"I always feel like...

somebody's watching me...ain't got no privacy... "

That's evidently how my dog feels because ever since my last post about her...ahem...sexual proclivities, I have been trying to capture this phenomenon on video. However, though, she may be a masturbater, she is not an exhibitionist, and every time I hit "record," bitch stops what she's doing and gives me this, "What? I'm just a cute dog!" look.

This is the best I got, and really, it does not provide the full effect of witnessing the actual experience because, once again, she knew she'd been caught:

Good Ole Pansy-Boys

I just got back from a city council pre-meeting (which is evidently like a meeting before the meeting next week).

I won't bore you with the details of what the meeting was about because that's not really my point.

Side note: I am also ALWAYS the youngest person at city council meetings. Apparently, only old, fat, white men (and a few of their stuck-up, never-worked-a-day-in-my-life society wives) give a shit what happens in this town.

With that preface, allow me to get to my point, which is two-fold:

1) I do not like nor do I trust men who cannot give me a firm handshake. Give me that wet noodle, and you're already on my suspect/black list. Man up. Reach deep down to the balls God gave you and put a little man into it for crying out loud.

2) Old, fat, white men think they rule the fucking world. They think their opinions are the only ones that matter (except the ones they've instilled in their stuck-up, never-worked-a-day-in-my-life society wives, which are of course, the same opinions they have). And, naturally, they're right, and everyone else is an idiot.

Conclusion: When you're one of only three women in a room, and the other two are brainwashed by old, fat, white men who think they rule the world (but are really pansies who can't even shake a hand with the firmness of soggy bread), and you're the only person under the age of 50, IT SUCKS! Fucking good ole boys.

Too bad they never met me. After staying afterwards to discuss the full facts with the Director of the Planning and Transportation Division (who reminds me of Lindsey Graham but patiently answered all my questions and provided me with everything I asked) and collect some research from him, I am armed and ready to form my own damn opinion and fight for it and mobilize the forces if necessary.

Muhahaha...I am the worst nightmare of Southern Good Ole Boys (old, fat, white pansies!) everywhere!

Dumbshit Should be His Name

I really like it when my project director schedules a meeting with people from an outside company--at which we are supposed to report on the project and how it's going--and he e-mails my team and I Monday morning to tell us about said meeting, which is tomorrow.

It is even more annoying that he writes, "Don't forget the meeting w/ X tomorrow" when he never even fucking told us there was going to be a meeting tomorrow until today!

What a fucking idiot.

I want to shoot myself in the head.
Instead, I'll go work on that presentation.

So today I'm leaving the office supply store after a trip for some supplies for work when this man approaches me:
"Ma'am, ma'am, excuse me, ma'am?"
I turn towards him thinking perhaps he needs some help.
He says, "Have you been born again?"
I couldn't help myself: "Well, yes, sir, I sure have. Matter of fact, I been born again 4 times now, but this is my first shot at being human, and I gotta tell ya, I think I prefer a dog's life."
He blinked.
Sorry, bud, wrong day, wrong bitch.

Whatever

I hate cookie cutter houses. I hate that they all look the same and have no personality. But mostly, I hate when people I know buy these generic McHouses, send me pictures, and then expect me to comment. What am I supposed to say? Nice house...looks just like the one Sally and Joe bought a month ago--different shade of gray, though. I like your shade of gray better. Wait. Let me guess: 4 bedrooms, 3 baths, formal dining/living, eat-in kitchen, open floor plan, with that God-forsaken "man cave" everyone has to have these days?? What'd I win?

Too much of a good thing

The Big Man in Charge (aka Mr. CEO) decided we have too many committees.

He formed the Committee on Committees to study committees within the company culture and to determine what is to be done about all these commitees.

Seriously. I couldn't make that up.

