Saw a man on the bus today wearing a suit and sneakers - New Balance to be specific.
suit+sneakers+bus=FAIL.
'nuff said.
-Signing off from San Francisco
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
I Hate You. Please Go Away.
I work with someone I (and many other people around me) suspect has real psychological issues. Issues that may or may not be helped with medication.
Let me be blunt here. Everyone has issues but we're all adults so fucking act like it in the workplace, goddammit.
Below is my holiday wish list for this person:
(Dear Santa, I've been a right bitch this year but no one deserves the ridiculous bullshit my colleagues and I have to deal with on a near daily basis.)
1. Do not cry at your desk. Ever.
Go to the bathroom and cry your heart out if you must, but please, please spare me the gut churning embarrassment of having to ignore the sound of barely suppressed sobs less than four feet from my cube.
2. I still have my coat on and my laptop is still cold and you want to talk about action items for the next two months.... why?
I'm so glad you're actually coherent this morning but STFU and give me five minutes to put down my bag, sit in my chair and turn my laptop on. Think about it, genius- I can't talk to you about an email you just sent me if I haven't even opened my inbox yet.
3. Stop slamming things. Stop throwing things. Just... stop. It.
You are not a toddler. Grow up and learn how to set things down gently. Frustration is not an excuse to startle everyone around you.
4. Talk in a normal tone of voice.
My ears are bleeding and only you have the the power to make it stop. On the flip side...
5. Stop mumbling to yourself.
...because no one wants to hear you responding to the voices in your head, as funny as it may be at times.
I mean, isn't crazy that I even have to write these things out? This person does all these things AND MORE. I've heard that she was even worse in the past but I'd prefer not to dwell on how that could be.
The more I think about it, the more depressed I get. This is my work life- this is what I have to deal with five days a week, eight hours a day.
(Actually, Santa- Just shoot me in the fucking face now, please. It would be a mercy killing.)
-Signing off in Seattle
Let me be blunt here. Everyone has issues but we're all adults so fucking act like it in the workplace, goddammit.
Below is my holiday wish list for this person:
(Dear Santa, I've been a right bitch this year but no one deserves the ridiculous bullshit my colleagues and I have to deal with on a near daily basis.)
1. Do not cry at your desk. Ever.
Go to the bathroom and cry your heart out if you must, but please, please spare me the gut churning embarrassment of having to ignore the sound of barely suppressed sobs less than four feet from my cube.
2. I still have my coat on and my laptop is still cold and you want to talk about action items for the next two months.... why?
I'm so glad you're actually coherent this morning but STFU and give me five minutes to put down my bag, sit in my chair and turn my laptop on. Think about it, genius- I can't talk to you about an email you just sent me if I haven't even opened my inbox yet.
3. Stop slamming things. Stop throwing things. Just... stop. It.
You are not a toddler. Grow up and learn how to set things down gently. Frustration is not an excuse to startle everyone around you.
4. Talk in a normal tone of voice.
My ears are bleeding and only you have the the power to make it stop. On the flip side...
5. Stop mumbling to yourself.
...because no one wants to hear you responding to the voices in your head, as funny as it may be at times.
I mean, isn't crazy that I even have to write these things out? This person does all these things AND MORE. I've heard that she was even worse in the past but I'd prefer not to dwell on how that could be.
The more I think about it, the more depressed I get. This is my work life- this is what I have to deal with five days a week, eight hours a day.
(Actually, Santa- Just shoot me in the fucking face now, please. It would be a mercy killing.)
-Signing off in Seattle
Sunday, February 22, 2009
The 5 Types of People I Hate on Planes
The title is pretty self-explanatory. I'm sure there are more than five types, so feel free to drop me a line or leave a comment adding to the list.
Disclaimer: I take sleeping pills before my flight and pop in my earphones as soon as I can on plane rides. It's not like taking a long drive in the country- usually, there isn't a pretty view to look upon, no rolling hills or deer frolicking in meadows. After you've seen one top-hat-wearing-rabbit-cloud, you've pretty much seen them all.
Hell, if I weren't me, I'd probably look at myself thinking, "Who does that iPod-wearing, blanket covered, pillow-using freak think she is? What a pretentious snot."
