One o' them *oof* marathon posts

It needs to be said

Despite the fact I can't stand Katy Perry or anything to do with her boobs and various accouterments, that stupid California Gurls song gets stuck in my head at weird times and I freakin’ sing along. It’s damn catchy! Too bad the lyrics don’t always make sense. ::looks askance at Snoop Dogg:: I also like Teenage Dream, but the first time I heard the song, Blaine was singing to Kurt on Glee, so that’s my excuse. Related: I also can’t stand Russell Brand. I want to attack him with a comb. And maybe a hairnet.

Wearing the pantaloons of disgruntlement

A couple weeks ago, I met up with some work folks and volunteered at a local food bank for a few hours. It was actually forced volunteering. (So… work.) The effort was our annual gift to the big boss. I’ll be completely honest – despite the good cause-ness of it all, I was in no way looking forward to the task. I groused (to my folks) that I just wanted to buy the boss a sweater and call it good. Last year, Vox volunteered at an animal shelter, had to be there at 8:00 a.m. on a Saturday, and at least one person cleaned out animal cages. I’m thinking I lucked out with the food bank. Perhaps next year we can kneel in obeisance at the Home of Wayward Lesbians with Riding Crops. Just me? Well… if I must.

On the appointed morning of forced labor volunteering, I strapped on my frown and my grumpy boots and headed out. I was dressed in layers and prepared to work in a warehouse, based on information I’d been given by a friend who’d previously volunteered at the bank. I was mostly concerned that being out of shape was going to be a hindrance. I didn’t have to worry; I joined an assembly line of folks putting together food boxes for elderly people and time went quickly. Apparently the bank sends out 5,000 boxes a month. I had a few Lifetime movie/social worker moments thinking about hungry senior citizens but had to shoo those thoughts away. I was there! I was helping! No more hungry grandparents! In about 90 minutes, my group put together close to 300 boxes. I was in charge of canned green beans ::beam:: and only smashed my fingers with the surprisingly injurious containers three times. OY.

The second half of our shift was spent sorting food. We separated dry goods from canned (Big bins of food. Big. Huge!) and I scored a little cube of wine that someone had donated. (I get the sentiment, but… really?) It’s good most of my group was late and that we had a short orientation before we got started; our three-hour shift ended up being 2.5 hours long and I. Was. BEAT. We all noticeably slowed down as time wore on, except for the grabby church ladies who wouldn’t share the bins to be sorted with SOME people who were waiting for things to do. Hmmph!

All in all, it wasn’t a bad gig. Vox is a big social justice kind of place and we’re to do another day of service this year, but I think we get paid for that one. I’m going to pick somewhere super gay – I’m not lying – and see what sort of white collar trouble I can get myself into. I’m thinking gay youth nonprofit and some light clerical work. I’m not a warehouse dyke and I’m perfectly okay with that. Related: I'm making friends with an employee who is pinging on my gaydar. She's got the swagger *swoon* and a healthy butchness to her and would look great in nothing but cover-alls seems very nice. We'll see what, if anything, happens with that.

Vox

It took a while to meet with my bosses, but I finally got to talk to them about working on the calendar and blogging. The calendar is a full-time job and I’ve been clocking about 15 hours/week working on it. Needless to say, the stress of getting all the events entered has been building, especially after taking off some time at the holidays and with a new year starting, etc. Luckily, as of today, I’ve been given carte blanche to add hours as necessary. (I half-yelled, "40!" and tossed up my yahoo arms, but I was the only person laughing.) One of the bosses was kind enough to offer a semi-condescending “I thought it was clear you could add as many hours as needed.” Hmm, no. Your doubletalk speakyspoke wasn’t clear. You said I could add eight hours to my weekly tally and the next day, you dropped the number to four. “Or maybe five.” Pardon me for not entirely knowing WHAT IN THE HELL IS GOING ON. Frustrations aside, it looks like I’ll turn in around 25 hours for this week. It’s still bupkes but every little bit counts.

Full-time work might come my way after the Earl of Pandemonium leaves. His last day is apparently in April, but he’s allegedly trying to leave sooner. I don’t know what to think. I sit in on editorial meetings but I’m underutilized as an editor. I help write up special events occasionally. I haven’t proofread a thing in weeks. Things were going so well just a few months ago with the extra writing and the editorial tasks and now I just feel like a data entry monkey. The calendar is allegedly our biggest website draw, so I feel kind of important, but when Boss starts lobbing questions at me in accusatory tones, often for calendar events I did not enter, I get pretty upset. (We get crops of interns every semester and they are allowed to enter events. Unfortunately, they often do it wrong, so I’m doing my job and also cleaning up mistakes. It's fun like Twister without the bright colors and inappropriate touching.) During the meeting, I specifically said I needed more control of the calendar. Eventually someone will actually hear me.

I took a month off from blogging. I don’t want to go back to it but I’m not in a position to throw away the money it pays, even though $50/week doesn’t buy crack and hookers the way it used to. My parents noticed I'd stopped. It started as a holiday break and just continued. Supervisor knew I wasn't blogging and I didn't cash the paychecks I automatically received but it still feels weird. I resume my duties this weekend. I'm half-tempted to write, as King V did halfway through a lengthy college term paper, "are you actually reading this," but I only have to write 300-word entries. I think someone would notice.

Let me 'splain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up.

I feel my general sense of malaise will be cured by the arrival of spring, some new capri pants, the purchase of some saucy sandals, and niblets of milk chocolate. If that doesn’t cheer me up, perhaps a wayward lesbian with some extra time on her hands can make a house call. Oh look – I’m feeling better already!