Ah, Sukie, now...Part Deux

So…for Jessie’s benefit, here’s an elaboration (at least I hope I explain this in a way that makes some sense):

Our office, in an attempt to appear less bigoted (which is kind of a joke anyway, but whatever…), formed a committee designed to train the staff about issues related to diversity. The goal was to educate our fellow co-workers about different types of people and to promote tolerance at work. Well, in an attempt to reach this goal in our extremely conservative, Southern work environment, we (the committee) addressed all sorts of people and issues. I’m talking we did discussions and seminars on different races, religions, ethnicities, etc.

Wonderful, right? Sure. Until...(dum, da, dum, dum) the committee attempted to discuss the issue of homophobia. Note: We were very careful. Our information was strictly informative in nature: this is what homophobia is. We did not push any “agenda” on anyone. We did not attempt to persuade anyone that homosexuality is good, ok, or preferable (not that we happen to think it’s bad, but we know our audience well enough to stick to what we think we can actually accomplish. We know we are not going to convince these people that homosexuality is not a mortal sin, but we just want to try to get them not to hate people/discriminate against them based on sexual preference).

Anyway…so, the president of the company vetoed our session on homophobia…in part based on a PowerPoint presentation in which we defined the terms “heterosexism” and “homophobia.” Well, the committee reconvened to discuss the veto, and little Miss Frizzy Head looks at the PowerPoint slide with part of the definition of “heterosexism” on it, and says, “Actually, I, too, am offended by the fact that you think it’s wrong I assume that everyone is heterosexual. I mean, it's my assumption, you can't say it's wrong.”

And that is when I lost my cool. A) because that’s not what it said/ meant (never did anything we created say anything was "right" or "wrong" and B) because it is wrong.

And so I lunged across the table, and said, “That’s not what it says! That is not even the issue up for discussion.” (Because--remember--I cannot control myself anymore, apparently--i never intended to lunge or shout; it just happened)

And then she attempted to respond with some nonsense, and I didn’t even let her get it all out before shouting again, “It’s not OK. It’s not OK for you to assume I am a heterosexual. You don’t know me! You don’t know who or what I am! Maybe I have a girlfriend! Maybe I have a wife! By definition, if you assume I am a heterosexual, you are heterosexist. That’s the definition!”

And then, she said, “But it’s wrong…”

And then, according to Alex, I pushed an imaginary piece of paper across the table and sat back, and said “And that’s the problem with this place” and crossed my arms (According to Alex I do this in meetings all the time now...and thanks to her, I have just now realized that I have this habit of giving people imaginary pieces of secret paper).

I don’t know how to get my cool back…I at least used to be able to hold my tongue 'til later...but lately I just shout out whatever is in my head--like Tourette's, only not.

Yesterday, I couldn't stop myself either--in a different meeting, with a different committee, the committee leader kept insisting that Ms. Flaky was on our committee, and I was all, "She's not. She hasn't been to a meeting in forever." To which she responded, "She came to one." Could I stop there? No. So then, I say, "Yeah, once in two years. Great." Seriously. I can't shut myself up. Not even a little. And now that I think back on it, I'm pretty sure I pushed that imaginary piece of paper across the table then, too.

What am I going to do?

Ah, Sukie, now...

Y'all: I am losing my mind...and my job may go with it.

I've always been...well, bitchy...but people kept saying I'd grow out of it.

I swear, it ain't got nothing to do with being young and hot-tempered because I am getting worse. I used to at least be able to hold my tongue. But my tongue is just on the loose these days. I can't even shut myself up sometimes.

Today, in a meeting, I lunged across the table at a woman...yes, lunged...literally...as in my whole body moved, and Mr. Vomit got all tense and someone else had to leave the room.

Wanna know what Alexandra did? Bitch laughed at me...quietly on the inside while cutting her eyes at me...egging me on.

When I lose my job and can't pay the mortgage, I'm moving in with her. Good thing she likes me.

