review THIS
i know, my posts have been nebulous lately. where are the clearly insane ramblings of the burned out corporate prole i've come to know and love like a brother, you may ask? stuck in corporate-land, for starters. i had my review last week and, as grover is my witness, was told i'm good at what i do. being my uber-competitive self (moi?) i, of course, have to fight for a superlative rating, but my former cuntyfaceofaboss who did my review didn't feel the same way. cuntyface has an admittedly spotty memory: i've used this a-plenty over the past couple of years, believe you me, but last week it bit me in the arse.
she was transferred six months ago, and so my review was based on about six months of work twelve to six months ago, with her said spotty memory. because that's fair.... 'i just know that you misspelled a customer's name once. i don't remember the order.' oh. ok. and that's an airtight, important detail for my review, by the way. hell, why haven't you fired my useless ass months ago?
as i'm a shiny happy person looking at the sunnier side of life [laugh from the crowd], the important thing is that my current manager [who isn't up to speed on her job or mine enough to do my review, so the spin goes] thinks i'm a hero, though she backed up the cuntyface [because it's easier], as does my department director and v.p. auntie mame. 'darling, who did your review?' '[the cuntyface.]' [nose scrunchy eye squinty-facial gesture.] my only consolation about the cuntyface, warning, this is when i get petty, is that she's destined to adopt a cat and die alone. oh yeah, she has a problem with strong men, did i leave that out? that's just my speculation. the cat and dying alone thing is pretty well gospel.
ahem. take THAT karma.
i should probably be grateful that we all danced around my coming in the sunnierside of 930/10a, my lunch run hourandahalfs, (or lunch two hours on psychologist thursdays), and leaving promptly at 530 as if my gaycard were to be revoked if i were to stay at work even one minute late. (can't drink cosmos without my gaycard.) i did almost ask for 'flex-hours' to be a prick, like all the jamaican biblethumpers, but i let that go. with all my bitching and moaning about not getting the best rating (within reach, i haven't sold out and won't), i'd be surprised if my raisity raise weren't fabu and a half; that's something. my raise for the extraordinary amount of work i do, that is. best of craigslist was updated, by the way, and since gmail was recently discovered and, subsequently, banned, i haven't been able to chat with people. so unfortunate. must fill this void.
'and to that point,' as we say in the cubefarm, i had an interview two weeks ago. lovely company for a middle-aged french woman, perhaps, but not for yours truly. sure, they'd pay pretty dearly, and my venerable lunch runs would be a non-issue, but pay my own medical, dental, 401k, etc.? me thinks me not about to start over in a company that is thirty-seconds away from pushing up daisies. that will teach me to work with headhunters.
well, not exactly. see, the ad was for an established company looking for a merchandiser (check and check.) found out the brand, only an 'eh'-provenance, and thought for shits and giggles i'd go say hello. nice guy, but the place looked like a middle-aged french woman's boudoir (hence the above), and i felt like a pervert, but not in the good way. i was having no part of it, and dontchaknow, the headhunter was a little cuntyface himself about the whole thing. 'the job was made for you, it's kismet you found the listing.' 'i think i'm going to continue to explore other opportunities.' 'they've told me they will consider paying 1/2 of your medical, but don't say anything to the other people when you get there.' 'how nice of them, but, again, i think i'm going to keep my eyes peeled.' 'why? what didn't you like about the job?' 'the [nearly nonexistent] benefits package wasn't what i expected, i am not sure what kind of job-growth i could expect reporting directly to the cfo, and the scope of the job was so wide i can't see how i wouldn't burn out in a few years.'
checkmate. and stop calling.
so you see, dear readers (anyone out there?), it's been busy both within the cubefarm and outside of said penn of hell. i've been pretty convinced, as of late, that all of my friends are medicated or should be. family, too. i'm just pissed that i cannot get in on the happy pills: my damned shrink thinks i'm evolving nicely and we've cut back the frequency of visits. dammit. i was kind of hoping for a referral to another shrink with a prescription pad or to get my crazy papers and take a mini 'vacation,' but, alas, he foolishly thinks i'm mentally stable(ish). doesn't he read this thing? imagine, me the more sane of my friends and family, i never, ever would have seen that one coming in a million years....
