About a boy … or two … or three … or four

I have a weakness: I really like men. I think most of them are fascinating, even when I find them frustrating. These days, these specimens have been on my mind.

Brent. He's 19, the oldest child of my lunatic older sister. Because he lives 2000 miles away and because he is the son of my lunatic older sister, I really have not had much, if anything, to do with him. Last time I saw him was (I think) in the summer of 2001. As I recall, he had no real interest in me then at all. So imagine my surprise when on Tuesday he called me as soon as he arrived for the Big Baptism. "Hi, Laurie. This is Brent. I want to have lunch with you tomorrow. What train and bus do I take?" Seems that now that he's almost an adult, beginning a new phase in his life (starting classes at the community college), he has decided to reach out to his rogue Aunt Laurie. Part of it was curiosity, part of it was to annoy his lunatic mother. Still, I was surprised that he did it and have to acknowledge that it was courageous of him. Both he and his younger sister, who came along for the ride, are attractive and literate. I was impressed. And sad, too. They really do hate their mother. I certainly understand it; all the best people hate their mother. But still, to think of those three unhappy people rattling around in that house together … it's sad. I gave both kids my email address, just in case they ever want to contact me again.

Ed. My former boss. We got together for dinner this week. He brought his daughter's college graduation photos, gave me an update on his health maladies, bragged about his wife's new-found professional success. He even had a little present for me -- a DVD similar to VH1's I Love the 70s. I left with a really good feeling. Ed's a good friend. When I was unemployed a few years ago, Ed made sure I had freelance work. He's one of those people who thinks about me every now and again, even if I no longer cross his path ever day. I am lucky to have friends like Ed.

My best friend. He is ensconced in his new job. You'd think that would mean I'd hear from him less. But, thankfully, it's just the opposite. Now that he has a routine again, we have a routine again. And while he has a new job, we're both still in the same industry, so we still have that in common. It's comfortable, natural. None of the stress of the conversations we had when we spoke less often. I wake up in the morning and I'm happier. When I was freaking out about all my family drama, he was very available to listen. I have my best friend back. We're still us.

Perry March. Poor SOB. He was convicted on all counts related to his wife's disappearance and death. Yet he was deprived of his day in the Court TV sun. From opening arguments, through prosecution and defense testimony, onto closing arguments and the beginning of the deliberation watch, Perry was the brightest daytime star on that cable tv channel. And then, Wednesday night, after 10 years, some skinny perv in Thailand admits to the JonBenet Ramsey slaying and steals all his thunder. I read that Perry is on death watch. No wonder.

Frustrated

The agency I work at (not for) is on a losing streak of epic proportions these days. One of the major daily papers is gleefully chronically our demise. For the most part, I don't care. Since this place is poorly run and pretentious, the old Lennon song "Instant Karma" keeps running through my mind. If things get much worse, there will be more layoffs, and I don't think getting cut would be a bad thing for me. I know I should find another job but I'm not doing a damn thing about it. Getting laid off might be just the kick in the butt I need.

The agency is working on a multi-million dollar pitch right now. I read in the paper that winning this new piece of business is critical because we are on the verge of losing one of our more famous and venerable existing clients. (It says a lot about this place that I learned that from the newspaper.) This pitch has been in the works for weeks and weeks. All the creative and marketing elements have to be tied up by Monday morning so the team of Cool Kids who are presenting can be in Northern California on Tuesday morning.

Wednesday afternoon it was decided by the Cool Kids that my team needed to be brought in. We were told to cancel all our evening and weekend plans so we could spend all our time from here on in at the office. This should have occured to this brain trust weeks ago. This reveals the contempt the powers that be here have for my team and our discipline, but OK. Pitches are always a pain in the ass, but it's the nature of the beast. My complaining about spending Thursday night, Friday night, Saturday night and Sunday night at the office would be like an accountant complaining about long hours at tax time. Plus, given four days and four nights, we could put together a presentation we would be proud of.

If we had four days and four nights. It's now Friday morning, and the Cool Kids have yet to give us any real input, any real explanation of the parameters of the project, so that we can get started. I called Mr. Primo Cool Kid every two hours yesterday, leaving voice mail messages explaining what we need to get started. He not only never returned my calls, he was gone by 5:30, when I walked over to his office to speak to him directly.

Prick.

So my team and I get to spend all night tonight, and Saturday, and Sunday, doing work that is destined to suck. Creating new concepts is like cooking a Lean Cuisine; it takes as long as it takes. If you're supposed to cook a Lean Cuisine at 7 minutes but you only have 5, it will be barely edible. That's the professional situation we're in now.

I'm frustrated. Upset. Pissed.

Oh well. I've vented here. Now I have to suck it up and be all enthusiastic in front of the team.