Let's Hear It for Anucha Browne Sanders

Since Sukie and I both have been sexually harassed at work within the past month, I thought we should celebrate one woman's victory. Sukie and I will clink our glasses for Ms. Anucha Browne Sanders this evening. I hope other ladies do the same. It's not easy to go through something like this or even report it. This woman is tough, and I am glad she stood up for herself and the rest of us.

http://www.abcnews.go.com/GMA/story?id=3682294&page=1

Today SUCKED

Sexual harassment sucks.

Sometimes I wish I had a dick, so I wouldn't have to work SO hard for respect...only to have it undermined by some punk-ass man with less education and less common sense than me.

The End.

Cranky Cal and Me

I sat in a 2 1/2 hour presentation today, and it is a miracle that I didn’t shoot one of my colleagues. Do you have one of those co-workers who seems to like to argue with EVERything—just for the sake of arguing? Yeah, me too. And he was there.

Basically, our company paid to bring in these people to talk about some new software the company is interested in purchasing, software that could simplify our jobs. The purpose of the presentation was to see if employees think this particular software is worth the investment.

Before the first presenter can even get ¼ of the way through her presentation, this guy (heretofore known as Cranky Cal) starts belligerently badgering her: “Why should we pay for software to do these functions when we can do them ourselves?” “But why should we pay for software?” “How will this software accomplish anything my head can’t?” He won't even give her a chance to answer, interrupting her with questions that don't even have answers! And on and on and on…for thirty freaking minutes until the BIG, Big man in charge (my boss’s boss’s boss) had to make him shut the hell up. Thus, the freaking meeting lasted an extra thirty minutes.

It’s simple: these people created a computer program which simplifies a number of processes we have to do. In doing so, they have created a way for us to do our jobs better and accomplish more in a shorter period of time. I have one answer to all Cranky Cal’s questions: “To save time and energy, you freaking moron!”

Plus, the company is willing to pay for it. It’s not like it’s coming out of our pockets. They’re going to buy something: the question is only what.

Furthermore, we were provided with a feedback sheet to turn in at the end of the meeting. I diligently recorded my thoughts and opinions (complete with actual explanations and logical reasoning) all throughout the presentation, so my opinion would be considered by the higher-ups. That’s the point of the feedback sheet. Do you really have to keep us all from getting home in time for dinner just because you don’t get the point? Write it on the G-D sheet and turn it in like the rest of us. Shut the hell up, so we can go home.

And Cranky Cal does this in every meeting we’re in together (unfortunately a lot). If I don’t kill him before he retires, it will be a miracle sent straight from FSM.

Wah-wah, I want my milk and cookies

I am super-busy at work right now with this new project--a new project I have taken on only after being TOTALLY screwed over by higher-ups.

So this is gonna be short and simple and to the point.

Apparently, I don't cry enough at work. I'm not sure when crying became the answer to getting what you want in ADULT WORLD, but clearly, this is the case at my company, for if you cry, you shall be given your way. In fact, not ONLY will you get your way, but also, you will likely get a raise and a promotion. Little did I know...I'm gonna have to start carrying an onion to work and getting "so upset" that my boss has to cave in and only give me the projects I want...and then promote me. Hell, if I throw in an abusive, cheating boyfriend and some other domestic shit to cry over, I may be able to take my boss's job in another year. ;-)

Fucked up...that's what it is.

That is all.

Only in Eastwick

Only in a town as redneck and trashy as this can you be busting your hump to dig a hole in the red clay that passes for soil in your front yard, sweating profusely and looking your absolute worse...and get catcalls from men in passing pickup trucks: "Hey Girl! Woo Hoo!"

Says girl, "You want a pick-axe to the head, jackass?"

Someone remind me again why I live here...

This idiot from Delaware keeps calling my cell phone. Over and over and over. It started last night—right after I’d fallen into a good, deep sleep. It ruined my whole night.

