Wednesday, August 24, 2016

WORK ...

I decided to drive to work today.  BIG MISTAKE.

Yesterday the “express” bus was early.  I saw it arrive as I was racing down Olive Street to catch it.  There it was like a beacon, waiting, as I stood on the corner across the street with a gigantic red light staring at me.  I knew the light would not change in time.  I knew I wasn't going to make it so there was no point in running so I just opted to take the “regular” bus (or as I refer to it, the gente bus)… that’s the bus that stops one hundred and fifty-five times and has a various assortment of folks getting on and off, and passengers racing to get to the good seat that has just been vacated.  Needless to say it was crowded with humanity and luckily I managed to get a seat by the window where I stayed put. It was a super crowded ride home and the one good thing about being an older gal is that you don't have to feel guilty for sitting and not offering your seat to someone older than you because you're old too. 

Halfway home our bus driver pulls over and stops and instructed all of us to de-bus and get on the bus behind us.  “What?  Do I have to pay again?”  No.  So everyone on the bus empties out and gets on the other bus that was more crowded than the first bus we were on.  Add to that the one crazy man up front talking nonstop to the poor bus driver who didn’t have the heart to punch him in the throat.  You will get one of these crazies at least once a week.  There was once a drug addicted meth addict who got on the bus in East LA and then cursed a blue streak while she talked to herself.  She become so unruly at one point that the bus driver had to step in and scold her.  Her response?  She got off at the next stop and told everyone to go fuck themselves. 

I got home at 7 pm.  An hour and fifteen minutes to travel thirteen miles.  Yes.  Thirteen Miles.  On a Saturday with no traffic it takes 20 minutes to drive it.  But this isn’t Saturday.  THAT is why I decided to drive in today.  I didn’t want to deal with a crowded, hot bus and the dregs of humanity breathing on me.  Know how long it took me to get to work?  An hour and 15 minutes.  By the time I got to work I needed a nap. 

See the stairs ... horrible.
Most days I take the bus.  But once I get off the walk to my office consists of climbing up 180 stairs of which I have to stop and rest, pant, and then I can continue on as younger, fitter dick wads race past me two steps at a time.  Years ago right beside this stairway was the famous Angel’s Flight which was a little cable car on a tram that carried you up to Bunker Hill where my office is.  Unfortunately, several years ago the little cable car came careening down the track killing an elderly man who was inside it and it has been out of use ever since.  So now, I have to climb the steps, which for me is me akin to climbing Everest except that it smells like urine, is littered with dog shit, old hypodermic needles, broken beer bottles and an occasional bum wrapped in a blanket talking to himself. 
This is my morning commute.  Every.  Day.  

Thank you.

Thursday, August 18, 2016


I thought I'd repost a little ditty I wrote back in 2011.  I wrote a funny little post about my running for president which I thought was hilarious although there were some who called me Socialist. 

Repost - 2011

So after much thought and serious consideration I have decided to throw my hat into the ring and run for President (hell, if Michelle Bachman and Donald Trump can do it then so can I). I am running for the Truth, Freedom and Fairness Party and this is what I'm gonna do for YOU! 

1. No wars. EVER.

2. Tax the excrement out of all rich bankers/CEOs and Wall Street billionaires (no excuses, no tax loopholes/tax shelters or write-off's, EVER. You will pay 50% income tax on all of your earnings in full, every year, WITHOUT QUESTION, for the rest of your lives. Thank you. (happy face)

3. No taxes, EVER for any working stiff. They've paid enough taxes to last the next five decades. Under my Presidency, all working Joe's will get a big fat break including 4 weeks of paid vacation every year and sick days when you're sick. And NO MORE "AT WILL" employment or "RIGHT TO WORK" states EVER.
4. Wall Street - next time you get into a jam ... YOU'RE ON YOUR OWN. PERIOD.

5. All the jobs that have been "outsourced" must come back to the United States IMMEDIATELY and all super, wealthy CEO's who sold out America by outsourcing jobs will now have to hire American workers at no less than $30 an hour, provide medical/dental and vision insurance, long term disability and also provide a cost of living raise EVERY YEAR for EVERY SINGLE EMPLOYEE. PERIOD. (Watch how fast the economy picks up!  Your little pinheads will spin).

6. All monies (taxes) that have been used to fund the wars in Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya
(and God knows where else cause you know all these politicians lie like a bunch of rugs) must be refunded to every single taxpayer with a letter of apology and a complete accounting of what every penny was used for.  IN DETAIL.

