Alas, it seems like you and I will have to part ways for a while, because the more I hang out with you, the more everybody else sees me as a person that can do all the crap they can't get done. And the more I pronounce you faithfully as a friend, the more 'new jobs' I get added to my job description. And sadly, every time I come back from a great time spent with you, new projects have magically appeared on my desk, in my inbox, and in my boss's head for me.
So here's the deal, trusty friend, I can only see you in secret, when nobody is really watching. If I'm out in public again with you, I think I might start having to take a larger does of Prozac, due to the unusually large quantities of work that will find their way to me. But don't worry, I will be back in full force soon. It's not a break-up, it's a trial-separation.
Sincerely,
The overwhelmed and overworked girl who started out as temp and three weeks later has more responsibility than half the people in her building.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Friday, January 9, 2009
Dear Ladies at the Post Office:
A couple of things:
1.If I am the only person in the lobby with you, and you are talking in a normal volume, chances are, I can hear you. Especially when I catch snippets of the conversation that are about me. Like ‘That purse is really orange, isn’t it Bertie?’ or ‘do you think that purse is real crocodile? How do they get Crocodile in orange?’ Or my favorite ‘It’s too bright of a color, I think. I wouldn’t use it. It’s too much.’
Great. You wouldn’t have bought my bag. Good to know. In fact, I am so concerned about what you think about my purse, that I will immediately go out and buy something in a muted pastel blue. Or even better, the least offensive of all the beige ones I can find. And when I do, I will come back in, turn my back to fill out a label, and hope that you have another conversation about how wonderful my purse is so this time I can be validated as a human being.
2.Secondly, when I tell you that I’m trying to get my envelope to it’s destination the next day, that is not an opportunity for you to pluck another 12 dollars from the pocket of my recently unemployed-and-just-found-a-temporary-job-but-haven’t-received-a-paycheck-yet self.
I shouldn’t have to find out from another employee that there’s no need for that express mail package I just worked ten minutes on, and that first class mail will get there in one day because it’s so close to our zip code. Seriously? Why couldn’t your co-worker offer up this information instead of barely flicking her glance up off of her computer screen and then telling me completely erroneous facts in a tone suggesting that I was barely worth the time it took to speak them?
3.When I am standing right in front of you and you roll your eyes, I can most definitely see it.
4.I’m sincerely sorry you hate your job. I’m sincerely sorry you seem to dislike people in general. In fact, I’m sincerely sorry that I ever walked into your particular post office expecting to mail a letter. I mean really, what kind of gall must I have?
Sincerely –
The Fiesty Brunette.
1.If I am the only person in the lobby with you, and you are talking in a normal volume, chances are, I can hear you. Especially when I catch snippets of the conversation that are about me. Like ‘That purse is really orange, isn’t it Bertie?’ or ‘do you think that purse is real crocodile? How do they get Crocodile in orange?’ Or my favorite ‘It’s too bright of a color, I think. I wouldn’t use it. It’s too much.’
Great. You wouldn’t have bought my bag. Good to know. In fact, I am so concerned about what you think about my purse, that I will immediately go out and buy something in a muted pastel blue. Or even better, the least offensive of all the beige ones I can find. And when I do, I will come back in, turn my back to fill out a label, and hope that you have another conversation about how wonderful my purse is so this time I can be validated as a human being.
2.Secondly, when I tell you that I’m trying to get my envelope to it’s destination the next day, that is not an opportunity for you to pluck another 12 dollars from the pocket of my recently unemployed-and-just-found-a-temporary-job-but-haven’t-received-a-paycheck-yet self.
I shouldn’t have to find out from another employee that there’s no need for that express mail package I just worked ten minutes on, and that first class mail will get there in one day because it’s so close to our zip code. Seriously? Why couldn’t your co-worker offer up this information instead of barely flicking her glance up off of her computer screen and then telling me completely erroneous facts in a tone suggesting that I was barely worth the time it took to speak them?
3.When I am standing right in front of you and you roll your eyes, I can most definitely see it.
4.I’m sincerely sorry you hate your job. I’m sincerely sorry you seem to dislike people in general. In fact, I’m sincerely sorry that I ever walked into your particular post office expecting to mail a letter. I mean really, what kind of gall must I have?
Sincerely –
The Fiesty Brunette.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Friday, December 5, 2008
Dear Beyonce/Sasha Fierce:
If he liked it, then he probably WOULD'VE put a ring on it. Did you ever think about that?
So very tired of your song in my head-
me
So very tired of your song in my head-
me
Monday, November 24, 2008
Dear Kansas City Chiefs' Cheerleaders:
If it's cold enough to wear your big puffy down coats, perhaps you ahouls also be wearing some pants instead of your bikini bottoms. Just sayin'.
Sincerely -
One of the few Chiefs' fans left.
Sincerely -
One of the few Chiefs' fans left.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Dear tasteless truck-drivers,
(As suggested by Cygnus...)
Come, come, now. Let's be reasonable. You are a tool.
The earth will experience more than one ice age before I roll down my window on the highway and give my phone number to you, despite your waving and nodding, and the fact that you've been driving adjacent to me for the past mile and a half. Why? Because you are a tool. How do I know this? Easy.
1. You have a sticker on your window that says "My other toy has tits."
2. You have empty boxes of Natural Light in your truck bed.
3. You have bull testicles hanging from your hitch. Which, of course, means that your balls are showing. And no matter the situation, all other things being equal, if I can say to you "Excuse me, but your balls are showing." I've gained the upper hand. Indefinitely.
Sincerely (singing),
Nevagonnagetitnevagonnagetit
Come, come, now. Let's be reasonable. You are a tool.
The earth will experience more than one ice age before I roll down my window on the highway and give my phone number to you, despite your waving and nodding, and the fact that you've been driving adjacent to me for the past mile and a half. Why? Because you are a tool. How do I know this? Easy.
1. You have a sticker on your window that says "My other toy has tits."
2. You have empty boxes of Natural Light in your truck bed.
3. You have bull testicles hanging from your hitch. Which, of course, means that your balls are showing. And no matter the situation, all other things being equal, if I can say to you "Excuse me, but your balls are showing." I've gained the upper hand. Indefinitely.
Sincerely (singing),
Nevagonnagetitnevagonnagetit
Dear FAFSA
I hate you. I wish I could understand your cruel, cold-hearted ways. How you give me the run-around for days with your hundreds of forms and ugly fill-in-the-blanks. You stare blankly back at me when I yell at you. And then, after all we've been through together, you tell me that you expect me to contribute 44% of my annual income to my education. What are you, a sub-prime mortgage!?
Bastard.
Sincerely,
Future MPA, no thanks to you.
Bastard.
Sincerely,
Future MPA, no thanks to you.
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