When your coworkers suck

My coworkers are, overall, pretty awesome people to work with. They answer e-mails, show up to meetings, and are helpful when you’re in a pinch. Some of them have a sense of humour and are great to trade laughs with.

The truth is, I don’t care if you’re cool to work with. Sure, it’s a definite bonus, but it isn’t the only criteria I have. You need to actually do your work in order to be in my good books. I have a low bullshit tolerance.

One of my coworkers, while sometimes pleasant to work with, is a total crap bag otherwise. She calls in sick all of the fucking time. Yeah, people get sick and who doesn’t need a Mental Health Day every once in a while? Everyone deserves a break here and there…unless you don’t do shit on the days you actually are here. But you’re not really sick, are you?

She seems to be getting “sick” every other Monday or so. Go see a fucking doctor and stop eating shit (i.e. Coca Cola for breakfast). We live in Canada, where seeing a doctor is free, so there’s no excuse. Do you know how many times I’ve called in sick since October/starting to work here? Here’s a hint: it’s ZERO. Others have not been so lucky, and were forced to take one or two days off to recoup. Whatever.

She doesn’t do shit on the days she actually shows up to work. This slows everyone else down, because we work together on most of our projects. Everyone needs to show up, and everyone needs to bring their ‘A’ Game when it’s needed. You can’t be a crap bag if others depend on you.

I’m just writing this post to bitch about how annoyed I am. /endrant

Why the Oxford Comma is so Important

Consider this a public service announcement.

I am not your competition

One of my most popular posts is on why women hate other women. Okay, ‘hate’ is a strong word–it’s really about why some women tend to not get along with some other women.

I’m not saying that all women are mean and competitive. I’m not saying that at all. I’m a feminist and I love my sisters. What I am saying, however, is that some women are like this.

I used to be a competitive bitch. I had my little clique of girlfriends, and we were those bitches that showed up at a party acting better than everyone else. We were invited to everything. We vaguely committed to plans and then ended up doing whatever we wanted in the end. The three of us were really close–like intimate-relationship-minus-the-sex (sorry to disappoint you) close. We saw other girls as competition–and made sure we were the centre of attention everywhere we went.

Yeah. That was a long time ago. I’m not 16 anymore, and I’m not a competitive bitch. I’m just a regular bitch 😉

As I grow older–yes, I realize mid-twenties is hardly old–I realize my female peers aren’t as competitive as they used to be. Women are a bit more cooperative with one another. They’re not best friends with everyone–but at the very least, they’re polite and respectful. I’m referring to women who have matured by the way, not the drama queens who never grew out of their highschool days.

So why are we less likely to be absolute bitches to one another as we age? Is it because everyone already has a partner and therefore, nothing to compete over? I don’t think so. People are getting married and settling down later in life–at least in their late twenties. Could it be maturity? Could it be due to a collective fear of aging and being less relevant? Are we humble now because we’re all worried we’ve “lost” it?

My theory is that we gain more independence as we get older and more comfortable in our skin. That’s what happened in my case. My teen years were a bit awkward. Sure, I was popular and well-liked, but I wasn’t comfortable with who I was. I wasn’t confident–I was unsure of almost everything I did. I constantly needed approval from my peers. When my friends decided they didn’t like some girl(s)–for whatever reason–you bet your ass I didn’t like her/them too. I never bullied anyone or anything–no–I just decided I didn’t like that person as well, and tried my best to be unfriendly. And being unfriendly comes naturally to me, considering I have chronic bitch face.

As for me now, I’m more worried about other women’s safety than I am about competing with them. Living in the city has taught me the trials and tribulations of being a woman in 2014. There are a bunch of weirdos and perverts out there. There are assholes as well. I try to be neither of those things (pervert or asshole, being a weirdo is ok).

We have to look out for one another. It’s difficult enough as it is.

If I could offer some advice to my 16-year old self and to anyone reading this blog, I would say something along the lines of: “Ditch your clique. Ditch your insecurities. Be your own person and pursue independence. You’ll care less about competing with others because you won’t need to–you’ll be competing with your old self.”

Gossip in the workplace

I’ve been meaning to write a post about this for a while, because I think this is something worth addressing.

We all have gossip in the workplace at some extent. Maybe it’s positive in that it can create natural bonds between people who don’t have much in common. Ever heard of the saying “My enemy’s enemy is my friend?” I think Sun Tzu said that, but I may be wrong. It is common for people to bond over shared hatred of something…or someone.