7. The draft will be re-instituted. However, we will not take the young. The young will be provided with free college educations and/or training in the area of whatever their heart's may desire. The draft will now consist of rich, fat, flag-waving, right wing Americans who so love America ... now, YOU CAN PROVE IT. We will start with the TV and radio personalities, Limbaugh, Beck, O'Reilly, Coulter, etc.) You fuckers go fight for a while - lose a limb, an eye, a ball ... I don't give a crap. And, upon your return, when you are suffering from post traumatic stress syndrome ... TOO BAD. No aid for you. Pull yourselves up by your bootstraps and deal with it.

8. Women will now make more money than men. FOREVER. And no sexual harassment of any kind will be tolerated EVER. PERIOD. END OF STORY. Furthermore, any trial or mediation that may result from a sexual harassment charge, the "Harasser" will heretofore be considered GUILTY until proven INNOCENT. Put that in you pipes and smoke it ... assholes.

9. ANYONE caught lying/bribing/cheating/stealing/whoring will be banned from public office. FOREVER. NO QUESTIONS ASKED. And get some therapy ... on your own dime you jerk-offs.

10. And last but not least, lunch at all places of employment, from now on will now be two hours long. You've worked hard all your lives .... enjoy your lunch dammit!




1.  Instead of ousting and denying Muslims entry into this country, I’m going to oust all rich, white, billionaires, CEO’s, hedge fund managers, and  bankers who are currently living in the United States and send them off to the countries where they're hiding all their illegally earned and non-taxed cash.

2.  I’m going to carpet bomb (well, maybe area rug bomb) Trump Tower, Wall Street, and all Walmarts, and if innocent people die … oh well. 

3.  I’m going to make all the cowardly, rich, white, right wing conservatives who were YELLOW during the Vietnam war (e.g., Donald Trump, Dick Cheney, George W., Rush Limbaugh, Mitt Romney, and just for good measure I'm going to throw in Ted Cruz, Mike Pence and Chris Christie) and send them all to Afghanistan.  Stay there for about a year.  Absorb.  Then … I want you to write me a paper in 1,000 words or less, about how you really feel about “boots on the ground.”

4.  I want Donald Trump and Mike Pence to build the wall separating Mexico from the U.S.  And I mean the two of them alone.  Yes.  You read correctly.  Donald and Mike.  You guys buy the bricks, get the mortar, build the wall.  And Donald, since you're very VERY rich (as you love to keep reminding everyone) the cost of this undertaking should be just a drop in the bucket for a gazillionaire like you.  You can pay for all the supplies.  [insert happy face here].  I know it's daunting, but it will make you the darling of the Tea Party, so look at it as labor well invested. 

And, last but not least ...

5.  I  want all of you to study the Constitution and report to me (with citations and references) all instances where it says that you can BOMB anyone, anywhere, anytime. 

Thank you.


Tuesday, August 16, 2016

RE-RUN ...

A Whine ...

I HATE bending over.  If I'm sitting in a chair and I drop my pen and I have to bend over to pick it up I'm all FUCK!  Whenever I vacuum and the vacuum does not pick up a tiny piece of paper or a sliver of thread that I've already passed the vacuum over ten times I will leave it there until the next time I vacuum.  And you know that that damn piece of paper or sliver of thread will remain on the carpet in the exact same location until the end of time until I finally bend over and pick it up.  However, if I happen to catch the edge of the bedspread with the vacuum cleaner that vacuum will suck up the entire bedspread.  WHY IS THAT?  Or how come whenever I drop an earring or some other precious memento onto the carpet and the only LOGICAL PLACE ON EARTH it could possibly be is within a small diameter of space where I dropped it but, somehow despite the rules of quantum physics, time and space, that fucken earring will have bounced from the spot on the carpet and magically appear downstairs under the sink?  I HATE when that happens.

The other day I lost my glasses.  I had them in my hand.  I FELT them in my hand.  I KNOW they were in my hand and then ... they were gone.  I was in the living room when I lost them.  I didn't leave the living room, go upstairs and make a cartwheel and then go into the kitchen.  The only logical place they could possibly be was somewhere in the living room.  I looked and looked and looked and cursed a blue streak because THEY WERE IN MY FUCKING HAND TWO SECONDS AGO!!!  And I swear, whenever these types of things happen I am certain I am losing my mind.  How could something be there and then ... be gone?  It's like magic.  So, after going upstairs three times to search for my stupid glasses (even though I KNEW there was no way in hell they were going to be upstairs ... I go upstairs anyway) and they're not there.  I retrace my steps for 20 minutes until I finally give up.  I sit on the couch to watch TV and now I can't find the remote.  CRAP.  I look around and see it on the floor ... AND OF COURSE I have to bend over to pick it up ... and THERE ... between the end table and the sofa ... were my glasses. 