Now, it’s been going on all day. Every couple of hours, the darn thing rings again…and there is one of three different Delaware numbers there. I KNOW NO ONE IN DELEWARE. Yet, whoever this is keeps calling my number DESPITE the fact that my voicemail clearly says my name and despite the fact that the last several times, I screamed into the phone, “STOP CALLING ME! I don’t know YOU! You don’t know ME! Stop dialing this number!!” And more recently: “OLA! Do You Habla espanol? NO MAS! NO MAS CALL! Comprende?” (Yes, that’s about the most Spanish I know—and it’s about all the foreign language I know…) The answer is almost always the same: a few “Hello??”s followed by confused silence with breathing. You would think the fact that he’s used three different phones to call the same number might be some indication that I am not his friend…I am not whoever he is trying to reach. One time, I even rang him back and asked, “WHY?? Why do you keep calling me? I don’t know you. You don’t know me. Stop calling this number!!” Just now, it happened again, and I answered sweetly, “Hello?” And he says, “Hello.” And I say, “Seriously. Stop calling me. Just stop. I don’t know you. Stop.” He hung up…and will undoubtedly call again. ARGH!!!

I am SO annoyed…but the people in my office think it’s really funny—they laugh every time I start screaming into the phone again. UNBELIEVABLE!!

Pay Attentivision

Today we had a training workshop at work: conflict negotiation and resolution. One of the local Eastwick cops came in to teach it. And now I know what is wrong with this place in which I have for some inexplicable reason chosen to live. Here are the notes I wish I could give to the speaker:

Dear Deputy,

First of all, if you can't pronounce the words in your PowerPoint, don't use them. Pick smaller words, words you know. That way when you hit conciliation, you won't stumble over it three times before settling on communication (2 entirely different things) and have to be corrected by an audience member. PS: Besides making you look like the redneck moron you are, this causes your audience to question your credibility as an authority on the topic. If you can't pronounce the word, do you really know what it means??

Second, simple words that you use frequently throughout the presentation should be practiced. Take, for example, the word attentive, as in "You need to be attentive to the needs of others." Note how many syllables the word has; in this case, three. Make sure that each time you practice it, you use the correct number of syllables. Also, make sure you don't add letters that aren't there. It's attentive, not attentative (4 syllables)...which when you say it in certain circumstances, as in, "You need to have attentative ear," your audience hears, "a tentative ear." Again, you invoke two entirely different meanings. You mean, we should pay attention to what's being said. We hear that we should listen hesitantly, not carefully.

Third, make sure you actually understand the material you are presenting. For example, when you read aloud that "conflict arises from competing needs," you should know that means the competing needs of two (or more) different parties, not the competitive nature of one individual. You see, any intelligent person reading the slide can understand that the original author from whom you lifted it was trying to explain that people get into arguments with one another because their different needs are conflicting. For example, I need disorder in my life; my boyfriend needs order. This leads to arguments. It does not mean that I create a conflict because I "want the new Jordans that everyone else has." PS: Jordans aren't even cool anymore...get with the times, bud!

Fourth, all your little speakerly mishaps are not ok just because you approach me post-lecture to let me know that you're "just a good ole Southern boy" and tell me about how one time you told your Yankee English teacher if she didn't like the way we talk down here, she should just go back up North. Now, you're just an intolerant @ss. PS: I got that you're a good ole redneck pretty clearly when you described a common conflict between you and your wife: "I want pancakes for breakfast, but I wake up and she made grits. Is that a conflict? Yes. Because she should know what I want for breakfast." Again, you're an @ss.

Which brings me to #5...don't mention topics you clearly know nothing about...as in DIVERSITY! Diversity means, you know, like, different groups of people: men, women, blacks, whites, gays, lesbians, Middle Easterners, Asians, Christians, Jewish people, Atheists, etc. This relates to conflict because in many cases, people do not accept people from different backgrounds/cultures/religions, which can lead to conflict, but if we are to properly employ conflict negotiation and resolution, we need to be aware of and accepting of diversity. On the contrary, diversity does NOT mean we're different people now than we were 30 years ago. For example, this is NOT an example of diversity in the workplace: "When I was growing up, we had a 19-inch television, and today people have, like, 54-inch televisions and home theaters! SO diversity is an issue in conflicts." I don't even know what that has to do with anything...but here's the point:

Don't talk crap you don't know. The end.

