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Step Up

7 Dec

Part of the reason my ass is so fat is that I suffer from an affliction that many Americans suffer from: laziness.  Why walk 3 blocks when you can drive?  Why get out of the car at the Starbucks when you can sit in your car an extra 20 minutes to order your venti whole milk extra whip hot cocoa latte frappuccino latte?  Why climb 2 fights of stairs when there’s an elevator?  Why cook when you can order fried chicken and have it delivered via Uber Eats?

I’m busy.  I have things to do.  I have cookies to eat.  And my Netflix queue isn’t going to watch itself. I don’t have time for fitness, and health, and that shit.

I live a mile from work and can’t be bothered to walk.  Instead I drive everyday, and park in the garage like my coworkers.  Walk up the 5 flights of stairs from the garage to the lobby?  Ha!  No way.  Fuck that for a joke.  I don’t bother entertaining walking from the lobby up the 3 flights of steps to my office.  In the elevator I go with all the other overweight folks who should cut back on carbs and try to get in 10,000 steps instead of just 5,000.  My big step intake is walking from the garage elevator to the office elevator.  62 steps.  Round trip.

So, you can imagine my dismay when the garage elevator broke yesterday.  I was riding up with a coworker when we started hearing lots of grinding.  The kind of grinding you don’t ever want to hear on an elevator.  20 minutes later a message was sent to all staff that the elevator was closed for repairs.  Closed for weeks until the needed part was ordered and arrived.

Great.  That means walking up 5 flights of stairs every morning.  Better not forget anything in my car because I’m not going back down to get it.

Even better?  Today our other elevator broke.  And we have no idea when that one is going to get repaired because we can’t get a fucking call back from our maintenance office.

Awesome.  Really fucking great.  8 fucking flights of stairs every god damned morning.

To add insult to injury you need to swipe in to use access our floor from the stairwell.  And guess whose office is immediately next to the stairwell.  Yup.  That would be mine.  I’ve already opened the door eleventy twelve times because the receptionist is too busy gabbing on the fucking phone.  I already got an earful from the Fed Ex dude that had to run up and down the stairs because he had too much to be able to carry in one load.

On the bright side I guess it means that I can shove a few extra Christmas cookies down my throat.

 

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An Open Letter to Matt Lauer

30 Nov

Dear Matt Lauer,

Remember when you were in the news about a decade ago for wearing “mom jeans”?  Man, do I remember how people mocked you for those high waisted, faded, frumpy jeans.  As I recall you were also rocking a red sweater.  You kind of reminded me of an SNL skit, or a sad cat lady.  Yet you were still kind of okay.  That’s when you were still cool.  When families all over America would tune in to “The Today Show” to hear what you had to say.

You were the good guy.  Kind of handsome – aside from those awful jeans, a family guy, the boy next door.  The type of guy that girls like me found dreamy.  Charming, really.

How disappointing for us all to find out what an absolute douche bag you are.  How many hearts you’ve broken, worlds you’ve shaken, lives you’ve made miserable.  What an awful person you are, and poor choices you’ve made.

I’m glad those women came forward and told the truth about you.

Read your “apology” statement that you came out with.  I don’t think you’re sorry.  Scratch that, you are sorry, but you’re only sorry that you got caught.  You’re also a sorry bastard.  You know what you did wrong.  You know that you were being a fuck wad when you were you gifted your coworker a sex toy and told her how you wanted to use it on her.  What is wrong with you??  Don’t you know that you’re not supposed to do that unless the other person is clearly into you?

Guess what, Matt Lauer?  You can take your mom jeans and fuck yourself in your left eye.

You’re dead to me.

Insincerely yours, Catherinette

Pretty sure that’s not what “Black Friday” means

21 Nov

Oh, Target.  You’re so cute with the way you lure us in to your stores with a plan to buy one thing and then we end up buying a shopping cart full of stuff we didn’t know we didn’t need.  Adorable.