Airplane trips bring out the worst in everyone. Here are but a few examples:
1. The Constant Pisser
Don't pick the window seat if you can't hold your piss in for more than an hour. Seriously, you should know yourself well enough to pick the aisle seat if you have a bladder the size of a peanut. Or wear a diaper- I won't judge you. On the outside, anyway.
Unless you're in first class, it's unlikely that you'll be able to scoot past one or two people to get to the aisle, without them having to get up.
Incidentally, I don't mind getting up once or twice to let someone run to the bathroom. I mean, hey- on long flights, it's cool. I understand, when you gotta go, you gotta go. But you get a two pass (piaa?) quota before I start glaring at you, you fucking pissant.
2. STFU Already
I don't give a shit where you're from and I don't want to tell you where I'm from. That's how stalking gets started and I am on to you, Serial Killer Guy.
I am not on a plane ride because I want to meet people. The reason why I wear my earphones is to shut you and the rest of the passengers out of my head.
Don't tap me on the shoulder unless the plane is going down and you want to tell me to put my mask on. Don't start talking to me, forcing me to take off my earphones, just to tell me how much you hate plane rides and OMYGOSH you totally like my haircut and didn't I know, your neice has the same haircut and she...
3. Can't We Just Admit This Already? You're Fat.
I'm sure you guys have all heard this one and it does stir up some very heated emotions- I believe that if you can't fit comfortably in one seat, and there is some, um, spillage, you need to buy another seat. Or buy a first class ticket where the seats are bigger. It's your choice.
I know, I know, big people need to fly too. But let's just admit the fact that you can't fit in one seat. The airline company does not owe it to you to build bigger planes with bigger seats and when you buy a plane ticket, you are buying one seat for one person to sit in. Not one and a half seats. If you're spilling into my seat and I'm propelled out halfway, you should have to pick up half my tab.
It really is that simple. Yes, your feelings are hurt and I'm very sorry about that, but stop whining. It's a different story on the bus- I'm playing for transportation, not a comfortable chair. If you're fat and on the bus, then I don't care if you take up the entire bench- that's just tough shit for everyone else. On an airplane, where the ride is considerably more expensive and longer, you need to pay up.
4. Please Give Your Children Drugs
Parents who take children under three on long plane trips should have their own sound-proof section on the plane. Seriously, there should be some sort of barrier between them and people with ears.
No matter how good of a parent you are, no matter how sick you think your child-rearing abilities are, it's an inevitable fact that your child will cry and scream on a plane trip. There is a positive correlation between the intensity and length of a child's cry to the length of the plane trip. That's a fact; it's on the SATs.
Some parents drug their kids for plane trips and I fully support them. Some Children's Nyquil or something and the kid is an angel during the plane ride. Some parents don't care that their little Jane or Johnny is screaming up a bloody storm- those parents belong in a special hell. May their children grow up to be emotional messes, ungrateful brats or best yet, fans of early nursing home commitals.
(Please note: I don't blame the children. They're not the ones who bought the plane ticket, right?)
5. My Luggage Doesn't Fit? Whaaaa?
Airline rules and regulations are online, on print and sould be tattooed on your face, you jerk. If you try to bring on a bag that could fit a dead body in there, then it's too big. There's even a handy-dandy luggage measure before you board the plane.
There's no excuse, you giant fucking dumb ass. You're not being slick, you're just holding up everyone else by complaining. Let the nice steward or stewardess take your massive mini-planet of a bag and check it. Arguing will not help your case; in fact, it will only help the rest of the passengers on the plane identify and single you out as the person whose ass to kick once the plane lands.
So far, I've had three trips delayed by some piece of shit, entitled fuckhead who tries to sneak on the plane with a bag the size of a small country. If you need to drag something on a plane, it's too big.
Also, you are allowed two carry-ons. One piece of luggage and a bag or something. A giant fucking guitar case counts a third carry-on, as does a skateboard, electric keyboard, computer monitor and (yes, I've seen this) surfboard. Check it in, you douche bag.
Is it only coincidence that all three trip delays were because of guys?...
Sigh.
-Signing off in the Unfriendly Skies
Disclaimer: I take sleeping pills before my flight and pop in my earphones as soon as I can on plane rides. It's not like taking a long drive in the country- usually, there isn't a pretty view to look upon, no rolling hills or deer frolicking in meadows. After you've seen one top-hat-wearing-rabbit-cloud, you've pretty much seen them all.
