blah, blah. I left, went home and hit the heavy bag for a half hour and felt much, much better. I'd sure like to know why the hell I'm such a freak magnet. I mean, it's not like I'm limiting myself to one particular type or class of guy. I've dated guys my age, older and younger than me, professionals and laborers, concretes and creatives, talls and shorts, handsomes and "interesting lookings", fits and chubbies, sobers and drunks...the only common demoninators I insist on in the men I date are wit, a love of music, intellect (and this I judge in varying degrees), nice eyes and a great smile. The bar is really not set that high, people. It must just be me. I'm too, uh, me, I guess. Obviously, my guard is up and I run for the hills at the first hint of crazy, so I've never really stuck around long enough to give a guy a chance at redemption once he's weirded me out. But I define "normal" pretty loosely, so maybe I just need to travel in different, or at a minimum, broader social circles. God knows the friends I've relied on thusfar to help me meet potential love-interests have not produced the goods. I need to either rely on myself (where's that laughter coming from?) or move the search to a new city. Say Kiddo? Any chance that you have a spare room I can occupy on weekends?

Tagged again

Potusol tagged me (and I'm glad you did...I've been 'blog topic vacant' lately), so here are 6 weird things/habits people may not know about me...

1. Cherry-flavored anything makes me gag. I trace this back to childhood when I had a terrible sore throat and my mother sprayed the horror known as Cherry Chloroseptic in my mouth. I puked for hours afterward.
2. I smoke, and hate the smell of it on me and others at work, but not in a bar. I will wash my hands obsessively, deliberately stand outside for an extra 10 minutes to 'air out' and drench myself in perfume after having a cigarette at work. And I wrinkle my nose and walk away if I smell it on others at work. In a bar, I crave the smell. I am seriously bipolar on this one.
3. I change my pillowcases everyday and pretty much have to be drunk to sleep on anyone else's pillows. I am phobic about drool, nasal expenditures, and face/hair grease, yet, I have been known to pass out on bathroom floors...it's inexplicable.
4. I am a hair band junkie, and publicly express my distaste for country music, but I secretly love Johnny Cash, Buck Owens and Dwight Yoakam. I crank up their greatest hits CDs (Folsom Prison Blues, Act Naturally and Fast As You render me unable to suppress the urge to dance) every weekend when I'm doing my housecleaning. They are the shiz-it.
5. I'm very, very scared of horses and snakes. Was thrown from a horse when I was 11 and the entire left side of my body was skinned raw. Held a boa constrictor at a children's zoo when I was 8 and it squeezed my arm to the point of turning it purple. If I go near either of these creatures again, I'm certain my death will ensue.
6. I don't accept compliments well, but I offer them freely. Another thing I blame on my Catholic upbringing...I call it the "You're ok, I'm not worthy" syndrome. The nuns used to do 'humility' exercises with us...they'd give us a compliment like "you have a nice smile" and we weren't allowed to indicate any form of response. We had to just bow our heads. These are the same nuns that turned me from left-handed to right-handed with swift smacks of 'the paddle'. It's a wonder that I have any sense of self-worth to this day.

There it is. My innermost weirdness exposed for all the world to see (well, all 4 people who read my blog, that is). Speaking of which, everyone else I know has already been tagged except Ang, and Boywonder so they're it. And I'm not sure whatever became of Boywonder, so have at it Ang!

It started out innocently enough...

Remember when you were a kid and you used to sit-slide down a flight of carpeted stairs on your ass? Anyway, that's what I did last weekend at a party. Oh, and it was captured on film and shared with my department heads. Did they cringe in horror at the sight of one of their managers with her pants-legs hiked up to her knees and a home-made wine drunken smirk on her face? Hell no. They chose her to lead a newly formed group charged with improving employee morale. "Yours is just the type of personality we need to rev up the staff". So, I get to plan a party, complete with fun games and events, to try to make employees like their jobs better. Of course there were ground rules handed out.