Then there’s the toxic gossip. The gossip that creates a negative environment and fuels anxiety and paranoia. When I worked at the insurance company, I felt like I was swimming in a gossip cesspool–the most toxic bullshit. This kind of gossip kills employee morale. People begin dreading to come to work–erm…more than usual.

Enter the Gossip. A Gossip could be a man or a woman. Men gossip as much as women do, they just don’t have the stereotype haunting them while they do it. I’m going to refer to the Gossip in the feminine, because I’ve worked with one who was (and still is, I guess) a woman. 

She’s a mother hen of sorts. She tries to befriend everyone, in the hope of being trusted with valuable information. She wants to be the Go-To for everything. I’m sure you’ve met her. 

Working at a cubicle farm where nobody knows your name–or cares–is soul-sucking. Realizing at 23, that you’re not where you thought you’d be is soul-sucking too. Thrown in an overgrown “mean girl” and you’ve got a recipe for disaster. I thought high school was over, but I was wrong.

She judged everyone for everything. And she was very vocal about it. If she had an online dating profile, I imagine she would have “poking holes in everyone’s character over nothing”, “making mountains out of molehills”, and “terrorizing junior staff” under Hobbies and interests. She had something terrible to say about everyone. Then, she would turn around and pretend to be their best friend.

I didn’t trust her with anything, but she still made me paranoid. I was so worried about what she might be saying about me behind my back. Anything from my lunch to my shoes, to the way I worded an e-mail was free game. I became so anxious that my heart sank into the pit of my stomach whenever I heard her voice. It took me a while to realize that she would judge me no matter what I said or did. Having no control over something like this is discouraging. It was also kind of relieving, because it wasn’t my fault. There was nothing wrong with me–it was her problem and not mine.

It was still really demoralizing. I didn’t like my coworkers much, but I didn’t care to hear about them and everything (according to her) wrong with them. I thought she did it because she was a narcissistic horse’s ass who thought she was better than everyone. 

She actually did it because she was insecure and needed validation for her own behaviour. Yes, I started psychoanalyzing her. By openly criticizing everyone else, she felt better about herself. By putting somebody down behind their back, when they couldn’t defend themselves, she made herself look better in someone else’s eyes (whoever she was complaining to). 

She would rag on her husband and teenage daughter so much. She aired all of their dirty laundry to everyone who cared (and I guess, didn’t in my case) to listen. I was so mortified for both of them. Thankfully, I’ll probably never meet them. My mom used to tell everyone everything (small town mentality) which made growing up difficult. It’s hard to go through the motions with everyone’s eyes on you. That’s why I’m so secretive about my life in the city.

Yeah so back to the Gossip. I never fuelled her gossip. I kept my mouth shut. This made her think that I was a good listener, so she filled my ears with more garbage. Then one day I realized that I wasn’t discouraging her. I was actually doing the opposite because she needed to fill in that silence–the void caused by my unresponsiveness. So I stopped listening and started ignoring her. I stared at my computer screen in complete silence until she left my doorway. 

Do you know how awkward that was? Humans have a tendency to waffle and blabber on about meaningless things just to avoid silence with strangers. Silence is uncomfortable! So is unresponsiveness. I gave her both of these things to get rid of her. And it worked.

Gossip stops when no one is listening.

Ta.

Going door to door

Your comments brought me back to my blog, guys. Thank you all for that, I read them all and I love you beautiful people.

I haven’t written anything in a while and for that I am sorry.

Do I sound drunk? Probably. But I’m not. I had a really bizarre evening and I’m kind of feeling grateful for stuff. Kind of,

I went canvassing door to door for a local charity. We were just getting intel on the neighbourhood and whether people would be open to being contacted later for support/volunteering. We weren’t asking for money or anything.

Before you judge me, hear me out. I HATE people who knock on my door, interrupt my dinner, and try to shake some dollars out of me. Even worse are those who pretend they’re from the government/your water heating company and force their way into your home. Yes, it’s very big here in Ontario. Google “Ontario water heater scam.” The scam is that they tell you you’re eligible for a free upgrade, just sign these forms! You sign the forms, they bring in a new water heater, and now you’re locked into a new (and pricey) contract with some other water heater company. I am terrible to these people.

