Thursday, April 30, 2009


Subject: CareerBuilder Job Application : Business Development Manager

You have received an application to your job posted on CareerBuilder. You can respond to this candidate by replying to this email. Your Reference ID for this job is xxxxx.

Job Information
Job Title: Business Development Manager
Location: US-IL-Chicago
Job Details:

Contact Information
Name: M_____ A_____

Cover Letter
No cover letter submitted.

RESUME OF M_____ A_____

Education 1996-1997 HARVARD LAW SCHOOL



Business Experience
Almost nothing because economic support has been sufficient from our family.

Language Ability
Fluent in English and Japanese
Basic level in French and German

Personal references available upon request.
I am listening to: Erasure - Chains of Love
I am reading: The Shack
And I am: Kinda tired

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

100 days

It’s three months and then some since Obama took office.

I haven’t read any of the myriad ‘How’s He Doing at 100 Days’ stories. Yet.

Because I’m trying to capture how it has felt having him in charge rather than reading about how I’m supposed to feel or think about it. And I wanted to see how much I could remember of what this new administration has done, rather than cheating and researching and regurgitating what everyone else is saying today.

So here goes.

Well, the flubs come to mind first thing. Isn’t that odd? I guess it’s just easier.

And there’ve been some Big Ass Flubs for sure: Not demanding more accountability earlier from the banks that received TARP funds. Cabinet appointees with tax issues. Appointees with ties to lobbyists.

Then there are the Small Ass Flubs like the Special Olympics comment on late night with Leno, the kingly bows and queenly hugs, and the terrorist photo op flyby over New York more recently.

As for the good things, tax cuts for 95% of Americans tops the list. The reversal on stem cell research funding. Preparing to shut down Gitmo. Eliminating the use of torture. Pushing through a stimulus package that, while deeply flawed, was entirely necessary. Allowing photos of the caskets of dead soldiers as they return home – a much-needed reminder that the ultimate price of war is not in dollars, but in the loss of brave loved ones. Allowing Cuban Americans to travel and send money back home more easily.

If the word ‘strategery’ captured the essence of the Bush administration, I’d have to say ‘transparency’ is the word for Obama and his crew.

They seem to be doing a lot and they’re telling people about it. Better still, they don't hide it or lie about it when they screw up. There appears to be a new measure of accountability and openness in Washington and it feels good.

Now I'm off to read what I should've said had I done my homework. We'll see how it measures up.
I am listening to: Office sounds
I am reading: The Shack (again)
And I am: Emotional but I don’t know why

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

What marriage is all about #232

When your husband knows you better than you know yourself.

"What sauce is this?" I ask. "It's really good."

"It's your favorite sauce," says Jim.

"How do you know what my favorite sauce is?"

"Because you've told me a million times," he says.

"What's my favorite sauce again?"

"Sweet Baby Ray's."
I am listening to: Cowboy Junkies - Sweet Jane
I am reading: The Shack (again)
And I am: Blessed

Monday, April 27, 2009

Proud of what?

First the Chicago Tribune endorsed Obama. Now they've come out in favor of civil unions for homosexuals.

Surely the end times are at hand.

If you read some of the hate-filled comments after the editorial you'd believe that Christ isn't feeling so cuddly-wuddly these days and is coming back TOMORROW to smite or smote or whathaveyou the GAYS and send the Tribune Editors STRAIGHT TO HELL.

Or something like that.

Here's a guess: with the sorry state of the newspaper industry, it's likely that hell would be a refreshing reprieve from what those stressed out editors are dealing with these days.

Here's my problem: Guys like Edwin Ayala, who sign their hate-filled comments with "Proud to be An American and Heterosexual."


Listen up, Edwin. If you were born in another country and became an American citizen, then go ahead. Be proud of that. Rock on.

However. If you were born here, shut the fuck up.

Being proud of things over which you have no control is ridiculous - and worse, dangerous. It's like saying "Proud to be White."

Be proud of your accomplishments. Be proud of your children. Hell, be proud of your yard if it looks nice this time of year.

