Sunshine 'n roses (but not the expensive ones)
My annual review went very well. Indeed, it was the most successful review of my career, but not in terms of compensation. Here's how it went:

I felt like I was in Paris, in the spring, and everything was perfect. The air smelled of boulangerie. I was wearing a jaunty foulard, and my lipstick and hair were immaculate. People smiled at me as they walked by. Dogs and small children flocked towards me. A dove came to rest on my shoulder. My lover approached, carrying an armload of flowers. A warm breeze caressed my neck. When my lover reached me, he gently kissed my cheek. Only one cheek! He was supposed to kiss both cheeks, because that's what they do in Paris! My once-perfect scenario was completely ruined, and I was devasated. Of course, I accepted his flowers (cheap, lame-ass carnations) graciously, hiding my broken heart from him.

In short, I am wonderful and respected, but there's no money honey. Apparently Crabby Corp's spreadsheets tell a very sad tale. So those dreams of Paris will remain just that - dreams.

For now.

Show me the money, don't show me the door
My annual review is coming up. In ninety minutes! Please, please, please let it be worth it. I've had a change in title and an increase in responsibility this year, and I want a big fistfull of dollars to recognize that. I have prepared myself for the usual paltry "Two percent is the best we can do this year" speech, but I deserve better. I don't need better, but I want it. Very badly.

In other news, Icy made me write a new poem. Go on over to 2DM and have a look.

I hope he doesn't bill me for the call
Our event planner phoned me just to tell me that my hair looked amazing this morning. "I didn't tell you in person because you rushed out of our meeting, and it seemed weird to put it in an e-mail." How sweet is that? And you know what? He's right! I'm bouncin' and behavin' today.

Voulez-vous parler avec moi?
I've finally sucked it up and found myself some French lessons. Well, really, they found me, via Crabby Corp-sponsored lunchtime tutoring sessions. Crabby Corp being what it is, the sessions are only partly sponsored, so I'll be out a couple of hundred dollars - worth it if I can regain my proficiency. I signed up for the intermediate sessions, but the tutor, after a preliminary phone interview with me, said "Ah, mais vous êtes avancée!" I'm very nervous and anxious and shy and I'm dreading the whole thing now. I feel like I'm running through a muddy field in the rain and I'm not wearing any clothes. Zut alors!

Something else I know nothing about
I attended a breakfast book event this morning, only because I knew nothing of the subject and thought that I should. The book seems very interesting, and the pastries were yummy, thank you very much.

It's just lunch money. Cough it up.
Tomorrow is Lunch Money Day. Just do it.

And one last thing
Shouldn't the spell checker on Blogger recognize the word "blog?" Just wondering.

Out from under the blankets

Boy, that was cozy. Cozy, but lonely. The next time I go and hide for a month I'm taking you all with me. Y'all. I've always wanted an accent. One night years ago Icy, Sister and I pretended to be Scottish. We were absolutely in our cups, the three of us legless drunk on Yonge Street, and it was no doubt obvious that we were not Scottish. Was that the night we traded shoes? See, I can't even remember.

Tomorrow night I'm going to see this. Wanna come with?

I very recently read this and this. You should too.

I'm very busy planning an international symposium, and I'm having a helluva time booking speakers. Every name I brought forward was met with scrinkly faces and some "ers" and "wells" and "not too sures." Now we are one month away and I have gaping holes in the agenda. Know what though? I'm not stressed. I barely even care. I've done my best, and we're only in trouble now because of the dithering and diddling of certain team members. Any of you want to come and speak at my symposium? Yes, there's free food to be had, and spiffy delegates' kits. Oh shit. The delegates' kits.

Bits 'n Pieces

Dad's not Dead: Remember that guy from the Bits 'n Bites commercial who said "Every handful's different"? He made me smile because he reminded me of my affable dad. Not to refer to my dad in the past tense. Dad's still here. Here's another reference to dear-old-dad in a poem about my neighbour's cat.

Ode to Phil (when I thought you were dead)

Oh Phil, so fat and spotty,
You reminded me of my dad -
who is not spotty, no longer fat,
but mellow, serene, and funny,
and I like that.

Don't Pull her Finger: Icy and I enjoyed our "Cheer up Crabby" night on the town yesterday. The next time I get depressed I hope it's during the summer. It was c-c-cold last night! We ate at the lovliest wine and cheese bistro, and although it was near perfect, I wondered aloud if Icy and I could do a better job with a restaurant like that. "I don't want to sit around cutting the cheese all night," she responded.

My first nervous breakdown: In 1989 I moved to Montreal and changed my name. I wore cotton skirts and flowery blouses. I studied poetry and playwriting. On days when I didn't have classes I just stayed in bed and did my homework or watched TV. One night I had sex with my landlord. That made me wonder if something wasn't right in my head. When I completed my degree I moved back home and put my name back to normal. Ok, sure, maybe it wasn't a nervous breakdown. Maybe it was just a phase. But it wasn't fun.

My second nervous breakdown: Stay tuned. I wrote a poem about planning a nervous breakdown several years ago. Three women in my office left on "nervous breakdown" leave last year, according to office gossip. Why shouldn't I? I could use the rest.