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I am so sick of you being so sick of this shit

21 Jul

You know what drives me absolutely batshit insane? Logging on to Facebook and seeing shit like this in my news feed:

Oh frig, you too?

Now, before I go on, let it be know that this person is indeed a good one and really, this example is hardly a good one to be using because I’ve seen much worse. But it’s what started what will be the following rant, so.

Status updates like this? Yeah, BATSHIT INSANE.

I can’t count how many times I’ve seen this – dramatic announcements about how someone has decided that they have “had enough of this Facebook shit” and they’re leaving, godammit! Leaving, possibly, FOREVER!

Sometimes they draw it out to achieve maximum douchbagginess. Sometimes they make what they think are vague references to what everyone else knows to be people with whom they’ve had “drama”. Sometimes they’re just so freaking sick of being “used” by the money-grubbing machine that is Zuckerberg and Co. Sometimes they’re angry, sometimes they’re woe-begotten, but one thing is for certain – no one really seems to care.

Oh, sure, maybe a few people express a degree of dismay that their friend/family member/acquaintance/random they met at a bar one time could actually and truly be considering abandoning the mighty BOOK OF FACE.

“Oh noes! Why?? Don’t leave!” a friend/family member/acquaintance/random they met at a bar one time might plead. And by plead I mean type absentmindedly as per the unwritten Laws of Facebook Etiquette before switching over to the next tab to find out if TMZ has any new dirt on Miz Lohan or Mel Gibson or whomever else could actually teach our whiner friend a thing or two about Drama with a capital D.

“I’m just so sick of all this DRAMA!!1!” the whiner will proclaim, all self-righteous and such.

Yes, fuck that “drama” indeed. And, yes, please do make a scene about your displeasure because it’s important that everyone knows just how over it you really are. Because, I mean, you’re going to LEAVE FACEBOOK, right? This must be serious business.

Except that, at least on my feed, most of the people that “left the building” in this diva-esque fashion? Back within a month. Maybe they just needed to teach us all a lesson? Well it’s a good thing you made such a BIG DAMN DEAL of your departure because, shit son, I honestly wouldn’t have know you were gone otherwise.

It doesn’t always go down this way. Sometimes people are really good about their decision to break up with Facebook (and how they choose to come out about it). Sometimes people have really good reasons for doing it. I’ve had a few friends message me to let me know that they’re closing down their account because they don’t use it anymore/are concerned for their privacy/don’t like what Facebook has become/their lawyer told them to and so on and I’m like, that’s cool, thanks for the heads up.

Then of course there are people like this one guy I kind of remembered from high school who only ever seemed to use his account to bitch about his “friends” and how “fake” they all were and how sick of their “drama” he was (said “friends”, apparently used to his antics enough to have not already turfed his ass but still hurt nonetheless, would leave comments along the lines of “Err, thanks?” or “CALM THE SHIT DOWN, ASSHAT”). He threatened to jump ship again and again and again and, judging by the comments left on those martyr messages, his friends pretty much wished he would.

“Sounds like a plan, buddy!” and “Oh, would you? Please?”

I so wish I was making this shit up. But hopefully people like that are few and far between (please say yes. For the love of all that is good in humanity, say yes).

But that’s just it – yeah, you can use Facebook for pretty much any purpose your melodramatic little heart desires, but when it comes to using it as a space to launch your personal me-against-the-rest tirade, don’t be surprised when nobody seems to care.

Most of them are just there for Farmville anyway.

Oh, and the icing on the proverbial cake that is this rant?

The first comment in response to today’s Facebook cliff-hanger was thus:

Yep.

(The second was “Don’t let the door hit you on the ass on your way out”)

(The rest didn’t get much better)

Nice girls are tramps (apparently)

23 Jun

Yee olde married male co-workers who hit on girls at the office scenario. Are you familiar with it? I am. Oooh fuck, am I ever.

My current married-man-who-doesn’t-quite-know-his-boundaries situation is a little different than the norm. It’s also kind of weird and getting increasingly embarrassing (for both of us although I’m not quite sure he realizes it). It’s definitely getting on my nerves.

Contrary to how I might come across in this blog, I’m actually a pretty decent person. I’m nice and do my best to be accommodating, especially in my job. These two traits have gotten me into more trouble that I care to remember.

At the risk of sounding vain and insufferable, I’m going to put it on the table here: I’m easy on the eyes. I’m tasteful and professional in all of my interactions and dress but OBVIOUSLY that doesn’t matter because this is not the first time, nor do I anticipate it being the last time I deal with this brand of bull shit in the office. Ladies (or gents, I don’t discriminate), if you feel me, put yo’ hands up.