But don't be proud of shit you didn't do.
I am listening to: Early morning office sounds
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Not a huge fan of pride anyhow

Saturday, April 25, 2009

A small prediction

It's true that Jim Carrey is the guy who quite literally spoke out of his ass in that whacky pet detective movie, but he makes some very good points here regarding the safety of vaccines.

I've been reading about thimerosal for years - a controversial compound used as a preservative in vaccines - that some parents, doctors and scientists believe could be the cause of autism.

Here's Carrey's first good point:

"Veterinarians found out years ago that in many cases they were over-immunizing our pets, a syndrome they call Vaccinosis. It overwhelmed the immune system of the animals, causing myriad physical and neurological disorders. Sound familiar? If you can over-immunize a dog, is it so far out to assume that you can over-immunize a child? These forward thinking vets also decided to remove thimerosal from animal vaccines in 1992, and yet this substance, which is 49% mercury, is still in human vaccines. Don't our children deserve as much consideration as our pets?"

Money quote:

"In a world left reeling from the catastrophic effects of greed, mismanagement and corporate insensitivity, is it so absurd for us to wonder why American children are being given twice as many vaccines on average, compared to the top 30 first world countries?"

Here in the U.S. we've sadly become accustomed to industry-related scandals. And it would be a mistake to believe that the masters of the financial universe are the only ones capable of ass-raping hard working Americans for personal gain.

Here's a small prediction: The bio-tech industry will be the next hit hard by ethics scandals.

Here's a final word from Carrey:

"If the CDC, the AAP and Ms. Brown insist that our children take twice as many shots as the rest of the western world, we need more independent vaccine research not done by the drug companies selling the vaccines or by organizations under their influence."

I am listening to: Last week's episode of The Tudors
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Right on this one folks

Friday, April 24, 2009

Good things Friday

My new favorite joke: “What’s the difference between peanut butter and jam?”
I’m wearing new shoes
Jim comes home tomorrow
The week went by justlikethis because there was so much work to do
Hen Night (what Jim called it when I hosted an impromptu chick fest Wednesday night)
Wearing my spring jacket
The house is clean
I wrote parts of my very first web site user experience assessment
I wrote another scene and a couple character profiles for my screenplay ‘No Place’
Being able to text/call Jim when he’s in Europe
The magnolia tree out front is starting to pop
Understanding the difference between ‘important’ and ‘urgent’
Helping my friend Rodney Lee lose a crazy stalker broad on Facebook
A singing delivery man
Creative cussing
Not carrying the heavy MacBook Pro to/from work anymore
Using LogMeIn to access it remotely when I need to (it’s not great – very slow – but for now it’s all I’ve got until I figure out how to talk our IT guy into letting me use Back to My Mac)
Having a job where I don’t have to ask permission to go to the bathroom or make a phone call
Having a job, period
Feeling melancholy and being okay with it
Chicago cab drivers
Going with the flow
Listening to the rain
Coming up with reasons to use the word ‘glorious’ all day
Talking about The Shack with my Mom (she’s reading it, too)
Pillsbury Savorings – they’re like grown-up pizza rolls.
The red and yellow tulips at the northwest corner of Superior & Orleans
Punchline: “I can’t ‘peanut butter’ it up your ass.”
I am listening to: New Shoes – Paolo Nutini
I am reading: The Shack
And I am: So done with this f*cking week

Thursday, April 23, 2009

That kind of day

I am currently stuck in my chair.

A button on my pants is caught in the plastic pattern on the back of my office chair and will not dislodge.

Option 1: Ask our creative director for help dislodging the button. Not a good choice because it would mean he'd have to touch my ass and we're not that close.

Option 2: Wiggle until button either a) dislodges or b) breaks off. A good option, if music were playing.

Option 3: Sit here and giggle madly until the office clears out and I can dislodge myself. Another good option, except there's no guarantee I can do this alone.

It's that kind of day. Please send help.
I am listening to: A very quiet office
I am reading: The Shack
And I am: Stranded

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Tempest in a tit storm

“So what did you think of what Miss California said about gay marriage?” asks Mom this morning.

