So Much for Professionalism

I haven't been spending time in the blogosphere lately because I've been working on advancing my career.*

I've been devoting almost all of my working hours (and then some) to a difficult project with asinine clients. The guy doing most of the work for the project (thereby working closely with me) pretty much keeps to himself. Mr. Chill speaks only when necessary. Gives looks that make people think their mere visage offends him. Wears his headphones so as to block out ambient noise and

Recently, several people in our department were rearranged, and I found myself in the cube directly across from Mr. Chill. Late last week, I felt like we had a much-needed communication breakthrough. He started actually speaking to me. Both about the project and about things unrelated to work. I was particularly pleased with the turnaround and looking forward to the benefits of our newfound working relationship.

Today, my work buddy Buddhist Catholic tapped the glass behind me and blew me a kiss. I turned in my chair just enough to blow a kiss back at her, which left me facing the aisle and Mr. Chill. Usually engrossed in his work and/or social networking, Mr. Chill took this opportunity to turn toward me as I was mid- kiss... lips puckered, hand in air... and facing Mr. Chill directly.

I tried to assure him that I wasn't blowing him kisses, but I felt the flush rising in my cheeks and saw my shame mirrored in his suddenly rosy face. Certain any further explanation on my part would only make things worse, I turned back to my work.

So, yeah... Pretty sure the newfound lines of communication with Mr. Chill are shut down as of now.

And Buddhist Catholic? After laughing hysterically at my retelling of the story, she's banned from blowing kisses my way.


* No, that's not an excuse, just the facts, people. I'm not silly enough to think anyone's out there wondering where I've been. It just happened to be a good lead-in for a little self-deprecation. And we all know how much I love some self-deprecation. Yep, all two of you. I see you, Ogden, Utah, and Higden, Arizona.

I was robbed by two men.

And... I am allergic to penicillin.

Hasta la vista, Baby.

Own It

"When I'm wrong, I say I'm wrong." - Jake Houseman, Dirty Dancing


Maybe watching Dirty Dancing as a kid enough times to memorize every line, facial expression, outfit, and set had a little more of effect on me than producing mass quantities of drool and daydreams of a wedding to Patrick Swayze.

I recently recalled Dr. Houseman's apology to Johnnie at the end of the movie and realized I'm one of the few souls in the working world who is willing to own my mistakes.


On the surface, it seems like a simple enough thing (admitting your mistakes, that is... not doing lifts). But finger-pointing and blame-laying and flat out denial of any wrongdoing seem to be standard operating procedure these days.

And even though I try to make it a practice to tell people when I know I'm wrong, it never seems to get any easier. I like to think it does make me much less likely to repeat the same missteps, though.

I recently had to suck it up and spit it out. (The apology, fools. Don't bring all that filthy thinking to this rare-form PG post.) It wasn't as bad as I'd thought it would be, really. It usually isn't.

All that said, the very same party to whom I admitted my wrong and issued an apology is now coming after me full force, finger pointed, blame ready for the laying.

He realized, rather late in a project, that he hadn't asked for something from my team. A relatively major something, which he's now trying to claim he insisted upon all along.

So what does he do? Moves in for the attack, of course. Wants someone, anyone (but most likely and conveniently me) to take the blame that should lie squarely on his shoulders.

Why? So he can save face? Undoubtedly. Avoid being reprimanded? Likely. Keep his job? Perhaps, but I really don't think the situation is that dire.

What we have now are two groups of people working together with major animosity festering and hostility growing.

What we could have if the dude had just owned the slip-up when it was discovered and worked with us toward a solution? A much more smoothly-sailing project.

Obviously, this guy didn't take his life lessons from Dirty Dancing. Maybe I should get him the DVD for Christmas.

Things I've done since that pathetic post about my cat

So I went and posted about my pet for the first time, then I abandoned all things blog and left pictures of my cat as the main damn thing on this here site for a solid month.

I'm not apologizing for my absence, 'cause, really, who cares? What I am going to do is pay penance for getting all cheesy and leaving a scandal-less post up for an inordinate amount of time to greet the masses (okay, trickles) on their visits here.

I now present to you...

Things I've Done Since that Pathetic Post about my Cat:

• Made 743,209 empty threats using the words kick and cut.
• Found the Random Pierced and Tattooed Bar Mate featured here.
  
• Went home with RPTBM. (See complete whiskey menu at Neighborhood Dive for reasoning.)
  
• Got hickey from RPTBM.
  
• Deleted RPTBM's number. (See item above for reasoning.)
  
• Got pissed that RPTBM never called me back. (See gender for reasoning.)
• Baked 756 cookies in 18 hours. (With the help of Roommate, of course.)
  
• Started hating the mere thought of cookies.
  
• Visited a 'Gentleman's Club' for the first time.
• Cried during sex. (Oh yeah, I'm now officially that girl.)
  
• Broke the fall of a drunken musician after a show.
  
• Went bat-shit crazy after sex. (Oh yeah, I'm now officially that girl, too. Wait... is it the same girl?)