Loyal blog followers, how I've missed you! It's been a few months and I'm sure a lot has been going on with you. It sure has for me! If you've been reading my little corner of the interwebs for any length of time (or you happen to know me in person), then you know things, they have been a-changin'.
I lost my job at a law firm I thought was great. Turns out, everything happens for a reason. I now have a job at a nationwide law firm with 1000 times better benefits (including free parking in downtown, a block from the Amway Center, 24/7/365) and MUCH nicer coworkers. Suck on that, old law firm.
My fiance and I have been scouting for a place to live. Nothing set in stone yet, but we've got an application in at a place I'm in love with... So cross your fingers and toes for us! Fiance also just started a new job that's extremely exciting and has a very promising future. Our days of both being unemployed are OVER! Can you hear the choir singing Glory Glory? I certainly can. Oh, speaking of choirs and church and such, in November I had my first rite on my way to baptism on Easter Vigil this year. It was joyous, exciting, scary (I was in front of the entire congregation!) and fun all at the same time. Fiance's mom took pictures, but her camera skills are a little weak, so the pictures didn't come out great, otherwise I'd post a couple. My next rite, the rite of election, is next month at the biggest Catholic church in the Orlando diocese: Mary, Queen of the Universe. It's going to be a big, big deal. Lots of celebration to follow.
We finally set a wedding date! While I'm not at liberty to tell you the exact date at this point, it will be in the fourth quarter of this year. More blog posts to come on wedding planning and general hysteria.
I changed my Twitter name to @J_Rad2012, so if you're a follower, tuck that under your hat.
I had a very strange encounter right before Christmas with an ex from ages ago. That definitely deserves its own post, so consider this a teaser.
Anyway, I'm on my lunch break at this very moment. I can't get into anything super long-winded since I only have a few minutes left. I just wanted to check in and let you know that I'm back, baby! One of my resolutions this year was to keep up with my blog, so you can expect to see more in the near future. Until then... :)
Observations and an action adventure guide to survival of... whatever it is I happen to do day to day. Usually involves cute shoes and a super dose of attitude.
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Friday, June 10, 2011
If The Phone Doesn't Ring, It's Me
Returning phone calls has never been one of my strong suits. In fact, I'm really, really terrible at it. I always get caught up in something else and forget until days later, when it's too late to call back because whatever the message was about is a moot point anyway. I say this in the interest of full disclosure, because what I'm about to say makes me seem like a bit of a hypocrite. It wouldn't be the first time I've been accused of that, but whatever. Just go with me on this.
In the last month, I've been on two interviews for large law firms in the downtown area. These firms are by no means Mickey Mouse operations. They're big, sleek and wealthy. The first interview I went on, I couldn't get a read on the interviewers. It was short and to the point. I answered all their questions in the manner I knew they would want them answered (which isn't to say I lied about anything because I didn't). I was ushered out pretty unceremoniously and told they'd be in touch. I had a feeling that was the kiss of death. The following week I gave my contact in their human resources department a call, and he said that they were still interviewing candidates, but that I was a contender. He gave me a time frame to call back to follow up and I did. Not only could I not get him to pick up his phone, he never returned my calls either.
The second firm I interviewed for was much different. The interviewer took her time, explained the position and the firm thoroughly and answered my questions. The interview took over an hour, and when I was leaving she told me that she would definitely be in touch late the next week. I left feeling really good about how things went. I contacted HR late the next week, to be told that candidates were still being interviewed and to check back the following week. I was starting to get a sense of deja vu. When I emailed HR again, I got no response.
Before I complain, I have to acknowledge how lucky I was to even get interviews. It means they thought I was qualified and wanted to see how I could work out. I'm sure there are other job seekers out there who are more qualified than me, considering I'm still working on my paralegal degree. I was grateful for the interviews and it definitely made me feel better about my prospects. Having said all that, I'm utterly pissed and dumbfounded that neither of these places had the decency to call, email or send a letter saying that someone else got the job. I don't take things like that personally and would have welcomed the closure of knowing that I didn't get the position. I don't think that's too much to ask. In my humble opinion, it's very unprofessional to just leave people hanging. I mean, yeah I got the hint... But this isn't a junior high break up. There's no need to be a pussy, just make the call.
I'm still searching, and although the actions (or non-actions, really) of those two firms was a little disheartening, I'm not getting all down in the dumps. This kind of thing takes time. And if anything, I've got plenty of that. In the meantime, I'm tossing around the idea of going back to work at a cosmetics counter. I did that in my early 20's, and it wasn't terrible. The money was pretty decent and the discount was great. We shall see. I'm trying to stay focused on the positives. I love where I'm living. I have a great boyfriend. I'm healthy. The rest will fall into place, I'm certain of it.
