Tag Archives: email

FOX stole my life

Did everyone just luuuurrrrveee the JERSEY SHORE last night? I did, I know it wasn’t very eventful but it was a good teaser.  My new goal in life is to get PaulyD to retweet my tweet or write me back.  It’s going to happen.  And when it does it’s going to be… AWESOME!

While watching the Jersey Shore last night I saw a preview for a new show on fox… “The New Girl”  It’s about a girl starting over and moving in with 3 guys.  Sound familiar? Yeah, that’s because it’s MY LIFE!! WTF FOX!!!

Yes Fox, you’re welcome for your new smash hit.  Do blog entries count as a poor mans copyright?  Think I could get them to hire me on as a writer?  Like hey guys, been there done ALL OF THIS! You know what though, I bet they don’t make her live in the basement for 6 months to earn her keep before giving her 4 walls and a door.  I’ll be curious to see how the story pans out, I would put money on 2 seasons from now she’s dating one of the roommates.  We shall see.

What do we think about people in the office who make their email signature look like an actual signature.  For example:

Dear Gizzy:

If you are ever in need of my services please do not hesitate to contact me.  Thank you.

Sincerely,

Pooper Scooper

Executive Director of Scooping Poopies

Personally, I’m not a big fan of it.  I think it’s unprofessional and makes you look like you have a lot of time on your hands.  But I’ve been noticing like EVERYONE that I email with at work does it.  Am I retarded and missed the memo that creating a fake e-signature is in? Like if you’re going to go to this much trouble why not type out the whole GD email in word, print it out, sign it, and then PDF or fax it to me? I just do not understand the purpose of using a different font for their name.  Baffling.  Granted they’re all old and amazed at all the cool things computers can do.  Just know that I had to look up how to do HTML coding in order to make this point and get that handwriting font to show up, so appreciate!  There’s more where that came from, friends.  

The best part of this is that I wrote all of the above about people being big gay wads with their cursive email signatures last night (Thursday) and a few minutes ago (on Friday) we received this email from CFO:

All,

Staff should use an e-mail signature on e-mail correspondence.  We have chosen the standard e-mail signature format below and include instructions to create a signature.  Please create or update your existing e-mail signature to reflect the e-mail standard example below using Calibri font, size 10, black, with no background, color or graphics.  At your department manager’s discretion, you may be asked to include department specific information.

Standard e-mail example

Jane Doe

Department Administrator

Company XYZ

Department ABC

123 Main Street- Suite (your suite number)

Partyville, USA 12345

T (555) 123-0000

janedoe@company.com

Looks like I wasn’t the only one that noticed all the tool bags making us look unprofessional.  Touche my good man CFO.  Touche.

Speaking of work, it’s been far too long since anything embarrassing happened to me while on the job.  Until today.  I’m walking to the copy machine with a pile of $1,000,000 checks to copy and my heel gets stuck in the cuff of my oh so stylish pants, the express flare leg dress pant.  I go to take a step and I felt it happening and said… “OH NO!!!” as I went down using the file cabinent to brace my fall.  It held me up so I didn’t completely faceplant.  But while I’m using all my strength and will to hold myself up using the file cabinent and while simultaneously trying to get my heel unstuck from the cuff of my pant leg a group of businessmen walk by to go to the conference room for a meeting (Little Mikey included) and the old asian man is standing there watching my struggles and asking if I’m ok.  It’s really a wonder that I’m still here and not off in a corner somewhere ugly girl crying.  So this has taught me a lesson, I’m officially too old and too clumsy to try and look stylish and cute while at work.  If I had on my high waters this wouldn’t have happened, or if I had been wearing flats this wouldn’t have happened.  It’s what I get.

Happy Friday everyone!  Thank god.

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Men suck, all of them

Well, we are officially back in action.  WordPress shut us down for a hot minute saying we violated their terms of service.  Which was a big lie.  I emailed them and they said it was a mistake.  You’re damn right it was a mistake! They must have been trying to put us on freshly pressed and deactivated us instead.  That’s gotta be it.  Anyway…

Lately I’ve been in a slump, I don’t feel like going out or doing anything fun, and I really just want to be left the hell alone.  By everyone other than my family and Lucky.  I’d like to go entire days without making fake conversation with people at work about the weather and how slow the copy machine is.  I don’t want to hang out with my roommates.  I want to come home, eat my dinner, and relax in my room alone while drinking a glass of wine or 5.

It seems like if I am short with people at work I’m constantly getting the, “What’s wrong, is everything ok?” Look/questioning from everyone.  Yes! Everything is fucking fine, I just want to come in here, do my job, and leave.  I don’t care about your grandkids, or what you had for dinner, or what your plans are this weekend.  If there were people my age I’d probably feel different, especially if there were hot guys or halfway decent girls I could possibly be friends with.  But I’m tired, and I have a lot of work, and hearing about peoples lives gives me less energy to do work and stay up past 8:30.  But last Friday I had to hear a 20 minute long explanation of what Ciggy Breath was doing for his wife’s birthday month.   That I never asked about.  And I just had to leave, that was it – I was cashed after hearing that.

