In Which the Well Runs Dry

Yet another post in which I reveal how very small I really am. Perhaps you may recall that I used to work for the Small Business Administration, before I slipped their leash last year by retiring. An important component of my job was running the classes we had for ingrate entrepreneurs. It was very much like being a producer; I would finagle small business people and other experts into volunteering to teach the classes, then organize the details, the room, the marketing, the registration, the attendees, the clean-up. More than 400 classes a year, about two classes every single fucking day. I now understand the main part of my job was worrying about those details, no wonder I was cranky.

Last week, I ran into one of the guys I had used as a teacher and without prompting, he launched into a bitter screed about how the whole thing is going to hell in a shabby handbag. Attendance is way down, since now no one is doing any marketing, no new class topics, and my former colleagues seem baffled and surly when the volunteer teachers show up.

I suppose I should be concerned that my former baby is struggling, but I all I felt was smug and gratified. We have all been there, haven't we? Slogging along in a literally thankless job and thinking "They'd be sorry if I wasn't here," but knowing, really, that we're just replaceable cogs and that things could stumble along just fine without us.

Hah. Not this time. Take me for granted much? Suck it bitches. How immensely flattering.

I think I'll take a nap with the houseboys to celebrate.

Hot Time, Summer in the City

That big Wall o' Yellow at the top of our yard? That would be a big ass spread of acacia, I have no idea how many because the thicket of blackberry vines at its feet discourages closer inspection. Many local gardeners despise acaica, possibly because it's just too easy, like a drunk go-go boy, or possibly because the trees are prone to falling over in high winds, also, much like a drunk go-go boy.

Whatever. I like them. The cheery, abundant sulfur yellow flowers in winter, their casual tolerance of extreme drought, the fact that I didn't plant any of these behind my garden and now they fill the landscape. I was especially struck by them this afternoon because today was such a warm afternoon, much more like July than Easter, that I spent most it blundering around the yard considering gardening projects crying out for immediate attention which I am still ignoring.

I was plenty glad to have a nice day since just yesterday I thought I was getting sick. And then today, voila, healthy and lazy, yay. Still, while I was trembling on the brink of the ague, or manflu, or menopause or whatever, I realized the one good thing about ailing is staying home from work and now that I'm retired, I wouldn't even be able to pull that anymore. That may be the only downside to being retired.

The upside? Getting paid for not working and lotsa time for porn. Porn, porn, porn.

Porn.

Porn.

Porn.

Party Dogs

I attended a party at my old office this afternoon for three of my former colleagues who are retiring. Welcome aboard, that's what I say. It was much more amusing than I expected, very much a reunion since I have steered clear of the joint since I retired last year.

Naturally, everyone asked me "So what are you doing these days?" and seemed baffled when I replied, firmly and honestly, "Nothing." Look, I get paid for not working. Why should I feel compelled to do anything? If it weren't for porn and trolling blogs at 3:00 in the morning I would be comatose. Speaking of which, a big thank you to MJ over at Infomaiac for turning me on to the band Juantrip. Too groovy.

I also had the dubious pleasure of running into a broad who used to have the cubicle next to mine and whose planning of her step-daughter's wedding was the grinding bane of my existence for two fucking years. She was this fake sweet genteel Lady who tried to hide her homophobia from me but never succeeded. We had never liked each other particularly so why she came bouncing up to me today with a big kissypoo hug hello and stuck by my side until I almost had to scrape off my shoe with a stick was beyond me. What's with that?

I kept remembering another party years ago when one of my bosses, who could be a steel hard bitch and also despised this woman, marched up to her and told her she was not invited and that she had to leave. Now. So let's see, on one hand, we have the saccharine sweet Goody Two Shoes and on the other The Bitch Who Will Cut You and I like the bitch best. What's with that?

The party could have definitely used a swimming pool and strippers. But then again, can't they all?

Retired

A year ago, I posted the following:

But why can't I be a Lady of Leisure? I have the attitude, I have the wardrobe (three pair of cashmere socks and some almost-clean tee shirts,) I have stacks of things to sit around reading, and I had 18 petit fours, but they seem to have been eaten. If it wasn't for this stupid "employment" thing, I would be good to go. Just this afternoon, I was trapped in a committee meeting and thought, "Now this, this is the wrong life."

So now, my whining dream finally has come true. On January 14, I filed my application to retire and now it has finally fought its way through the byzantine paths of federal personnel actions and as of March 16, I am retired, an ex-civil servant. Yes! Say it with me girls, I am OUT. I win. All it took was 22 years of listening to the public complain that I was not doing enough for them as I pondered where to go for lunch. Suck it bitches.

I worked for the Small Business Administration. I was a Business Development Specialist. I wrote press releases and speeches and dealt with the media (bitches) and made charming little speeches about topics I knew almost nothing about to the great unwashed. I developed and administered a training program of more than 400 classes attended by about 10,000 small businesses each year. I learned how to spell the word "entrepreneur." I kicked out an old lady who insisted on bringing her cat with her to class. I was the go to guy for any design decisions because I was the office homo. I frequently ate cheese enchiladas for lunch.

And now all that is behind me.

My attendance once R Man got sick was spotty anyway, and by the time he was actively dying, I just stopped even pretending to go in. Everybody was cool with that. When he died, I announced I was not coming back, period, and that I was filing for an early, disability based retirement. Everybody was not cool with that, assuring me it was rash decision I would regret.

Let me see, retirement: getting paid for not working. What's to regret? Anyway, I ignored their advice (as I so often did) and now I'm out and cheerful as all fuck about it. I have regarded the time since R Man died and I just have hung out, doing nothing, as practice. Turns out I have real talent for this, talent I have been wasting all these years in the office. Saki digs it.