Posts
Middle school.
5 hours ago
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Oh No! What If They See This?
I received several comments about my last blog to the effect of, "If I can see this, so can your boss."
To that I say, "So?"
I haven't divulged where I work, even though some people know. It doesn't say on my Facebook where I'm an employee. I didn't give names. I didn't even list branch locations.
Besides, what's the difference between posting on my blog and having a conversation with a co-worker within earshot of the manager about how pissed off all of this makes me? I wouldn't hesitate to do that--and maybe that's brash. I don't care. I just don't. I don't ever want to work someplace where I can't speak my mind about what is going on around me.
Between my boyfriend reading my journal and my friends and coworkers worrying about what I post on my blog, it's like I have no where to vent anymore. And, you know what? Fuck it. I'm saying what needs to be said, and I'm doing it in a way that isn't going to put anyone in the spotlight directly.
If Facebook or my blog is going to get me fired or keep me from getting a job, then apparently I wasn't the right fit for that job anyway. I wouldn't want a job like that.
So, here I am. Speaking my mind. And if you don't like it, don't read it.
I feel like this post needs to end with this awful and cliche line: I'm not here to make friends!
Ha! Now I feel like reality TV.
Out
To that I say, "So?"
I haven't divulged where I work, even though some people know. It doesn't say on my Facebook where I'm an employee. I didn't give names. I didn't even list branch locations.
Besides, what's the difference between posting on my blog and having a conversation with a co-worker within earshot of the manager about how pissed off all of this makes me? I wouldn't hesitate to do that--and maybe that's brash. I don't care. I just don't. I don't ever want to work someplace where I can't speak my mind about what is going on around me.
Between my boyfriend reading my journal and my friends and coworkers worrying about what I post on my blog, it's like I have no where to vent anymore. And, you know what? Fuck it. I'm saying what needs to be said, and I'm doing it in a way that isn't going to put anyone in the spotlight directly.
If Facebook or my blog is going to get me fired or keep me from getting a job, then apparently I wasn't the right fit for that job anyway. I wouldn't want a job like that.
So, here I am. Speaking my mind. And if you don't like it, don't read it.
I feel like this post needs to end with this awful and cliche line: I'm not here to make friends!
Ha! Now I feel like reality TV.
Out
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Passover...
No, not the Jewish holiday. I mean...pass over. Being passed over.
They told me on Friday right before I left that we were getting a new lead teller at work. The woman is transferring from a branch where she left because she didn't get along with anyone there. Another gay employee had complaints that she treated him incredibly unfairly. And now she's going to be our lead teller. So...what's the problem?
Well. I've been passed over again.
A woman I work with has been doing the lead teller schtick and not getting paid for it for three years. She was told that our branch didn't HAVE a lead teller position. I have been working part-time for 9 months-ish because I was told there wasn't another full-time position at this branch.
This stranger is hired in as BOTH the lead teller that we supposedly don't have, AND as a fifth full-time employee that we supposedly don't have.
It's the perfect way to make EVERYONE feel slighted! Good job, job.
Out
They told me on Friday right before I left that we were getting a new lead teller at work. The woman is transferring from a branch where she left because she didn't get along with anyone there. Another gay employee had complaints that she treated him incredibly unfairly. And now she's going to be our lead teller. So...what's the problem?
Well. I've been passed over again.
A woman I work with has been doing the lead teller schtick and not getting paid for it for three years. She was told that our branch didn't HAVE a lead teller position. I have been working part-time for 9 months-ish because I was told there wasn't another full-time position at this branch.
This stranger is hired in as BOTH the lead teller that we supposedly don't have, AND as a fifth full-time employee that we supposedly don't have.
It's the perfect way to make EVERYONE feel slighted! Good job, job.
Out
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Longer Weekends...
Yikes. I'm friggin' exhausted.
Friday: party at my place.
Saturday: early to rise, auto show all day, visiting the boy at Villa, home late.
Sunday: up in time for church, writing group, fundraiser concert at UCC.
Monday: the boy and took on the weather to visit Chicago, another late night.
Today: I most definitely slept in. I didn't actually get out of bed until almost 2...but I was awake at 10. I just lounged with my laptop, watched Glee, played two hours of Elephant Quest (seriously...what a blast!), and then finally showered.
It was a nice way to fight the "that time of the month" doldrums.
I feel like there was something else I wanted to say, but I can't recall what it was. My brain is all kinds of full right now. Perhaps later in the week I'll remember wha it was...
Out
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Magnetic Poetry...
If you're lucky enough to own a Mac, check out the free app called "Desktop Poems." Check me out.
Blow them up. It's magnetic poetry for my desktop! LOVE IT! Last night it gave me the word "bosom" five times.
Out
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Inspiration...
Have you ever had something that you kept working on only because no one knew about it, like a surprise scrapbook or a story or something? And when someone finds out about it before you're ready, doesn't it take all the wind out of your sails? Inspiration dies. You falter. And now? Now you don't even want to work on it anymore.
