Special Sauce

A mish-mash of twisted thoughts from a fevered ego. Updated when the spirit moves me, contents vary and may have settled during shipping. Do not open towards eyes. Caution: Ingestion of Special Sauce may cause hair loss, halitosis, and a burning sensation while urinating.


Can I get a side order of boiling lye with that?

So, here's how I spent my day today. And by day, I mean the portion of Wednesday where I wasn't huddled under a blanket thinking sweet thoughts about hot sand between my toes, warm stone massages, and roaring fires. Yes, the part of Wednesday where I was actually getting work done. (Which lasted till 2:00 when hypothermia and nausea won out.)

Where was I? Oh yeah. I spent today being a spammer.

Yeah. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Actually, a warm and fuzzy feeling would have been welcome. No, I spent my morning looking up names of local city council members, county comissioners, random media contacts, school superintendents and other people tangentially known by my employer, and sending them a heartstrings-tugging email trying to induce them to visit our website.

It wouldn't be bad if it was coming from my boss's email box, she could get the eyerolls and the "for the love of god, don't send me any more emails" emails. As it is, I've sent this thing to nearly 300 people. And I'll get to clog their inboxes every week! Hoooooorah!

Well, maybe not this week, if I don't get a message to send out.
I still feel dirty. Pass the boiling lye.

Warning- very non pc verbiage ahead.

Would it be terribly wrong to just send people the link to our website, accompanied by the following text? "Look. We want to help crippled folks, old people and maybe even puppies too. If you don't want to help, you're a heartless bastard, and you deserve whatever you get. Visit the site, or risk being smited. Have a nice day." It would be a lot less manipulative than the crap I'm using.

This is probably why I'd never make it in advertising.

Funny Extra Crazy Former Bosslady Stories.

G. Monkey called our former benevolent dictator yesterday, to discuss the cover for the next issue of the literary journal (she ever-so-foolishly volunteered to assemble). And G. didn't specify exactly what part of the conversation this entailed, but I'd like to think it came immediately after "hello".

"I don't know you."

pause. Insert visual of G. Monkey going- "bitch Craaaazy!" in her mind)

"But I wish I did."

I can imagine a lot of eyerolling, and G. Monkey trying her damndest not to say "You worked in the office with me for four years! Four of my most productive career years! By myself! In the office with you! You could have taken that opportunity to 'get to know me' then! And paid me! Psycho!"

I really wish I could have heard this conversation, or the one where Former Benevolent Dictator called a museum in Brussels. At closing time. And kept them on the phone for 25 minutes trying to get a picture of a painting. Did I mention she called Brussels? And the museum staff didn't speak English? Because they were in Brussels? And FBD thought that if she used English words with a French Accent they would magically understand what she meant? Yeah. And G. Monkey's sitting in the conference room all "call them back tomorrow." "Yo, get someone to translate what you want, and call them back tomorrow." CALL THEM BACK TOMORROW WHEN YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'RE SAYING! Hee.

In more gloating news (because I can, damnit) The Little Nonprofit That Could (drive you out of your ever-lovin' mind) is supposed to move into Hell's Half Acre sometime within the next two weeks, and every time I drive by it (it's on a main thoroughfare downtown, it's not like I'm stalking) there's NOTHING happening. No construction. No painting. No sign out front. Nothing. I'm betting the color scheme drove the workmen out of their minds. (Seriously, aqua, mint, and beige in a former school built in 1820? Who does that? I mean, other than FBD, who is a loon.)
I can only hope that one of the following things happened:

1. The evil demons that live in the basement (dude, there were freaky bloody spots on the walls that not even killz would cover up) have wrought havoc on the workers and their equipment.
2. The paint caused retinal damage a work stoppage (because seriously- you're going to take the advice of the person who's doing your linens- which will be on display rarely, over the people who will actually work in the house, and know something about historic palettes?)
3. (and the most likely scenario coupled with 4) The crews have discovered that FBD is craaaaaaaaaaaaazy, and refuse to work for her.
4. The skeevy, overpriced general contractor she hired is being a slimebag, and making sure things take twice as long as contracted, so he can make even more money.

Ah. Tis the season to gloat over other people's misery.

This is probably why I get coal in my stocking, and am generally labeled as unpleasant, and not fun to be around.



Blogger Memphis Word Nerd said...

Rah! Rah! Rah! (I'm being your cheerleader)

Thanks for another early morning snark-fest. Is it just me or is it a LITTLE bit pitiful that I feel vindictive toward your previous boss and I don't even know her (or, for that matter, you)? Sigh...

10:33 AM  
Blogger Special Sauce said...

Nah, it's not pitiful. She really is one of the most bizarre people I know. Sometimes I feel sorry for her, because she very clearly needs medication, or a good therapist, or perhaps both. (Honestly, FBD is not exaggered much, if at all. She really does have mental health issues that she chooses to ignore.) Then, the spiteful side of me kicks in, and I kind of figure she gets what she gets, because there's no way someone could be that completely out of touch with reality, and still function.


Rah! Rah!

3:05 PM  

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