Not so cute are your racist Black Friday deals.  Did a search to see if they were running specials on Nespresso machines.  Search term was “Nespresso Black Friday 2017”.  You tell me your thoughts on the search results…

As my friends on “Sesame Street” would say, “one of these things is not like the other, one of these things does not belong.”

I’m an inspiration to the people

9 Nov

Okay, maybe not to the people.  I am, however, a true inspiration to myself.  And probably to my cat.

Had an incredibly powerful leadership moment in my office yesterday.  End of the day.  Everyone had gone home. And I was left to deal with some of the typical bullshit that we deal with here at the University of Broken Dreams.

For those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of working in higher education, it’s an experience.  An awful experience in which you’re supposed to play nice and make sure you ask every single person at the university their opinion on a decision. If there’s a single person – no matter their level or experience – who doesn’t agree or who has concerns, then you immediately throw out your idea and start all over again.

Why on earth would we take the time to identify the key decision makers? Or explain to people that not everyone gets a vote?  Probably because someone’s feelings would get hurt, and dealing with feelings is difficult and kind of uncomfortable.  Instead we think it’s better to slow everything w  a  y down and extend too much effort and entirely too much time on the most menial projects.  Great.  Good call.  Awesome for innovation.

Won’t bore you with the details of my most recent project.  The twitter version is a junior staff member was chosen by the VP to lead a project.

I got a call from her manager’s manager’s manager (that’s right, he’s 3 levels up from her and reports into the VP) who wasn’t too thrilled with the decision that had been made.  Even though he had blessed her nomination as a candidate.  He wanted to talk to his direct reports before something was communicated to the junior staff member.  He wasn’t sure if the staffer’s leader would support said decision or not.  And blah blah prolong everything and let’s call a meeting with all the senior leaders to discuss.

As soon as I got off the phone I got an email from the staff member’s leader stating how thrilled he was about that choice.

My reaction? I flipped off my screen and said the following out loud: “Doesn’t look like HE’S got any concerns.  Suck on that dick.”

I’m a fucking professional.

You is not so smrt

8 Nov

One of the women on my team is an absolute idiot.  Like stupid.  She was hired a few weeks before I was, and I’ve always wondered how the interviews went.  Not sure how she happened to get past some of the basic questions like: Tell me about a time you were able to count to 2.  Craziest part was they hired her to figure out our recruiting strategy.  Super senior level job.  She had 2 years of recruiting experience.  She still lives at home with mom and dad where mom does her laundry and makes her lunch for her everyday.  I’m not saying that a young person can’t do a big job, but if you still need instructions to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich perhaps you’re not cut out to lead strategic initiatives.

Let’s call her Smarty Pants.  Being in the same room with her makes my brain hurt when she talks.

She looks confused most of the time.  Probably because she is.  It’s kind of like we hired a 16 year old to do the job.  You know what I mean.  Think back to when you were 16 and you knew it all.  So much life experience at that age and you were the definitive expert on everything.  And sometimes you talked big about shit you legitimately knew nothing at all – pretended you practically wrote the book on it.  Smarty Pants is like that.  She thinks she’s the expert on all things hiring and recruiting and she can hardly figure out how to take the cap off her pen.

Last year we had a consulting firm do an analysis on our recruiting function.  The lead consultant had been in recruiting for 20 plus years, worked in a number of industries, frequently spoke at conferences, etc.  Smarty Pants was not impressed.  During a team meeting she made a point of saying that he didn’t really know what he was talking about and that she was “more smarter” than he was.

Right.

Okay.

Over the summer she spent some time with her fiance and his family at their house in Florida.  Of course it was the “coolest” vacation she’d ever been on.  She told us that one of the things that she loved most about being with his family is that they’re all such humanitarians.  I love people that take care of people.  They’re good people.  Smarty Pants has a different definition of what a humanitarian does.  Another coworker, the Complainer, and I asked her (because we like torturing ourselves) about what her fiance’s family did that made her think that.  Her eyes got all wide and lovey and she told us how one night on when they were on the beach the baby sea turtles started to hatch.  The family helped the baby sea turtles make it to the ocean safely.  And that’s why there were humanitarians.

