This is my last week at this job, I want to slack off, and I definitely do NOT want to help cover CNA visits!!!
This is my last week at this job, I want to slack off, and I definitely do NOT want to help cover CNA visits!!!
Dear knot in my back:
There is, in fact, no Guinness record for "Largest Back Knot". You can give up now.
Dear Dogs,
The fact that I am getting off the couch to fix leftovers should be meaningless to you. You've finished your food, back the fuck up off mine.
Love (or else you'd all be at HSSM),
Me
So, I'll whisper in the dark, hoping you'll hear me.
Really? Really?
I had a sneezing fit yesterday and pull a muscle, probably the left diaphragm muscle and now it really hurts if I sneeze, cough or laugh and I kept waking myself up last night rolling into the wrong position. What the heck, the sneeze is a terrible over-reaction, Intelligent Design my ass.
IT WOULD BE REALLY HELPFUL IF I COULD LOOK INTO THE FUTURE A LITTLE BIT SO I COULD SEE IF MY POTENTIAL LIFE-DECISIONS WILL MAKE ANYTHING BETTER. BECAUSE FLYING BLIND SURE HAS NOT HELPED ME ANY.
(It's a bad idea to think about going back to school when I haven't even mildly paid off any of my student loans from my last foray into the world of higher education, right? Right. :sigh: )
Last edited by Orual; 02 May 2012 at 05:57 PM.
Orual, what are you thinking of going back to school for? It might, actually, make a world of difference.
Engineering, but considering that I took almost no math or science for my orignal BA, it would basically entail getting a whole nother 4-year degree and it's a stupid idea anyways because I'm already in student loan debt up to my eyebrows and there exists no degree in 'becoming enough of a plausible bullshitter to convince hiring managers to like you'. Bah.
Hang in there, Orual. Sometimes things change, just like that.
Would community college be an option? You could go part time and test the waters of those math and science classes without spending a whole buttload of money and see how it goes.
Rant: community college. I am so done with you. Except I have another year of you so clearly I am not but I would like to be.
Most engineers I knew took Maths and Physics with a pinch of salt.
In the land of the blind, the one-arm man is king.
Yes, but to get the degree, I have to take the classes, and the last time I did calculus was during the Clinton administration.
There is some particularly vicious pollen in the air this week. My sinuses are staging a revolt.
Why are my tests always, always on the same day? Oh well. One more week. One. More. Week.
Next Monday, you should dance around and sing this song:
So now they are just dirt-covered English people in fur pelts with credit cards.
Look, I know. You're a heterosexual man. You like boobs. I get that. This is why I don't generally hold it against men when I catch them looking.
But, see, there's a difference between glancing and then getting back to business and staring with a great big dirty minded little boy grin.
Now the main thing I took away from our interaction is, "Geez. The Schwan's guy is horny."
So now they are just dirt-covered English people in fur pelts with credit cards.
Dear website-I-work-through,
I have read your rules on comma usage half a dozen times. When I started you said I used too many. Then it was too few. Then they were in the wrong places. Then you simply stopped offering commentary and just gave a poor rating to everything I turned in. I don't know what you want from me. I do know the fact that my client has never had a single complaint about my work doesn't matter, nor does the fact I am writing for a blog where they don't much care if my comma usage is in line with the AP style guide or whatever you're using.
In conclusion, thank you for making it that much harder to find work, and kindly go fuck yourselves.
[note: not edited for comma usage]
"You laugh at me because I'm different; I laugh at you because I'm on nitrous."
find me at Goodreads
Dear sir;
While I've received some rejections in my day--as any writer has--I have never received a response from someone that was so gloriously well-thought out. It's one thing to simply tell a writer that you're not interested in their writing or that you think they're unprofessional, but it's quite another to go to the time and trouble of writing a parody of the author's writing style. That took time and effort that few editors put into the craft. I like to think that my illiterate shit-flinging touched you as deeply as your response touched me, since you took the time out of your busy schedule to mock me so thoroughly.
I particularly liked the part where you suggested some grammar game apps by name that I could download in order to learn the rudiments of the language. The thoughtfulness of this gesture just about choked me up.
The only part I'm confused about is the fact that--even after implying I should restrict my writing to SmartPhone apps--you accepted my article.
What in God's name would a rejection look like?
He's tough because he cares, Zuul.
Also because he's a tool.
please, please, PLEASE... fix the aircon in the office.
In the land of the blind, the one-arm man is king.
If you should have a drunken fight with your wife, do not walk a quarter of a mile outside of the village at night. If you do walk a quarter of a mile outside of the village at night, do not go to the cabin of a woman you know to be alone. If you go to the cabin of a woman you know to be alone, do not break into her shed. If you do break into her shed, do not sleep there. If you sleep there, do not jump out behind her in the morning when she is using a pitchfork.
This message brought to you by Fuck You, Get Off My Property, Yes I Will Stab You.
So now they are just dirt-covered English people in fur pelts with credit cards.
Like I always say, people who talk about the virtuous small town life have never lived in a small town.
That is the truth. I may see fewer penises on public transportation out here, but I sure make up for it in other ways.
So now they are just dirt-covered English people in fur pelts with credit cards.
Dear work,
Can we move the tables out of the way? If I hit another one, I'm afraid I'll draw blood.
So, I'll whisper in the dark, hoping you'll hear me.
