Tag Archives: fuck off

This is what I decided…

Alright, soooo last week I filled y’all in on the trials and tribulations of my job.

This is what I decided.

For now, I’m going to hold off on making some giant, ta-da plan, and just hunker down and hunt for new jobs. Because, sometimes, a problem just isn’t worth fixing.

So, yesterday I updated my resume. And today, I applied for two jobs that both look pretty cool. And you know what? I feel really good about that decision, because today has been a real shit hole in the office.

Of course, it’s Monday, so there’s that. Then, I’m getting some serious work done, and that whole memo thing starts where one person calls me, tells me something to do, I do it, then someone comes in my office and tells me to do the exact same thing, and then I get an email an hour later saying, nevermind.

graaarrrrrr.

Meanwhile, I’ve been watching old episodes of MTV’s Life of Ryan while I do my work—it really makes the day more pleasant.

Anyway, enough about that.

While I didn’t do anything festive on Easter, I was generally just really happy to be relaxing, in my bed, watching DVDs of Sex and The City, because last year on Easter, my then-boyfriend was cheating on me.

I’m just so happy that I’m not in that situation, and that I’ve moved on.

Anyway, that’s all for now…

 

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Why am I being punished?

Hey guys!!

I’m sorry it’s been forever—I have SO much to tell you & I promise, there is REASON for me not being around to tell y’all about my exciting life. However, we’ll get to that on a rainy day. Today, I’ve got a little story for you and I hope you’ll weigh in.

Exactly one week ago, I was a guest on my friend’s video podcast. It was a short 40-minute live comedy act and it was pretty funny. The audience was mostly men, and as soon as the show went off-air, some of these guys were texting my friend wanting to know who I was and if I was single.

Oooohhhh heeeeeyyy!!

So one of these guys, we’ll call him MAP, sends me a message on Facebook and after a few exchanges, he asks me for my number. We text a little more and then he asks me if I want to get a simple drink on Friday (yes, Valentine’s Day).

I say yes, and I was pretty excited about it.

At first, I got the vibe that this guy was genuine, nice, he has a good job, owns a condo, has a car, has a degree, is involved in a softball team, has a podcast…

Overall, I was thinking, “Hey, this guy has a life,” which is pretty attractive to me, because I’ve got a lot going on, too.

So, we meet up for drinks, and he orders a nice scotch, I got a vodka. We talked about work, our friends, things like that, but I noticed that he kept talking about his “Budget.”

Now, let’s get this straight. I, too, am on a budget. I get it. And I am NOT looking for someone who is going to swoop in and solve my money problems. However, my money issues are not something I talk about with people I’ve just met.

He was mentioning it so much, that I felt like I should pick up the tab.

So we have two drinks and leave the bar. He walks me to my door, and he goes in for the kiss, and he was holding me so tight I almost fell over. And the kiss… was very forced. Like there were (was?) teeth and tongue and I opened my eyes once because I was trying to pull away.

I went to my apartment with mixed feelings. He seemed nice, like a guy who’s got it all together, but that kiss was horrible…

However, he asked me if i wanted to hang out again and I said sure.

But since then, he’s been texting NON STOP.

Like, we’re talking, he texts me so often, I don’t even have time to answer the questions he is asking me. Sometimes, in a text, he will even ask me what time he should text me.

I don’t know what to do… I feel bad, but we’ve only been on one date and I am already feeling so smothered.

It’s one thing if we have lots to talk about, but it’s another thing, if it’s forced, and I feel like asking me questions like, “What are you having for lunch?” “What’s your political stance?” “Can you do any impressions?” is forced conversations.

Am I horrible? HELP.

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‘I think I made a huge mistake’

That’s what D’s text said Wednesday morning at 12:46 am.

HA. HA. HA.

I just had to laugh when I saw it…

Let’s dissect.

First of all, YOU THINK??!!!

No, asshole, you DID make a huge mistake.

Second of all, AN huge mistake, as in one?

No, you made many, several, a lot of huge mistakes.

After I got over my initial laugh, I thought, “WOW, good tactic.”

The message is so vague it almost demands a response—is he referring to letting me go? The drinking? The arrest? Something that happened 5 minutes prior?—I will never know because I didn’t reply.

I really wasn’t tempted to. He obviously wants to continue these games, but I refuse to lock myself in that emotional hell.

Today, I feel free.

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Call me Abe Froman.

That’s right, I’m playing hooky today just like one of my favorite movie characters, Ferris Bueller.

I have a hair appointment this morning, so I just decided to call in sick and make it a day of fabulousness all about ME.

So, what’s on my agenda? Well after I get my cut & color, I’m meeting one of my old bosses for a sushi lunch—it was a totally random post she made on my Facebook page over the weekend, but I’m completely excited about it.

