Today at work I was asked if I would be signing up for our workplaces “day of giving”. Every year, my company takes one day to say screw productivity and engages in a charitable event in order to get photo ops with the local news.
Oh yeah, they also spew some crap about wanting to “give back”.
So tomorrow about 150 of my soft, cubicle bred coworkers will jump in the company bus and head out to do some yard work for needy families in the local community.
Cause that’s just what homeless people need. Landscaping.
Call me crazy, but personally, I think if you have a yard at all, you aren’t needy. You just lack priorities. Namely, food first. Worry about the rock garden later.
Needless to say, I will not be participating. Not only because I’m a bad person, which I am, but also because I think my office has gotten it wrong once again. They’ve picked something frivolous to contribute. Not something these people need, or are going to use in the long term.
Not that I see anything wrong with being frivolous. But, if you’re going to be frivolous, at least be fun! Needy people don’t want hedges and flower gardens. They want booze and big tits, just like anyone else.
That is why I, and a few of my more morally skewed coworkers, have decided to start our own charitable organization. So, without further ado, I present to you;
The First Annual Homeless to Hooters Jamboree
Our itinerary is as follows:
11:00 – Scour the Orlando metro area looking for as many homeless people as we can find and cram them into my Chevy Cobalt.
While a Chevy Cobalt may not seem like the best mode of transport, I know from personal experience that you can fit a minimum of four dead hookers in the trunk. That should equal at least 3 live people.
12:00 – Stop at liquor store, as Hooters does not stock such fine preferred homeless liquors like Mad Dog 20/20 and Schlitz.
1:00 – Arrive at Hooters. Extricate homeless people from my trunk. Obtain tables.
After that, its going to be a mindless whirl of heavy drinking, hula hooping and discussions about the chips the CIA is currently installing in peoples brains. The best part is I don’t have to drop anyone off at home when we’re done, because duh, they don’t have homes.
I know, I’m a saint. You don’t have to thank me. I just like to give back.
Dear Every Driver on I4 to Orlando today,
Today was delightful. I brought my son to Aquatica, the water park at Sea World. Aside from the 20 minute security intervention, where I became the harpy shrieking at her son for getting lost, it was an ideal family fun day. However, the ride to and from was less than delightful.
In fact, I’m surprised we made it home alive. I am not surprised that my son’s vocabulary has increased to include the words “fucktard, twat, cunt-twat, cunt-twat-buttfucker, motherfucker, fuckoranbitch-indecipherable-profanities.”
After spending the afternoon and early evening with you, I must say, you all drive as though you have your heads planted firmly up your asses. As such, I would like to offer a few suggestions for your future driving experiences.
Guy in the blue 95 Hyundai, with the spinning rims and the black window tint; please return you seat to the full upright position when driving. We get it, your “street” and super cool. We’re all very intimidated and impressed with your bad-assedness. You’re so bad ass that you have to drive laying down. No 90 degree angle for you, you’re sticking it to the man.
You look like an idiot, and you clearly can’t see shit, considering the fact that you spent 4 miles driving in the breakdown lane. Yes, your piece of shit car looks like its about to breakdown. That doesn’t mean you’re allowed to preemptively drive in the lane designated for breaking down. Pull over and start driving again when you’re ready to wake up.
Next, princess in the Lexus, with the cell phone, lets clear this up right now; you have nothing important to say. You are going to spend your life depending on a man, whether is daddy, husband, or whatever. You’ll give birth to 2 distant kids who will be raised by their Portuguese nanny and participate in charities you don’t give a shit about. You will never have an independent thought. When you die, you’re going to disappear from the world having never contributed a thing.
Now, what are you texting on your fucking cell phone that is so important that you need to risk the lives of everybody on the road?
Let’s clear this up. You cannot text and drive. No one can. Its friggen impossible. When you’re swerving in and out of traffic, not concentrating on the road, you’re going to lose control of your vehicle, and you are going to crash.
If karma had anything to do with it, you would wrap that obnoxious car around a tree and take your DNA out of the equation. Unfortunately, that’s never what happens. Instead, you’re going to hit an innocent mom driving her kids to soccer practice and wipe out half her family.
Will that fact that “Andrew is sooo super cute and was totally flirting with you!!!:)!:):):)” seem so important then? No? Then put down the phone and drive bitch.
