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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.

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Be like Nike and just do it

25 Apr

There are times at work when I’m tempted to walk to someone’s desk, punch him in the throat, and then walk away.

This is one of those moments.

I landed in this high fallutin executive job awhile ago. In an ideal world people are supposed to do what I tell them. In the real world they stare blankly and drool on their desks. I’m not asking for someone to build a rocket that can go to Mars or for them to develop a cure to male pattern baldness. All I need is one lousy stinking report so that it can be sent to my uppity douche of a client.

Instead I get a series of inane questions and a request for a meeting. Great. Another pointless meeting. Just what the world needs now.

Here’s the agenda I’ll propose.

  • Stop being a douche bag (owner: asshole requesting the meeting)
  • Clarity on why you’re a douche bag (owner: me, 15 minutes)
  • Do as you’re told (owner: asshole requesting the meeting)

I have to practice controlling my eyes from rolling without giving myself a massive headache. Michael Phelps trained his entire life to became an zillion time gold medal olympian, if he can do it, then I’m pretty sure I can train myself to not roll my eyes.  Wish me luck.

TEAM CATHERINETTE!!

American Girls are Stupid Sluts

28 Jan

My poor, poor inner thighs are chafed from walking all over town yesterday in the hot hot heat.  Clear sign that my fatness is getting in my way of a good time.  The only thing that seems to help is taking the cookie I’m about to eat and rubbing it on my inner thighs before popping it in my mouth.  I was out half the day with that friend of a friend who I wrote about yesterday.  There is only one word to describe her: skank.

“Have you ever done drugs before?”  This is what she asked me within an hour of meeting her.  “Not really my scene,” I told her.  Which is totally true. We were sitting in a window seat at this cute little cafe.  Me feeling fat, her dressed like she had just come in from a run, and her “friend” who hadn’t been home since the night before and was nursing a terrible hangover.  That’s when she announced to me that she had tried drugs for the first time the night before.  I thought to myself, “ah, how cute, she smoked a joint for her first time.”  That’s when she leans over to her “friend” from last night and asks, “what was it I had?”  My jaw about hit the floor when I heard him say, “cocaine and MDMA.”  Seriously?  You’ve never tried drugs in your life and you go for that heavy shit?  What the fuck is wrong with you??

Know what the really fucked up part was (as if that wasn’t fucked up enough), she got the drugs from complete strangers.

Um, really?  You took drugs from strangers?  Are you kidding me right now?  Second, you’re now telling a complete stranger (me) about this?  What the fuck is wrong with you?  It was at that moment that I realized that she was a complete fucking idiot.  Yes, I somewhat suspected it when she introduced me to her Aussie friend who had beautiful blue-green eyes and smelled like last night’s whiskey.  And maybe my suspicious were heightened when she told me that they’d only slept an hour because they’d been out partying last night.  But who am I to judge (other than the world’s judge-iest of judgers)?  Young people today like to party.  He was 24, she apparently had just turned 30.  There’s a big fucking difference between 40 and 30 – and that lifestyle is just not for me.

So there she is telling me about her experience with drugs while I’m thinking “when can I leave.”  When the dude went off to the bathroom she then announces to me that they made out the night before, they ended up naked together, and he had wanted to go down on her but she kept telling him no.  You see, she had zero desire in hooking up with him, and had her period.  But did she tell him?  Nope.  She just went ahead and kept making out with him.  Whatever.  Then she said, “it’s not like I even flirt with him, I don’t know why he thinks I’d hook up with him.”

Um, really?  Maybe he thinks that because you took drug with strangers, took your clothes off and rubbed your buddy all over his, and then kept your hand on his thigh the entire time we were at lunch.  I’m thinking that sends a pretty strong signal.

Instead of coming up with a really creative excuse, like I had just developed the bubonic plague or I had to get home in time to feed my pet koala, I agreed to drinks at a few rooftop bars.  Why?  Why did I agree to this?  Mainly because I’m part idiot on my dad’s side.  So off we go to a few bars, and at the second one she strikes up a conversation with a few dudes.  Hot.  These dudes were hot.  Let me remind you that she hasn’t showered, probably is coated in the semen of the guy who we were with, and has only slept an hour.  Know what ends up happening?  We all end up at a table together.

About an hour in I ditched them to come home and hang out in my apartment, detox from her skankiness, and shower off the dirty.  Later that night she messages me that she made out with a guy that she met that afternoon in front of the dude she hooked up with last night.

No fucking wonder that everyone in the world thinks American girls are stupid sluts.

The Devil Lives on Earth

8 Jan

It’s been awhile since I mentioned what a fucking asshole my uncle is.  He’s like Pol Pot without all the killing – and without the amazing pant suit.  There is no one who can enrage me quite like him.  He’s so awful, in fact, that my niece and nephew can’t stand him.  When Lucy(fer) was still 4 and he had been visiting, she made my sister call my mom so my mom could tell him to leave her alone because she hated him.

Yes he cheated on all of his wives.  And yes he was an ass to his children.  And yes he thinks he’s God’s gift to women.  And the most amazing writer ever.  And the smartest man on earth.  And the center of the universe.  And yes he told a dying woman that he never loved her and their marriage had meant nothing to him.  And he told one of his grandchildren that he hated him.  Oh, and there was also the time that he told my sister, who was a grad student at the time, that graduate school didn’t matter unless it was at Harvard.  And did I mention how the only reason his son went to business school at Harvard because my sister wrote all his admissions essays?  Yeah, it happened.