Love,
Sukie

Don't Need Nothin' But a Good Time

Sukie and I rocked out at the Ratt/Poison concert last night. It was awesome! I jumped around and shook my ass to all of the great hair metal classics: Talk Dirty To Me, Fallen Angel, Look What the Cat Dragged In, and Round and Round. Bret Michaels can still wear a pair of blue jeans like no other. The man has it! In an odd twist of events, Edwin McCain appeared on stage with Poison and played a few songs. Bizarre, but nice! There is a story here, though. Sukie and I had good seats until the frat boys showed up. Now, these weren't REAL frat boys. These were guys who were too old to still be frat boys. So, they sit down and try to talk to us. We ignore them. They continue to try and talk to us. We continue to ignore. One asks me if I really like Ratt. What?!? Why did you come to the show, ass hat, if you don't even like Ratt? Actually, I called him a poser. Intermission came, and the really annoying frat boy sat beside me. He started asking me all kinds of questions. Eventually, it came out that he was married to this bitch I went to high school with. He asks if we were friends, and I tell him we were great friends because I knew this would piss her off. He calls her to tell her who he is sitting beside. Don't you know she hated that. I don't know what happened, but when he got off of the phone, he called her a stupid fucking bitch. Nice, huh? I continue to make fun of him and be cruel. He's too drunk to notice. He continues to try and buy me beer. I refuse the potential roofie-laced beverage. Like I would accept a beer from a strange and annoying little troll! Then, before Poison can even take the stage, the little troll passes the fuck out! His friend leaves for awhile. Sukie and I can't decide if we should steal all of his money or perhaps draw on him with a Sharpie. We finally decide to take a photo. Here you go! For all of you who wonder if the "mean" girl in your high school still has it made, she doesn't. She's married to this sorry asshole. Enjoy! (Sorry it is so dark. We were at a concert.)

Bull...shit!

Umm...if they vote to tax my e-mail, I may revoke my membership in the Democratic party. {Well, I'll at least stomp my feet and scream a bit.}

You know what's bullshit? Shoelaces. This cracks me up...power laces...seriously...where are they? And I forgot all about bow biters... And I love the creation of the word "fucktupple." I think I'm going to start using that one: "I fucktupple-checked it, man. The numbers are right!"

Know what else is bullshit? This woman in line in front of me at the grocery store today. She took a carton of eggs and broke them in half and took them to the register. She only wanted to pay for 6 eggs, not 12. Says the girl at the register, "But we have half-dozens." Says annoying woman, "Not organic ones." Says, register chick, "But you can't just break a carton in half." Says, oragnic egg woman, "why not?" Says register girl, "Because you can't. There's only a price for 12, and then there's just 6 misfit eggs left in the back that no one else will buy." Says organic egg woman, "Well, I guess I'll just go back and get the other 6...but that'll be too much money, so I'll have to put something back. Hmmm..." Says register girl, "What would you like me to take off?" Says organic egg lady, "The milk." Register girl: "The milk?" Organic Egg Lady: "Yeah the milk." Then, before paying, she runs off to get her other freakin' six eggs without paying, so I have to stand there and wait for her to get back (eggs are all the way at the back).

I wanted to throw the extra 6 non-organic eggs at her head. But I was already pissed because I had to ride in the elevator after work with some b*tch on her damn cell phone. And despite the fact that I stared her down and tapped my foot loudly, she didn't think there was a single solitary thing wrong with her having her entire private phone conversation with me present.

And that is bullshit.

