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9:25 a.m. - 2005-11-30
Mashed Potatoes and Valium
When I made the plane reservations to go to my father’s house for Thanksgiving, there was nothing pressing happening at work. My boss gave me some minor shit about leaving early (the choices were either leave at 1:20 or at 6:30, and the 6:30 flight didn’t arrive until almost 2 in the morning), and he said that the reason he was concerned was that the day before a holiday is usually crazy.

My experiences, to date, have been the opposite. No one does a fucking thing, and it’s social hour until management decides, finally, that everyone can bail. My current boss is a workaholic and a little bit of a doomsayer, so I figured that he was just talking out his ass.

Oh, karma, you evil whore.

Last week was a nightmare.

Monday: Another of the morons I work with was finally fired. This had been in the works for quite some time. The plan was for our receptionist to become a secretary, and to hire a new receptionist. In the meantime, Drama Queen (the other paralegal, hereinafter “DQ”) had to be gone for two weeks to have surgery, so she recruited a friend to temp for her. Well, during the two weeks, said temp managed to talk her way into a permanent paralegal job, which secretary. Dammit. However, at the meeting where we discussed the changes (which lasted until 6 fucking 30 thankyouverymuch), it seemed like our Temp-to-Perm (hereinafter “TP”) was trying to be in charge.

Uh-UH with your ‘ness*. Bitch don’t need to be waltzing in here acting like she owns the place. Granted, she is very experienced, but it is not like I walked out of junior college last week.

(*This is an expression BFRB and I coined one evening, when some bitch cut her off and then proceeded to drive obscenely slow. It conveys a feeling of frustration with someone’s inappropriate attitude, behavior, etc. After she said this , we laughed for an hour about how we spend entirely too much time together, and that we pity the fool who tries to understand any of our abbreviated expressions.)

However, I consoled myself with the knowledge that DQ would definitely have some shit to say about this when she got back.

Tuesday: In the meantime, we’ve had some depositions set in one of our cases. I knew I was responsible for ensuring the appearance of four witnesses. I asked the paralegal for the attorney who wanted to TAKE the depositions if she planned to get the other ones set up...they weren’t really “our people.” She indicated that she wasn’t sure, but she would call me.

The depositions were set for Monday and Tuesday following Thanksgiving. She calls me at 4:30 on the day before we’re leaving for the holiday to inform me that my boss told her boss that WE WERE GOING TO PRODUCE THESE PEOPLE.

Fuck fuckity fuck fuck. This means I have to find the phone numbers and talk some people into showing up, all in the three hours I will be in the office before I have to catch a plane, on a day when NO ONE is actually working.

This is in addition to the other minor crises involving an expert, an uncooperative client, and various deadlines. I was in the office until 6, then went home, finished packing, watched The Biggest Loser, and went over to GID’s. No, not for a last minute booty call. He wanted me to help him COOK.

I am not lying. I can make some kick-ass lasagna. It’s my one cooking trick. I made it once for him, because he usually cooks, and I thought I’d be nice. He had to take it to a food day at work, so he begged my help. I tried to tell his ass that most of it came out of a jar, but to no avail. After I left his house, I had to run by the Evil Empire to grab a few last-minute items for my trip. Almost two hours later, after walking all over the store looking for a few items that did not seem to exist in the Small-Fart universe, I get home. I pack my carry-on bag. I attempt to sleep. I finally fall into bed, exhausted, at 2:30. I get up at 6:00 to ensure that I have time to take out the trash, clean the cat box, feed the cats, and haul my luggage downstairs before work.

Wednesday: I get to work and get on the phone. I manage to get in touch with most of the people I need to talk to, and then call the lawyer actually taking the depositions to inform him of the new schedule. Amidst all this, TP comes in my office and starts talking about how she needs my feedback, blah blah blah, making office procedures, yada yada. I pretty much bust out with the fact that I do not plan to be anyone’s red-headed stepchild in this whole mess, and that Office Procedure Meeting Surprise is not my favorite dish. She ASSURES me that I am a vital part of this whole transition.

Whatever. More on this situation will follow.

After a great deal of running around, I leave the office at 11:45, go to the airport, and catch a sardine-crowded plane, which fortunately was on time. Arrive Seattle. Commence Thanksgiving with the family.

At this point, I shall interject that my dad and stepmother’s relationship is rather...fucked. She doesn’t work. My dad pays for her to have horses, and she pretty much does whatever she wants. However, my dad thinks that she spends too much time on their (dial-up) he will not pay for broadband.

Okay. He’ll spend thousands on the horses and a truck and all the other shit, but we can’t spend $20 a month for internet service????

My brother and I were going insane. We spent many an hour attempting to sponge wireless internet off the neighbors. My brother spent hours attempting to connect through his cell phone. I spent hours looking for a fucking phone jack that wasn’t in the middle of the kitchen. Good times.

Thursday: The “big day.” My brother and I are informed that our stepbrother (and I use that term loosely, because any admission of relation to this freak of nature makes me shudder down to my bones) and his girlfriend (shudder again) and her mother (I’m shaking like a leaf here) will be joining us.

My brother and I pretty much avoid the SB whenever possible. He is completely stupid and has a giant unibrow. He and his girlfriend-now, fiancee-announce that they are expecting. (I don’t think the trembling will ever stop.) She is stupid and has a unibrow, too. That kid is going to be all about the unibrow. The fiancee was also wearing a frothy, mint-green bow in her permed hair.

I forgot my camera, goddammit.

Thankfully, they don’t stay long.

The remainder of the week involved such things as the Experience Music Project and Sci-Fi Museum (which were way cool) and shooting my dad’s large collection of guns, including something called the Raging Bull, which is the 2nd largest handgun in existence. I think I still have some bruises on my hands from that one. Of course I felt the need to shoot it. The funniest part was when my stepmother took a turn. When she fired, she screamed and almost dropped the gun because she was so shocked by the noise and the recoil.

Sunday: Time to go home. My brother and I had flights that were at close to the same time...but left from opposite ends of the airport. We also both had been hosed galore with long-ass layovers on the way home. This fact, on top of a two-hour time difference, meant that both of us arrived home at midnight.

I COULD have been home at 9:30. There was an earlier flight out of Denver. I pleaded and cajoled, but the clerks informed me that, since I had checked baggage on the later flight, I couldn’t be on the earlier one.

I had a fucking four-hour layover. They couldn’t dig up the suitcase in two hours??? Or, for that matter, deliver it to me when it arrived?

Well, after spending $30 on reading material and discovering that the airport had a Wi-Fi connection but that you couldn’t use it unless you fucking paid $10, my flight finally boarded. I arrived in Oklahoma City at midnight, and trucked my happy ass down to baggage claim...where my suitcase was waiting for me. Sitting in the middle of the floor. Indicating IT had been on the earlier flight, even though I was not.

Next stop: Christmas. Kill me now.



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