Luckily, I live in a complex and we don’t get a lot of door to door activity. I’m decent to the folks that aren’t trying to upgrade my water heater.

I was part of a mass e-mail sent out by college friends involved with the charity. They were inviting a group of us canvassing with them. Canvassing is when you go door to door and talk to people. I didn’t want to do it. I thought it would be brutal, having to deal with rejection all evening. I’m not in sales for a reason.

Let me tell you, I was just fine ignoring that email and going about my life as per usual. No. Some son of a bitch hit “reply all” and cheerfully told us he’s interested. Then another one. And another. Fuck you guys, you’re making me look bad. So I obliged.

I bought a sandwich after work and took the subway to meet everyone. I ate half of the sandwich on my way there. I tried to eat the other half discreetly while we were all walking to the charity’s office. I lingered behind everyone while they caught up on their lives. Someone made it their morality duty to embarrass me. He patted my back and practically shouted, “having a late lunch, Kat?” No, fuckhead. This is my dinner, considering you wanted to meet right after work.

The evening was actually decent. Only one person slammed a door in my face and told me to fuck off. It was OK. I got over it instantly. Fear of rejection begone!

There was a pantsless–I repeat, PANTSLESS man answering the door at another house. His balls were hanging out and everything. I tried to focus on his eyes and keep a straight face. Then I realized he was probably a troll and this was his way of getting us to fuck off.

There was a house with a sign just above the door, which read “If I don’t know your first name, fuck off and don’t knock”. It was something like that. We still knocked and I gave him my first name.

Eventually I realized we were in a really low income housing area. The people looked like regular people. It wasn’t the people that gave it away. It was the apartment itself. It looked dingy. It was a co-op. I realized the people I spent all evening talking to were possibly struggling with poverty, domestic abuse, mental health, and addiction. They were so nice to us, even though we were interrupting their dinners. It was lovely.

I have more to say about the last three weeks but I’ll save it.

Ta

Commitment in your 20’s

Okay, so I spent some time creeping old friends and classmates on Facebook last night.

I feel like I need to address what everyone is thinking. Why the fuck is everyone having babies?

 

Sorry, I need to be more specific. Why are my former classmates who barely graduated highschool, didn’t go to college, work minimum-wage jobs, and make-up/break-up with their boyfriends every other weeks having babies?! And how do they still find the time to hit up all of the clubs on the weekends?

I know this sounds super judgmental but hear me out. From where I’m sitting, you don’t have your shit together. In fact, I don’t think any of us do. Your twenties are a big hot mess. Everyone’s still figuring it out and having sex with all of their friends from college. It’s pretty incestuous. Then, one person gets their shit together which pressures everyone around them to get it together, too. Then we all walk around with briefcases, acting like adults until it feels natural.

So I creeped some old classmates and saw that four girls my age are mothers. Two of them already have two kids each. I don’t understand why people are having kids so young. I can’t even commit to a houseplant and these people are already committing to children and a life with their boyfriends. 

One of them is pretty entertaining. She posts every little detail about her private life on Facebook. She’s all “Oh I hate drama! Don’t bring your drama to me!” meanwhile, she will air her dirty laundry on Facebook for all to see. She constantly harps on her on again, off again boyfriend/father of her children–“Where can I get a real man?” Cringeworthy.

I don’t know about you, but I’m definitely not ready for motherhood. 

Working in your 20’s

I started my new job on Monday and the week just flew by.

I’ll have you know I already know most of my coworkers’ names. This is a huge accomplishment, since I rarely remember people’s names–especially if I only met them a few times. Yes, I will remember every little detail you tell me, like a stalker, but I will not for the life of me remember your name.

Looking forward to waking up in the mornings, getting out of bed, getting dressed, and going to work is a huge game changer. I just feel like I have more energy to do things at work and after work. I’m also pretty excited by how new everything is–my office, the work, the commute, the people–everything. I feel like this is my chance to plant roots and show my value. 

I keep track of my monthly income in an Excel file on my computer. I’ve been doing this since I graduated a few years ago. I started the log as motivation to work harder and of course, to track my spending. I dipped into my savings a few times to make rent, but I wanted to make sure I’d be able to get on my feet soon. So, I kept track.

I couldn’t find a good job for the first 11 months out of school. Seriously. I should probably admit that I didn’t put together the best resume, and (shocker) didn’t tailor the resume to the jobs I was applying to. I spammed so many companies with my generic resume looking for a job–ANY JOB. Obviously, I didn’t find anything substantial.

