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Last I checked, you weren’t my boss

8 Feb

Know what’s “amazing”? And by “amazing” I mean “worthy of me punching someone in the mouth.” Being told how to do my job by someone who barely knows how to do their own job.  I call that, “being an asshole.”

I’m good at my job.  People enjoy my work.  Big mucky muck leaders call me to help them figure out how to do their jobs.  So when someone who does internal communications starts questioning what I’m doing, it doesn’t make me so happy.  This isn’t someone who is a go getter, role model, high performer.  This is someone in COMMUNICATIONS who sends out emails to the entire organization with grammatical errors, incorrect attachments, and broken links.  So you’ll excuse me if I tell him to go and suck on a big bag of dicks.

Shut your pie hole and learn how to write a email.  How about that for some advice?

In unrelated news, I think I’m PMSing.

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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.

 

A polite decline

23 Aug

God bless Facebook, I love almost everything about it.  I can bore people with my mundane updates, stalk ex-boyfriends, keep tabs on new girlfriends of ex-boyfriends, judge others, kill time, remind people of my birthday, etc.  Those face pages are just wonderful.  And of course there is a down side: zero interest in knowing how many gems someone got in the latest stupid game, and I’m over watching the ALS ice water challenge (I get it.  Good cause.  Over it.  Awareness raised.  Let’s move on.), I don’t want to see shitty pictures of the bland meal you ate either, and a special fuck you to people who only share articles/videos.  Fuck you.  For reals.

Never know how to handle invites from people who I don’t care for.  Most of the time I want to reject them, but feel obligated to accept if I work with them.  Such is the case for this one extremely bitter complainer at work.  I accepted her invite, spent two months hating every post she made, and so decided to hide her.  Joy in my life immediately went up.

This morning she sent me an invitation to a jewelry party she’s having.  The thought of having to spend time outside of work (and not getting paid for it) is painful.  Am debating how to respond to the invite while not damaging the work relationship.

How about this for the RSVP: Thank you for the invitation, but I’d rather:

  • Throw myself out the nearest window
  • Blow a dead elephant
  • Drink hot acid
  • Slam my hand in the door

Yes?  No?  Other thoughts?

Don’t squeeze me in the middle

21 Aug

The terms “diet” and “vacation” do not go together.  People who travel rarely worry about dieting.  Rather it’s more of a “fuck it.  I’m on vacation, I can eat an entire pie if I want to,” mentality.  You know it’s true.  When was the last time you were away and you turned down the extra drink or said no to dessert?  Of all of the places I’ve ever traveled, Australia is the place that has the most delicious food.  Living there for six months gave me the time to eat like the world was coming to an end, so it’s no wonder that I gained 20 pounds.  None of the clothes that I took with me fit when I brought them home, I even had to buy legitimate fat pants – from a fat pants store.  Not a proud moment.

You know what seriously sucks about getting fatter?  Seeing the number/letter on the tag in your clothes go up a size or two.  Just knowing that I have to buy an XL instead of an L, or a 14 instead of a 12 (and that’s still a tight squeeze) makes me want to cry.  My initial reaction was just to cry into a glass of wine and help myself to another cupcake – not helpful.  New strategy in place: back to weight watchers, and back to investing in Spanx and other shapers.  On the bright side it’s not like anyone is going to catch me wearing them because it’s been about a half a century since anyone has seen me naked.

For those of you who don’t know what a slimmer is, it’s basically an item of clothing that sucks all of your fat in.  There are all kinds you can buy, and the one I chose was kind of like a tank top, a super tight tank top.  The beauty of using something like a slimmer is that it evens out all those lumps and bumps and you’re able to fit into clothes without looking like a giant sausage.  But it’s important to make a smart choice with the slimmer you buy, because if it doesn’t fit right it will do nothing nice for your fat rolls.  Instead it will squeeze you in all of the wrong places and make your fat pop out in even more unsexy ways than if you weren’t wearing it at all.

Two nights ago I went shopping and was psyched to find a Tory Burch dress I could pretty much squeeze into.  Yes it accentuated my lumps and bumps, but with a shaper/slimmer that sucker looked gooooood!  Found a slimmer tried the dress back on, and bought both.   Yesterday morning I put on my new slimmer, wrapped myself in my hot new dress, and rolled out the door knowing that if I ran into any of my secret boyfriends they’d notice my total hotness.

One tiny little problem…about 10 minutes after sitting down the bottom of the slimmer would begin to roll up towards my middle thereby making my stomach squeeze out of them bottom and making it look like I had been cut and half.  Not a cute look.  Know what I found this out?  Half way to work.  Did I go back and change?  Nope.  Instead I thought, “if I just pull the bottom down lower, it won’t roll back up.”

Did that work?

It sure as shit did not.

As long as I just stood and did not move, the outfit worked.  The second I started walking, sat down, took a deep breath, or blinked the fucking thing would roll up and shameful things happened to my body.  Each time I’d have to find a way to get to the bathroom and pray to god that I wouldn’t see anyone I knew on my way.  No joke, I went to the bathroom 10 times yesterday.  10 freaking times.

So you know what I did?  I went to my friends’ house for dinner and confessed my dirty little secret with the slimmer and how horrible the whole entire day had been.  And I told them this while I was eating three scoops of ice cream.

Perhaps I need a different strategy to hide and lose my fat rolls…

Meeting? What meeting?

19 Aug

You know who should be punched in the mouth?  People who schedule 5:00 PM meetings on a Tuesday afternoon.  People who make you drive to an entirely different location so you can meet them, and then cancel the meeting 10 minutes after you have arrived only they’ve neglected to tell you or the three other people who have shown up to the meeting.  In fact, they decide to only tell one person that instead they’ll push it back to September.

Such people should be punched in their mouths.

Fuck you, I say.  Fuck you in your stupid face.

On the bright side, this was the first meeting in my new capacity and I had zero fucking clue what I was doing.  Met a few new dudes, one of them who has been immediately added to the secret boyfriend list, the other who is very funny and is now telling people I’ve served a small prison sentence.  Good times, good times.

But still, fuck that other person in her stupid face.

I P Freely

6 Aug

What has happened to this society?  It’s no wonder the rest of the world hates America.  Perhaps if we spent more time looking for solutions to problems like world hunger, Cancer, childhood mortality, and global warming than inventing stuff like this we’d live in a better world.

I mean, really?  REALLY?  I don’t know if it’s worse that someone invented something like this, marketed the product, or that someone bought it.

Is it that hard to look for a bathroom and pee?  Or perhaps you could just pee by a tree?  Or maybe, just maybe, you can squat to pee like generations of women before us have done.  Call me crazy, but carrying around something that allows me to pee into it or through it doesn’t really fill me with glee and joy.  How are you going to clean that up?  And you know that you’re going to have to.

On a side note: the production value of the P Mate commercial is exceptionally shitty.  Pretty sure Alanis Morisette and Cyndi Lauper did not give rights to their music so someone could write “P Mate” in urine in the snow.

What the hell kind of spam is that??

23 Jan

I get the Rolex watches, and the phishing for money, and the Viagra, and even some of the other drugs.  But what the hell kind of spam message is this??

You can buy the mixes and the muffins on line at their website. I buy them by the case because I make them a lot.

Really?  Does someone fall for this?  Is there really a market for buying muffin mix and muffins on line?

It’s moments like this – and the ones where I’m watching “Toddlers and Tiaras” – when I question what the hell is happening to humanity.