Thursday, July 14, 2016


I read this little gem in The Huffington Post.  

1. “Nevermind, I’ll just do it myself.”
Marriage pro tip:  When you ask your spouse to call the plumber to fix the sink, give him a chance to do it. Rolling your eyes and saying, “nevermind, I’ll do it myself” may result in you getting your sink fixed sooner, but it’s also likely to rub your spouse the wrong way.

I agree.  I don’t know why these ladies get their panties in a twist.  What’s wrong with waiting a couple months or years?  It’ll get done eventually and THAT is the point.  

2. “You should have known.”
You’re setting yourself up for disappointment if you expect your hubby to decipher every last gesture and statement you make, said Ryan Howes, a clinical psychologist based in Pasadena, California.  “Women become upset when their husbands can’t read between the lines or read their minds but guys are notoriously poor mind readers,” he said. “Wives will save themselves a lot of grief if they can come to accept this and just ask for what they want.” 

I agree.  Next time my husband’s ex-wife calls up and asks him if he can “do her a favor” and he just immediately says “yes” without asking me I won’t get upset.  I mean what’s the big deal?  She was his first wife, therefore her needs should come first, right?
(p.s.  I love my husband's ex-wife.  What I don't love is when he forgets to check with me about important stuff!)

3. “Do you think she’s hot?”
Do you really want to know your husband’s thoughts about an attractive woman? Probably not ― plus, you’re putting your spouse in an uncomfortable, no-win situation, said Kurt Smith, a therapist who specializes in counseling men“Most men have already identified the pretty women in the room; if he’s trying to respect you then he should be already trying not to look, so you pointing her out will only make him more self-conscious, uncomfortable and unsure of what to do to not upset you or hurt your feelings,” he said. 

Oddly enough this does not bother me.  If my husband wants to leave me for a “hot” chick good luck.  First, she's going to want to procreate and then stay home.  And I seriously doubt that she will clean the oily urine stains from the bottom of the toilet bowl.  Good luck with that.

4. “We need to talk.” 
No four words strike fear into a married man’s heart quite like “we need to talk.” Opt for something less ominous sounding the next time you bring up an issue, said Marcia Naomi Berger, a therapist and author of Marriage Meetings for Lasting Love: 30 Minutes a Week to the Relationship You’ve Always Wanted“The phrase ‘we need to talk’ is often a signal that the wife has complaints or criticism about the husband,” she said. “He assumes he somehow failed you and withdraws, creating a disconnect, which is the exact opposite of what you were trying to accomplish.”

I think No. 4 should be when the husband asks the wife “What do you want to do?”  In my case for instance, this means that even though the husband is asking you “what do you want to do” what he really means is he’s giving you the opportunity to tell him what you want to do even though he knows that y'all are going to do what HE wants to do anyway.  Therefore, when your husband asks you "what do you want to do?" you should just accept the fact that you are not going to do what YOU want to do.  It’s easier than sticking a fork in his head.  Because you know damn well his skull is as thick as cement and that fork will never penetrate it.  

5. “Man up.”
Seriously? There’s no right or wrong way to be a man. For your spouse’s sake, let your gender expectations go and try to have a civil conversation. 

“Telling your spouse to ‘man up’ is a brutal attack on his core identity,” Howes said. “It’s a statement loaded with contempt and shame and could create relationship damage that will be difficult to heal.” 

I NEVER tell my man to “man up”.  I say this because I have accepted the fact that though he is a old fart, in his mind he is a 15 year old boy.  Accepting this will save the wife tons of aggravation.

6. “Pick up after yourself. I’m not your mother.”  
There are better ways to encourage your spouse to put his dirty socks in the hamper than telling him you’re tired of feeling like his mom.

“Bringing up mom piles baggage onto what’s probably already a loaded situation,” Smith said. “Many men are sensitive about their relationship with their mother, so suggesting he still wants or needs his mom is not a way to encourage him to change behavior you don’t like.”

