2004-04-16 @ 4:17 p.m.
|Damn the big "O"marosa for screwing Kwame out of his much deserved position as Trump's Apprentice last night. Bill, who...didn't anyone else think he kind of looked like Jim Carrey at times, especially when he was ricocheting around that Country Club like Ace Ventura searching for some errant hamster?
My question is...was Omarosa a plant, so Kwame wouldn't win? I've actually worked with people like Omarosa. They get the job because of their initial excellent presentation, but then they end up being so inept, that they usually don't last very long, yet will get a good recommendation because their bosses can't wait for them to be somebody else's problem.
And who doesn't want to make some kind of bet that Ms. O doesn't get some kind of short lived TV series for herself? Maybe like some inspirational talk show (not unlike another Ms. "O" -- Oprah, although they have absolutely nothing in common) or some reality series about a woman starting a business by some network like FOX (since we all know they're such ratings whores). And the show will be really disastrous because as food is being delivered in the back door, Omarosa, who has now gained 50 pounds (you know, because of all those LOOOONG lunches she likes so well), has dropped her cell phone down between some couches, and it has become wedged and the film crew, who despise her, refuse to help and she's screaming, "Kwame, I didn't mean to squelch your career with The Donald....really! Can someone order me some takeout...pleeeaaasseeeeee!!!!"
I don't know why I am so irked by this woman. I guess because I had an Omarosa in my life at my last job. I had worked at this Catholic newspaper for about 6-7 years and a position for Art Director finally came up and I really wanted it. I had gone back to school to become a graphic artist. I had worked for this company for shit wages for a long time. And I had done a lot of shit work in their print shop like stapling 4,000 booklets by hand, hand trimming prayer cards and dealing with a bunch of dingy church women with their weekly church bulletins ("No, I want the Lamb of God clipart, not the Jesus with the Halo clipart!!").
Fruck, lady, they all look the same to me...its Friday afternoon and we still haven't printed them yet. Can we make a decision, please?
So I handed in my resume. Told my boss of my intentions. I wanted the job, all right, but I was secretly thinking...THIS JOB SHOULD JUST BE RIGHTFULLY MINE ASSHOLE...WHY ARE YOU EVEN ADVERTISING IT???
So I went through the interview, and I immediately got that sinking feeling. The kind you get, when you know your boyfriend is checking out a girl cuter than you over at the snackbar and there isn't a damn thing you can do about it, except feel like shit.
There really weren't many applicants, because the Art Director job...you know Art Director of an entire newspaper was only paying about $9/hr. But I was salivating, since I was only making about $8.25 an hour. I was like dreaming of finally being able to buy that diamond tiara I had on layaway down at Walmart when I got my raise. Woohoo!
Unfortunately the Art Director who was leaving had gone to school with this woman and she had told her about the job and the woman nailed the interview. She had that Omarosa quality about her. Nicely dressed. Good presentation. Confident. Ass-kissing a'plenty.
What had she done previously? Taken attendance at a high school. She had been a school secretary, but had taken a few graphics courses after her son graduated from high school. Oh, and she enjoyed doing crafts. You know, gluing sequins to felt.
So those were the qualifications that obviously made her a better candidate than me, who had worked not only for that newspaper, but for newspapers back when I was in my twenties and laying out many publications and creating many ads and proving myself good under pressure time and time again. But no, Crafty Good-With-a-Glue-Gun-Sue, got the job.
(by the way, this is not a slam on Crafters. You guys are great. Its just that being good at crafts and knowing how to lay out a publication in QuarkXpress on a tight deadline with printers, editors and whiny journalist screaming in your ears are two totally different beasts).
So the first week, with her getting the bigger salary, Sue came to me very worried. You know why? She didn't understand ad sizes. The Art Director for a newspaper. What is a 2X3 ad? 2 inches by 3 inches? No Sue, thats 2 columns by 3 inches. Oh!
And there were many mistakes in the newspaper. Overlapping headlines, missing text, continuations that didn't go anywhere, photos were crooked and of poor quality because she was a newbie in Photoshop. I had tried to help out as much as I could, but I was still working for the print shop at the same time. Plus her front page "design" was....Yawn!
