Friday, December 17, 2004

Slacker Mentality

What are you supposed to do when you’re just not feeling your job anymore, can’t afford to quit, and have no exciting employment prospects to speak of. I’ll tell you what you do…you worry!

I’m really worried right now because, for the life of me, I cannot figure out how to restore my motivation for walking in this place everyday. My motivation used to be my check. And even though I can’t live without that check, it doesn’t seem to be that big of a motivator anymore.

I know…I’m complaining and there are thousands of folks who would trade places with me in a heartbeat. So forgive my immaturity today. I just can’t help it. I’ve got the five o’clock fever and it’s only 2:30p.m. That means I’ve got two and a half more hours to fill before I can go out, get in my car, go home, fry up some Nawlins beef hot sausage and fries, and enjoy my rented Collateral DVD courtesy of Netflix.

All I want to do is become a published novel writer. I actually write for a living…only it’s not sexy stuff. It’s bullshit literature for the corporate world, and there’s nothing really creative about it. I mean really…who can be excited about trying to make a metal pipe sound like something worth reading about? And by the time I get home in the evening, the last thing I want to do is write. My job is the main reason why my posts are so sporadic.

I’ve been searching and other career resources everyday for sixth months. I’ve had dozens of interviews for jobs I didn’t really want anymore than the one I have. I’m starting to feel like, now that I’ve turned 30, I’ve somehow gotten less responsible than I was in my 20s. A decade ago, you couldn’t keep me away from this job. Now a decade later, I come down with a mysterious case of the flu every chance I get.

Am I being a spoiled, immature diva? Or am I truly at a crossroads—desperately needing direction? Where do you find such direction?

I guess the answer is to go home and write anyway, whether I feel like it or not. But when I do, I never like what I see. So far, I’ve started at least eight novels. But based on what I’ve written, I’m not inspired to finish a single one.

Anyway, I’m not trying to cloud your Friday with a bunch of whining. Especially since, in this George Bush economy, I’m one of the lucky ones. But I just don’t feel all that lucky. My own admission feels like a sin against God and all the blessings He’s given me. But I just don’t know the answer, and find my work life to be an increasingly disappointing struggle.

Gone are the days of my wanting to fight to climb the corporate ladder. These days, that’s just not important. Gone are the days of wanting to be politically correct enough to not offend the jackasses I encounter for eight hours each day. I’m just not that patient anymore.

Am I a pathetic slacker? Or am I a woman on the brink of a major turning point in life? I guess the best I can do is pray for an answer…and just keep on bringing my ass to this awful j-o-b! At least I can eat, right?

Great Advice For Getting Rid of a Blog Stalker...

In response to yesterday's post, my friend, JT, had this advice:

1. Tell this guy that you are in fact a post transgender patient
2. Find similar blog of post transgender patient or procedure site,
3. Give site address to stalker (for added funny make sure site is of someone of another color)
4. When he comes and says no way that is you for obvious reasons.
5. Inform stalker that miracles of science are performed daily
6. Have men's electric razor on desk, turn it on occasionally when you know he will hear it.
7. Have stalker see you walk into men's bathroom and come back out looking confused.
8. Never utter a word about site and wink at him every chance.

My favorite is number 6, since my stalker's office is right next to mine. I could close my door, turn on the razor and really freak out his nosy ass!

Thursday, December 16, 2004

Help! Stalker!

I’m being stalked by one of my coworkers.

Last Friday, at the Christmas party, I must have had a bit too much joy juice. For whatever reason, I told my coworker that I write a blog. I think he brought up something I thought would make a great topic. Without thinking, the mention of my blog came falling out of my mouth, and since then, he hasn’t let a single encounter escape him without asking me for this URL.


Me and my big mouth! The wine wasn’t even that great! And now, I’ve got a relentless stalker who says he’s “determined to get the address one way or another.”

There’s no way I could continue working at my company if he knew the writer of this content was me. It’s not that I say things that are too controversial or discuss work issues at great length. But the things I write about are way too personal to share with coworkers. I know this blog is titled “I Ain’t Scared to Say It!” And I’m not. It’s just that I don’t want to say it to everybody. The veil of anonymity is what makes an honest woman out of me.

And to top off everything, my stalker happens to be marrying my boss’ best friend. So he has too many ties to the enemy camp to get a thorough briefing on my personal life.

All this shit is my fault though. I usually have enough sense to control my behavior and fluid mouth at office functions. But I guess this time, I was too charged about potential booty onlookers to maintain the appropriate lockjaw.

But what is most odd, is this coworker’s apparent obsession. I get emails on a daily basis, and embarrassing reminders when we pass each other in the halls. Because of his endless questioning, now others in the office know my blog exists. Considering I write half of this crap on the company server, I could become one of those unemployed casualties of the blogging phenomenon sometime soon.

My coworker and I are not very close. In fact, we’re not close at all. Why he is so interested in my business is beyond me. It’s obvious that he means me no good, since he is fully aware of my concerns yet won’t stop badgering me.

So word to the wise for all my fellow bloggers who may sometimes suffer from fluid mouth the way I do…NEVER MENTION THAT YOU WRITE A BLOG TO ANYBODY AT YOUR JOB.

Oh, and any advice for taming this stalker would be most appreciated. I’m running out of polite ways to say, “no.”

Monday, December 13, 2004

For All You Non-Believers Out There...

...The Cincinnati Bengals are going to the playoffs. That's my prediction. There...I said it!

Keep Hope Alive!

On Second Thought, Don't Look at My Booty!

Okay, the Christmas party was cool until the carolers showed up. A troop of five singing characters all decked out in Ebenezer Scrooge-era gear came prancing in just as we were finishing dessert. They held us hostage for 20 minutes as they sang each verse and chorus of all the Christmas songs you love to hate.

But, other than that, it was cool.

However, when I compare the events of the Christmas party with the happenings at the after set, I must say the Christmas party was a smash hit hands down. Talk about lame. I’ve never seen such a lame crowd in all my life. I went there looking for someone to give me some attention. But after seeing the prospects in that place, all I wanted to do was run to a corner with a bottle of joy juice and hide.

First off, I felt like I was the oldest person in the place. It was a party given by members of Kappa Alpha Psi Fraternity—the one known for exceptionally fine men. However, this tribe of Kappas was an entirely different matter altogether. This must have been the “we should have never crossed your ass” Kappa crew. There wasn’t a single face there that I thought I could look at on a regular basis.

So, my girl and I sat and drank some blue drink with a glow stick in it called Hypnotic. It was pretty nasty, actually, and I constantly had to keep adding Sprite to make it consumable. We smoked a couple of squares and tried to get into the music, but couldn’t take anymore after about an hour. The place had a DJ who was actually trying to mix songs together without using headphones. So all night, we listened to random beats that never matched up. So, we took our asses home with headaches and no phone numbers or potential dates.

That was it. No hooplah. No fanfare. No nothing. Just a boring Friday night.

My ex called, though. He left a message on my cell phone asking me to come pick him up from the same bar he couldn’t leave until 4:00a.m. last week. I just deleted the message and went to sleep.

I’m still in that room, Big Sis.

Anyway, the rest of the weekend didn’t get any better either. And the Bengals lost too! Damn!


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