Hell, if I weren't me, I'd probably look at myself thinking, "Who does that iPod-wearing, blanket covered, pillow-using freak think she is? What a pretentious snot."
Airplane trips bring out the worst in everyone. Here are but a few examples:
1. The Constant Pisser
Don't pick the window seat if you can't hold your piss in for more than an hour. Seriously, you should know yourself well enough to pick the aisle seat if you have a bladder the size of a peanut. Or wear a diaper- I won't judge you. On the outside, anyway.
Unless you're in first class, it's unlikely that you'll be able to scoot past one or two people to get to the aisle, without them having to get up.
Incidentally, I don't mind getting up once or twice to let someone run to the bathroom. I mean, hey- on long flights, it's cool. I understand, when you gotta go, you gotta go. But you get a two pass (piaa?) quota before I start glaring at you, you fucking pissant.
2. STFU Already
I don't give a shit where you're from and I don't want to tell you where I'm from. That's how stalking gets started and I am on to you, Serial Killer Guy.
I am not on a plane ride because I want to meet people. The reason why I wear my earphones is to shut you and the rest of the passengers out of my head.
Don't tap me on the shoulder unless the plane is going down and you want to tell me to put my mask on. Don't start talking to me, forcing me to take off my earphones, just to tell me how much you hate plane rides and OMYGOSH you totally like my haircut and didn't I know, your neice has the same haircut and she...
3. Can't We Just Admit This Already? You're Fat.
I'm sure you guys have all heard this one and it does stir up some very heated emotions- I believe that if you can't fit comfortably in one seat, and there is some, um, spillage, you need to buy another seat. Or buy a first class ticket where the seats are bigger. It's your choice.
I know, I know, big people need to fly too. But let's just admit the fact that you can't fit in one seat. The airline company does not owe it to you to build bigger planes with bigger seats and when you buy a plane ticket, you are buying one seat for one person to sit in. Not one and a half seats. If you're spilling into my seat and I'm propelled out halfway, you should have to pick up half my tab.
It really is that simple. Yes, your feelings are hurt and I'm very sorry about that, but stop whining. It's a different story on the bus- I'm playing for transportation, not a comfortable chair. If you're fat and on the bus, then I don't care if you take up the entire bench- that's just tough shit for everyone else. On an airplane, where the ride is considerably more expensive and longer, you need to pay up.
4. Please Give Your Children Drugs
Parents who take children under three on long plane trips should have their own sound-proof section on the plane. Seriously, there should be some sort of barrier between them and people with ears.
No matter how good of a parent you are, no matter how sick you think your child-rearing abilities are, it's an inevitable fact that your child will cry and scream on a plane trip. There is a positive correlation between the intensity and length of a child's cry to the length of the plane trip. That's a fact; it's on the SATs.
Some parents drug their kids for plane trips and I fully support them. Some Children's Nyquil or something and the kid is an angel during the plane ride. Some parents don't care that their little Jane or Johnny is screaming up a bloody storm- those parents belong in a special hell. May their children grow up to be emotional messes, ungrateful brats or best yet, fans of early nursing home commitals.
(Please note: I don't blame the children. They're not the ones who bought the plane ticket, right?)
5. My Luggage Doesn't Fit? Whaaaa?
Airline rules and regulations are online, on print and sould be tattooed on your face, you jerk. If you try to bring on a bag that could fit a dead body in there, then it's too big. There's even a handy-dandy luggage measure before you board the plane.
There's no excuse, you giant fucking dumb ass. You're not being slick, you're just holding up everyone else by complaining. Let the nice steward or stewardess take your massive mini-planet of a bag and check it. Arguing will not help your case; in fact, it will only help the rest of the passengers on the plane identify and single you out as the person whose ass to kick once the plane lands.
So far, I've had three trips delayed by some piece of shit, entitled fuckhead who tries to sneak on the plane with a bag the size of a small country. If you need to drag something on a plane, it's too big.
Also, you are allowed two carry-ons. One piece of luggage and a bag or something. A giant fucking guitar case counts a third carry-on, as does a skateboard, electric keyboard, computer monitor and (yes, I've seen this) surfboard. Check it in, you douche bag.