Desperate Co-worker Du Jour is a nice person. In fact, he’s a very kind man who just happens to be more than a little hapless. I’m not the first young woman to come into the office that he has become foolishly smitten over. He’s kind of like a cartoon character in the way he falls over himself trying to impress pretty girls but he’s harmless.

If I had known what was in store, I would have put a stop to it much sooner. I always knew that he was a helpful guy (not just to the ladies but for all of his colleagues and friends too. Like I said, he’s a nice man), so I didn’t think much of it when he helped me located office supplies for my cubicle. Then he started bringing me tea every day and soon he was stopping by to chat. And chat. AND CHAT.

It didn’t take long for his constant fawning to go from flattering to OMG STOP. I made sure I brought up Boyfriend as much as possible, going on and on about him as if sun shone out of his ass (even when I was mad at him, which for me REALLY isn’t easy to do). I started cutting the conversations short by telling him I was super busy and had to get back to work and making tea as soon as I got to work in the mornings so he had no reason to bring me some. He reeled it in a bit but by no means got the hint.

Then one day I met his family one day at a work function.

“Oh it’s SO nice to finally meet you!” his very adorable little wife gushed. “I’ve heard so much about you!”

“Err, thanks?”

I have never witness a spousal reaction like this. Even if my only association with a guy is that we work in the same building and have only maybe ever exchanged hellos whilst passing one another in the halls, the moment a wife/fiancée/girlfriend spots me, I’m done for. And by done for I mean that they first try to kill me with their eyes before labelling me as the devil and resorting to giving her man the stink eye every time he even so much as glances in my general direction. It’s hatred unlike any other, and it sucks.

So, needless to say, I was NOT expecting such an enthusiastic greeting.

“Don’t worry,” she continued, as if she could READ MY FUCKING MIND, “I don’t have a problem with you being friends with my husband. You seem like a nice girl! It’s awful how the guys at work joke about you two having an affair isn’t it? Hey, wanna come over for dinner sometime?” And her husband just stood there giggling like a moron next her.

This is about where I threw up everywhere and spontaneously combusted from embarrassment.

SAY WHAT?

Yeah.

From that point on I went out of my way to avoid him and ensure that all conversations were kept short and on topic. I started turning down the occasional tea that would show up at my desk and I was suddenly always busy and OMG WHY DOESN’T MY CUBICLE HAVE A DOOR. I even made sure that my co-workers in the immediate vicinity knew how embarrassed I was every time he doted on me, just to clear the air.

Things had pretty much stabilized and, hurt as he was, he eventually came around and started interacting with me like a semi-normal person. That is of course, until yesterday when I came into work yesterday to find a message on my voice mail:

“Oh hey, guess you’re running late. AGAIN. Ha ha, anyway, nothing important. Just waiting to head out to [an off-site building] and was bored so I thought I’d call to chat. Later.”

What. The. FUCK.

I tweeted this shit. AndyGirl came back with, “Oooh, uncool”

I responded with, “I know, right? It’s embarrassing”

To which she came back with, “Yeah, for the douchebag.”

To a certain extent, she’s right. He’s making an ass of himself for everyone to see and see it they do.

Still, I don’t really care about his embarrassment, I care about mine.

This situation might is tame. This situation it manageable. Not all of them (or even many of them) are. Even if his wife doesn’t believe there’s a problem, people are obviously whispering. They are watching every move and even without doing a thing, I’ve been labelled. And him? He’s just a silly man gone gaga over a pretty girl.

In the end, it doesn’t matter that he’s the instigator and I’m just unlucky. It doesn’t matter that all I’ve done is be myself and he can’t help himself. In the eyes of everyone else, it’s always my fault. In any situation like this, it is my fault,

It’s my fault because I’m pretty. It’s my fault because being kind is all too often perceived as flirting. It’s my fault because I’m young and often men lost in the throes of mid-life crisis just can’t help themselves. It’ll be my fault if they make a pass at me because I’m a temptress, a vixen, some young slut home wrecker who likes the attention. Because that’s exactly what young, pretty, successful women do, right?

Fuck it.

I’m sick of it. It’s hard enough to be a young, educated woman trying to build a career for herself, even now. You have to fight to get respect in the workplace, and not just from the men. Men look at you like an object and women look at you like a threat. This is a generalization to be sure, but it happens nonetheless. This is the type of life where just working hard and doing a good job will never be enough. You have to struggle to shatter stereotypes and make a name for yourself so that everyone knows that you’re not just some slacker bimbo hoping to get by on her good looks.