look forward to the life and times of bert harrington tomorrow. 'BERT HARRINGTON DOES NOT APPROVE!'
she was transferred six months ago, and so my review was based on about six months of work twelve to six months ago, with her said spotty memory. because that's fair.... 'i just know that you misspelled a customer's name once. i don't remember the order.' oh. ok. and that's an airtight, important detail for my review, by the way. hell, why haven't you fired my useless ass months ago?
as i'm a shiny happy person looking at the sunnier side of life [laugh from the crowd], the important thing is that my current manager [who isn't up to speed on her job or mine enough to do my review, so the spin goes] thinks i'm a hero, though she backed up the cuntyface [because it's easier], as does my department director and v.p. auntie mame. 'darling, who did your review?' '[the cuntyface.]' [nose scrunchy eye squinty-facial gesture.] my only consolation about the cuntyface, warning, this is when i get petty, is that she's destined to adopt a cat and die alone. oh yeah, she has a problem with strong men, did i leave that out? that's just my speculation. the cat and dying alone thing is pretty well gospel.
ahem. take THAT karma.
i should probably be grateful that we all danced around my coming in the sunnierside of 930/10a, my lunch run hourandahalfs, (or lunch two hours on psychologist thursdays), and leaving promptly at 530 as if my gaycard were to be revoked if i were to stay at work even one minute late. (can't drink cosmos without my gaycard.) i did almost ask for 'flex-hours' to be a prick, like all the jamaican biblethumpers, but i let that go. with all my bitching and moaning about not getting the best rating (within reach, i haven't sold out and won't), i'd be surprised if my raisity raise weren't fabu and a half; that's something. my raise for the extraordinary amount of work i do, that is. best of craigslist was updated, by the way, and since gmail was recently discovered and, subsequently, banned, i haven't been able to chat with people. so unfortunate. must fill this void.
'and to that point,' as we say in the cubefarm, i had an interview two weeks ago. lovely company for a middle-aged french woman, perhaps, but not for yours truly. sure, they'd pay pretty dearly, and my venerable lunch runs would be a non-issue, but pay my own medical, dental, 401k, etc.? me thinks me not about to start over in a company that is thirty-seconds away from pushing up daisies. that will teach me to work with headhunters.
well, not exactly. see, the ad was for an established company looking for a merchandiser (check and check.) found out the brand, only an 'eh'-provenance, and thought for shits and giggles i'd go say hello. nice guy, but the place looked like a middle-aged french woman's boudoir (hence the above), and i felt like a pervert, but not in the good way. i was having no part of it, and dontchaknow, the headhunter was a little cuntyface himself about the whole thing. 'the job was made for you, it's kismet you found the listing.' 'i think i'm going to continue to explore other opportunities.' 'they've told me they will consider paying 1/2 of your medical, but don't say anything to the other people when you get there.' 'how nice of them, but, again, i think i'm going to keep my eyes peeled.' 'why? what didn't you like about the job?' 'the [nearly nonexistent] benefits package wasn't what i expected, i am not sure what kind of job-growth i could expect reporting directly to the cfo, and the scope of the job was so wide i can't see how i wouldn't burn out in a few years.'
checkmate. and stop calling.
so you see, dear readers (anyone out there?), it's been busy both within the cubefarm and outside of said penn of hell. i've been pretty convinced, as of late, that all of my friends are medicated or should be. family, too. i'm just pissed that i cannot get in on the happy pills: my damned shrink thinks i'm evolving nicely and we've cut back the frequency of visits. dammit. i was kind of hoping for a referral to another shrink with a prescription pad or to get my crazy papers and take a mini 'vacation,' but, alas, he foolishly thinks i'm mentally stable(ish). doesn't he read this thing? imagine, me the more sane of my friends and family, i never, ever would have seen that one coming in a million years....
look forward to the life and times of bert harrington tomorrow. 'BERT HARRINGTON DOES NOT APPROVE!'
posted by tom at 11:02 PM
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