If men are sensitive to their relationships with their mothers they need to get over it and just do what the wives say.  It’s very simple.  Underwear does not go on the floor.  In order to combat this problem I simply pick up his dirty underwear and hang in on the front doorknob.  If I have to see it, then the entire world has to see it. 

7. “You never, you should have, you ought to...”
Sorry, but chiding your spouse about how he never does the dishes (or takes out the trash or drives the kids to school) isn’t likely to inspire change, Berger said.  “Saying someone ‘never’ does something leaves no wiggle room for improvement ― it’s like casting a fault of his in stone,” she said. “It’s much better to say, ‘I’d appreciate it if you would empty the dishwasher tonight,’ for example. And when he does, thank him and you can expect more help in the future.” 

No wife wants to tell her husband the above.  HOWEVER, see answer to No. 5 above.  Remember, emotionally he is 15.  And why the hell do I have to THANK him for emptying the dishwasher?  I do that 50 fucking times a day.  GET A SPINE.

8. “You’ve put on a few pounds lately, huh?” 
Instead of pointing out changes in your spouse’s appearance, be supportive and tell him you’d love if he joined you at your cycle class sometime, said Becky Whetstone, a Little Rock, Arkansas-based therapist“Insinuating that his body is not like it once was will shrink his confidence  ― and he’ll probably up his calorie intake just to spite you!”

Unfortunately, my husband is a work out fanatic who burns calories like a furnace and can still wear bikini underwear size medium.  I, on the other hand, have turned into a hog.  And bless his heart, he doesn’t criticize.

9. “You’re going out with the guys again?”
Don’t look at Fantasy Football meet-ups and golf trips as threats to your marriage. It’s quite the opposite, actually; some time apart will likely do your relationship good, Howes said.  “Yes, sometimes a guy’s night is just an excuse to drink and fart but for many guys these are crucial times to connect, seek advice, get support and express some important emotions,” he said. “Wives who feel threatened by this or forbid their husband from attending may be cutting off a vital support system.”  The biggest bonus of guy time, according to Howes? “There’s a good chance he’ll actually be a better husband if he can compare notes with other husbands and dads.” 

My husband doesn’t do this too often.  But when he does, I do not feel threatened.  I'd rather have him drink and fart somewhere else than my home.  He does, however spend HOURS AND HOURS recreating.  So the gym and his bicycle are his other woman and I can’t really complain about that.

Thoughts ladies?


Sunday, May 22, 2016


Yet another adventure in Dannyland ...

SO, the plan was to go to the Ensenada/Rosarito Bike race the weekend of Danny's 62nd birthday.  The last time Danny went to Mexico was around 2010.  That weekend he was robbed of his phone, wallet, etc., et al., and it was basically a nightmare trying to locate where the hell he was.  Everytime I called his cell someone answered it but all I could hear was Mariachi music in the background.  Had he been kidnapped?  Was he being held for ransome?  Was his head on a stick along a highway?  Don't laugh ... it's crazy down there.  So when he arrived safe and sound, even though it was sans cell phone and credit cards, I told him that he would never EVER be allowed to go to Mexico again.  PERIOD.  

As is Danny's way he bugged and bugged and bugged and bugged and bugged and BUGGED THE SHIT OUTTA me to let him go to the bike race this year.  He cajoled, pleaded, begged, he promised gifts.  You have no idea how relentless a desperate man can be when he wants something.  Finally, I gave in.  It was either that or put a bullet in my head.  Besides, it was going to be a family weekend with lots of friends and I WOULD BE THERE to make sure he didn't lose his wallet, his phone, his bike, his mind, his head.  

Enter the UNFORESEEN.  My dear aunt passed away the week before we were to travel to Mexico.  As fate would have it, her memorial was scheduled for Danny's birthday, May 6, the day we were to leave for Mexico.  OF.  COURSE.
So, he goes to Mexico, I fly to Arizona to attend the service.

I call him when I arrive and the phone goes straight to voicemail.  FUCK.  I KNOW.  I ALREADY KNOW something is not right.  I call and call and the phone goes to voicemail all day Friday and all day Saturday ... no answer.  I cannot tell you how livid and worried I am.  THIS IS JUST LIKE DANNY.  That phone could be ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD.  My house, his car, a bathroom stall, a counter top, the Grand Canyon ... ANYWHERE.    