Yeah.
I'm kind of feeling like that today. I didn't have any secrets planned, nothing really in the works, but I found something out yesterday that made me really want to stop writing. It pissed me right off, firstly, and, as a side effect, it made me not want to write anything else.
Invasion of privacy is a scary thing...at least to me. It makes me feel things I don't want to feel. It makes me consider big questions.
Let me tell you a story.
Please?
Too bad. I'm going to tell it anyway.
When my brother and I were younger, one day we awoke to a thick blanket of snow on everything. Our first thought, in sync with every other student in the county, was "MAYBE THERE WON'T BE SCHOOL!" So we turned on the clock radio in the kitchen, and we sat on the table in the dining room looking out the picture windows at the snow that was still falling down.
"Sandwich schools are closed." We smiled.
"Plano school are closed." We smiled.
Somonauk schools are closed." We started bouncing up and down. They were getting closer.
Finally, "Lee, Rollo, Waterman, and Shabbona district 425 are closed." We bounced up and down in joy, anticipating the possibilities of the blank canvas set out in front of us.
Then?
"SNAP!" The table we were bouncing on broke in half. The supports snapped. A leg bent. And we were deposited on the dining room floor, which carried a few deep gouges.
We stood up and looked, our bright white day becoming instantly tarnished as we thought about what would happen when Mom came home. That broken table stood as a bleak reminder all day long about the payment exacted for having such good news. It was Illinois weather all over again...never a beautiful day without a tornado warning. Never a snow day without a broken table.
And when Mom got home from work, she walked in the front door, kicked snow off her boots, took one look into the dining room, where my brother Jake and I were both standing with our best apologetic faces on, and walked upstairs.
I turned to look at Jake. "Maybe she wasn't mad..."
My brother knew differently.
Years and years later, my mom told us the story from her perspective. She said she was so mad she couldn't say anything. She was scared of what might come out if she started yelling, so she went to her room.
Why am I telling you this, and what does it have to do with the rest of this post?
Sometimes the quietest response conceals an amazing amount of hurt and anger.
Out
Yeah.
I'm kind of feeling like that today. I didn't have any secrets planned, nothing really in the works, but I found something out yesterday that made me really want to stop writing. It pissed me right off, firstly, and, as a side effect, it made me not want to write anything else.
Invasion of privacy is a scary thing...at least to me. It makes me feel things I don't want to feel. It makes me consider big questions.
Let me tell you a story.
Please?
Too bad. I'm going to tell it anyway.
When my brother and I were younger, one day we awoke to a thick blanket of snow on everything. Our first thought, in sync with every other student in the county, was "MAYBE THERE WON'T BE SCHOOL!" So we turned on the clock radio in the kitchen, and we sat on the table in the dining room looking out the picture windows at the snow that was still falling down.
"Sandwich schools are closed." We smiled.
"Plano school are closed." We smiled.
Somonauk schools are closed." We started bouncing up and down. They were getting closer.
Finally, "Lee, Rollo, Waterman, and Shabbona district 425 are closed." We bounced up and down in joy, anticipating the possibilities of the blank canvas set out in front of us.
Then?
"SNAP!" The table we were bouncing on broke in half. The supports snapped. A leg bent. And we were deposited on the dining room floor, which carried a few deep gouges.
We stood up and looked, our bright white day becoming instantly tarnished as we thought about what would happen when Mom came home. That broken table stood as a bleak reminder all day long about the payment exacted for having such good news. It was Illinois weather all over again...never a beautiful day without a tornado warning. Never a snow day without a broken table.
And when Mom got home from work, she walked in the front door, kicked snow off her boots, took one look into the dining room, where my brother Jake and I were both standing with our best apologetic faces on, and walked upstairs.
I turned to look at Jake. "Maybe she wasn't mad..."
My brother knew differently.
Years and years later, my mom told us the story from her perspective. She said she was so mad she couldn't say anything. She was scared of what might come out if she started yelling, so she went to her room.
Why am I telling you this, and what does it have to do with the rest of this post?
Sometimes the quietest response conceals an amazing amount of hurt and anger.
Out
Monday, February 14, 2011
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Dating Myself...
There's a fairly common phenomenon wherein people who spend a lot of time together start to adopt each other's mannerisms, tell each other's jokes, and, god forbid, even look alike.
There's a fairly common phenomenon wherein people who spend a lot of time together start to get sick of each other, get annoyed, grow apart.
Do you think there's a correlation?
Is it possible that in losing our identities inside of relationships and becoming the person we're dating, we inevitably end up dating ourselves. And what could be more boring than dating yourself?
Just a random thought this morning.
I guess that's why it's so important to have our own hobbies, interests, and things we do that give us time to be our own person, to be apart from our partners. You can't share everything. That's a recipe for suicide.
Out
There's a fairly common phenomenon wherein people who spend a lot of time together start to get sick of each other, get annoyed, grow apart.