Fuck me.

And this, my friends, is what it’s like to work in higher education.

What’s app with that?

7 Nov

Oh, 3D.  It’s been almost 10 years since we met, and 9 years (ish) since we last knocked boots.  I haven’t seen him since I was still in my 30’s (which feels like a hundred years ago).  I moved out of state, out of the country, then back home.  He moved away to be closer to his family.  I have grown into who I am meant to be.*  He has a new career and looks after horses or something like that.  I don’t know.

Anyway, it’s clear that I left quite an impression on him.  Vangelina Jolie rocked his world. How do I know?  Because after all these years he keeps reaching out.  Emails, text messages, and most recently, What’s App.  Oh, he’s special. Most of the time I don’t bother responding.  Sometimes in a moment of weakness I engage and then regret it a few minutes later.  Kind of like when I decided to sleep with him on the sly and then ended up feeling like absolute shit [you can read about that here].  Okay, maybe not quite that bad.

It’s been about a year since the last time I responded to his message.  Instead, I save what he sends to me so I can share the messages with my friends and we can giggle about his horse teeth and how much he loved turkey subs.

Please note the string of random messages.  Like the random request to see if I’d like to “communicate”.  By “communicate” pretty sure he’s asking if I want him to touch my cervix with his peen.  No.  On both counts.  Oh, or maybe you like the most recent dream he had about me?

Some of my friends have asked me why I don’t block him and wish him good riddance.  Well, fine readers, if I did, then I’d miss out on the gems that he sends and the opportunity to use his messages as conversation starters when I’m out drinking with my girlfriends.  And maybe, just maybe a little bit, the slightest bit, maybe not so slight, it feels good to still be wanted.  After years of being single, it’s nice to know that there’s someone out there who still thinks of me.  It’s not someone I want to be with, but at least I know that I mean something to someone in “that” way.

 

*HAHA!  JK. I’m still an asshole and hate being an adult.  LOLS (and you have to say “lols” not “el oh el”)

Dishing it Out

31 Oct

Let me ask you a question here, and give me your honest response.  Like your real response, what you really think.

So, if you worked in a place that had signs that said things like, I don’t know, something along the lines of:

Please wash your dishes.

This sink does not have a garbage disposal.

If there are dirty dishes in the sink, the sink will not be cleaned by cleaning staff.

Would you be an asshole and leave your dirty dish in the sink?  Would you expect someone like the dish washing fairy to appear, wave her wand, and magically wash your dishes?  Are you that person that hates their job so much that you think, “fuck this place and everyone here, I’m going to leave the container with yesterdays half eaten oatmeal in the sink.”  Is that you?

I don’t know why it continues to surprise me that people can be so disrespectful that they ignore the signs.  Everyone here reads, everyone speaks the English, and yet not everyone can be bothered to clean up after themselves.  Me not know why.

This afternoon I found the sink half filled with someone’s leftover salad.  Why? There’s flipping sign that says there’s no garbage disposal.  We have a composting bin immediately behind the sink, and yet this turn dumped their salad and dirty plate and walked away.  And now, again, the sink is clogged.  Shocking.  I know.  Last week when I encountered a similar encounter I took pity on my other work makes and scooped out all the limp lettuce that some douche bag had left behind.  Pretty sure that I have some kind of awful skin condition that will never be cured.

I dream about finding out who the dirty dish bandit is.  I dream about going to their house and leaving dirty dishes in their house.  Granted, lord knows what I’d be walking into.  Perhaps their sink is just as disgusting as the one here.  Maybe I’d take their dishes and put them on their pillow so they’d have to take notice.

Oh to dream…