Then? I think I’ll hang out at Starbucks for a few hours and read and do some blogging…. then? I’m heading to yoga to get my zen on.

And then? I’ll watch Catfish. And it’ll be Nev-tastic!

Days like these are becoming incredibly important to me. I’m slowly rebuilding things back to the life I had before D.

Although I maintained my jobs, my friends, my workouts, etc, during our relationship, I still get that feeling that he came in, crapped on mostly everything, and now I’m just trying to pick up the pieces.

I know I learned a lot, and I showed just how strong I can be, but a big part of me wishes this didn’t happen. I really, really want things back to the way they were.

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Part three: The final straw.

You are all probably wondering why there is even a part three; believe me, I was very frustrated, scared, and upset at this point. But I didn’t want to give up.

Even my cynical heart had hope that things would turn around and we could go on like this didn’t happen. But in the weeks following the bar fight, we were very distant.

I built walls around me, just waiting for that third thing to happen when I would say, “That’s it! I’m out of here.”

It happened on a Wenesday night… or rather, a Thursday morning at 4 am. D was texting me, drunk. Actually, he was wasted—most of the texts were just random letters, like he was slamming his fingers down on his phone and sending them to me.

Some words I could read, like him telling me he was going to go back to “someone else.”

That was it. He was drunk again, and now telling me he was going to cheat. Two things I absolutely cannot and will not tolerate.

I replied and told him it was over.

He continued to text me passive aggressive bullshit, but I turned off my phone and tried to get some sleep.

The next morning, D sent me a message saying he couldn’t do this anymore. I took it as him trying to turn the tables and break up with me, but I told him it was already over. Later, he explained that he just meant the crazy drinking, but it doesn’t ultimately matter. It was over.

D is an alcoholic.

When I tell people that, most of them just say, “Well yeah he works in the service industry,” but it’s not that. Alcoholics aren’t just people who like to drink; they have a very serious problem.

It broke my heart to have to let D go… but I know I must make a better life for myself. I have no fucking clue how I keep finding myself in these situations—never ever ever in my darkest nightmares did I think I would be dating a guy like this.

The day after we broke up, I had my locks changed as D had a key to my place. I didn’t think he’d even try to come over, but I’m going out of town soon and didn’t want to take any chances.

That Saturday morning, I woke up at 5 am to pounding on my door. D was outside, drunk, with a styrofoam cup of Crown in his hand.

I am still so very heartbroken. As pathetic as it may sounds, I just want one of these relationships to work. I want to be loved.

I hope that D gets the professional help he needs before something else terrible happens. But I cannot rescue him, help him, or stand by and watch as things unfold anymore.

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Part One: The DWI.

This is the same opening to a post as many that I’ve written before—I haven’t been completely honest with you all. And you know what I’ve realized? When you can’t be honest in your anonymous blog; something ain’t right.

And if you want the truth, it hasn’t been right for an entire month now. It started, sort of, with a DWI.

A week before my mom came to town, D had been working a lot. It was “busy season” at the restaurant and he was constantly stressed. He was also constantly drunk.

Every time he would come over to my house after work, or me go to his, he would be drunk, and I don’t mean tipsy. I mean hammered. He would pick fights with me, or make up things that I said, and I would often sit and cry while he just sat there and watched.

After one particularly brutal fight, I told him he should ease up on the booze and he agreed. Then my mom came to town and things were okay. A few days after she left, I got a call from D at 4 am.

D: Lucky?

ME: Hello? Yes.

D: Can you come pick me up?

NOTE: He sounded sober as hell, I thought he had car trouble.

ME: Of course baby where are you?

D: I’m at Troop A, do you know where that is?

ME: Yes. I’ll be there.

D: When?

ME: I’m going to get out of bed, put pants on, and leave, okay?

D: okay, hurry.

I had no idea what was going on, but I assumed it was something to do with his drinking. I put on the rest of my pajamas (a matching set of pink plaid button ups from Victoria Secret) and jumped in my car. He told me to call him when I got there.

I did and he told me the cop would come outside to get me. I waited, nearly shaking, as the cop came and escorted me into a room that looked like a classroom. He was sitting on a bench that had cuffs attached to it; he was wearing his suit from work.

“I just need to wrap up his paperwork and then you all can go home,” the cop said.

I sat on the bench with D, my boyfriend, who was obviously in some serious trouble. He talked to me like everything was normal. He was drunk.

When the cop finished his paperwork, he needed D’s signatures. I heard the charges: improper lane usage, a DWI (he blew a .217), and had expired plates (they were a year overdue).

The cop then told D that he had a drinking problem.