Low and behold this miserable man is now aging and his kids want to wash their hands of him.  He has Parkinsons and refuses to take his medication so ends up having seizures, which make him lose his balance, which make him fall, which make him end up with a concussion, which make him end up in the hospital.  His daughters, who are bitches in their own right, want to put him in a nursing home because they don’t want to bother with him.  One of them lives a block away from him and sees him less than once a week.  The other one is too busy with her eating disorder, failed relationships, and pretending to run a business than to do anything other than call once a week.  There’s a maid who ends up babysitting and playing nurse – mainly because he fired the most recent nurse because she told him to take his medicine.  Oh, and he also fired the chauffeur suggested he not walk the dog anymore because he wasn’t strong enough.

Mind you, he doesn’t pay for any of this.  One of my cousins and my mom sends him money because his last wife left him high and dry.  And does he save this money to plan for the future?  No he does not.  He spends it on inviting friends out to dinner and buying new suits.  What does a 77 year old man need with new suits when he’s staying home to watch TV?  It’s a mystery…

His behavior is getting worse, and he’s starting to lose his balance more and more.  His daughters have suggested a nursing home (frankly, I think they should drop him off in the dessert with a canteen of water and see what happens).  They set him up in a home and they can go back to their busy lives of manicures, flamenco dancing, and plastic surgery.

Meanwhile, my poor mom is a mess.  She feels totally helpless and obligated and has decided maybe the best option is to have him move in with her.  She trades in her feelings of guilt for a very high price.  Her life as she knows it is over.  He’d take over her house and all of her free time.  Because no one else will take care of him.  She gives up everything to save him from a him.  Who are we kidding here?  My mom is in her late 60’s.  How many more years does she have left?  I’m not saying she’s at death’s door, but I hate thinking about him hanging on and ruining her golden years.  She deserves so much more than that – and he doesn’t deserve her at all.  He deserves exactly what he’s getting.

You reap what you sow.

I hate him for not taking his meds.  I hate his kids for being such fucks ups and for manipulating my mom into taking responsibility for him.  And I hate this whole situation.

Catherinette’s Terrorist Plot Thwarted!

6 Oct

There is nothing worse than getting stuck behind an amateur in the security line at an airport. You know the type: struggling to remove all their layers, bitching about having to remove their lace up boots, and pissed about having to empty their pockets. Fuck you, dude! You’re holding up the line!

Didn’t you read the 50+ signs on the way up that tell you what to do? You, sir, are a bastard. I hope they pull you out of line and give you the cavity search you deserve.

I’m a seasoned traveler. I wear shoes that can easily be removed during a security screening. I remove all jewelry and belts. I even make sure all my liquids, creams, and gels are stowed away in a clear 1 quart bag.

Today, however, my bag was searched. Why? Because you’re not allowed to bring a giant ass jar of Nutella on the flight. Seriously? Is this where we are as a society? Peanut butter and Nutella are now the vessels if terrorists?

I’m as Fiscally Responsible as Barclay’s

5 Jul

Since moving to Philadelphia about two years ago I’ve made -$40,000.  That’s forty THOUSAND dollars.  American dollars.  Yeah, you saw that right.  I managed to pay $2400+ in housing for over a year.  My average monthly expenses for booze and food is about $800.  My average monthly savings is about -$200. I’ve done the math and it’s not good.  Pretty sure my high school math teacher is rolling over in his grave.  Sorry, dude-whose-name-I-can’t-remember-but-I-remember-the-ear-hair-you-had.

You can imagine my delight when my house finally sold this month.  Sure, it had been on the market for over a year, and sure, it was sold at a loss.  And sure, I had to dig money out of my IRA to pay to sell the house so my future is screwed forever and I have zero savings now.  But whatever.  As far as I’m concerned cutting my housing costs in half make me feel so much better.

The plan was to put that extra $1200 per month into savings.  Within a year I’d recoup the cost of what I spent and my savings would look much better than they do now (since they’re nonexistent).

So what did I do today?  I spent $300 on concert tickets so I can take Damien to his very first concert – for a cheesy boy band.  Woo hoo!  Best aunt EVER!!

Do I have my financial shit together?  No, I do not.  Do I have a winning personality and a great rack?  Yes, yes I do.  Am I the best aunt in the whole wide world?  You bet your ass I am.

Mazel Tov

13 Apr

Today was the last day for the woman who sits behind me.  The flighty woman who is missing some major brain cells and doesn’t know how to do her job.  Yeah, she’s leaving.  I’m really torn up about it.  I’m not sure which I’ll miss most: her lack of common sense or her cell phone with the “Marry the Night” ringtone.  Or maybe her frizzy hair.  It’ll be tough on Monday when I don’t have to listen to her tell me about her cat or how cute her son is or how difficult it is to walk and chew gum at the same time.  Somehow, I’ll make it through.

This morning her boss, who is hot as sin, had a little going away party for her.  There were bagels, and muffins, and breakfast pastries.  Carb-o-licious!  One teeny tiny problem: she’s Jewish and observing Passover.  Not a single thing at her own party that she could eat.  Not one single thing.

Um, what kind of boss does that?  I know he knows she’s Jewish.  I overheard them talk about it the other day!  I swear this was the exact conversation:

  • Him: What did you do for Easter this weekend?
  • Her: I’m Jewish.  We don’t celebrate Easter, but we’re in the midst of Passover.
  • Him: Oh.  Right.  So no Peeps for you. [stupid laugh] Tell me about what you do for Passover.
  • Her: [launches into a boring monologue about giving up leavened bread for a week and the plight of the Jews and lamb’s blood on the door and how God wanted the first born son.]
  • Him: So you can’t eat bread for a week?
  • Her: Nope.  Not until next weekend.
  • Him: That sucks!
  • Her: It’s not so bad.  It’s only a few days, not like Lent where you have to give up something for 40 days.
  • Him: Wow.  That’s tough! So what did you give up for Lent?

Hot?  Yes.  Bright? No.