“All day long I caught glimpses of the headlines that it was a big controversy but when I finally got around to reading what she said, it was no big deal,” I say. “She certainly was more articulate than that Such As The Iraq chick from a couple years ago.”

Mom and me don’t agree on gay marriage.

I believe that gay men and women should have the right to enter into the joyful misery of marriage. Mom believes that marriage is between a man and woman.

This is okay.

We live in the United States and, the last time I checked, expressing our opinions is still legal. Miss California spoke from her heart on an extremely controversial topic and she’s being vilified for it. Some say it even cost her the crown. Or sash. Or whatever the fuck they give these bright-eyed, bikini’d broads.
Let’s be honest here: The only reason this ‘controversy’ made headlines is because of that moron Perez Hilton, who is known for nothing more than drawing ugly comments on celebrity photos. He called her a bitch because he didn’t like her answer and that’s why this whole thing turned into a tempest in a tit storm.

Whether he realizes it or not, Perez Hilton is just like Sean Hannity and Rush Limbaugh and that frighteningly unstable Glenn Beck dude.

Every day they look for any excuse to be angry or upset in order to win headlines for themselves. And the less attention they get – the more hysterical they act. Their idiotic behavior always overshadows the issue, whether it's gay marriage or the military's use of torture.

These media hacks could use what limited power and influence they have to bring people together – to help people from all sides of an issue be reasonable and respectful of each other – and make a difference in the world.

Instead, they stir the pot, only to keep the light shining on them and their ridiculous personalities for just a little while longer.

I don't give a shit if you're gay or Republican, do all of us a favor: If you don't have something intelligent or meaningful to add to the debate, shut the fuck up. Or grow up and start acting like a real American.
I am listening to: Erasure - A Little Respect
I am reading: The Shack
And I am: Sick and tired of drama

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Good dog

"It's amazing," says Jim, fresh from morning walkies. "Gromit always does his squat and grunt when hot chicks are jogging by. "

What I say: "Hmmm."

What I think: "Good dog!"
I am listening to: Saturday morning house sounds
I am reading: The Shack
And I am: Productive

Friday, April 17, 2009

Good things Friday

It's Good Things Friday, folks.

The day we head into the weekend celebrating all the good things in life while blithely ignoring all the crap. Yay!

Finally feeling back to my old self again after a month-long sinus infection that turned me into a zombie
Prescription Flonaise
Easter dinner on Saturday with Mr. & Mrs. You Know Who and their wonderful family
Jim's special crock pot noodly chicken dish - YUM
Re-connecting with wonderful people (Judy, Alison, Dennis, Mary)
The Good Guys Won - National Edition
The Good Guys Won - Local Edition (not the 'breaking news', the election results)
An excellent date with Jim Wednesday night
Lunch with my friend Susan at Brett's Kitchen
Crying over stories about generous people
Lunch with my friend Jim the IT Guy (twice!)
Hearing Mom laugh because I sang "RISE AND SHINE AND GIVE GOD YOUR GLORY GLORY" at the top of my lungs Thursday morning
Making plans for friends to visit from far away
Chatting with cab drivers from Somalia and Ghana
Two perfect 'toss' pillows from Crate & Barrel
The Tudors is back on again
Opening the sun roof
Meditation class in the office again
Susan Boyle
A boss who encourages his team to meditate for 20 minutes every day
Working in an office with a meditation room including a timer and wall fountain
Celebrating one year since leaving the office of The Turd & Crew for good
The book 'The Shack'
Discovering a small black purse marked $35 at Carson's was on sale for $13 at the register
Being hyper-productive at work: Crossing off major to-do's and finally getting my in box to less than five messages
A morning sun that is shining brighter today than any time in recent memory
Rowdy, happy people wearing Cubs garb and drinking beer and SoCo on the morning train
My class - Jim calls it 'charm school' - which is teaching me how to be a better human being
The flowering trees are finally starting to pop
My in-grown toe nails are finally healing
Dakota - the blue-eyed, sweater-wearing wiener dog at my chiropractor's office
Planning Jim & Mrs. You Know Who's 50th birthday trip in next year
I am listening to: U2 - With or Without You
I am reading: The Shack
And I am: Blithely ignoring all the crap

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Why I love Craig Ferguson #3302

"Today thousands of Republicans who oppose gay marriage got together in public parks for a little tea-bagging."
I am listening to: Craig
I am reading: The Shack by whathisname
And I am: Giggly

Bust my buttons

I’m running late because I did something old-fashioned this morning.