“I don’t know what is causing this problem, but you need to figure it out. This is your second DWI, if you get a third, you go straight to jail, no matter if you blow or not. Since you blew over a .20, I would advise you to bring your toothbrush when you go to court—you’ll probably spend 48 hours in jail. Drinking and driving does not mix. Do I need to show you pictures of accidents caused by drinking? Because it’s complete mayhem.”

“No sir,” D said.

“Okay, well I’m letting you go home tonight, but please do not consider this a free ride,” the cop said.

D promised that he knew it wasn’t a free ride, and we were free to leave. We got in my car and D, still drunk, started rambling on about, maybe he does have a problem, maybe he should try to get help, maybe he should just move to China, etc.

“If you were looking for a reason to get out, now would be the time to do it,” he said.

“I’m not getting out,” I said.

“Do you normally pick up your boyfriends from the police station?” he asked.

Truthfully, no. But, as I told D, everyone makes mistakes. The question is, are you going to learn from it?

We got to my apartment, D ate, and we went to bed a little after 5 am…

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Why I am a quitter, part II.

Of course I was pissed they gave the job to someone else, but what bothered me even more was that I didn’t even know about it. 

If I’m going to lose at something, I want it to be fair. Give us an interview and tell me I wasn’t the better person for the job. 

After that, it was just downhill. Every story that I pitched was ignored and I only wrote the stories that were assigned to me, which were okay, but not ones I was passionate about. 

Yes, I know, the life of a freelance writer isn’t as glamorous as we’d all like to believe, but there are magazines out there that have meetings, and give ample time to meet deadlines, and actually respect their writers. 

I had been toyed with the idea of quitting for months, but it clicked when they gave me a cover story (large assignment) at the last minute, and then bugged the shit out of me, telling me who to contact (as if I’d never done this before) and setting up 3 photo shoots to get one right picture. 

I had just had it. I’ve been writing for 12 years now, and I’ve worked my way from the bottom up…and this place was still treating me like I was brand new. 

So I quit after the cover story was published. 

My email to the editor was short and sweet, listing no reason for my resignation. Of course, he wrote right back, but I haven’t replied yet as I don’t feel like getting into a back and forth with them. 

I am hoping this gives me more time to do things that I enjoy (like blogging) and perhaps I will find another freelance gig that is more rewarding. 

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A conversation with my boyfriend.

Below is a conversation I had with D last night, via text, because he is a big pussy and won’t talk to me on the phone. I was going to post this whole schpeal and everything leading up to the conversation, but honestly, it’s pretty self-explanatory. Enjoy.

8:13 D—How’d class go?

8:14 ME **calling D**

8:14 ME—You never answer!

9:26 D—I passed out.

9:51 D—Guess you did as well. Sorry

9:53 D— 😦

9:55 D—Goodnight

9:57 ME—Goodnight

10:01 D—You ok?

10:02 ME—No.

10:02 D— Talk to me tell me.

10:03 ME—I’ve been trying to call you, text you for 24 hours and I feel like you are pushing me away. I don’t know what I did but I can’t guess on how to solve the problem.

10:04 D—I’m sorry I’m not trying to

10:04 ME—I feel like you hate me.

10:04 D—I don’t hate you.

10:05 ME—Yes, it has been distant but its been a rough few weeks. I am someone who likes to work things out if they are worth a try. we’ve been in a great place before so I don’t feel like it’s a lost cause but ignoring me is not the answer. I just had a freaking meltdown.

10:07 D—I’m so sorry. So much has been going on with work and what not. I’m trying to deal with it.

10:07 ME—D, I understand that. But you have to tell me stuff, I cannot just guess. The person I love tells me he’s not happy in the relationship…that is the worst feeling. I can’t even get my boyfriend to talk to me.

10:10 D—it’s not you. I’m unhappy with my situation.

10:11 ME—Well, would you be happier without me around.

10:12 D—Noooooo I would never say that

10:12 ME—Well I have to ask because it feels that way

10:13 D—I’m so sorry

10:14 ME—I understand you’ve got stuff to deal with. But we are in a relationship. You can tell me stuff. I will always do what I can to help you, even if you need a night alone or whatever. we are both in this and we are supposed to be able to count on each other

10:15 D—I know

10:28 D—sleeping?

10:30 ME—No.

10:31 D—I can’t say sorry enough.

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Stop calling me fat, you fatty.

It’s nothing new that I cannot stand the janitor lady that works in our office. I’ll call her Jennifer Lopez because it starts with the same letters as “Janitor Lady,” and because she has a big ass. No seriously, it is the biggest ass I’ve ever seen.

EVER.

Everyone in the office is always SO excited to see her and they are all, “HEY JENNIFER, GOOD MORNING JENNIFER,” blah blah blah.