*Today's title is from Jimmy Buffet's song of the same name. Parrotthead forever :)
.
In the last month, I've been on two interviews for large law firms in the downtown area. These firms are by no means Mickey Mouse operations. They're big, sleek and wealthy. The first interview I went on, I couldn't get a read on the interviewers. It was short and to the point. I answered all their questions in the manner I knew they would want them answered (which isn't to say I lied about anything because I didn't). I was ushered out pretty unceremoniously and told they'd be in touch. I had a feeling that was the kiss of death. The following week I gave my contact in their human resources department a call, and he said that they were still interviewing candidates, but that I was a contender. He gave me a time frame to call back to follow up and I did. Not only could I not get him to pick up his phone, he never returned my calls either.
The second firm I interviewed for was much different. The interviewer took her time, explained the position and the firm thoroughly and answered my questions. The interview took over an hour, and when I was leaving she told me that she would definitely be in touch late the next week. I left feeling really good about how things went. I contacted HR late the next week, to be told that candidates were still being interviewed and to check back the following week. I was starting to get a sense of deja vu. When I emailed HR again, I got no response.
Before I complain, I have to acknowledge how lucky I was to even get interviews. It means they thought I was qualified and wanted to see how I could work out. I'm sure there are other job seekers out there who are more qualified than me, considering I'm still working on my paralegal degree. I was grateful for the interviews and it definitely made me feel better about my prospects. Having said all that, I'm utterly pissed and dumbfounded that neither of these places had the decency to call, email or send a letter saying that someone else got the job. I don't take things like that personally and would have welcomed the closure of knowing that I didn't get the position. I don't think that's too much to ask. In my humble opinion, it's very unprofessional to just leave people hanging. I mean, yeah I got the hint... But this isn't a junior high break up. There's no need to be a pussy, just make the call.
I'm still searching, and although the actions (or non-actions, really) of those two firms was a little disheartening, I'm not getting all down in the dumps. This kind of thing takes time. And if anything, I've got plenty of that. In the meantime, I'm tossing around the idea of going back to work at a cosmetics counter. I did that in my early 20's, and it wasn't terrible. The money was pretty decent and the discount was great. We shall see. I'm trying to stay focused on the positives. I love where I'm living. I have a great boyfriend. I'm healthy. The rest will fall into place, I'm certain of it.
*Today's title is from Jimmy Buffet's song of the same name. Parrotthead forever :)
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Saturday, July 17, 2010
The End Where I Begin
As of July 1, I've been out of work for seven months. It hasn't been easy on me. I hate just sitting around and not having anything to do. I gave up looking for a job a couple months ago, deciding to focus solely on going back to school. While I was happy with that decision, I wasn't happy with the fact that I'd have to live on student loan money alone. I'd be able to do it, but it wouldn't be easy or very much fun at all.
On Wednesday, I received a phone call from a staffing agency who found my resume posted on one of the career websites. They had a client who needed someone with my experience and wanted to talk to me about the position. I called back out of curiosity, but I really didn't think anything would come of it. After speaking to the very nice woman at the staffing agency, she e-mailed over a couple quizzes for me to take online to make sure I would qualify. I took them and waited to hear back. Thursday morning, bright and early, I got a phone call from staffing lady... Hired. No interviews, no application, no nonsense. All I had to do was take a drug test and come to her office to fill out some paperwork. So of course I did both of those before the end of the day on Thursday. My start date is this coming Wednesday. It's a long term contract position, and I'll be receiving a full benefits package (vacation, health, 401k) from the staffing agency.
It just goes to show that when you stop looking so hard for the answer, it will show itself. I honestly believe that good things come to those who wait... And those who keep the faith that things will work out in the end. I'm so unbelievably grateful that I can't even express it. After these past few months of ups and downs, all I could think of to sum up the situation is a song by The Script, 'The End Where I Begin'.