Also, if your car is for some reason incapable of doing the minimum required speed of 55 MPH, keep it off the damn road. Putting your hazard lights on isn’t a “get out of jail free” pass. Pull the shit box over and call your babies mamma to pick you up like you always do.
Finally, a few basic reminders of the rule of the road. The far right lane is for slower traffic, the far left is for faster. Theses lanes are not interchangeable. If you are slow, go in the right lane. If you are fast, go in the left lane. It’s not hard.
Also, when moving between these lanes, please take notice of a special option designed in your car. It is to the right of your steering wheel and it is called a “directional” or “turn signal”. It is designed to show that you are moving from left to right in relation to traffic.
Please practice using it instead of expecting everybody on the road to be physic. Otherwise, one Florida driver is going to fucking ram your ass, then file a neck injury claim against your auto insurance.
If you have insurance. Judging by the number of vehicles being held together with duct tape and coast hangers today, I’m guessing most of you don’t.
If those of you driving on I4 today would take notice of the above constructive criticisms, I would appreciate it. If you have any questions, concerns or complaints, I would suggest you put them all exactly where your head was clearly located while you were driving this afternoon.
Concerned Florida Driver
Just when I think I’ve got dating figured out, they’ve gone and changed it again. According to Emma Gray, of the Huffington Post, the old school rules of dating that advise women to be mysterious, yet demure and restrained are out the window. Personally, I think it’s about time. However, it does create a bit of a problem.
How is a girl like me, who thrives on drama, going to survive this? It stands to reason that if the rules of regular dating have changed, then the rules of psychotic and mildly obsessive dating have changed as well. What’s an unbalanced girl to do?
I guess if all the rules have changed, there’s nothing to stop me from creating a new set of rules for those looking for nontraditional, drama filled relationships. Welcome to Thunderdome bitches!
NOTICE TO ALL POTENTIAL SUITORS
- Our first date will involve you taking me to an incredibly expensive restaurant where the entrees are tiny and the wine list is extensive. I will proceed to get drunk, then cry about how I am never going to find a husband. Bummer, huh? Cheer up, later I morph into the slutty kid of drunk.
- I will solicit your opinion on controversial topics like politics or religion, then will proceed to vehemently disagree with you using facts I made up. You will become frequently annoyed with me and eat faster to get the meal over with. I will make no attempt to pay, despite racking up a $300 bar tab.
- Due to the “slutmorphosis” mentioned previously, you will make the mistake of sleeping with me on the first date. Partly because I’m hot and partly because I gave you a drunken handjob while you were driving me home. The events following this will be a roller coaster ride of crazy which will cause you to swear off dating entirely
- Following the first date I will update my status to “in a relationship” with you on Facebook. Be prepared for multiple comments like “who’s that bitch?” and “no way her tits are real” under every single photo you have of a woman, regardless of your relation to them.
- My phone calls, texts, emails and skypes will be excessive, extensive and unnecessary. For example, I may call you from the mall to ask you about a pair of shoes I am thinking about buying. I will then text and email you photos of them, with the subject line “URGENT!!! 911!!!!”. If you fail to respond to me in 5 minutes, I will repeatedly call, email and send facebook messages to your relatives.
- Facebook and Twitter are going to play as huge part in our relationship, as will my blog. Every single detail of our relationship, from the fight I started when you didn’t respond fast enough when I asked you if my chin is too square, to the time you drank too much and couldn’t get it up will be posted online…in detail. Twitter will assist with real time updates
- I will hate your family and friends and will treat them with open disdain…when I’m not trying to borrow money from them.
- We will have a minimum of four pregnancy scares a month, which will involve dramatic fights, tears and finally a sheepish admittance that I “was just testing you to see how you would react.”
- I will fill your apartment with bridal magazines and frequently discuss our wedding plans, even though you haven’t proposed and we’ve only been dating for two weeks.
- Attempts to break up with me will be met with delusional disbelief, followed by screaming fights I instigate at your apartment and drunken midnight phone calls to you your family. As for your friends, those who didn’t ditch you when you started dating a Yoko, I will sleep with most of them in an attempt to make you jealous. Sleeping with them will cause me to repeat the entire above process with them, getting you off the hook. It’s kind of like accidentally jumping on the grenade
I was preparing to write up a detailed proposal of the benefits of outsourcing my job to India, then discretely slipping it into my managers inbox, when I got distracted as usual. I got distracted wondering why I hate my job so much. Why the idea of layoffs fills me with hope. I’ve been doing this job for years. I didn’t really start hating in with the fire of about a thousand suns*, until about a year ago. Its not just the work, which is mind numbingly dull, or the deadlines and the stress. I could live with just that.