• If the party takes place at a non-work facility, we can have booze, but the organization won't foot the bill.
• If we do have booze, we need to make arrangements for designated drivers, cabs or hotel accomodations for those employees who appear to "overindulge".
• If employees do overindulge, we can't take pictures of them. We can only photograph sober employees who appear to be having a good time because the pictures will be posted in a department newsletter.
• Spouses and partners must be invited and we need to keep an eye out for "inappropriate mingling", whatever the hell that means.
• We can't force employees to participate in the fun games and events or engage them in any activity that would make them feel in any way uncomfortable.
• If we choose to serve food, the organization won't foot the bill.
• If we choose to serve food, we must ensure that the selections are representative of employees who have special dietary needs (low-fat, low-carb, vegetarian, and sugar-free options must be made available).
• Business casual attire must be adhered to. No jeans, no sneakers, no mini-skirts, no bare midriffs, no open-toed shoes or sandals, no sweat pants, no t-shirts, etc.
• Vulgar language will not be tolerated. The first time vulgarities are overheard by management personnel in attendance, the cussers will be politely reminded to "check their language". If vulgarities are overheard by management personnel a second time, the cussers will be politely asked to leave.
• Management personnel are required to attend.
• Management personnel are not permitted to drink alcohol "to excess", whatever the hell that means.
• If management personnel are photographed, they must be smiling, interacting with employees and appear to be enjoying themselves.

So much for my 'Manager-Employee Keg-Stands & Body Shots', 'Naked Random Strangers in a Laundry Basket Tilt-A-Whirl' and 'Who Dropped the F-Bomb?' game ideas, I guess. The new plan involves the managers sporting nun habits and preist collars, handing out bottled water at the entrance to one of our on-site meeting rooms, and escorting the employees to their seats for a viewing of the PBS concert special Josh Groban: Rising Star. Then I'm going to go puke.

Reality check

Ok, I'm back on the American Idol kick again. I must say, the programming Gods are smiling upon me because the Wednesday night offering allows me to still watch Project Runway (I'm perturbed that Nick was cut, but I'm coping...Daniel V. is my pick to win it now). Digression aside, American Idol has some damned fine talent this year. I was prepped for all-out boycotting the year Fantasia won (I was a LaToya London fan), and my heart still hurts from Bo Bice's loss, but now I'm trying to place my bet on who will take the prize this year. Faves so far: sweet little angel-voiced Lisa Tucker, really fucking good Katherine McPhee, oh-so-dreamy Ace Young, and my rocker pick, Chris Daughtry. One of those 4 needs to win it, or that's it, I'll be done with that damn show for good. And someone please explain to me how the Jay Leno/George Clooney love- child-doppleganger Taylor Hicks made it to the top 24? Yeek.

Clark W. Griswold is my Dad

Right now, the temperature is approaching 12 below zero (30 below with wind chill), and just walking the 2 blocks from my office to the commuter bus caused my contact lenses to freeze to my eyeballs. I'm not kidding. The heat inside the bus thawed them and my vision was blurred for the entire ride home, so I couldn't read the new Stephen King book I just purchased. I peeled the damn lenses off my eyeballs when I got home (a brand new pair of lenses, BTW) and saw that they were sort of crimped all the way around the perimeters. My eyes hurt like hell and the re-hydrating drops I put in simply made them burn...and now I fear blindness.

Anyway, I was so consumed with this that I failed to notice that my Dad had stopped by today to install hand-railing on the walls leading up and down my stairs. He's retired and likes to feel useful, so he often drops by unnanounced to see if I need any help with yard work, or other miscellaneous home repair tasks. I have a pretty firm rule that my Dad is not allowed to perform home improvement projects of any kind in my house, on account of his severe lack of attention to detail and his maladroit handling of tools (cases in point: he once dropped a full, opened can of paint on the carpeted floor of my entryway and fell off a ladder trying to catch it, and gouged the side of my house with a chainsaw in his attempt to cut down a tree). So when I noticed the railings, I instantly began scanning the floor and walls for evidence of the inevitable mistakes that he undoubtedly tried to hide. I spotted a small pile of plaster residue on the floor and followed it upward to discover mis-judged screw holes and paint-bare drywall surrounding the hardware supports affixed to the wall. Jesus. Then I looked up and saw an empty section of wall where a shelf with a ceramic vase used to be. I continued to seek out the shelf, then noticed it on my dining room table. The shelf was in 3 pieces, but salvageable, and next to it was the shattered ceramic vase. On one of the broken vase shards was a post-it note stating "Put the railings up and bumped into the damn shelf on your wall. It and the shit on it broke. P.S. I took your Saw II DVD".

I fixed the shelf, tossed the vase shards into the garbage and popped the cork on a bottle of chianti. Here I sit, close to polishing off my third glass, mildly angry. I haven't watched the Saw II DVD yet (that was actually my plan for the evening), and I'm pretty confident that when he returns it, it will be scratched or some other form of unviewable. I suppose this could all be his version of retribution for my teenage rebellious behavior, and that's fine. He forgets that I have established strong rapport with physicians who can order incredibly invasive tests and sign committment papers...