Sometimes tears say all there is to say
Sometime your first scars wont ever fade away
Tried to break my heart
Well it's broke
Tried to hang me high
Well I'm choked
Wanted rain on me
Well I'm soaked
Soaked to the skin
It's the end where I begin
It's the end where I begin
Sometimes we don't learn from our mistakes
Sometimes we've no choice but to walk away, away
Tried to break my heart
Well it's broke
Tried to hang me high
Well I'm choked
Wanted rain on me
Well I'm soaked
Soaked to the skin
It's the end where I begin
It's the end where I begin
Now I'm alive
And my ghosts are gone
I've shed all the pain
I've been holding on
The cure for a heart
Is to move along, is to move along
So move along
[X3]
What don't kill a heart
Only makes it strong
Sometimes tears say all there is to say
Sometime your first scars dont ever fade, away
Tried to break my heart
Well it's broke
Tried to hang me high
Well I'm choked
Wanted rain on me
Well I'm soaked
Soaked to the skin
It's the end
End where I begin
It's the end
End where I begin
Sometimes we don't learn from our mistakes
Sometimes we've no choice but to walk away, away
On Wednesday, I received a phone call from a staffing agency who found my resume posted on one of the career websites. They had a client who needed someone with my experience and wanted to talk to me about the position. I called back out of curiosity, but I really didn't think anything would come of it. After speaking to the very nice woman at the staffing agency, she e-mailed over a couple quizzes for me to take online to make sure I would qualify. I took them and waited to hear back. Thursday morning, bright and early, I got a phone call from staffing lady... Hired. No interviews, no application, no nonsense. All I had to do was take a drug test and come to her office to fill out some paperwork. So of course I did both of those before the end of the day on Thursday. My start date is this coming Wednesday. It's a long term contract position, and I'll be receiving a full benefits package (vacation, health, 401k) from the staffing agency.
It just goes to show that when you stop looking so hard for the answer, it will show itself. I honestly believe that good things come to those who wait... And those who keep the faith that things will work out in the end. I'm so unbelievably grateful that I can't even express it. After these past few months of ups and downs, all I could think of to sum up the situation is a song by The Script, 'The End Where I Begin'.
Sometimes tears say all there is to say
Sometime your first scars wont ever fade away
Tried to break my heart
Well it's broke
Tried to hang me high
Well I'm choked
Wanted rain on me
Well I'm soaked
Soaked to the skin
It's the end where I begin
It's the end where I begin
Sometimes we don't learn from our mistakes
Sometimes we've no choice but to walk away, away
Tried to break my heart
Well it's broke
Tried to hang me high
Well I'm choked
Wanted rain on me
Well I'm soaked
Soaked to the skin
It's the end where I begin
It's the end where I begin
Now I'm alive
And my ghosts are gone
I've shed all the pain
I've been holding on
The cure for a heart
Is to move along, is to move along
So move along
[X3]
What don't kill a heart
Only makes it strong
Sometimes tears say all there is to say
Sometime your first scars dont ever fade, away
Tried to break my heart
Well it's broke
Tried to hang me high
Well I'm choked
Wanted rain on me
Well I'm soaked
Soaked to the skin
It's the end
End where I begin
It's the end
End where I begin
Sometimes we don't learn from our mistakes
Sometimes we've no choice but to walk away, away
Thursday, March 18, 2010
In Defense of Our Dreams
The time is currently 4:26 a.m. and I have yet to fall asleep. I am afflicted with the unemployment blues. I've talked before about how much being sedentary gets to me, but I'm approaching a whole new area code of boredom, self hate and disgust with the search. My depression on this subject is growing daily. I feel like I'm not a contributing member of society at all. I have nothing to look forward to (or dread for that matter) on a daily basis. I get through each day by the skin of my teeth, wondering if today is the day that I finally hit pay dirt on the job front. No such luck.
I've given thought to attempting to get a job as a baker's apprentice at Publix. The starting pay is around $8.00 per hour. That's SIX dollars per hour less than my last job. I'll repeat that for you, because it bears repeating: SIX DOLLARS less. The national minimum wage is $6.15. Granted, it's $8.00 per hour more than I make sitting at home feeling sorry for myself. Part of my reasoning for the change of career paths (not that I had a particular one to begin with) is because I know that I would enjoy the job. I love to cook and bake. There would be no stress coming home from a day baking cakes and bread. I'd be covered in flour, wearing a sexy hairnet and smelling like sugary frosting. It doesn't sound so bad to me.
I've sunk to the new low of applying for temp jobs. I avoided this for as long as I could stand, because I know that temp jobs are the dregs of office work. Temps are looked at with barely veiled contempt by permanent workers; I know from personal experience on the other side of the fence. I'm not good at holding in my snide remarks back at people who think they're superior for no reason (although I once myself was one of those misguided souls). The grass isn't always greener on the other side, however it may be greener where it rains.
There is no end point to this story tonight, just that I'm beyond frustrated and need a good vent. I head a new Switchfoot song today that reminded me of myself a bit (without the drug addiction references). Here are the lyrics, fitting of my state of mind today.