Sukie and Alexandra's Baby Adventure

First of all, I must tell you that Sukie and I despise children. The only reason I like my nieces and nephews is because they look like me and act like me. I don't think Sukie likes ANY children. Hell, I don't even know if Sukie likes me sometimes;) Anyway, Sukie is working on a major project at our company with a major brown noser. We will call her The Peroxide Queen. Even though Sukie is doing the actual work, The Peroxide Queen has taken over the budget. She really needs to buy about $3,000 worth of electronics for the project, and The Peroxide Queen is holding the money hostage! When asked about this, The Peroxide Queen said that she would really like to go with Sukie to make the purchases. This sent Sukie into a foaming from the mouth tirade. I thought she should just make a list of what she needed and send The Queen after it. Then, we got an even better idea. Why not make a registry? We could go to the store, create the registry, and Sukie wouldn't have to go shopping with the bitch. Brilliant! The only problem was that this place only had wedding or baby registries. Discrimination! Anyway, Sukie and I decided we could pose as a lesbian couple adopting a child. Woo Hoo! Our baby is gonna have some killer electronics. $3,000 worth! BTW, our child will be arriving in late August. We are registered for premium vodka and a lifetime prescription of Valium. Sukie and I thank you in advance:)

Thoughts of an Eastwick Juror

Yeah, I got called…and I got picked. And then I was stuck in a cramped little jury room with 13 of Eastwick’s finest specimens of citizenship.

The only thing we have in common: this case we’re hearing.
The only thing we can’t talk about: this case we’re hearing.

It was, in a word, dreadful.

We were crammed up in that room together for 2 hours yesterday, crossing our fingers for a settlement, when some of the jurors started “joshing” each other. This one fine Eastwickean pulled out a very popular Eastwickean phraseology as a retort: “Well, that’s mighty white of ya.” Yeah. Only slightly racist, right? Of course, there were no black jurors to be offended. In case you are unfamiliar with this saying, it basically equates being white with being good as opposed to being black, which would be bad. And certainly, if you’re receiving good treatment, it must be at the hands of a white man because black men would never treat you fairly or well. Thus, “it’s mighty white of you” to pick up my mail for me while I’m out of town. Sometimes, it’s used with a dose of sarcasm when you’re not being “mighty white,” as in if you stuck me with all the work on a project, and I said dripping with sarcasm, “That’s mighty white of you.”

Here are some other completely random thoughts on my experience with Eastwickean jury service:

1. Why in the world is Ms. America 1994 in charge of the video explaining to me my job as a juror???
2. All judges in the south really do talk exactly like those judges in the John Grisham movies. I mean, we are jer-ORs not jer-ers. ;-)
3.Lawyers talk too much. Way too much. I wonder if they know no one cares…
4.Southerners really like to talk. Dude, all you have to tell the judge is yes or no and whether or not it will affect your ability to be impartial…we do NOT need your entire life story during voire dire. Really, we don’t.
5.Just because he’s a judge, does not mean he’s articulate…or audible even.
6.Lawyers should be REQUIRED to take public speaking classes…seriously.
7. Do they keep it below freezing in the courtroom so you won’t even think about breaking the rules and wearing a tank top? I’m wearing a ski jacket next time…for real.
8.I hope I am never falsely accused of a crime…because if these are my peers, well, I’d rather take my chances getting to Mexico…on foot…with no money…
9.Do you know you don’t even have to prove you are who you say you are? No ID check, nothing…I could’ve sent a substitute. ;-)
10.Being stuck in a little room with bad airflow and fourteen (oops…now 13) strangers indefinitely while the lawyers and the judge fight about whether or not we get to see certain photos, etc. is really, really boring. Why can’t I have reading material again??
11.Even if they tell you to forget what was just said…you don’t…you heard it…
12.Lawyers are super sneaky…super sneaky. Sometimes, I just wanted to clap, and say, Wow…I can’t believe you snuck that in there…
13.It’s a little more like tv than I thought…even though the judge warned us it wouldn’t be…I mean, this…this is drama…whoa…
14.Why is the guy representing the state still called a Solicitor? I don't understand this one. Why no District Attorney...why no Prosecutor? Why are you soliciting me?? I want to wear a Tshirt that says, “No soliciting” just for fun.

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.