It’s the fact that there is not one reasonably fuckable person in my office.
The people at work are either married, or ninety, or so damn young that I get them confused with the kids from the office daycare. Everyone is in that doughy, relaxed, office worker letting themselves go phase. Elastic waistband pants and orthopedic shoes. Stressed out. Grumpy, depressed, badly dressed people look even worse under fluorescent lights.
I have never had this problem before. At every other job I’ve had, and there have been many, there were multiple guys I would have happily nailed. They practically had to put a padlock on the men’s shower room the time I had that job at the Fire Department.
That’s the thing I miss. I miss having someone to flirt with and look forward to seeing. I miss having a hot boss that I could send slutty emails to. I miss making cute boys uncomfortable. It didn’t have to mean anything, but it was fun all the same. It was nice having that office crush instead of being crushed by the office.
I miss the fun side of sexual harassment. Also, when the guy is hot, it doesn’t count as harassment. If anyone at my office now sexually harassed me, I would mace them, vomit, then mace them again.
I was spoiled in my workplaces. In the Army, I got muscular guys in uniform. In the corporate world I get elderly alcoholics with sock suspenders.
Fuck my life.
Don’t get me wrong, there are younger people. By younger, I mean still breast feeding. They’re all bright and shiny and overeager. Ready to climb the corporate ladder until they make it to the slime at the top. I know eventually they’ll be one of the grey people in stretched out sweaters, because its always forty degrees in the office, and it depresses me. It also makes me feel 90.
The way I see it, I have very few options left. I could;
Go gay – weirdly, the ladies in my office are keeping it pretty tight. Its only the men who seem to fall apart once they hit thirty-five. I’ve never had homosexual leanings, but if I could start playing for the other team, there’s quite a few I would be proud to take home to mom. Plus, it would really upset my homophobic grandmother. Unfortunately, I’m just not ready to take the plunge.
Find a new job – trust me, I’m trying. I just don’t want the same thing to happen again. Problem is, interviewers don’t like it when you ask for photos of all their male staff prior to coming in. Some of them get downright snippy.
Somehow, trick my boss into hiring allot of attractive guys – I already tried switching the number of the temp agency with the number for a male escort service. I think he figured it out when the menu told him to “press 1 to schedule an erotic massage.” I’m also pretty sure I heard him press 1.
The way I see it, my only option is to get fired. That way, I can stay at home and begin my delusional, obsessed fan, love affair with Special Agent Anthony Dinozzo.
*I’m feeling very artistic today
So I was watching GMA this morning and a segment came on about Lady Gaga being involved in yet another controversy. As she’s always a good one for drama, I watched in eager anticipation. Apparently, she sent out a tweet that has seriously offended some people in Thailand. I waited with baited breath to hear what she had said. How bad was it? Tsunami joke? Human trafficking joke? What could she have said that would put the country up in arms?
I just landed in Bangkok baby! Ready for 50,000 screaming Thai monsters. I wanna get lost in a lady market and buy fake Rolex.”
Umm, uh…still looking for the upsetting part. First thing that drew me was “lady market.” Maybe a prostitution joke? Nope, just an open air market, according to Google. Thai monsters? She calls all of her fans “monsters”, so that can’t be it. Fake Rolex? Is that offensive?
Seriously, I’m still trying to figure this out. But people in Thailand were definitely offended. There were complaints from Thai citizens that indicated this statement was “offensive, insulting and bad for the country’s image”.
I can definitely see why Thailand would be worried about their image. Tourists flock there every year for the scenery, cuisine, customs and…the child sex tours. Now where is NAMBLA going to hold their annual membership meetings?
God forbid a country where 40% of their prostitutes are children should have their image besmirched by something as offensive as the idea that they might…gasp…sell knock-off jewelry.
“We are more civilized than you think,” tweeted Thai DJ Surahit Siamwalla, who also called for a boycott of Gaga’s Friday show in Bangkok.