Is it only coincidence that all three trip delays were because of guys?...
Sigh.
-Signing off in the Unfriendly Skies
Can you not invite me to dinner? Thanks.
Two words I hate most in my line of work: Relationship-building. (Connected by a hyphen, does that make it one word? Discuss.)
When I'm on tour, all I want to do at the end of the day is crawl into the dank, possibly STD-ridden cave I call a hotel room and jump into bed, hoping for sweet Death to come visit me during sleep and take me on a magical trip to his kingdom. I'm betting it's better than Disneyland - it most certainly is happier, anyway.
The last thing I want to do after spending the day babysitting clients and nodding and smiling at reporters is to hang out with either party. Freels y'all, you do not pay me enough to enjoy watching you eat or get liquored up. I don't care if the tab is on you, I would much rather sit in the dark. Without my iPod.
Thankfully, my clients are good people. Nice, sweet and smart. But still- I'd prefer the silence of my hotel room to one. More. Story. About. Your Children.
So here's something to consider the next time you're in a strange city with a PR handler- be you media or client: We're human. Just because we smile a lot and stroke your ego, does not mean we're thinking nice thoughts about you. And it does not mean you're paying for my time outside of work-related activities.
We have a relationship- it does not need anymore "building". The relationship is this: You pay me, and I will work for you, from 8:00-6:00 PM. We are not friends. When I leave my current job, I will remember you fondly but I will not call you to have coffee or hang out on a Saturday afternoon. It may happen that we become actual friends, in the true sense of the word, but I doubt our "relationship" will move beyond the "Another contact to add in Linkedin" phase.
If we all understand this, the world will be a better place. And I will be less inclined to want to shoot myself after each day on tour.
-Signing off from Seattle (while on tour)
When I'm on tour, all I want to do at the end of the day is crawl into the dank, possibly STD-ridden cave I call a hotel room and jump into bed, hoping for sweet Death to come visit me during sleep and take me on a magical trip to his kingdom. I'm betting it's better than Disneyland - it most certainly is happier, anyway.
The last thing I want to do after spending the day babysitting clients and nodding and smiling at reporters is to hang out with either party. Freels y'all, you do not pay me enough to enjoy watching you eat or get liquored up. I don't care if the tab is on you, I would much rather sit in the dark. Without my iPod.
Thankfully, my clients are good people. Nice, sweet and smart. But still- I'd prefer the silence of my hotel room to one. More. Story. About. Your Children.
So here's something to consider the next time you're in a strange city with a PR handler- be you media or client: We're human. Just because we smile a lot and stroke your ego, does not mean we're thinking nice thoughts about you. And it does not mean you're paying for my time outside of work-related activities.
We have a relationship- it does not need anymore "building". The relationship is this: You pay me, and I will work for you, from 8:00-6:00 PM. We are not friends. When I leave my current job, I will remember you fondly but I will not call you to have coffee or hang out on a Saturday afternoon. It may happen that we become actual friends, in the true sense of the word, but I doubt our "relationship" will move beyond the "Another contact to add in Linkedin" phase.
If we all understand this, the world will be a better place. And I will be less inclined to want to shoot myself after each day on tour.
-Signing off from Seattle (while on tour)
Monday, January 5, 2009
C'est La Vie
This will be a medley of sorts as there's lots to update the adoring fans on.
#1 Fan
My friend told me I was severely slacking on blogging. I interpreted that as a true Bishop fan utterly saddened that he's not getting his semi-frequent (or infrequent) dose of snark. So no snark intended, but this is a nod, a raised eyebrow, a shake of the hand, a pat on the back to Bishop's numero uno fan: Eamonn aka Merrald aka Lance Aficionado. Thanks for caring.
"Happy (fucking) new year"
I think you're allowed to say these combination of words on January 1st, maybe through January 3rd, at the latest. But let's ease up on the phrase, because the novelty wears off quickly. Every time I get out of a cab, pass by a neighbor, read the close of an e-mail I see/hear it. Alright, I get it. Yippee.
