Kissing @ss and taking names...

You know what really gets my gourd? Kiss-@sses. I hate ‘em. And I hate that they get ahead in life. At work we have what’s called performance pay increases. It means if you go above and beyond the call of duty in your job, you can get a raise. I have busted my @ss this last year for my company. I have gone so far beyond the call of duty that I ended up at the doctor's office begging for drugs to resolve my anxiety attacks. Now, I didn’t do it in hopes of getting a raise. Or for recognition. I did it because I believe very strongly in this project which will really improve our company. I can’t not do it. I can’t half-@ss my job.

So I wouldn’t be upset that I didn’t get a performance pay increase except that this other chick in my department who NEVER does anything did get it. I mean, she’s out of here by 12 noon every day. She’s never in her office. She does just enough. You know what I mean? She does just enough to say she did her job…and sometimes not even that…just enough to say she works here. What she does do is kiss some serious boss-man booty. She is so far up our boss's backside, if he turns too fast, it’ll break that little brown-noser’s neck. I am not even kidding.

And of course, she gets rewarded for that. And of course, I can’t be that much of a kiss @ss. (This is in part because I find kissing @ss to be completely degrading and also in part because my facial expressions and tone of voice are so distinct as to not allow me to lie straight to someone’s face like that. Ask my friends about my fave phrase, “Good for you.”). Of course. Because this is life, and life ain’t fair, and that makes me not like life so much today. But of course, I’ll get over that…eventually.