FYI, DJ with the worst stage name ever, I didn’t think your country was civilized to begin with. As long as Thailand continues to be listed as a top destination for victims of sex traffic, as well as the perverts who use them, the Thai vacation is off my bucket list.
As long as your politicians are getting teenagers pregnant and your police support child abuse openly, I’m about as likely to go there as I am to take a cruise around the African horn. You don’t need to worry about your reputation with me. You didn’t have one to begin with.
Also, what’s up with the hate on for knock offs? Lady Gaga is known for her love of knock offs and I respect that. Why spend $2000 on a watch when you can spend $20? Knock offs are sold EVERYWHERE, including the good old US of A and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. I wear my Fada and my Berkinsticks with pride, and no one knows I got them at Flea World.
My point is, don’t get offended by stupidity when your country has bigger problems. Ask most people what they think of Thailand and most will immediately think of child prostitution or death sentences for drug possession. So don’t worry, no one is associating your precious county with knock off Rolex’s. We’re all too busy thinking about baby rape.
I’m in a corporate mood today, as shown in my previous post. As I am in a corporate mood, I am thinking about the business phrases I became acquainted with when I entered the corporate world; i.e. my cubicle coffin. Six Sigma, Lean, diversity, work/life balance and others were all foreign ideas to me ten years ago.
Now, they’re a language I speak fluently and I would like to share them with you.
What they say it means: Lean is a way of minimizing waste (mistakes) by turning everything into a process which workers follow exactly every time. It is a way to get employees to work as a well-oiled machine.
What it really means: We’re outsourcing your job to India.
Think about it. Their teaching someone to do the same thing, over and over again. There is no creative thought process involved, no special skill you bring to the table. Why pay you fifty bucks to read off a script and select drop down boxes when they can pay someone else five?
What they say it means: Lots of boring math stuff about standard deviation. Mainly, it goes hand and hand with Lean, measuring the deviation from the processes and how it affects profits. It’s a way of measuring the results of processes and make improvements.
What it really means: You’re going to be standing in groups around a white board, looking at boring graphs that no one understands, while your manager nods thoughtfully and asks inane questions to distract everybody from the fact that they have no idea what the graphs mean either. It is douchbaggery at its highest form. An “Emperor’s New Clothes” test on humanity.
People can actually get certified and have different levels of “belts” to make it sound like their doing something athletic. All it really means is that they paid some higher level douchebag fifteen hundred bucks so they could listen to him talk about processes and metrics. It’s the world’s most reputable pyramid scheme. I can’t believe I’m the only one that sees it.
Continuous Process Improvement
What they say it means: We are finding yet another way to say the same thing, despite all of Lean’s talk about eliminating waste. Process improvement is simply another matter of breaking every task down to a process and improving on the process by continuously eliminating waste (mistakes).
What it really means: We’re outsourcing your job to India. This is getting redundant. Look, whenever they say “process”, what their really thinking is “profits”. Either learn to love the taste of curry, or start looking for a new line of work.
What it means: We have an Asian guy in the IT department.
You want to have a good laugh? Go to any major corporation’s website and go to their section about diversity. They always have a group of people together. Try to see if the black guy in the picture has been slipped in twice. Nope, that’s not his twin, just Photoshop. It’s amazing how often they try to sneak that in.
What they say it means: We want you to have a life outside of work. That’s why everyone is salaried. We don’t want to measure your time in nickels and dimes. We want to measure it in performance.
What it really means: Work to live. You’re salaried, so they don’t have to give you overtime. Then they can load you down with so much work that you never have time to do anything else. If you fall behind, its because you’re not using time wisely and you should work later hours because you are salaried, after all. Look at the office of most places that tout work/life balance and you’ll see allot of office lights on on weekends.
The Peter Principle
This is the one I don’t need to break into subcategories. Of all the principles of management, this is the only one I believe to be true in every way. It’s simple. It’s straight forward;
“You rise to the level of your incompetence.”
This is the only principle of management that I find to be logically valid. You’re good at your job, you get promoted. You stay good, you keep getting promoted. The process continues again and again until you’re in a position where you struggle so much that you no longer get promoted. There, you’ll fester in your role until you die of a heart attack the day after you retire. You rose to the level of your incompetence. It’s the circle of life.
Well, corporate life anyway. At least until they outsource your job to India.