Just say "no" or suffer the consequences
I got unwillingly volunteered (rather, suckered) into going to a concert with - hold for intensely heavy sigh - my manager. Not only is this concert with someone that has been making my good friend and colleague miserable, but the damn thing is on a Monday. In the East Bay. Really. I will suffer through it, but lesson learned here, people. Just say no or learn to lie.
Another One Bites the Dust
My lovely sister sent me a great big plant for my birthday. And when I say great big plant, I really mean it. The monstrosity is over 5 feet tall. Now, I am not known as the motherly, sensitive type and have killed a plant or two in my day due to, well, lack of caring. BUT, when I received my new plant (affectionately named "Planty") I had been hoping to change my ways and really succeed at keeping a living thing living.
Unfortunately, as the days passed my poor Planty began to wilt. A forgotten watering or two was the culprit, but in my angst and guilt I made the grave mistake of giving it a full pitcher of water. Little did I know that one can absolutely give too much love, or more accurately, drown it to death with love. Needless to say, Planty may be heading towards an early demise as leaf by leaf starts to turn black until it plunges to its inevitable death. Splat. Just like that.
For you optimists, stay tuned. A miracle may happen.
- Signing off from San Francisco
#1 Fan
My friend told me I was severely slacking on blogging. I interpreted that as a true Bishop fan utterly saddened that he's not getting his semi-frequent (or infrequent) dose of snark. So no snark intended, but this is a nod, a raised eyebrow, a shake of the hand, a pat on the back to Bishop's numero uno fan: Eamonn aka Merrald aka Lance Aficionado. Thanks for caring.
"Happy (fucking) new year"
I think you're allowed to say these combination of words on January 1st, maybe through January 3rd, at the latest. But let's ease up on the phrase, because the novelty wears off quickly. Every time I get out of a cab, pass by a neighbor, read the close of an e-mail I see/hear it. Alright, I get it. Yippee.
Just say "no" or suffer the consequences
I got unwillingly volunteered (rather, suckered) into going to a concert with - hold for intensely heavy sigh - my manager. Not only is this concert with someone that has been making my good friend and colleague miserable, but the damn thing is on a Monday. In the East Bay. Really. I will suffer through it, but lesson learned here, people. Just say no or learn to lie.
Another One Bites the Dust
My lovely sister sent me a great big plant for my birthday. And when I say great big plant, I really mean it. The monstrosity is over 5 feet tall. Now, I am not known as the motherly, sensitive type and have killed a plant or two in my day due to, well, lack of caring. BUT, when I received my new plant (affectionately named "Planty") I had been hoping to change my ways and really succeed at keeping a living thing living.
Unfortunately, as the days passed my poor Planty began to wilt. A forgotten watering or two was the culprit, but in my angst and guilt I made the grave mistake of giving it a full pitcher of water. Little did I know that one can absolutely give too much love, or more accurately, drown it to death with love. Needless to say, Planty may be heading towards an early demise as leaf by leaf starts to turn black until it plunges to its inevitable death. Splat. Just like that.
For you optimists, stay tuned. A miracle may happen.
- Signing off from San Francisco
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Do You Need a Lozenge?
There's a new guy. He sits about, oh, 20 feet away me in an office that usually has its door closed.
All day long, every day I hear him clearing his throat. It's become so persistent that I can pick up on it despite the clatter of phones being slammed, colleagues chattering about how "mainframe technology is so antiquated" (please, who are you fooling?), the stomping of heels walking back and forth, etc.
I hear it NOW as I am furiously typing away...AGAIN...and AGAIN! Really. Seriously. What the fucker? Take a motherfucking lozenge for christ sake!
Here's a pack of 20 on sale for a buck and change!
- Signing off from San Francisco (...and AGAIN!)
All day long, every day I hear him clearing his throat. It's become so persistent that I can pick up on it despite the clatter of phones being slammed, colleagues chattering about how "mainframe technology is so antiquated" (please, who are you fooling?), the stomping of heels walking back and forth, etc.
I hear it NOW as I am furiously typing away...AGAIN...and AGAIN! Really. Seriously. What the fucker? Take a motherfucking lozenge for christ sake!
Here's a pack of 20 on sale for a buck and change!
- Signing off from San Francisco (...and AGAIN!)
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
The Upside to Work-related Depression
First of all- the title.
Are you done laughing yet? Seriously, wipe those tears of laughter away and quit cackling. Your cubemates are getting pissed.