Dear boss,
You know I love you, but you know nothing about graphic design. White space is a design element. If we fill all the pages of our publications from top to bottom with 3-column, justified text in a tiny font with tight leading, we will not look professional, we will look like we know fuck-all about design, and as an added bonus no one will want to read our material because it's ugly and difficult to read.
Never assume that calling a potential employer will just be a matter of a simple interview-scheduling. NEVER ASSUME THAT. THEY WANT TO ASK YOU THE BS NONSENSE INTERVIEW QUESTIONS. IT IS ALL THEY LIVE FOR. HEED MY WORDS. HEED THEM.
...
is what I would say to myself if I could time-travel back an hour and thus, perhaps avoid totally shitting the phone-interview bed.
"You laugh at me because I'm different; I laugh at you because I'm on nitrous."
find me at Goodreads
It's a similar-to-my-current-job admin position, but with a large, multinational company where they have neat stuff like advancement opportunities and financial stability. It's hardly my dream job, so I'm not going to sweat it too much if it doesn't work out. Phone interviews, though. They are my Kryptonite.
Dear Shane,
If I say "I'd rather you not do that," it doesn't mean I think you're going to do something you're not planning to do. It doesn't mean I think you're going to kiss my hand (which you've done [yuck]) when you just want to shake. It means DO NOT TOUCH ME. Seriously. This is the only body I have, and I get to decide who touches it. Even my hand. And, considering you tried to argue with me when I asked you not to touch my boobs, too, I'm really to the point that I'm going to start walking the other way when I see you.
Go Fuck Yourself,
Marsilia
So, I'll whisper in the dark, hoping you'll hear me.
To: Dude who was running down a busy sidewalk, at rush-hour, wearing a t-shirt that says: "Your workout is my warmup".
Your IQ is my shoe size.
And was it the same dude who ran in front of me on the sidewalk today as I was walking at lunch? Or is that t-shirt really popular all of a sudden?
How long can teenagers play "Smells Like Teen Spirit" and "Blitzkrieg Bop" over and over and over and over and over and over and over again before my brain melts? Ow, my poor head.
Ha ha, Smells Like Teen Spirit is my ringtone!
Dear LCD moronic fucktard.
Yelling out in public from your car and trying to catch someone's attention with "Hey Sexy" and "How are you doing, Darling?" makes me want to disown you from the male half of the human race. Of course, that would imply you were actually human and not just someone with a diseased mollusc for a brain.
Of course, when I look round to see who you had decided to press your unwanted attention on and your next comments is "Oh fuck, it's a bloke", I suddenly realise you were shouting at me.
From behind, I am apparently a sexy female. From in front, it becomes a little more obvious I'm not. Female, or sexy, or more likely neither. I also think my hysterical cracking up didn't help his composure.
Your still someone who should be removed from the gene pool, but at least you may think twice before doing it again.
In the land of the blind, the one-arm man is king.
Last edited by OneCentStamp; 19 Jul 2012 at 03:56 PM.
"You laugh at me because I'm different; I laugh at you because I'm on nitrous."
find me at Goodreads
Dear People Seeking Employment: please proofread your résumés. If you know you aren't a great speller or writer, ask someone to do it for you. As it is, this document is my first introduction to your attention to detail and the level of pride you take in yourself and your work, and if it's a chore to read, there's a good chance that it costs you the opportunity for a face to face interview.
Also, please send it as a .pdf rather than a Word document. They look cleaner, and the formatting comes out the same on any computer your prospective employer happens to be using. You don't even need any special program to do so; Microsoft Word will save your document as a .pdf for you if you ask nicely.
"You laugh at me because I'm different; I laugh at you because I'm on nitrous."
find me at Goodreads
Dear Bitch I Wasn't Even Friends With In High School,
I went ahead and friended you on Facebook because I knew your mom and my aunt are tight. I didn't unfriend you when you posted that status in which you were beside yourself because Facebook defaulted your romantic interest to bi, or whatever had you thinking people might think you were a scary Other like me. But, your combative post about how eating Chick-Fil-A "doesn't make you a bigot" was full of so much smug disregard for the damage caused by the "charities" that Chick-Fil-A donates to that I had to say something, then I had to unfriend you, because there are reasons we weren't friends in high school, and you haven't outgrown them.
No Love,
Marsilia
So, I'll whisper in the dark, hoping you'll hear me.
Dear childish, hateful slag who just broke my little sister's heart: you are so lucky you live 2,000 miles away from me.
But seriously, she need to be set on ALL THE FIRE. ALL OF IT.
Dear National News Media,
There's this patch of land, roughly state-sized, between Louisiana and Alabama. It's currently in the projected path of a projected hurricane. Try to remember that while you wring yoyr hands over Poor New Orleans and Mobile.
Frim Mississippi,
Me
So, I'll whisper in the dark, hoping you'll hear me.
Fuck feelings. Seriously.
Hope your hatches are all battened down, Marsilia!
So help me, if I have celiac disease, I am going to punch a whole litter of puppies. With baby seals.
Dear hopelessly over-her-head colleague:
The time you spent dumping your client's call on me is time you could have used to call your client.
Dear client: When I do exactly what you ask, don't send me an e-mail telling me that I only have to do exactly what you asked. My head hurts.
Fuck having no power, I am sick of it and especially sick of freezing cold showers.