My trip was quick. Fly out Friday, fly home Saturday.  His trip, leave Friday, return Sunday.  I get home around 4 pm on Saturday.  I try calling him again.  Same result.  UGH.  If there's anything I hate it's hunting my husband down.  I hate feeling like a paranoid wife but what can I tell you, I'm a paranoid wife.  I leave voice mails AND texts with two friends who are with him.  No one returns my call or texts.  Oh shit.  Something is seriously wrong.  Around 10 pm I get a text that says ... "Hi.  We're coming home.  See you in a few hours."  WTF.  He's not due to come home until tomorrow.  What the hell is up?  I call his friend and he answers!  He gives the phone to DannyI wanted to scream at him but was so relieved he was on the phone and alive I just asked him what was going on?  "Well" he says "here's the thing.  I wrecked and cracked three ribs."  In my mind I'm like of course you cracked your ribs.  What else?  I questioned him about a planned trip we are scheduled to make the following week to the Philippines for our daughter's wedding.  He says he's going to see what the doctor says.  

Long story longer, he doesn't get home until 3:30 am looking HORRIBLE.  I should have rushed him to the ER right then but I was so F****ING mad at him for (1) not having someone contact me about his accident (his accident happened at 10 am Saturday morning!  I didn't learn anything about it until 10 pm that night) and (2) keeping me in the dark because he was afraid of what I'd do, that when he stumbled up the stairs wrapped in gauze and looking like he wanted to die I was so tempted to punch him in the face but instead just turned over and went to sleep.   

The following morning we went to the ER in The United States of America where they immediately did a CT scan, x-rays, drew blood and shot a dye into his veins to see if he had any internal bleeding in his chest.  He had three broken ribs, a broken collar bone, a broken scapula (shoulder blade) AND A BROKEN FINGER.  Naturally, we weren't able to go to the Philippines, lost money there, and I've spent my two week vacation taking care of him.  Here's the complaint.  All he watches on T.V. is SNAPPED, Anthony Bourdain, and other various cooking and murder shows.  I'M LOSING MY MIND ALREADY. 

Saturday, April 23, 2016

PRINCE .... R.I.P.

I cannot tell you how MUCH I LOVED Prince.  My one regret in life is that I never saw him perform live.  He was a true artist in every sense of the word.  A talent, a genius, a master showman.  There are not many artists like Prince left.  Bowie is gone ... it's just so sad when the artists of your youth pass.  

In the early 1980's when I was about 25 I was dating a douche who worked the door of a private club in Beverly Hills.  I saw lots of famous people there.  I met O.J. Simpson there (arrogant prick), saw Rick James, and .... PRINCE.  The whole room was buzzing.  Girls in the bathroom were whispering "OMG Prince is here!"   

I remember what I was wearing.  A long sleeved tight pink top with black polka dots and a short, black skirt (sounds stupid I know, but trust me ... it was very cute) ... My hair was big and wild and the eyeliner was heavy ... just like Prince's.

There he was.  All by himself, leaning against a wall, with a drink in hand wearing all purple.  I locked eyes with him for just a few seconds and then looked away.  I was never very bold in these types of situations, but I've often wondered what would have happened if I'd approached him or, at least given him a smile.  Who knows????  It could have been me instead of Apollonia.  

Now he's gone.  It felt just like when Bowie died. I literally almost cried.  I felt such sadness ... such shock.  But I do cherish the memory of having once been in a room with him.  

I know he was a very spiritual person.  So I would imagine that death is something he did not fear and probably welcomed ... he is onto the next journey ... eternity.  So rest in peace Prince.  And I hope I see you when I get there. 

Wednesday, April 13, 2016


An ugly reality about the corporate world that needs to be discussed is women.

Women (aka secretaries and staff) have not come a long way baby in the corporate world.  The gals who have come a long way are the mucky muck partners and other female attorneys and/or high level executives.  Secretarial staff are drones.  Nothing more, nothing less.  They have been known to type up kid’s homework, cancel ballet lessons, wrap Xmas presents, go down to the parking garage and “get that box out of my car”, etc., etc., etc.  And though it pains me to say such things about my own gender, it is the honest truth that most secretaries would rather stick needles in their eyes than work for a female partner. 