You don't send me flowers; don't you DARE send me flowers...oh, you DIDN'T send me flowers?

I've not dated since the whirlwind known as Nikki, so imagine my surprise when 2 dozen roses found their way into my office today. At first, I figured it was a nice gesture from my parents or my son or well-meaning friends, so I was touched...until I saw the card. "Thinking of you on our special day! Love, You Know Who" it read. It might as well have been blank and impaled with a bloody knife, as that's the reaction it produced. I was consumed with dread and instantly fired off an e-mail to Nikki, thanking him, but begging for an explanation. I tapped my fingers on the keyboard, patiently awaited his reply & planned the perfect wording of my accusation of his mind-fuckery. His reply came an ENDLESS 15 minutes later in one short statement, "I have no idea what you are talking about". So I called him. He seemed sincere enough in his denial, but then got this weird inquisitive tone in his voice and claimed intrigue, so I just quickly apologized, handed him some lame excuse that I had to head off to a meeting and hung up. I sat in my office and stewed about it for another 20 minutes when in walked my secretary.
Her: "Oh, hi! Aren't those beautiful? The florist just delivered them".
Me: "Yeah, I have no clue who they're from".
Her: "Oh...ah, um, oh boy".
Me: "Oh, ah, um, oh boy what?".
Her: "Well, oh, this is awkward. They aren't yours".
Me: "Oh-kaaay, so why are they in my office on my desk?".
Her: "Oh, I was on my way to the bathroom when the florist came in and I just told him to put them in here".
Me: "You told the florist to just waltz into my office and set a bouquet of roses that don't belong to me on my desk? Nice, very nice".
Her: "Well, yeah. You weren't in here and they are a surprise for S in honor of her Valentine's Day wedding anniversary...they're from her husband, and he wanted to stash them somewhere until he's able to come up here and deliver them to her in person!".
Me: "You are evil".
Her: "Oh, boy. You're sad, aren't you? You really wanted them to be yours, didn't you?".
Me: "No, not sad...quite the contrary, really. Relief is actually a better word for how I feel right now...closely followed by humiliation at the fact that I just accused my ex-boyfriend of sending them to me".
Her: "Shut up! You so did not!".
Me: "No, you shut up! I SO DID!"
Her: "Oh that is funny!".
Me: "Yep, that it is! He's probably getting a heck of a chuckle out of it as we speak. You may leave now".

She exited, still laughing, and unbeknownst to me until later, she proceeded to tell the rest of the office, including all of my employees, about my assumption. I found out because when I returned from a meeting this afternoon, there was a 'Greenhouse' sign on my door, and everyone who DID receive flowers today had placed them in my office. 14 vases of roses, carnations and other assorted bouquets were on my desk, file cabinets, table, and chairs. I really never realized how much flowers reek until today..my GAWD, did it stink in there. I decided to do the noble thing and e-mailed an apology/guess-what-they-did-to-me explanation to Nikki, to which he replied, "AH, HAH, HAH, HAH, HAH, HAH, HAH, HAW, HAW, HAW, HAW!!!!! HOO!".

Bastards...all of them...

Civil War

Jesus Christ, I'm finally back on Minnesota soil! I don't often blog about it, but my job has become a shit-storm and I am utterly caked with feces. And I need to cleanse, people. Someone, somewhere in my organization decided that finance managers across the enterprise needed to unite (like the Wonder-Twins or those Captain Planet kids), so I've been a traveling fool for the past way too many weeks. I have had reprieves at home on a couple of weekends, and probably should have blogged, but I've seriously been too tired to do anything but sleep and laundry before having to pack again. The worst of it is, I don't know these freaks from the other parts of the enterprise, they don't know me, and they don't like me or any of my "northern" colleagues because we're bigger, we have more resources at our disposal, and they think we're going to try to centralize their billing functions up here in the Ice Belt. So, I went into this ridiculous social experiment knowing full well it was going to be a train wreck. And if there's one thing I am averse to, it's trying to play nice with people who have no intention of playing nice in return.