But I’d noticed that whenever I do say hello, or good morning, she comes back with something snippy. One day, when she was emptying my trash, I asked her how she was.

“I’m tired,” she said.

“Me too,” I replied.

“Well at least you get to sit down all day,” she said.

Umm ok, thanks, bitch.

That was two years ago and to this day, I don’t say anything when she comes into my office.

Yeah, I get it, her job sucks. But you don’t have to take it out on me.

Last year, I wore a dress and some boots to work one day. Jennifer Lopez was quick to tell me my legs looked “thick.”

Thanks. Bitch.

About two Fridays ago, someone in our office brought a box of donuts for breakfast. I am still sticking to my plan of eating clean, but I’d been to the gym 3 times that week and figured a little sugar and bread would be an okay treat.

I was standing in the break room, pouring some coffee and nibbling on a donut, when in walks J-Lo.

“Look at you, eating that big ole donut. You going to eat that?” she asked me.

My blood started to boil.

“Yes I am,” I said.

“I guess you can,” she said.

“Excuse me? You guess?” I said. “I can eat whatever I please.”

“I guess so, you’re small enough,” she said. “But you know your weight fluctuates.”

I didn’t say a fucking word and I breezed by her with my donut in tow. Bitch.

She’s trying to call me out for eating one lowsy donut when A. I can and will do whatever I want, B. I am skinny, and C. Shut the fuck up.

This is the same woman that is so big, she is facing diabetes medication if she doesn’t slim down, and yet I still she her eating McDonald’s all the damn time. So fuck off.

I am over any attempt at being nice, I don’t care if I am huge, you do not speak to me like that.

The following week, I walked into the kitchen to grab my afternoon snack (an apple and a slice of low-fat cheese), when what do I see? Oh, Jennifer Lopez getting a bag of Fritos and a Sprite from the vending machine.

It took everything I had not to say, “Look at you eating that entire bag of greasy chips and that sugary Sprite! It oughta send you right into a diabetic coma, you fat bitch! Have a fantastic day!!”

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Kickball can shove it.

I’m fairly certain I shared with you guys last season the joy (read: nervousness and stress) I felt when I joined the local kickball league.

I joined for 2 reasons: 1. Two of my friends started the team and they needed as many people, especially girls, to join. And 2. I thought it would be something fun and social that I could do during the week.

Last season, I had a pretty good time, but I noticed that many of the other teams in the league were really serious—as in, they recruit really good players and get really fucking pissed when someone gets an out.

Our team wasn’t like that. In fact, we were the laughing stock of the league because we brought a huge stereo (we call it The KaBoomBox) and coolers of beer to every game, and played drunk as shit.

Somehow, our debauchery paid off and we were winning games left and right. We even got an out when someone from our dugout belched so loud, it caught the other team off guard. It was a great time, and we went pretty far into the playoffs.

But this season has been way different.

The league has really cracked down on drinking. Some of the teams still do it, but you have to be really secretive about it, and it’s getting to be a hassle. A few games ago, we were in the dugout waiting for an ump so our game could start. One of the players from the other team, we’ll call her Brit, came over and started yelling at us saying we couldn’t have beers, even if they were in cups.

She walked away and I was all, “What the fuck was that about?”

Apparently she is a “commissioner,” basically a glorified tattle tale. I’ve seen this girl around many-a-time because she plays on three different teams, wears a bandana, gloves, and shin guards, and she pitches overhand.

Yeah, um, it’s KICKBALL.

The following game, I decided to screw it, I wasn’t going to drink. I’m trying to watch my figure and since it’s such as hassle anyway, I was just going to bring a Powerade and forget it. Well low and behold, here comes Brit, still pissy about the beer and The KaBoomBox being too loud.

That night, we were up against a pretty serious team who kept shit-talking all night. We lost, and my team was really upset. I didn’t care. I was in this to have fun. So what, we lost.

Well my teammates started talking about a strategy for next game, we should put THIS person here and THIS person there… then they started talking about hosting a practice and a pickup game with other teams.

Excuse me?

I don’t want to practice. I don’t want to play a pickup game. I payed $45 to play on this team, I really just want to go on the field, kick the ball as hard as I can and try to make it on base, okay?

The next day, one of the guys on our team posted a diagram on our Facebook group.

kball

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You’ll notice “Lucky” isn’t on the diagram. Because apparently, my team doesn’t need me.

And yeah, I’m not an awesome player, but this isn’t a professional league. Sorry I’m not a fucking all star.

So I’d had enough. I was going to stand my team up Tuesday night and join D for dinner and a movie. I felt rebellious. I will show them, I thought.

And then? The game was cancelled due to rain.

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