A good old-fashioned humjob, Hedy? Way to go. Jim's gotta be smiling.

Shaddap. No.

I didn’t blow something, I sewed something. A button on a blouse.

Yep. I. Sewed. A button. On a blouse.

Crazy, eh?
I’m not particularly domestic. I get nervous making Jell-O.

Just thinking about my brief childhood foray into 4-H Club makes my stomach jump.

There were three projects for girls: Sew a blouse, knit a hat, and string a necklace.

“Why can’t I make a birdhouse with the boys?” I asked.

“Because you have a vagina, sweetheart,” the Himmler-esque 4-H leader replied.

I’m pretty sure that’s what she said.

Anyhow. I sweated over these projects for what seemed like the longest winter in history. With completely disastrous results.

One sleeve was longer than the other on the blouse. The hat had a hole in it. And I can’t really talk about the necklace it was so traumatic.

So you can imagine how shocked Mom and I were when, walking through the Craft House at the Armada Fair the following summer, we discovered that my lop-sided blouse had won a red second place ribbon.

I’m sure the judges had good intentions. But that silly ribbon did diddly-squat for my fragile self-esteem.

Instead, it transformed me into the cynical, domestically challenged freak before you today.

Head Heart Hands my ass.
In truth, the button is something the cleaners should’ve caught and repaired. I actually tossed it in the dry cleaning basket after discovering the missing button a couple weeks ago but forgot to mention it at the drop-off. Of course they should’ve caught it but apparently the Ancient Chinese Secret is “Sew your own fucking buttons, Missy.”

So this morning I gathered up the necessary materials and fixed it myself.

Thread. Needle. Jim’s ‘cheater’ reading glasses. Scissors. Button.

Here’s the surprise: Aside from stabbing myself in the finger several times, it was extremely comforting.

“I could do this all day,” I thought. “Or at least another 10 minutes.”

There was something about it that felt – I dunno – quaint. Cozy. Old-timey.

Plus, I now have this tight-as-a-button button on my shirt again. I even re-threaded two other buttons that were threatening to make a break for it.

Was this the only shirt in your closet, Hed? How about just giving it another go at the dry cleaners? Why waste a morning on something like this?

It’s completely irrational, I know.

But no more or less rational than a morning blowjob.
I am listening to: Pussycat Dolls - Loosen Up My Buttons
I am reading: The Shack by William P. Young
And I am: Domestically challenged

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Breaking the gatekeeper

We run a lean office here. On any given day there’s rarely more than eight of us. And no receptionist.


From a marketing/customer service perspective, I’ve always believed in having a live person answering the phones rather than an automated system, so a couple months ago I offered to help out catching calls. It’s maybe three or four per day. No big deal.

Here’s the really twisted part: I actually enjoy it.

It gives me the opportunity to fuck with people with impunity.
"Can I speak with Rich Johnson please?"

"He’s not available would you like to leave a message?"

"Is there a better time to reach him this week?"

What I want to say: "No. There is not a better time to reach him. This is, in fact, the very best time to reach him. How do I know? Because he just walked by my desk all loose and chatty, fresh from his morning dump. But guess what? You’re still not getting through so give it up, ya phonetard."

What I say: “Please try back tomorrow morning around this time.”
"Hi this is Doug I’m calling from DouchebagsRUsPrinters and I’m updating our records, could you please give me the number on the front of your printer? Could you check that for me now please?"

"Which company are you with again?"

"Douchebags. R. Us. Couldyougivemethenumberonthefrontofyourprinter? Couldyoucheckitnowplease?"

"Which printer?"

"Your printer, could you check that for me now please?"

"Which printer?"

"Um…your color printer? Could you check that for me now please?"

"We have several color printers. Which printer do you need?"