So here's the deal- for the past few months, the urge stand up on my chair and start screaming in rage and frustration has become stronger and stronger. Aside from the shitstorm that is my personal life (which is making it even more difficult to focus on reports, plans and color-coded grids), I feel like work -the people, situations, everything-is finally beginning to wear on what little is left on my soul.
And there's only a little left, I tell you.
I've never looked for meaning in job. After all, it was just a job. But I've been thinking lately that when I die (and it's looking like it's soon- work onsite heart attack, maybe?), I will have really wished that I did something else with this life.
I'm not a religious person, nor am I really spiritual. Maybe if I was, I wouldn't be struggling so much right now to find meaning in... everything. And as most people know, work is probably the hardest area to find any true meaning in. Unless you work for a non-profit, or are doing what you really love, then meaning is something you have to pull from work and not the other way around.
For the longest time, work=money to me. It still does. But lately, work has been cannibalizing whatever little bit of personal life I kidded myself into thinking I had. If my job is going to do that, then shouldn't I be able to find a modicum of happiness, or at least contentment, from my job?
I used to not care. Not care that I felt sick everytime I thought about work, much less wake up in the morning to come in. I thought it was just work and that was the way things were so supposed to be. But my medical bills are racking up and the one thing I keep hearing from all my doctors is that I am way too stressed out. Like, "maybe you should consider a life change" stressed out.
Oh trust me, doc, I'm thinking the same thing.
There is no such thing as a work-life balance for me and it's beginning to get to me. Work has become life and vice versa. I know I have control of my life, but I feel like work has control over me.
This is how I feel: My friend broke his arm in a pretty bad soccer accident a few years back. It was so bad, part of his bone was... um, exposed. Aside from the, you know, extraordinary PAIN he was in, he said the feeling of air on his bone was the worst. That's how I feel. Exposed and turned inside out, like the air at work is almost unbearable.
The world is so big. There's so many things to do and so many interesting people to meet and help and stories to hear.
Are you done laughing yet? Seriously, wipe those tears of laughter away and quit cackling. Your cubemates are getting pissed.
So here's the deal- for the past few months, the urge stand up on my chair and start screaming in rage and frustration has become stronger and stronger. Aside from the shitstorm that is my personal life (which is making it even more difficult to focus on reports, plans and color-coded grids), I feel like work -the people, situations, everything-is finally beginning to wear on what little is left on my soul.
And there's only a little left, I tell you.
I've never looked for meaning in job. After all, it was just a job. But I've been thinking lately that when I die (and it's looking like it's soon- work onsite heart attack, maybe?), I will have really wished that I did something else with this life.
I'm not a religious person, nor am I really spiritual. Maybe if I was, I wouldn't be struggling so much right now to find meaning in... everything. And as most people know, work is probably the hardest area to find any true meaning in. Unless you work for a non-profit, or are doing what you really love, then meaning is something you have to pull from work and not the other way around.
For the longest time, work=money to me. It still does. But lately, work has been cannibalizing whatever little bit of personal life I kidded myself into thinking I had. If my job is going to do that, then shouldn't I be able to find a modicum of happiness, or at least contentment, from my job?
I used to not care. Not care that I felt sick everytime I thought about work, much less wake up in the morning to come in. I thought it was just work and that was the way things were so supposed to be. But my medical bills are racking up and the one thing I keep hearing from all my doctors is that I am way too stressed out. Like, "maybe you should consider a life change" stressed out.
Oh trust me, doc, I'm thinking the same thing.
There is no such thing as a work-life balance for me and it's beginning to get to me. Work has become life and vice versa. I know I have control of my life, but I feel like work has control over me.
This is how I feel: My friend broke his arm in a pretty bad soccer accident a few years back. It was so bad, part of his bone was... um, exposed. Aside from the, you know, extraordinary PAIN he was in, he said the feeling of air on his bone was the worst. That's how I feel. Exposed and turned inside out, like the air at work is almost unbearable.
The world is so big. There's so many things to do and so many interesting people to meet and help and stories to hear.
The upside to work-related depression is this- it forces you to ask questions of yourself you normally wouldn't.
I'm working to make money but what I am staying alive for? And is it worth staying?
-Signing off in Seattle
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