So to add to hating everyone last week I woke up with a 6AM text from Anth saying, “Did you stand there while they fucked with my sunglasses? And, where did you go?”

A little backstory, a few weeks ago my old college pal Gigi came for a visit and we went to a concert on the beach.  After the concert we were walking to catch a cab, something happened and I smacked Anth’s chest.  His sunglasses were on the inside of his shirt and when I smacked his chest one of the lenses popped out of his shades.  I offered to take them to get them fixed and that was the end of it.  

So, when the whole fire thing happened I sat down to take a looksie at his sunglasses.  The lenses are held in with fishing wire so I figured I could put it back in myself.  I did and then I cleaned them and all was good.  A week and a half later I got that text from Anth.

Now, I don’t condone lying to anyone, but in a case like this if I would have told Anth that I fixed his sunglasses he would’ve gone off on me and accused me of messing them up somehow.  So when I told him I would get them fixed he said I could go to any optometry place and it would be fine.  I told him I took him to sunglass hut because they’re probably all high and wouldn’t recall if I came in there like an optometry place would.  So then he goes off on a tangent about how there’s a chip missing from the bottom of the lens, you can barely notice it, and how I should’ve gone to an optometry place because they have better tools for that stuff.  Well you know what dbag? I fixed it and I didn’t use any tools, and I sure as hell didn’t chip the god damn lens using my fingers to put it back in.

I don’t know if it’s because I’m extra irritable or what the deal is, but I just did not want to deal with this.  I immediately texted Lucky and told her the sitch, she said it was stupid and I agreed.  Once all was said and done I just ignored him, if he wants me to take them to get the lens fixed (which I’m not entirely sure happened because of something I did) I will get them fixed.  But, he’s going to have to grow some damn balls and ask me to do it.  Because it’s time to be a man and stop confronting people through emails and text messages.  Yes, I confronted them about my cheese through an email, but I would’ve said it to their faces had they been at the apartment when I noticed it was all gone, I just wanted my cheese replaced before the next morning damnit. 

The day before that or after, I can’t even remember now they all run together, he was texting me complaining about me turning the air conditioning up 1 degree in the morning when I left.  God forbit it is 1 degree warmer in the apartment when NO ONE is there all day long so that we save some money/help Earth.  So I asked what his problem with it was, he said that he gets hot when he sleeps.  Ok, so turn it down when you sleep or if you get hot, who cares.  No that wasn’t good enough, he had to complain about how sometimes he forgets to turn it down and then he wakes up sweating.  But of course he’s too lazy to get out of bed and turn it down or not use a fucking down comforter in the middle of summer.  But I digress.  See what I’m dealing with here?

It gets slightly worse, after fending off my nagging non-husband all week, the weekend had finally arrived.  I was planning on eating buffalo wild wings and drinking my bud light limes and laying in bed all weekend and talking to NO ONE.   I am all independant woman the past year or so, don’t need a man, yada yada… I’m sure there are songs about it.  But, when Lucky called me last weekend to tell me about the latest with her cray cray dad I ventured out of my room and went to the roof so that I could have good cell service.  As I do, I hadn’t been up there for more than 2 seconds and here comes Anth.  So I go down to the kitchem, 2 seconds later here comes Anth.  Why?  I don’t know, I guess he needed attention or something.  Because he wasn’t following me around because he had a purpose for being in either of those rooms, he was just lingering.

So I go into my room and lay halfway in my room and halfway out my sliding doors so my phone would still get service (HATE AT&T btw) and not 15 minutes later JM busts in  my bedroom door because he’s visiting and thought I was gone, so he was going to sleep in my bed.  

Then every time I come downstairs I get shit about how I don’t hang out with them and how I’m boring and will die a lonely old cat lady because I never come out of my room.  And that is exactly why I don’t come out of my room, so I don’t have to hear shit like that.

I like my roommates, and I like to party with them occassionally.  But I don’t want to hang out with them from the time I wake up in the morning until I go to bed.  #1 they watch bad tv (sports – not the good ones either, they watch boring stuff, like wrestling, tennis, and golf) #2 I don’t want to hear about how I’m so lame #3 I don’t want to hear about your girlfriend/girl you’ve been banging because I don’t care. 

So men, I get it.  I get what you’re going through having a nagging wife and no sex.  I get it.