"Um, I really need to update my records could you check that for me? Could you check the number on the front of your printer for me now?"

"Listen up, chump. We both know you’re not updating any records. You don’t have a record. You’re talking fast and acting like you know my business to get me to give you information so you can try to sell me shit we don’t need. Isn’t that right?"


And yes, that is exactly what I said.
"Hi this is John Hunt calling for Rich Johnson, is he in?"

"He’s not available right now would you like to leave a message?"

"Yes, please."

"What was your first name again? Mike?"

"Um, no. John Hunt."

There’s another guy who calls every day. Every day. Every. Day.

Asks for my boss. Won’t give his company. Won’t say why he’s calling. Won’t leave a message.

Each time, I tell him I’m happy to take a message but he says he’ll try back.

What I want to say: "Remember when that hottie Jessica Gable shot you down for prom and you went home all depressed and your dad took you for ice cream and told you to keep trying so you got right back in there and the next day you asked that other hottie Emily Wilkinson and she shot you down too but you got more ice cream so it wasn’t so bad and then you asked that chick with the glasses from biology Rita Something-or-Other and she said no too and suddenly it was three days before the big dance and you’d gained 10 lbs. from all the fucking ice cream and decided to ask Agnes Gottfried who smells just like a fresh bag of Cheetos and she said YES and your dad said see son, persistence pays off? This is not one of those times. Here at ______, even the chubby chicks say no."

What I say: "Can I take a message?"
Where even the chubby chicks say no.

This is a great tagline. For something.

Overeaters for Abstinence?
Pay attention sales reps. Here are some important tips for dealing with bitchy gatekeeper types like me:

Be honest. Don’t be that printer douchebag, hustling clueless receptionists into helping you make your pathetic sale. If you’re starting off our relationship with a lie, what makes you think I’ll ever trust you enough to buy something?

Explain yourself. You could be selling the Exact Thing my boss needs Right Now. But because you’re acting like the International Man of Mystery, I’ll make sure you never, ever speak with him. If you don’t tell me who you are, your company, and why you’re calling, there’s no reason why I should put you through.

Sell me, sell my boss. Practice on me. Convince me you’re pitching something of value and I just might believe my boss will see value in it, too.

Wait a minute. Don’t pitch me, dammit. Try showing genuine interest in what we do as a business and see if what you’re selling actually could help. Use me to learn about the person you're trying to reach - I'll happily share a little information if I think a) it's appropriate and b) you're worthy.

Get a new job. If you're selling toner cartridges or paid Yellow Page listings over the phone, seriously, get a new fucking gig. Now. Nobody's buying the crap you're selling. Plus who needs that kind of karma? You'll spend the rest of your pathetic life and possibly even the next one struggling to get laid, all for scamming young receptionists with more boobs than brains.

Be funny. If one of these calls-everyday-idiots would just say “Listen honey, I’d use my cock to tap out Yankee fucking Doodle in Morse code on this headset if I thought it would convince you to let me talk to your boss” I’d giggle like the madcap chubster I am and joyfully transfer that bastard right on through.


Thanks for calling and have a nice day.
I am listening to: Kid, You'll Move Mountains - Volts
I am reading: Nothing much
And I am: Having some fun

Thursday, April 09, 2009

The sacred cellophane lamb

"It's blessed and everything."

That was Jim, explaining this Christian aberration he brought home from Kalinowski's, a famous Polish deli on the northwest side of Chicago.

He goes there a few times each year to bring home Polish sausage for holiday meals at his mom's.

It took some getting used to.

The scary lamb cake sitting on your counter?

Well that, and the idea of having Polish sausage with every holiday meal.

Easter, it's ham and Polish sausage. Christmas, it's roast beast and Polish sausage.

Seriously. It's one of the great religious mysteries - why we always get Polish sausage as Satan's side dish on holidays.

Does your family do anything like this?

Feel free to use Mary's little masochistic lamb as a reference point on the whole odd/ethnic continuum of holiday food traditions.
I know, I know.

The lamb is symbolic of Christ, who was sacrificed for our sins yadda yadda yadda.