And fuck if that’s not hard enough without bull shit like this.

Anyway, I kind of went on a bit of a tangent there at the end. What say you, dear reader? Have you had a similar experience? Have you witnessed it go down, been one of the other players in this scenario? Do you want to weigh in on the issue? Leave your story in the comments, let’s vent it out.

This post is full of angst, way too personal and exceptionally ranty. You’ve been warned.

13 May

You know what’s awkward?

Crying in front of your boss. This is especially true when said boss also happens to be a dude. A dud-boss, if you will. I don’t know about you, but crying in front of anyone is pretty high on my list of most awkward things ever, but crying in front of a dude-boss makes for a particularly special kind of torture.

And what, I ask, is more awkward than crying in front of your dude-boss when you already hate crying in front of anyone in the first place? Crying in front of said dude-boss for the reasons I did today.

When it comes to the nadirs of life, there are two things I’m big on: 1) Fixing problems instead of riding them out (which sucks when the only thing that can fix a problem is to ride it out. Patience: Not a virtue I possess), and 2) Pretending things don’t bother me nearly as much as they do (which, if not stymied in some sort of healthy fashion can lead to, among other things, crying in front of people like my dude-boss). I like to think that this blog will be a good creative outlet for the latter but in the grand scheme of life I really just need to work on my fight-or-flight reactions to problems.

Life has been handing me lemons faster than I can make lemonade lately. Some of these problems are petty, some of them are serious. None of them are the end of the world and I KNOW that everything will work itself out in the end. But let’s be real here – who the fuck actually finds that little piece zen useful when they’re in the midst of personal angst? C’MON.

But anyway.

I think it was just too much at once and not enough venting. I was like a bottle of champagne bursting my cork (I love how inappropriate that sounds), minus the bubbly good times. I hate feeling helpless and feeling like I have no one to turn to, but that was where I was at. I just didn’t expect dude-boss to be the one who would get to hear my (literal) sob story.

I had a lot on my mind when dude-boss pulled me aside to tell me that he was disappointed in me for opting out of some office social event.

And that was it. I just started to cry. I started to cry like a fucking child and told HIM what was bothering me. I didn’t tell him all of it, but I told him more than I had told anyone else up until that point. And, how pathetic is that? How pathetic is it that I didn’t feel like I could tell anyone about this stuff, only to tell my dude-boss instead? Uhg.

I told him about my recession-ravaged parents and how my mom, who has worked so hard for so long, finally broke down and had to ask my brother and I for money just to get her and my dad through until the next payday because they had nothing left. I told him about how I just had to decimate my savings account in order to pay off some debt just so I could start getting ahead. As good as it feels to be rid of the burden, I am devastated at being right back to where I started after so much hard work. I would have to be totally helpless at the worst possible time.

I told him about the guilt I felt about wanting, needing, so desperately to move out on my own, both for my own sanity and to relieve some of the burden from my parents. But I can’t even afford a deposit on some shitty apartment now, and fuck if it doesn’t sting to know that I was so close to not even have to go that route in the first place.

I didn’t tell him about my ungrateful youngest brother and the horrible, hateful things he wrote to my mom, damning her and our family for not helping him more when they can’t even help themselves. I also didn’t tell him about my boyfriend, who had told me he wanted to move in together and got my hopes up and everything only to decide that he wasn’t financially ready for it. Two weeks later he told me that he was moving into a new, more expensive apartment and the beginning of next month. He told me this as if we had never talked about moving in together, as if I should be excited for him. I didn’t tell dude-boss these things, but I did tell him how horrible it feels to feel betrayed by people I thought I could rely on.

He told me I need to get some perspective. I told him I’m sick of getting fucking perspective. I get it – there are people in Nashville who have lost their homes to rampant floods, the ocean is being poisoned thanks to a bunch of greedy dipshit bastards and in the grand scheme of things, my problems aren’t that bad. But right now, they’re bad enough.

And then he told me to stop.

“You can’t help anyone if you can’t help yourself,” he said. “A starving man feeds no one.”

Have you ever noticed how, sometimes, you just need someone else to tell you what you’ve already been thinking before you can believe it? I’ve felt so unbelievably guilty about wanting (needing) to move out when my family is going through such a rough time. I felt like that would be fleeing when the real answer to the problem would be to fight.

Except that this is one fight that I’m just not cut out for. He is so, SO right about that. I just needed to hear it to be able to accept it.

Once I finished building a sculpture of snot-tissue on his conference table, he hugged me and made me go home. For all the shame and guilt I felt for having bawled my eyes out like that to someone like him, I also felt a lot better for the first time in a long time.