Probably the most annoying thing someone can say to me (especially if I'm really on a rant-roll) is to CHILL. Or RELAX. For some reason, when someone says this to me I turn into She Hulk . I treat it like a slap in the face, because what it means is that whatever I'm pissed off at doesn't deserve my venomous rage. And who's to say it doesn't???!!!! I think the 'relax' thing happens to a lot of women. Maybe our rage scares people. Or maybe we just spend our energy getting upset over nothing. I dunno. What I do know is that nothing makes a pissy woman a rage-o-holic (you know adicted to rage-ohol!...God Bless Homer)faster than the word 'relax'. Seriously, gents try it on your woman and see her go from pissy to BITCHTASTIC in 60 seconds. (Use with caution)
(No boyfriends were harmed in the making of this blog)
Friday, September 30, 2005
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
A CREEP by any other name
My job. O.K., I'm not going to be like that retarded flight attendant who posed in her uniform on her blog and got her ass fired, but I' d like to tell you a little about my meaningless existence at work. I make coffee a lot. I answer the phone when the receptionist needs to pee or go shopping. I punched some holes in some documents today for this woman who apparently can't operate the complicated three hole punch. Did I mention I make coffee? Oh, and I get told when there's no more coffee. A lot.
This wasn't what I was told I would be doing. I was told this was a junior position as a marketing coordinator that could quickly become a senior position. Sure, maybe if my boss LET me do any writing or marketing or schmoozing...but she doesn't. The woman tells me to email her copies of the memos to announce when I am going to clean out the revolting remains that our purile clientele leave in the fridge. She wants to correct my FRIDGE MEMOS!
Needless to say it is a paycheck. A really, really small one, but a paycheck nonetheless. You see, I try to focus on the fact that I'm enrolled in a Translation certificate course and have a semblance of a social life (wait...scratch that, I suppose watching Lost on my couch doesn't count as a social life) to keep myself from going AWOL with horse tranquilizers and a bottle of Vodka.
However, my job has taken an icky turn of late.
I began to receive emails from one of our clients, which at first I took as harmless because my email is readily available to any of our clients who wish to bother the hell out of me. Initially, he asked me out for lunch and I actually thought it was to offer me a job with his company. You see, I work at an executive office or business centre (which is Latin for 'alternative address so the feds can't find me') and we have several different kinds of companies that rent office space with us. His company had actually hired other girls who had worked here and he had made an encouraging comment to my boss about my work when I first started. I'm thinkin', "Great! He must want to interview me for a very special position." Well he did. Just not the one I was hoping for.
The fellow in question wears a yarmulke and is married with FOUR kids. I thought, harmless! Then I get an email from a very gross handle name and thinking it's spam I almost delete it until I notice that it is from yarmulke wearing gent, his name in bold in the subject line saying "it's me!" This is my first inkling of willies-inducing behaviour.
I start to make excuses as to why I can't go to lunch.
The other day when I was stuck at the reception desk answering the busy phone line, he came over to say hello and asked how I was doing. I replied the standard, "Fine. I'm bored", to which short, hunched over, pasty, yarmulke wearing bloke says "WELL, we'll just have to get you excited then."
GROSSED OUT YET? 'CAUSE I AM!!!
Then, from a very reputable source, (namely, the chiquita it happened to) I am told a story about this particular dude, who during a meeting concerning his non payment of the rent, produces a folder containing comprimising pictures of her. The pictures were taken under the veil of understanding and the 'open' relationship this woman has with her husband for use on an adult chat site. He leaned over the table just before their meeting was finished and said "Are these you?". Understandably the woman was floored and, I imagine, felt pretty freakin violated to have this cretin throw the pictures in her face. He said "Oh, are you alright?" And she, trying hard to make light of the situation and probably of the urge to kick his ass, said "I think I need a drink." So scumbag offers to take her for a drink.
And here I was thinking he wasn't the TYPE to be trolling the Adults Personals circuit!
Needless to say what follows gives me a small amount of pleasure, since he has not stopped emailing me, asking me if I use Instant Messaging, either at work or at home (!) and I'm not sure what I should do. The woman's husband should be awarded the husband blue ribbon, because he called up the dirtbag and threatened his sorry life with a finesse I'm told will go down in history.
This wasn't what I was told I would be doing. I was told this was a junior position as a marketing coordinator that could quickly become a senior position. Sure, maybe if my boss LET me do any writing or marketing or schmoozing...but she doesn't. The woman tells me to email her copies of the memos to announce when I am going to clean out the revolting remains that our purile clientele leave in the fridge. She wants to correct my FRIDGE MEMOS!
Needless to say it is a paycheck. A really, really small one, but a paycheck nonetheless. You see, I try to focus on the fact that I'm enrolled in a Translation certificate course and have a semblance of a social life (wait...scratch that, I suppose watching Lost on my couch doesn't count as a social life) to keep myself from going AWOL with horse tranquilizers and a bottle of Vodka.
However, my job has taken an icky turn of late.
I began to receive emails from one of our clients, which at first I took as harmless because my email is readily available to any of our clients who wish to bother the hell out of me. Initially, he asked me out for lunch and I actually thought it was to offer me a job with his company. You see, I work at an executive office or business centre (which is Latin for 'alternative address so the feds can't find me') and we have several different kinds of companies that rent office space with us. His company had actually hired other girls who had worked here and he had made an encouraging comment to my boss about my work when I first started. I'm thinkin', "Great! He must want to interview me for a very special position." Well he did. Just not the one I was hoping for.
The fellow in question wears a yarmulke and is married with FOUR kids. I thought, harmless! Then I get an email from a very gross handle name and thinking it's spam I almost delete it until I notice that it is from yarmulke wearing gent, his name in bold in the subject line saying "it's me!" This is my first inkling of willies-inducing behaviour.
I start to make excuses as to why I can't go to lunch.
The other day when I was stuck at the reception desk answering the busy phone line, he came over to say hello and asked how I was doing. I replied the standard, "Fine. I'm bored", to which short, hunched over, pasty, yarmulke wearing bloke says "WELL, we'll just have to get you excited then."
GROSSED OUT YET? 'CAUSE I AM!!!
Then, from a very reputable source, (namely, the chiquita it happened to) I am told a story about this particular dude, who during a meeting concerning his non payment of the rent, produces a folder containing comprimising pictures of her. The pictures were taken under the veil of understanding and the 'open' relationship this woman has with her husband for use on an adult chat site. He leaned over the table just before their meeting was finished and said "Are these you?". Understandably the woman was floored and, I imagine, felt pretty freakin violated to have this cretin throw the pictures in her face. He said "Oh, are you alright?" And she, trying hard to make light of the situation and probably of the urge to kick his ass, said "I think I need a drink." So scumbag offers to take her for a drink.
And here I was thinking he wasn't the TYPE to be trolling the Adults Personals circuit!
Needless to say what follows gives me a small amount of pleasure, since he has not stopped emailing me, asking me if I use Instant Messaging, either at work or at home (!) and I'm not sure what I should do. The woman's husband should be awarded the husband blue ribbon, because he called up the dirtbag and threatened his sorry life with a finesse I'm told will go down in history.
What's a girl to do?
Fall is officially here and I have lost all my clothes.
I know I packed them away in bags to make room for my menial summer wardrobe and now I have no idea where the hell they are. I have no pants except a pair of jeans, which I cannot wear to work, no sweaters and my shoes (and bank account) have holes in them. Très, très SAD. Guess it' s time to break out the brown paper bag and rusted tiara.
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