Here's one of the more succinct explanations of the Christian conundrum I've found, posted by someone named Fifthhorseman on the news site Fark:

Why Christianity is the essence of irony:

Jesus: Hey guys, great news! You don't need a church or a priest to be tight with God. You just need to be a good person and perform good acts. You don't need faith!

Paul & Co: Awesome! Let's create a church to spread the new faith!

Jesus: *facepalm*
Here's another Easter tradition: Jim and I watch The Ten Commandments.


Moses in the mud and Edward Where's-Yer-Moses-Now G. Robinson and a pre-Bo John Derek and a wily half-naked Yul and that whore Ann Baxter and Mrs. Munster.

It has nothing to do with Jesus or Easter. Yet we watch it, in all its epic-y goodness.

It's nearly four hours long. So over the course of the two or three days it takes to watch, all major household decisions are finalized with "So let it be written, so let it be done!"

And we pepper our conversations with random, grandiose statements like:

"Blood makes poor mortar!"

"God made men. Men made slaves!"

"Love cannot drown truth."

Plus I wander around the house in silk robes purring "OHhhhh, MOSES!"

It's true. Really.
It's hard to put my finger on what bothers me about the lamb cake. Maybe it's because I would need something like 2,000 fingers.

But mostly it's because I'm not big into Christ-related food items like lambs and whathaveyou.

Because when cuddly-wuddly Christ makes his much-anticipated comeback, I would NOT want to be caught dead munching on a chocolate crucifix.

I am listening to: The Ten Commandments
I am reading: Nothing, really
And I am: Thinking of ways to slaughter the cellophane lamb

Sunday, April 05, 2009

This extra hour

It's 1993.

The scene opens with a long view of nothing but brake lights - hundreds of cars and trucks - jammed up at a toll plaza.

She sits in a shiny red Mazda Miata talking quietly but urgently into a cell phone.

"I know, I'm sorry, the surgery went long and I had to wait..."

While she's apologizing, she's searching for change to pay the toll. Traffic isn't moving so she looks through her bag, the glove box and between the seats. Nothing. She flips on her right signal to move into the manual lane to pay with cash.

"I'm sorry, really, I'll be there soon...I know. I know. I'm sorry."

Settling in for an even longer wait in the attended toll lane, she's adjusting her mirrors in an unsuccessful attempt to avoid the glaring bright lights of a semi truck behind her in line.

" won't happen, really, I'm sorry...OKAY..."

There's a loud CLICK as the man she's talking with ends the call abruptly.

At nearly the same moment, the lights flip off on the semi behind her. Her face visibly loses tension. She closes the phone, tilts her head back and half smiles.

"That was awfully nice," she mutters.

She looks in both mirrors, trying to catch a glimpse of the semi driver but the truck is too close; she sees nothing but the massive grille.

"Peterbilt," she says. "Old truckers never die, they just get a new Peterbilt."

She inches forward to the toll booth.

"Hi I'd like to pay for the guy behind me, okay?"

In the course of seconds, the toll taker manages to look confused then skeptical then irritated.

"You know it's a buck fifty for trucks, right?"

"Fine, whatever it is, take it out of this please," she says, handing the attendant a $20.

Clearly aggravated at being asked to do rudimentary math, the toll booth worker thrusts the change out to her with a frown.

"Thank you," she says, taking the money.

She hits the gas with a smiling glance into her rear view mirror. Then she turns up the radio. Radar Love.

The scene closes with a view from the semi trucker's cab, focused on her license plate: ELI 90.

The trucker flips his lights back on again.
Explanation: Our alarm clock automatically adjusts for the old version of Daylight Saving Time. By the time we realized what happened, we were already up and well into the morning.

This extra hour. It was a gift of sorts. There were so many things I could've done with it. But I decided to finally sit down and re-write the first scene in a story called 'No Place' I've been working on for more than 10 years.

I don't know the correct format for script writing. But here it is. What I did with the extra hour.

It feels pretty good. I'm thinking of writing the final scene next.

Because sometimes it's a good idea to know where you're going before you start walking down the road.
I am listening to: Batman Begins
I am reading: This little story
And I am: Happy and relaxed