So I've started this 30 Day Song Challenge on f@cebook, and it seems to be taking any residual energy I have. I am starting to wonder if I should post the results here as well, so I feel like I haven't completely abandoned the blog.
The job is still busy, but still mostly good. I am slowly discovering the extent to which the Wine Distributor Guys (WDGs) have been running our store, or at least, our department. Barbara didn't really have (make?) time to run the department before, so it seems like they were just bringing in whatever they wanted, waving it in her general direction, then she would nod and not really take much notice and they would put it on the shelves. As a consequence, only the most pushy guys got anywhere, soaking up as much of our retail real-estate as possible, while the more polite and professional ones (who, as it so happens, also have much better product) have very little space on the shelves. There is one guy in particular who is having trouble adjusting to the fact that I actually am paying attention, and that I want him to bring in what I want and not to bring in what I don't want, and not to just bring in something I told him twice that I didn't fucking want. Arrgh. So, needless to say there have been some recent glitches. I wrote a politely worded e-mail to all of them, basically saying that contrary to the way it used to be, I want everything to go through me now. If (when?) this doesn't work, I will then bring down the proverbial hammer.
Last night I attended a wine tasting party at the home of a lesbian couple who are regular customers of mine. I adore them, and I adore their incredibly smart and polite children, and most of their friend that I met as well. Some of them were absolutely batshit crazy, of course, which was also amusing. One woman had just returned from a trip to the Finger Lakes region of New York, and she brought back two of the worst wines I have ever tasted.
"It's a nice dry Riesling," she promised, plunking a bottle down on the table. Not having had it before, I immediately opened it and poured myself a couple ounces. It was terrible. Or rather, it was sweet, which I was not prepared for, and therefore it was not pleasing to me. I made an attempt to smile and then darted to the kitchen to grab a chunk of blue cheese.
I was being careful about my consumption, wanting to both maintain my professional composure and be able to pilot my vehicle home at a moment's notice when my social anxiety kicked in.
The next crazy erupted from a squat woman in a too-tight sweater who had asked me three times what my name was and where I worked. I don't know how the conversation started, but when I caught it she was on about how absolutely hot she thought her gynecologist is. She then went on to say that her marriage was basically a sexless friendship, which according to her was just fine. And then she was back to the gynecologist. (These things are totally unrelated, of course.)I won't quote here, because the very thought of it is making me uncomfortable all over again, but suffice to say that her doctor would probably turn her on even if he were hideous, because it's the only apparent action she ever sees. That poor man. Honestly, you would think she'd either get a real relationship or at least invest in some heavy machinery from the internet. While this conversation was happening, the host was smirking in my direction and mouthing an apology, and I was trying to find a way to extract myself from the kitchen without anyone else noticing.
After the party I went back into town to meet the b.h.and our other friends at the 3 Penny. I very judiciously ordered myself a soda water, spent several minutes watching what was obviously a fantastic hockey game (it was in double overtime), then made the rounds chatting up our friends with whom the b.h. had had dinner. It was a pleasant evening overall. Today I will probably do some housework and maybe run a couple of errands, but I am trying to make my day off an actual day off.