"Mess of Me"
I am my own affliction
I am my own disease
There ain't no drug that they could sell
Ah, there ain't no drugs to make me well
There ain't no drugs
It's not enough
There ain't no drugs
The sickness is myself
I made a mess of me
I wanna get back the rest of me
I've made a mess of me
I wanna spend the rest of my life alive
I've made a mess of me
I wanna reverse this tragedy
I've made a mess of me
I wanna spend the rest of my live alive
The rest of my life alive
We lock our souls in cages
We hide inside our shells
It's hard to feed to the ones you love
Oh, when you can't forgive yourself
Yeah, forgive yourself
There ain't no drugs
There ain't no drugs
There ain't no drugs
The sickness is myself
I made a mess of me
I wanna get back the rest of me
I've made a mess of me
I wanna spend the rest of my life alive
I've made a mess of me
I wanna reverse this tragedy
I've made a mess of me
I wanna spend the rest of my live alive
The rest of my life alive
There ain't no drug
There ain't no drug
There ain't no drug
No drugs to make me well
There ain't no drug
It's not enough
We're breaking up
The sickness is myself
The sickness is myself
I made a mess of me
I wanna get back the rest of me
I've made a mess of me
I wanna spend the rest of my life alive
I've made a mess of me
I wanna reverse this tragedy
I've made a mess of me
I wanna spend the rest of my live alive
The rest of my life alive
*Thanks to 30 Seconds to Mars for today's blog title (Kings and Queens).
I've given thought to attempting to get a job as a baker's apprentice at Publix. The starting pay is around $8.00 per hour. That's SIX dollars per hour less than my last job. I'll repeat that for you, because it bears repeating: SIX DOLLARS less. The national minimum wage is $6.15. Granted, it's $8.00 per hour more than I make sitting at home feeling sorry for myself. Part of my reasoning for the change of career paths (not that I had a particular one to begin with) is because I know that I would enjoy the job. I love to cook and bake. There would be no stress coming home from a day baking cakes and bread. I'd be covered in flour, wearing a sexy hairnet and smelling like sugary frosting. It doesn't sound so bad to me.
I've sunk to the new low of applying for temp jobs. I avoided this for as long as I could stand, because I know that temp jobs are the dregs of office work. Temps are looked at with barely veiled contempt by permanent workers; I know from personal experience on the other side of the fence. I'm not good at holding in my snide remarks back at people who think they're superior for no reason (although I once myself was one of those misguided souls). The grass isn't always greener on the other side, however it may be greener where it rains.
There is no end point to this story tonight, just that I'm beyond frustrated and need a good vent. I head a new Switchfoot song today that reminded me of myself a bit (without the drug addiction references). Here are the lyrics, fitting of my state of mind today.
"Mess of Me"
I am my own affliction
I am my own disease
There ain't no drug that they could sell
Ah, there ain't no drugs to make me well
There ain't no drugs
It's not enough
There ain't no drugs
The sickness is myself
I made a mess of me
I wanna get back the rest of me
I've made a mess of me
I wanna spend the rest of my life alive
I've made a mess of me
I wanna reverse this tragedy
I've made a mess of me
I wanna spend the rest of my live alive
The rest of my life alive
We lock our souls in cages
We hide inside our shells
It's hard to feed to the ones you love
Oh, when you can't forgive yourself
Yeah, forgive yourself
There ain't no drugs
There ain't no drugs
There ain't no drugs
The sickness is myself
I made a mess of me
I wanna get back the rest of me
I've made a mess of me
I wanna spend the rest of my life alive
I've made a mess of me
I wanna reverse this tragedy
I've made a mess of me
I wanna spend the rest of my live alive
The rest of my life alive
There ain't no drug
There ain't no drug
There ain't no drug
No drugs to make me well
There ain't no drug
It's not enough
We're breaking up
The sickness is myself
The sickness is myself
I made a mess of me
I wanna get back the rest of me
I've made a mess of me
I wanna spend the rest of my life alive
I've made a mess of me
I wanna reverse this tragedy
I've made a mess of me
I wanna spend the rest of my live alive
The rest of my life alive
*Thanks to 30 Seconds to Mars for today's blog title (Kings and Queens).
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Rules to Live By
Last weekend Z and I went to an early movie. We just showed up, not knowing what we would end up seeing. I didn't really have a preference, and he was campaigning for Zombieland. As luck (his) would have it, there was an 11:30am showing for the zombie movie. I begrudgingly acquiesced to seeing it, hoping it wouldn't be too gory for my tastes.
I loved the movie. It was hilarious. This isn't a movie review, so don't worry, I'm not going to rehash everything that happened. All I'll say is that the lead character, a painful geek, has some rules he lives by in order to survive Zombieland. Some were just downright funny, like Limber Up before doing anything really strenuous, or do lots of Cardio! so you can outrun the zombies. There was one rule that ended up applying to life in Humanland, as I found out today. I didn't realize that this rule would come in handy in the way that it did.
Beware of Bathrooms.
In the movie, the character carries a double-barrel shotgun with him into public restrooms to keep zombies from crawling under stall doors to get him with his pants down. Certainly hazardous in the land of make-believe, but not as gross as what I encountered. I headed to the office ladies room just after lunch today, and found myself following our office's biggest (in my humble opinion) bitch in the door. She pranced to the big handicapped stall at the end and locked herself in. I supposed she needs the extra space for her inflated ego and self-worth, but probably just for her ass. Anyway, I went into a stall away from her because I don't want to be subjected to whatever airbourne particles she might emit. The bitch and I are the only two in the ladies room. As I finish up and button my capri pants, Miss Bitch flushes, exits her stall and heads for the door. She does not detour at the sinks.
Let that marinate for a second. There is no sink in the handicapped stall. She doesn't stop to wash her hands. Does she think she is so high and mighty that she doesn't need to be bothered with washing her hands in a public restroom? Yuck. I don't want to touch anything in a public restroom at all, and I can't wait to wash my hands. What in the world is wrong with this girl? Apparently she's not just a bitch, she's a dumb bitch.
So as I said, beware of bathrooms. People don't wash their hands. I kind of wished I would've had Ohio's double-barrel shotgun in the ladies room earlier today, just to scare that bitch into sanitizing.
I loved the movie. It was hilarious. This isn't a movie review, so don't worry, I'm not going to rehash everything that happened. All I'll say is that the lead character, a painful geek, has some rules he lives by in order to survive Zombieland. Some were just downright funny, like Limber Up before doing anything really strenuous, or do lots of Cardio! so you can outrun the zombies. There was one rule that ended up applying to life in Humanland, as I found out today. I didn't realize that this rule would come in handy in the way that it did.
Beware of Bathrooms.
In the movie, the character carries a double-barrel shotgun with him into public restrooms to keep zombies from crawling under stall doors to get him with his pants down. Certainly hazardous in the land of make-believe, but not as gross as what I encountered. I headed to the office ladies room just after lunch today, and found myself following our office's biggest (in my humble opinion) bitch in the door. She pranced to the big handicapped stall at the end and locked herself in. I supposed she needs the extra space for her inflated ego and self-worth, but probably just for her ass. Anyway, I went into a stall away from her because I don't want to be subjected to whatever airbourne particles she might emit. The bitch and I are the only two in the ladies room. As I finish up and button my capri pants, Miss Bitch flushes, exits her stall and heads for the door. She does not detour at the sinks.
Let that marinate for a second. There is no sink in the handicapped stall. She doesn't stop to wash her hands. Does she think she is so high and mighty that she doesn't need to be bothered with washing her hands in a public restroom? Yuck. I don't want to touch anything in a public restroom at all, and I can't wait to wash my hands. What in the world is wrong with this girl? Apparently she's not just a bitch, she's a dumb bitch.
So as I said, beware of bathrooms. People don't wash their hands. I kind of wished I would've had Ohio's double-barrel shotgun in the ladies room earlier today, just to scare that bitch into sanitizing.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
I'm Not Sick, But I'm Not Well
I'll be the very first to admit that I talk smack. A lot. Actually, if I were to be totally candid, I talk smack more than a lot. Most of the crap that comes out of my mouth is complete shit, which I probably could never back up with skillz, ya know? That being said, I find myself fairly witty. I think this is the kiss of death for most people. Usually people who find themselves witty seem to be the only ones who do. Luckily I'm blessed. Quite a few other people find me fairly snarky and smart as well (toot toot- there goes my horn).
I'm crass. I say a lot of rude shit. I'll point out the fact that one of my coworkers, Oneida, has "eeesues" instead of "issues" because of her Ecuadorian accent. (She laughs) I tell Brian to go suck an egg. In fact, that's pretty much my go-to saying when I can't tell someone to fuck off. "Hey, Noelle? Would you mind helping me with these 50 files that I need to review in the next half an hour?" Yeah... Go suck an egg. I bestow people who are truly from the shallow end of the gene-pool with the moniker 'fuckbucket'. I'm very equal opportunity when it comes to my sarcastic remarks. I feel like everyone should get a taste. If you can't hang then that's your problem, not mine.
There are very few places that a girl like me draws the line. I try to keep my f-bombs to a minimum at the office... Even that is a futile effort. I keep my sexual innuendos as veiled as possible, even though my gutter mind is (sadly) always in overdrive. There are some things that you just have to keep on the D.L. Then there are places I just don't. go. ever.
Heather made a phone call today to a colleague. When the person answered the line she immediately said, "Hey! How are you, you old goat fucker?!"
Let me pause for a moment here to address topic number one in Noelle's Sarcasm No-No's. Talking about some random person possibly having relations with a farm animal can be funny in the right hypothetical context. Calling someone an old goat fucker (loudly, in an open area no less) at work is never within the ballpark of the right timing or context.
I have no idea who the person on the other end of the 'old goat fucker' line was, but apparently they weren't offended enough to tell Heather to suck an egg until she choked to death... Pity. I tried to tune out the conversation, however it proved impossible. Whatever was work-related slipped under my radar because basically, that shit is boring. Next thing I know, Heather is telling old-goat-fucker something about someone else having sour semen. "He's too old. His semen is sour and smelly."
Stop the record. There was more to that, but I snapped off my hearing abilities at that point because my gag reflex started to work overtime. Questions started to arise in my mind about who she was talking about... Was she talking about old-goat-fucker? Does she know first hand that someone has sour and smelly man juice? Seriously? I need friggin brain bleach to erase that shit from my head permanently. Noelle's Sarcasm No-No numero dos: There is NO good venue for semen talk. Unless you're talking to your fertility doctor about sperm count OR your significant other about where to leave his deposit, just SHUT UP. No one wants to hear it. Ever.
As I sat at my desk, shaking my head furiously, (hoping that the semen thoughts would actually shake loose and fall out of my ear and into the waiting trash can) I decided the only way to ensure no more ear worms from Heather's gaping maw was to put on my iPod and turn it up to ear-bleed volume. A couple minutes later, I hear her (over Cage the Elephant telling me there ain't no rest for the wicked) start to say to old-goat-fucker that she tried to turn someone from gay back to straight. I started to really wonder who this goat fucking dude was. It was obviously a colleague, because she did call for a work-related purpose... But ended up shooting the shit for like 15 minutes about all this gross and totally inappropriate rubbish. The more I pondered the identity of old-goat-fucker, the worse I felt. It meant there was another sick asshole out there somewhere just like Heather.
Noelle's Sarcasm No-No number three: Trying to turn someone from gay to straight is just pathetic. Admitting to it is idiotic. Bragging (joking or making smart remarks) about it makes me think you might have mental retardation issues. There isn't anything funny about this. You're an HR train wreck waiting to happen.
The whole point of being sarcastic and talking smack is that you know how to edit yourself. You know where the line is and you push it... Yourunfullspeedrightuptoit-
And STOP.
That's why Oneida and Maya call me Miss Caliente (and they don't mean the nudie resort in Land O' Lakes).
That's also why my nom de plume is Noelle Sebastian.
I'm crass. I say a lot of rude shit. I'll point out the fact that one of my coworkers, Oneida, has "eeesues" instead of "issues" because of her Ecuadorian accent. (She laughs) I tell Brian to go suck an egg. In fact, that's pretty much my go-to saying when I can't tell someone to fuck off. "Hey, Noelle? Would you mind helping me with these 50 files that I need to review in the next half an hour?" Yeah... Go suck an egg. I bestow people who are truly from the shallow end of the gene-pool with the moniker 'fuckbucket'. I'm very equal opportunity when it comes to my sarcastic remarks. I feel like everyone should get a taste. If you can't hang then that's your problem, not mine.
There are very few places that a girl like me draws the line. I try to keep my f-bombs to a minimum at the office... Even that is a futile effort. I keep my sexual innuendos as veiled as possible, even though my gutter mind is (sadly) always in overdrive. There are some things that you just have to keep on the D.L. Then there are places I just don't. go. ever.
Heather made a phone call today to a colleague. When the person answered the line she immediately said, "Hey! How are you, you old goat fucker?!"
Let me pause for a moment here to address topic number one in Noelle's Sarcasm No-No's. Talking about some random person possibly having relations with a farm animal can be funny in the right hypothetical context. Calling someone an old goat fucker (loudly, in an open area no less) at work is never within the ballpark of the right timing or context.
I have no idea who the person on the other end of the 'old goat fucker' line was, but apparently they weren't offended enough to tell Heather to suck an egg until she choked to death... Pity. I tried to tune out the conversation, however it proved impossible. Whatever was work-related slipped under my radar because basically, that shit is boring. Next thing I know, Heather is telling old-goat-fucker something about someone else having sour semen. "He's too old. His semen is sour and smelly."
Stop the record. There was more to that, but I snapped off my hearing abilities at that point because my gag reflex started to work overtime. Questions started to arise in my mind about who she was talking about... Was she talking about old-goat-fucker? Does she know first hand that someone has sour and smelly man juice? Seriously? I need friggin brain bleach to erase that shit from my head permanently. Noelle's Sarcasm No-No numero dos: There is NO good venue for semen talk. Unless you're talking to your fertility doctor about sperm count OR your significant other about where to leave his deposit, just SHUT UP. No one wants to hear it. Ever.
As I sat at my desk, shaking my head furiously, (hoping that the semen thoughts would actually shake loose and fall out of my ear and into the waiting trash can) I decided the only way to ensure no more ear worms from Heather's gaping maw was to put on my iPod and turn it up to ear-bleed volume. A couple minutes later, I hear her (over Cage the Elephant telling me there ain't no rest for the wicked) start to say to old-goat-fucker that she tried to turn someone from gay back to straight. I started to really wonder who this goat fucking dude was. It was obviously a colleague, because she did call for a work-related purpose... But ended up shooting the shit for like 15 minutes about all this gross and totally inappropriate rubbish. The more I pondered the identity of old-goat-fucker, the worse I felt. It meant there was another sick asshole out there somewhere just like Heather.
Noelle's Sarcasm No-No number three: Trying to turn someone from gay to straight is just pathetic. Admitting to it is idiotic. Bragging (joking or making smart remarks) about it makes me think you might have mental retardation issues. There isn't anything funny about this. You're an HR train wreck waiting to happen.
The whole point of being sarcastic and talking smack is that you know how to edit yourself. You know where the line is and you push it... Yourunfullspeedrightuptoit-
And STOP.
That's why Oneida and Maya call me Miss Caliente (and they don't mean the nudie resort in Land O' Lakes).
That's also why my nom de plume is Noelle Sebastian.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
How to Succeed at FAIL
There is a girl (I can't bring myself to call her a 'woman') at work who I've given every benefit of the doubt. I have tried my very hardest to put on my imaginary 'WWJD' bracelet, which for me is asking a whole hell of a lot considering I'm not even Christian. Amongst my office friends, there have been many discussions about this girl, trying to discern what exactly it is that is wrong with her. "She must not know what a total asshole she is." "No. She knows. She just does not care." "Heather is on a power trip." "It's all about showing us that she's the smartest, but the way she goes about it just makes her look stupid." The theories abound.
When I first started working the job I'm at, I just thought that maybe she was over-zealous. That quickly morphed into her being a busy-body. From there she became, in my eyes, a bully. After that, as I became more comfortable with (and aware of) my surroundings, I began to realize the situation was much more complex that I could have ever imagined. Here's how good ole Heather totally succeeds... At FAIL.
Heather is friends with our manager, Carla. Carla doesn't have any managerial experience at all, and Heather takes full advantage of this. She takes every opportunity to put her two cents in about everything, whether she's asked for her input or not. Heather managed to royally piss off and alienate the one guy in our department, Brian. Brian is a really nice guy who's easy to get along with. She told him that he was rude and demeaning to everyone in the department. None of us have any idea what she's talking about. Heather is an employee of another company that supports the firm that I work for. That company doesn't have management on-site, so it seems like she feels that since her boss isn't around she can do whatever she wants... He'll never know. She texts all day long (with Carla) and giggles incessantly about the texts. The rest of us are constantly paranoid that the texts are about us, although we've all gone way past the point of actually caring anymore. She comes in to work in the morning talking on her cell phone, then proceeds to sit down at her desk and talk to her boyfriend about nothing in particular for at least 15 minutes before starting to work... This wouldn't be a problem if she didn't talk LOUDLY and laugh like a hyena. She interjects herself into any personal conversation being had by anyone in the department, because really, it's all about her.