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Homeless Harriet

I hate everyone.  Like seriously.  I thought my life was starting to semi-get in order. I’ve been reading literary masterpieces so that I have intellectual things to talk about with Dr. Love, my car situation is finally under control, Lucky booked a flight to come here over her birthday/the fourth of July, I’m about to move into a room with not only 4 walls and a door, but a walk in closet with places to hang my clothes, AND a bathroom; life was good.  Then I get thrown under the bus like I’m invisible, yet again.  Right before the end of my work day yesterday I get this email from Anth:

To: Gizzy, Doogie

Subject: roommate

How do you guys feel about Tim moving in? He’s either moving in, getting a single, or getting a double with me he says.  I don’t see myself moving out so the last one probably can get tossed from the list.  He would pay the $900 for the bigger room and parking for sure.  Plus, he doesn’t do blow anymore.  So, score.  He’s probably going to come over Monday or Tuesday, whenever the next game is on to talk about it.

I was instantly fuming, texted Lucky that I would be calling her in 5 to vent, and got the hell out of work.  If you all remember when I moved up here I explained that I live in the den in the basement aka the dungeon, where it is cold, dark, and loud.  My bed is literally 2 feet from the furnace, air conditioning, the front door, and the garage door.  Not to mention anytime anyone makes any kind of noise in the living room or kitchen the noise in amplified in my room times 100.  So, when JM informed us he would be moving out memorial day weekend I was more than ecstatic to take over his room. Even if it did mean almost tripling what I pay now in rent.

Anth never really took my vow to move upstairs seriously, and asked me every other day if I was going to take over JM’s room when he moved out.  The answer was always a yes, without hesitation.  So it was quite a surprise to get this email 2 weeks before JM moves out, especially when we just talked the other day about how JM would forfeit his security deposit over to me so that he didn’t have to notify the landlord that he was moving out and have him come in and do an inspection and all that goodness.  Everything was all set, until this.  

Lucky and I kind of came to the conclusion that maybe he was trying to lock in a more permanent roommate since I had clearly stated from the beginning to them that if Lucky moves here, I am outro and living with her.  But, since that wouldn’t be for at least another 4 or 5 months I didn’t think looking for a replacement roommate was that big of an issue yet.  We had also decided that I shouldn’t reply to the email and I should confront him face to face when I got home, clearly this talk with Tim has been going on for a while and this was just the first I was hearing about it, Anth was obviously trying to be passive aggressive so he didn’t have to tell me I am getting the boot to my face.  While we’re on the phone Doogie replies to the email:

Yes. That’s awesome.  I see myself rocking out waaaaaaaay more hahahahaha

Really? I thought if anyone was going to have my back it would be Doogie since he is the most level headed one out of the bunch.  Clearly not.  So I get home from work, all fired up, stomp up the stairs in my stilettos and pencil skirt ready to go hammer on Anth, and of course this is THE ONE DAY he isn’t home when I get home.  And he doesn’t show up until 8pm at night, clearly to ensure everyone else is already home knowing I don’t want to be a drama queen and go off on him in front of everyone, I’m sure.

Anyway, when I saw he wasn’t home I decided I had no choice but to reply to the email because I couldn’t hold in my anger any longer:

So I don’t deserve 4 walls and a door anymore, asshole? I don’t even know who the fuck Tim is.

No reply.  Pretty typical, now he was scared.  Hence the not coming home until 8pm.  He walked in, we had a living room full of people and I immediately gave him the death glare.  He was able to put the subject off for a good 10-15 minutes until Doogie brought it up.  Anth looked at me and says, “Yeah, you don’t have to get so defensive, obviously the room is yours if you want it, I was just explaining all our options.”  Everyone stared at me for a response so I just repeated what the email said when Doogie’s girlfriend Patty chimed in, “Clearly Gizzy has paid her dues and deserves the room, YOU DICK!”  Thank you, Patty! Anth defends himself, “Well I just wanted to give you the choice since it’s a lot more expensive.” I just turned my head away to watch tv.  Bastard.

After I retreated to the dungeon for the night to go to bed I hear Doogie ask Anth, “So what’s the deal with Tim moving in?” to which Anth replied, “Well obviously if Gizzy wants the room it’s hers.  Tim could live downstairs but I really don’t think he’d be up for that.  So if he moved into JM’s room it would be cheaper for everyone.”

Well heres some news assholes, if Tim moves into JM’s room – Gizzy moves out! Ooohhh, now it’s more expensive for everyone and there will be no one around to buy things like dishsoap, papertowels, toilet paper, and trashbags, or to clean up after you filthy animals.  How ’bout them apples?  Assholes.

PLUS! And I quote, “He doesn’t do blow anymore.  So, score.”  Ummmmm… have fun tracking down your new 60 inch flat screen when that crack head sells it for drug money.  Idiots.  They’ll be sorry.

Reason # 17,834 why I HATE men.

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