Dulcinea Bradley was one such female partner.  Ironically, Dulcinea in Spanish means sweet.  She wasn’t.  She reminded me of the asexual character Pat on Saturday Night Live.  You couldn’t tell if she was a man or a woman.  Dulcinea had short black hair, wore wire rimmed glasses and had a corn-fed Midwestern look.  Her usual style of dress consisted of a pair of khaki pants that were usually chewed up by her butt crack which she wore with a basic white Oxford shirt that she belted and tucked in high at the waist.  She was, as a Southerner would say “a big ol gal.”  Dulcinea was really loud and had a high pitched, cackling laugh that conjured up images of flying monkeys.  In short, she scared the hell out of the staff.  Her long suffering secretary Sandy was a friend of mine and she was treated horribly by this woman.  For a visual, picture Edith Bunker with Archie yelling right in her face all day long. 

Dulcinea inspired fear into everyone at the firm, including partners.  Unfortunately she was a rainmaker which gave her unlimited freedom to behave like a tyrant.  After working for this monster for many years poor Sandy had finally had enough and was transferred to another desk which left Dulcinea without a secretary.  Now some poor floater was going to have to work for her.  That poor floater was me. 

The first week I sat at that desk she sent me an email.  Within the time it took for her to hit send on her computer she had stormed over to my desk and within inches from my face, finger pointing at my keyboard she screamed “OPEN YOUR EMAIL!  OPEN YOUR EMAIL!”  She had gotten her panties in a twist because I had not responded to her email within the 2 seconds it took for it to travel from her computer to mine, hence the hissy fit at my desk.  The entire outburst took place while I was on the phone taking a message (hence, my not immediately reading her email).  When I hung up I looked at her and very calmly said ... “I can hear you.”  This was grounds for a sit down with Human Resources where I was informed that Dulcinea NEVER, EVER WANTED ME TO COVER HER DESK AGAIN AS LONG AS SHE LIVED and into my personnel file went another write up.  After I was banned for life from working for her, the next unfortunate soul was Gabe.  Gabe was an excellent secretary, however this was irrelevant.  Once, when Dulcinea placed several pencils in her “out box” and they were still sitting there two days later she literally had a shit hemorrhage and screamed at Gabe for not sharpening her pencils.  Unfortunately, Gabe had forgotten to read her mind that day otherwise he would have realized that leaving the pencils in the out box meant that she wanted him to sharpen them.  Fact:  if you want your pencils sharpened, perhaps telling your secretary “hey, do you think you can sharpen my pencils?” would suffice.  NO.  This is not how it went down.  Gabe and Dulcinea went to WAR and it was the office talk for weeks.  “How was he supposed to know she wanted him to sharpen her pencils!?” “Would you have sharpened them?”  “Hell no, let her sharpen her own pencils!” and on and on it went with secretaries taking sides and everyone in the firm weighing in.    OK … I just have to stop right here and remind you all that we are talking about one of the largest, most prestigious law firms IN THE WORLD, and this is the kind of shit that was going on all the time.  … Corporate America at its finest.   

I cannot stress to you how awful this woman was.  So in my mind I thought of a brilliant payback fantasy …

I would send her, anonymously of course, a gigantic vibrator with a sweet
note …   

Dearest Dulcinea,

It has been medically proven that use of this apparatus has many health benefits.  It is a proven tension reliever and many believe it can also aide in instilling a calmer demeanor.  With proper usage you should achieve orgasm quite regularly.  This will make you rather tired, but in a good way.  With regular use you will find you have less stress and more friends.  For maximum benefit use once or twice a week, batteries not included. 

A Concerned Friend

I eventually did get payback … sort of ... and it was better than the vibrator idea.  The legal community in Los Angeles is small.  Everyone knows everyone and the fates being what they are and karma being a bitch and all, Miss Dulcinea left the biggest, most prestigious law firm in the world a few years later and interviewed at the firm I was now working at.  I was working for a corporate finance partner at the time and watched in amazement as Dulcinea was ushered into Arthur’s office.  OMG I thought. ... that's Dulcinea Bradley!  After their meeting I walked into his office …

Me:  “Was that Dulcinea Bradley?” 
Arthur:  “Yes.”
Me:  “I used to work for her.”
Arthur:  “You did?” 
Me:  “Yes.  She’s the biggest bitch I ever met in my life.”
Arthur:  “Yeah.  You can tell.”
Me:  “I wouldn’t hire her.  She’s poison.”

She didn’t get the job.  Next time you might want to think twice about who you’re yelling at lady. 
I don’t profess to have had any power over the decision to hire her or not, but it sure felt good to be able to put my two cents in regarding a horrible woman who made my life hell, even if it was only for two weeks. 
Lesson to be learned:   
(or you may receive a vibrator in the mail)