The final straw for me came earlier today. I inherited some files that she had begun work on previously. This is nothing out of the ordinary--I'm still relatively new, and someone had to inherit part of her workload to offset the overflow. This morning I was checking a file that I had inherited from her, and I noticed that she had made notations in the file two days ago. Two days ago? What? I'm perplexed. So I read the note, and it was barely even in English. I suppose it would pass for English in West Virginia or somewhere... But I'm not from West Virginia and WHY ARE YOU IN MY FILE????? I could not for the life of me figure out what she had done or what I needed to do to proceed from the notation she made. I did however, see from her hillbilly-ese that she had spoken to Carla about the file. So I emailed Carla and CC'd Heather. I copied her notation into the email and asked that, in the future, if there are going to be complex issues discussed on my files, that I'd like to be involved and CC'd on emails.
The first reply I got back was from Heather:
"Hence the note."
It was all I could do not to reply:
But I can't read your fucking hillbilly language. Speak English you damn mongoloid!!!!!!!!!!
Instead I took a deeeep breath, collected myself and began to send another email explaining why I thought it was important to be kept in the loop, since I'm responsible for the outcome of these files, etc, when I get an email from Carla:
"Stop it."
Very professional. Did I forget to mention that Heather and Carla are like two little peas in a little friggin pod? No? I mentioned it? Well, it bears mentioning again. Anyway, long story short, I got shut down by Carla, who told me that Heather's hillbilly note in my file was more than sufficient and that I need to stop bickering. Heather succeeded in completely alienating herself not only from me, but also from everyone else who is friends with me in the office. I.e. everyone else. FAIL succeeded. It's about to get Biblical.
*To protect the not-so-innocent, all names have been changed.
When I first started working the job I'm at, I just thought that maybe she was over-zealous. That quickly morphed into her being a busy-body. From there she became, in my eyes, a bully. After that, as I became more comfortable with (and aware of) my surroundings, I began to realize the situation was much more complex that I could have ever imagined. Here's how good ole Heather totally succeeds... At FAIL.
Heather is friends with our manager, Carla. Carla doesn't have any managerial experience at all, and Heather takes full advantage of this. She takes every opportunity to put her two cents in about everything, whether she's asked for her input or not. Heather managed to royally piss off and alienate the one guy in our department, Brian. Brian is a really nice guy who's easy to get along with. She told him that he was rude and demeaning to everyone in the department. None of us have any idea what she's talking about. Heather is an employee of another company that supports the firm that I work for. That company doesn't have management on-site, so it seems like she feels that since her boss isn't around she can do whatever she wants... He'll never know. She texts all day long (with Carla) and giggles incessantly about the texts. The rest of us are constantly paranoid that the texts are about us, although we've all gone way past the point of actually caring anymore. She comes in to work in the morning talking on her cell phone, then proceeds to sit down at her desk and talk to her boyfriend about nothing in particular for at least 15 minutes before starting to work... This wouldn't be a problem if she didn't talk LOUDLY and laugh like a hyena. She interjects herself into any personal conversation being had by anyone in the department, because really, it's all about her.
The final straw for me came earlier today. I inherited some files that she had begun work on previously. This is nothing out of the ordinary--I'm still relatively new, and someone had to inherit part of her workload to offset the overflow. This morning I was checking a file that I had inherited from her, and I noticed that she had made notations in the file two days ago. Two days ago? What? I'm perplexed. So I read the note, and it was barely even in English. I suppose it would pass for English in West Virginia or somewhere... But I'm not from West Virginia and WHY ARE YOU IN MY FILE????? I could not for the life of me figure out what she had done or what I needed to do to proceed from the notation she made. I did however, see from her hillbilly-ese that she had spoken to Carla about the file. So I emailed Carla and CC'd Heather. I copied her notation into the email and asked that, in the future, if there are going to be complex issues discussed on my files, that I'd like to be involved and CC'd on emails.
The first reply I got back was from Heather:
"Hence the note."
It was all I could do not to reply:
But I can't read your fucking hillbilly language. Speak English you damn mongoloid!!!!!!!!!!
Instead I took a deeeep breath, collected myself and began to send another email explaining why I thought it was important to be kept in the loop, since I'm responsible for the outcome of these files, etc, when I get an email from Carla:
"Stop it."
Very professional. Did I forget to mention that Heather and Carla are like two little peas in a little friggin pod? No? I mentioned it? Well, it bears mentioning again. Anyway, long story short, I got shut down by Carla, who told me that Heather's hillbilly note in my file was more than sufficient and that I need to stop bickering. Heather succeeded in completely alienating herself not only from me, but also from everyone else who is friends with me in the office. I.e. everyone else. FAIL succeeded. It's about to get Biblical.
*To protect the not-so-innocent, all names have been changed.
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