Week two was slightly better. She at least knew the ad sizes. Still, there were many mistakes, and for some reason, my boss called me into his office and I got yelled at. She had told him I had given her some faulty information.
But I continued to help her and she got a little bit better at handling the workload. Why? Because suddenly I was working for the newspaper and given about 6 pages to do each week, with my already staggering work load. Funny, I don't remember getting any $$financial compensation for my extra effort. Hmmm. Story of my fucking life.
And then when I got the extra workload and her pressure lessened she started getting a little cocky. Like damn, I'm good. I'm the Art Director of a Newspaper. Yes! You are my minions. I'm taking a long lunch. Mind handling the details, while I look all glamorous and queenlike?
And then once I got "assigned" the work, she stopped talking and associating with me and her personality morphed into Omarosa. That is to say...all smiley in front of the boss and then icicle glares as soon as they left.
She also had her little work posse. Three or four people who would hang out at her desk and chat and laugh. And then as I would walk by everything would drop to a whisper and then there would be little titters of laughter. I would get so fucking irked.
About the only satisfaction I got was that her work on the newspaper just sucked. We had formerly had some really talented artist on board and had always won awards for our design but while she worked there, we only won for writing. Heh, heh! Yeah, baby! Stick some sequins on that bitch!
Geeze, why am I getting so freakin' worked up over a stupid reality show diva? Honestly.
Other than a brief visit with my mom this morning (I had to drop the money off for my car. Unfortunately, I won't be able to get it till Monday, so its two more days with Alf's pimp-mobile, blechh!), its been a good day.
Actually its been a great day. Super weather. Sunny. Trying to eke towards 60. And I even hit my first garage sale today. And oh what a bonified find! Yee-ha!
I first saw the tell-tale sign in orange. GARAGE SALE! ALAN STREET!
It was a house sale. Went in. It was an empty house, set up with tables with lots of doo-dads. It was being run by one of those "professional" garage sale runners. Not sure what college you go to for that. Possibly J.U. (Junk University).
But those sales always have stuff way overpriced for some reason. Like a glass vase from K-Mart, which should be marked 50 cents, suddenly becomes a priceless cut-glass Vahhhhze, rescued from Hitler's bunker and carried over the Alps by camel and sewn into Aunt Greta's trunk and then flown around the planet 23 times by Charles Lindbergh. Twelve dolla, please.
So I was going through all the stuff rather quickly, because I'm only looking for stuff I can buy cheap and then sell on E-Bay for expensive.
Suddenly I came upon a box of acrylic paints. It was a fairly large box and it said 50 cents each. I didn't think that was a bad price, especially since many of the paint tubes looked new. But of course I am still on a very strict budget, being a poor girl and all, so I decided to just pick out a few primary colors and maybe start something new artistically. Because I currently only use pastels.
So I pulled a few tubes out, and then the Garage Sale Official came into the room and started chatting and said, "You want a deal on those?" I said sure, and then she picked up a tube and couldn't open it. It was one of the older one.
Well, gee, I can't seem to open this. Must be kinda old. How about the whole box for $8. Inside I was like
But I told her I'd have to think about it. But as soon as she walked out of the room, I did the wittykitty happy dance.
Yes! YES! YEEEEESSS!!!!!!
I think if there had been a bald, ugly guy standing there I probably would have kissed him on his bald, ugly head.
So I waited the appropriate thinking-about-it time, and then hoisted the box up and brought it in to pay for it. Fortunately I had just gotten $20 so I had some cash. I told the lady I was really into art but I had never tried acrylics, but if I ever became famous I'd have her to thank. She kind of eyed me like, um...ok.
When I got the box home, I dumped it out on the table and counted everything. There were SIXTY acrylic paint tubes in the box, as well as some matte medium, a paint brush, and a metal paint mixer thing (don't know official name since I don't paint yet).
So Yowza! The Art Gods must have wanted me to find this today. I did have to throw away about 10 of them, that were hard, but hey 50 paints for $8.00
Try getting that down at Michael's, Omarosa!
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty