Band Name of the Day: RFP Machine

Brought to you by my literal mind. Here's just a sampling of what's rolling around inside it this evening.

Today I began my four-day training on the RFP Machine. Being the literal-minded chick that I am, I thought that the RFP Machine was an actual machine and that I would be learning about buttons and switches and moving parts and such. Why a marketing writer would need to know how to operate non-computer machinery was a mystery to me, but hey, I'm the new girl. I go where they tell me, and happily.

When I got there today, I learned that RFP Machine is a software application, not hardware. It's used in answering Requests For Proposals — requests from potential clients to my company for info about its products and services. It's a database of FAQs. D'OH!
Every month, the same gripe: Where's the freelance project that was scheduled to land on my doorstep today, or some e-mail or phone call or smoke signal explaining its absence? And every month, the same answer: Der, huh?

I bowed out of T'ai Chi and my Partner-san workout tonight to stay home and do it, and it ain't here. *Sigh.* I left a voice message for the perp. Maybe I should raise my rates every time this happens, eh?
As some of you may recall, in the weeks preceding my ouster from the FBO, I sent out numerous resumes. One of those landed on the desk of a Mr. E. Mr. E left me two urgent-sounding messages last week begging me to call back because he was very, very interested in my credentials. I left him a message thanking him for his interest but explaining that I've already accepted a position and am no longer available.

Today I came home and found yet another message from Mr. E waiting for me. I called back and left another reply. I wonder what he wants. If he wants to pay me exorbitant rates to redline his whatever (not as dirty as it sounds) from afar, we'll talk. Otherwise, he needs to find another phone-tag buddy. One that's not long-distance.
I have one episode to go and then I'll be done watching Firefly. I'm putting it off. I don't want the fun to end. Firefly was a really, really good show, and I've fallen in love with it in under a dozen episodes. Heck, they had me at the first Chinese expletive. Why oh why was it canceled? Oh yeah: network doo-doo heads.