In the meantime, I decided to take advantage of my skill set and earn some money. All I really knew at that point was how to do well in university. So I made an ad on Kijiji and scoured the internet for clients. I did readings, put together notes, combed through research, and wrote essays. I worked with highschool, college, undergrad, and post-grad students. Some were here–in Toronto–and others were across the country. I stopped looking for full-time work and devoted myself to my students and their classes. They got A’s. I learned new things and improved my writing skills. 

Then I got a full-time job and tutored on the side. A handful of my regulars just wouldn’t let me get away. I was looking through my income log and realized I made over $20,000 in those 11 months after graduation. I couldn’t find work so I created my own work, and earned a modest income as a result. Awesome.

If you’re down on your luck or a recent grad entering an unwelcoming market, I urge you to sit down and make a list of your skills. What are you good at? Then, think of ways to market those skills to potential clients. I was good at researching and writing essays, so I marketed those skills to students. Take advantage of local ads and word-of-mouth to attract clients. It’s free.

Don’t shy away from a challenge–I once helped a Master’s student put together a thesis in a topic I had ZERO experience in. Those two weeks were fucking terrible. “Crunch time” is an understatement. I wanted to hide from him. I wanted to die. I ended up learning a lot from that experience and I made a tidy sum, too.

And don’t give up. I made $337 one month. It was my lowest point and I felt really shitty about it.

Last day at work

Tomorrow’s the last day!

Chicka chicka what what

Chicka chicka yeah

LAST DAY!

Eating Clean

I’ve been eating a lot of shit lately.

Not literally, obv, but you know what I mean.

Dim sum? Rice noodle, something something deep fried? Yes please. Brie-stuffed French toast with bananas, chocolate chips, and caramel sauce? Oh god, yes. Cardiac arrest-inducing rich ramen soup? I’m salivating at the thought.

Burgers from Five Guys and/or The Burger’s Priest? I won’t resist!

I just can’t control myself. I’m on the skinny side, so when I tell people about my lack of self control, they laugh at me. They laugh in my face. How rude. I’m offended.

I went to an all-day meeting today. Yeah, I have like two days left at work and they’re still sending me to things and letting me represent the company. Go figure. I had a donut for breakfast. A fucking donut. I’m obviously a shameless pig, stuffing that crap into my pie hole. It was a chocolate glazed donut from Timmie’s and it wasn’t even good. Disappoint.

Then, I decided to be good and have something healthy for lunch. So I popped into a little bistro and treated myself to a HEALTHY grilled chicken wrap and salad. I also drank a lot of water. See? Good.

Five o’clock rolls around and I decide to treat myself to some dark chocolate from Godiva. I ate healthy for lunch and was a numb corporate zombie all day. I deserve a reward.

I also had two slices of pizza for dinner. It wasn’t even good, I threw away the rest of the pizza (it was small). If I’m going to eat shit, it better be worth my while. Regrets were had.

I am going to reward myself tomorrow for living with my bad decisions and not throwing them up. No disrespect to anyone with an eating disorder. I can’t deny that the thought hasn’t crossed my mind, and I’m glad I’m resisting the temptation to “undo” a bad dining option. It’s difficult and it sucks.

Bah.

Office Revenge

I gave in my two weeks recently.

October 4 cannot come fast enough.

I’m quietly doing my work and pulling shenanigans on my coworkers to keep myself entertained. Also because I’m passive-aggressive and I will have my revenge. I will have it!

Oh, you treated me like a personal servant for months? Now your mouse won’t work because I’ve unplugged it while you were away from your desk. And you won’t figure it out because you don’t understand computers. Yes, there’s a special place in hell for people like me.

Oh, you made up rumours about me and my supervisor because I got promoted? I will hide a fish juice-soaked sock in your vent…directly…above…your head.

Oh, you snubbed me at lunch and were a total dick the whole time I worked here? That’s it, I’m deleting Google Chrome off your desktop and installing Internet Explorer. That’ll show you, dick. Unfortunately, you won’t be able to download your precious Google Chrome because Internet Explorer will crash every time you launch it.

Oh, you’re a chauvinistic pig whose wife (who works with us) opens the mail? I will buy a big black dildo, wrap it (to accentuate the unique shape, of course) and ship it to you.

It’s on like Donkey Kong, beetches.

Ta.