Trip #1 was dubbed "The Ice-Breaking Retreat"...seriously. And in keeping with this theme, me and 2 fellow Finance slaves were sent to the not-so-windy, but really fucking cold, city(ies) of Champaign-Urbana, Illinois to meet 3 of our counterparts from each of our southern enterprise locations. The one and only good thing about this was the University of Illinois campus (and bars) being within staggering distance of our hotel. The 2 colleagues I was traveling with took our little olive-branch extending tour just a bit too literally. Our goal was simply to do a meet & greet with the Southerners, tour the local medical center (to make it appear to be an actual business trip), have a dinner together, and write up our "impressions" of each other. My colleagues thought it would be nice to bring gift baskets with Minnesota-based company products (complete with a box of Malt-O-Meal, Shakers vodka, Land O' Lakes butter & cheese, some syrup, some soap, Pig's Eye beer, and fishing tackle), and we all had to wear Twins, Timberwolves or Vikings jerseys. Aww. Cute. We arrived at the hotel, checked in and waited in the lobby for 45 minutes when the Southern gals finally arrived...being all blonde and tan, and wearing shorts. First thought: 'Splendid, they're morons'. I had already scoped out the bar scene, and had my eye on the Canopy Club, so I suggested that we go have a few drinks to loosen up. My fellow Northerners wanted to do the gift-basket peace offering first, so there we were in the lobby of the Hampton Inn in our stupid sports jerseys, with our fake smiles, saying "Hi! How was your trip? I'm blah, blah. So nice to finally meet you". The Southerners fake-reciprocated our greetings and were so grateful to receive the bounty of MN goodies, that they carried the baskets between their their thumbs & forefingers like dirty diapers up to their rooms. We then went to the Canopy Club, where a very cool band was playing, and after about 2 hours of sitting around, talking to each other, but not to us, the Southerners wanted to go back to the hotel because they had headaches and were tired. One of my colleagues offered to walk back with them, and they snorted, "We're big girls from big cities. We can find our way back". The next day, we went to the medical center and didn't see hide nor hair of the Southerners. Trip #1 impression: What a bunch of bitches.

Trip #2 was entitled "Warm-Up", and we were sent to Miami for 3 days. This time, our bosses were in tow. I was happy to be in Nip/Tuck country (LOTS of very pretty people in Miami), and I love the ocean, so it was a tolerable experience. We stayed at the Hyatt Regency in downtown Miami...very nice...and had an "itinerary" that had us going shopping together, going to a Cuban night club together, having dinner together, and going on a little Gilligan's Island-esque sightseeing boat cruise around the Port of Miami and Miami Beach....again, together. We did not shed these bitches for 3 days! It was a very strained, very tense, very passive-aggressive experience, because now, not only did the managers from each enterprise abhor each other, our bosses jumped in the hate pool with us. We spent 3 days attached-at-the-hip to each other, and we knew less about the Southerners when we left than we did when we came. Trip #2 impression: Still a bunch of bitches, and my boss sunburns and gets sea-sick easily. Oh, and Mojitos are really tasty drinks.

Trip #3 was called "Culmination". Of what, I have no idea. This special event was held in the great state of South Dakota. This time our bosses AND their bosses came along. The bosses' bosses are accountants by education, have somehow ascended the leadership ladder (likely as a result of their collective ability to count things other than beans), and they decided that we had spent entirely too much money on trip expenses thusfar. So we got to "slum it" and spent the damn 3-day revival in a Ramkota Best Western in Pierre. There was absolutely nothing to do in Pierre, except a casino, but I don't gamble, so I found me some dive bars and was hammered/hung-over most of those 3 days. One of the Southern bitches finally decided that I was approachable, so she drank and hung out with me. At one point, I recall telling her that her colleagues were stand-offish and she replied, "we were told to be because our leadership wants nothing to do with this resource-sharing/expense reduction initiative". Swell. I despise political bullshit and mentally checked out of the whole shitting ordeal after that. Trip #3 impression: you CAN drink way too much in the presence of your co-workers & superiors and still be smarter than them.

The next gathering of fools is slated for the Phoenix conference in late April. The bosses and their bosses are going again, and me and my colleagues are not (sorry AZ guys...will have to plan a recreational trip sometime). Seems that the grand pooh-bahs have all decided that they need to get on the same page first (geniuses), before throwing all of us into the teamwork snake pit. Quite frankly, I'm just fine with that. I'm tired of taking these trips and coming home to an exhaustive list of fires to extinguish, e-mails to follow-up on, pissed off employees who regard these trips as 'management vacations' to explain myself to, etc. This entire experience has left me incredibly jaded about my job and the overall direction my department is going. However, the upside to this was that I decided front-line management bites and that I want a better job, so I applied to a Master's degree program. I plan to start in the fall, and get to check off another item on the 2006 resolution list. That makes me 5 for 9 on the 'I'm doing what I actually committed to doing' scale. Cue Samantha Jones shouting, "Everybody drink!"