January 18th, 2002


Bastard Cock Gobblers

As I have made mention, I worked at musicmaker.com, an internet music dot com that died last year. I loved that company. I loved what we were doing, and even though the upper-upper management team was doing everything they could to bumble us into oblivion, I had genuine hopes that the little bird could fly. Management, of course, won, we tripped over our own toes enough to leave our asses out in the wind to be bought up by any “investment group” to come our way. The majority of the company was laid off on January 4, 2001. Some of us stayed on longer to clean up before we were completely liquidated. The time after the layoff was awful: depressing, tense, hostile…all around bad. Mostly because we were all so crushed, I think.

Anyway, most of us who worked there, as many of you who read this know, still keep in touch. I was talking to some of my former co-workers about our W2 forms, and how we had not gotten them (seeing as we all got hefty severance checks on January 4, it’s pretty important that we file that money). Brian, the perfectly cynical engineer, and I were combing Google yesterday for information about the bastard cock gobblers who took us over to find out contact information for the CFO to get to the bottom of this. Apparently Dickie, one of the account-tants had already called and gotten a runaround from them saying they already sent them out in June. We expected a tough battle.

We got the number, and a few left and returned messages later, I was connected with the actual person I needed to talk to, who seemed very understanding about the situation and seemed to genuinely believe me that there had been a mistake made. So that part was pretty satisfying and a nice end to what could have been a big damn hassle.

The part that still makes my stomach twist up is when the first guy I tried to reach called me back and said, “Hi, Megan, this is Blahblah Blah from musicmaker.com.” I took a deep sharp breath that felt cold in the back of my throat. Forgive the hyperbole, but it almost felt like it was a dead person calling. Never in my life do I expect to hear from my maternal grandmother again. Never in my life did I expect to hear the phrase “from musicmaker.com” again. I told him so. “Whoa, never thought I’d hear that again.”

He chuckled nervously. “Oh, hahh...did you work there long?”

“From the beginning” I said.

“Oh, huh, well, uh, then this must have been hard for you.”

Yes. Yes it was.

Never Miss A Beat.

On a positive internet music note, CDNow fucking rules.

I decided it was finally time to loosen my CD embargo and place an order. Everything on my Wish List was on sale. Therefore, I got five CDs, with shipping, for $52.

The best part of it is, I placed the order on Monday night at about ten.

I got the CDs yesterday.
  • Current Mood
    jubilant jubilant

Dream Alterations.

So I decided to get my eyebrow re-pierced with this long thin barbell with purple beads on either end. My piercer was the guy who works the midnight-6am shift at Bob & Ediths--the one who waited on us last time (for those of you who don't know, Bob & Ediths is Northern Virginia's only real diner). I was expressing concern over whether or not he could pierce the same place again--if it would bleed or if it would be more difficult since there was scar tissue there and it's still partly open.

He was getting ready to pierce it when suddenly there was a sort of game show going on where a panel of three was trying to determine whether or not this guy, my piercer and former waiter, was gay. The host would ask contestant number one, who would be like, "I don't think so, mostly because..." and then get interrupted by contestant number 2, who was a middle-aged, semi-overweight woman who had really dry blonde hair and big glasses who would just babble about stuff that had nothing to do with anything. She wasn't answering the question, she was just talking. About other stuff. The host would interrupt her and try to go to another contestant, but she'd interrupt again. Talking, talking, talking.

I woke up a little while later to the same voice talking about the movie Snow Dogs. It turns out that the voice of Rita Kempley, the Washington Post movie reviewer who was reporting about this weekend's new movies had infiltrated my dream.

I haven't had an alarm clock interfere with a dream this much since the one when I was in a hospital being treated by a nurse and I kept hearing this beeping. I asked the nurse to turn off her watch and she said "I can't. That's your alarm clock."
  • Current Mood
    bored bored