Do you think there's a correlation?
Is it possible that in losing our identities inside of relationships and becoming the person we're dating, we inevitably end up dating ourselves. And what could be more boring than dating yourself?
Just a random thought this morning.
I guess that's why it's so important to have our own hobbies, interests, and things we do that give us time to be our own person, to be apart from our partners. You can't share everything. That's a recipe for suicide.
Out
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Monday, February 7, 2011
Help Wanted: Playlists...
Hey all, I need a favor.
I've decided that I really love a good mixed CD, so I'm building some playlists. The first one I built was called "Songs for These Heavy Days", sad stuff. The next one, the one that's in progress, is all songs that are about clothes or feature clothes prominently. I would love suggestions for songs like that.
But, really, the favor I need is not related to that playlist.
I would love to hear some ideas for playlists you'd like to see put together. Wacky ideas, fun ideas, serious stuff...whatever.
Submit.
Out
I've decided that I really love a good mixed CD, so I'm building some playlists. The first one I built was called "Songs for These Heavy Days", sad stuff. The next one, the one that's in progress, is all songs that are about clothes or feature clothes prominently. I would love suggestions for songs like that.
But, really, the favor I need is not related to that playlist.
I would love to hear some ideas for playlists you'd like to see put together. Wacky ideas, fun ideas, serious stuff...whatever.
Submit.
Out
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Disappearing Thoughts....
So, I think I've sort of explained why things disappear that I like. I'm the kind of person who [endorses a deep commitment, getting healthy getting good pay is what I live for--sorry...involuntary Savage Garden quoting is a sickness that affects millions every day. Repost this if you agree.] doesn't jump on a trend right away. I'm incredibly wary of new things, and I wait a long time before I hop on any kind of trend or new product or fad. And, thus, by the time I get in on something, it's likely to be on its way out.
That could explain a few occurrences of this phenomenon.
Out
That could explain a few occurrences of this phenomenon.
Out
Friday, February 4, 2011
Disappearing Act...
Remember how they discontinued my hair product?
Remember how they sold my apartment complex?
Remember how every time I find something I like, (yogurt, tv show, shaving cream, pen) they cancel it?
I just found out yesterday that my dentist, the only dentist I've ever regularly gone to and liked, stopped practicing in Sycamore because it was too far from home.
It's a fucking conspiracy. I'm just going to stop talking about things I like, since someone is hearing this and sending smoke signals to the universe. *poof* Cancel *poof* everything!
Ugh.
Does this happen to any of you as often as it does to me?
Out
Remember how they sold my apartment complex?
Remember how every time I find something I like, (yogurt, tv show, shaving cream, pen) they cancel it?
I just found out yesterday that my dentist, the only dentist I've ever regularly gone to and liked, stopped practicing in Sycamore because it was too far from home.
It's a fucking conspiracy. I'm just going to stop talking about things I like, since someone is hearing this and sending smoke signals to the universe. *poof* Cancel *poof* everything!
Ugh.
Does this happen to any of you as often as it does to me?
Out
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Whores...
There is an army of whores--cyber-whores, to be precise--and they are harassing me.
Last week I got at least ten friend requests from "girls" on Facebook. You know the type. Their photo makes them look like college-aged, slutty, party-hungry nobodies. A name you don't recognize. No mutual friends.
Today I discovered yet another comment on this blog that was blatantly generic--something like, "This blog has lots of information and I feel a certain way about it so keep it up" with a link. God, I hate those. If it is a real person, they need to make a comment that has a reason for existing. Say something. Opine.
But no.
Yesterday I got two cyber-whore requests. I don't know why I'm suddenly the target of all of this attention, but I've never been before. Do your research, girls. I'm into boys!
Ugh.
Back to work today, since I haven't heard otherwise. It only took them until 6 last night to plow our lot. Not like anyone might have had anywhere to be while it was still light out or anything. Note sarcasm.
But we're out now. And if I get home and someone has stolen my parking spot, I'm going to hunt them down and make them move, since we worked so damn hard to clear them out.
Out
Last week I got at least ten friend requests from "girls" on Facebook. You know the type. Their photo makes them look like college-aged, slutty, party-hungry nobodies. A name you don't recognize. No mutual friends.
Today I discovered yet another comment on this blog that was blatantly generic--something like, "This blog has lots of information and I feel a certain way about it so keep it up" with a link. God, I hate those. If it is a real person, they need to make a comment that has a reason for existing. Say something. Opine.
But no.
Yesterday I got two cyber-whore requests. I don't know why I'm suddenly the target of all of this attention, but I've never been before. Do your research, girls. I'm into boys!
Ugh.
Back to work today, since I haven't heard otherwise. It only took them until 6 last night to plow our lot. Not like anyone might have had anywhere to be while it was still light out or anything. Note sarcasm.
But we're out now. And if I get home and someone has stolen my parking spot, I'm going to hunt them down and make them move, since we worked so damn hard to clear them out.
Out
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