Azure Jane Lunatic (azurelunatic) wrote,
Azure Jane Lunatic

Thursday, in all its forms.

Reasons to love the volunteer crowd:

Marching Band Happiness
13 seconds of sheer meme collision.

Squeeful event of the day: I have an interview. Monday. For the internal position that I have desired since before hiring in. I don't think words do justice to my state of mind.

Relevant to that: I shared some of my leaping enthusiasm with one of the trainers, the fellow who shares a lot of the same physical tags as the team's supervisor. He was sitting at a lunch table with two distinct other people, both of them different flavours of Red Cube Badge Guy. I shared my squee. The Red Cube Badge Guys started asking me who my interview was to be with. Now, I am bad with names. They tossed out a couple names, but none of them sounded familiar. I did remember the email address, though. Corporate email addresses generally involve the name.

"No, no, it was some C-name," I said.
"C----?" said the Librarian.
"Yeah!" I said.
"Not an alias or an A record?" asked the guy with the busted-up leg.

I do this naturally, people. Sometimes it takes me by surprise.

Wednesday night at writers group, M ordered that V come home soon, and instructed me to pass on the order. I balked hardcore. There are certain people from whom I may take orders, and M is not one of them. I refused to take the order, and walked out on M's attempts to wheedle me, that V would know it was just M's way & I could just be the messenger; V wouldn't blame me. But. No. Asking me to do something against the grain can be gracefully declined. Ordering me to do something I was going to do anyway can be relatively gracefully dealt with. Ordering me to do something against the grain is not likely to win any kind of love at all. I am certain that azwriter got an earful on their way home.

The phrase "lawful commander" has a place in my head. My head defines that as it applies to me as being someone who not only holds social, organizational, or other informally recognized right to issue me orders, but a person who can be trusted to never issue me an order that would make me pull some form of safeword. (Barrayarans are now taught to safeword on illegal orders.) Oh, sure, someone in "lawful commander" status to me as my brain interprets it may ask me to do something that I may refuse. But they know to ask it rather than command it. And there are plenty of people who have been in supervisory or other ranking positions over me and bossed me around to do things that I did not actually want to do but I did anyway. Those don't count as "submitting to orders" in my head. They count as "going along with orders in order to keep getting $BENEFIT--" ...such as being paid.

Lovie continues being Lovie. My wrist continues being a pain. I continue having low word count. I'm at 10,767 now.

(Note that Lovie's opinions are NOT to be construed as mine. Which is a polite way of saying that I know there are people in Lovie's life who resemble people in my life, and Lovie is prone to making insensitive comments and viewing the world through her particular brand of self-centered bitch. This does NOT mean that I think of y'all that way. It means that Lovie really is that much of a bitch.) I have evolved a fresh but familiar scale for measuring crazy. Lovie only rates a Donna on the Vorrutyer Scale. Michael (from Home Movies from the Cutting-Room Floor) and his ant-minions would have collectively rated at least a Pierre, if not a Richars. (OK, at her worst, Lovie's up there too, but she never goes past a Byerly.)

Today after work: Chandler Fashion Center, featuring some unintended exploration. My rat-memory was set off the 101. My explorations were off the 10. Woops. After we found it, though, a good time was had by all but my feet. My skirt suffered an integrity failure (foot-long rip in the bottom about 1 inch from the hem; can be repaired but structural integrity of fabric failing overall). I wound up getting emergency pants and changing into them. (Emergency pants!) There was rain, also. At work, there was the supervisor (in the van! down by the river!) cruising around with a singing and dancing monkey. And then there was my team's supervisor tearing around the call center like a cat with the crazies. (I still have no idea why, although perhaps the man running after him knew.) This was to counteract the rain outside. (I, for one, welcome our soggy overlords.) ([Soggy little roosters?]) ([{Which makes sense to only me, Tay-Tay, and god knows who else. Mama, perhaps.}]) The young Animé Acolyte is now the holder of the nameplates of our team's departed.

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