Friday, April 27, 2012

Damn, ur pic iz hawt. i take u out for drink sumtimee? ;)

Internet dating is probably one of the most awkward experiences one can ever hope to enjoy.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually have a few friends who have slogged through the piles of “winners” and found actual decent human beings, but the entire process leading up to that point leaves SO MUCH to be desired.

A little history:  After breaking up with my boyfriend over a year ago, I decided to join “Plenty of Fish.” 
Reasons included:
1)      I don’t like hanging out at bars.
2)      I’m too busy to actually go out and meet people.
3)      Dating co-workers is just uncomfortable.
4)      I was horny. 
I made up the requisite profile, uploaded pictures, and waited for what I was sure would be charming messages from intelligent, well-spoken, educated gentlemen.

Wrong.  So very, very wrong.

The title of this post is a wonderful example of the type of message I receive on a daily basis.  Sometimes they’re a little more coherent, other times there are just a bunch of winky faces and comments about my “slammin” smile.
I must admit, I have message answering down to a science.  If, at any point in a message title or body, there is more than one word spelled in Stupid-Speak, it automatically gets deleted.  I don’t give a rat’s ass if you have a Ph.D. from Stanford in BioEconomics, if you can’t bring yourself to properly spell out words, you obviously don’t know how to make a good first impression. 

Some examples:
1.  “Yo baby wuts good?  I work hard play harder yadda yadda hit me up sumtime we shud go out ;)”

2.  “Hey sweetie!  Hows it goin?  I like to hangout wit my friends, party, play sports, video games.  Ytyttyyyyytrryrryy Yututyuuuuyuiy Ytryhhhhytyy.”
Briefly attempt to decipher last ‘sentence,’ then Delete.


See what I mean?  It’s almost entertaining at this point, seeing who sends the worst message.  So far, that last one is the winner.

^Those are all actual messages, by the way…I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.  It's a good thing I don't mind being single -_-

Monday, March 26, 2012

Congratulations, You're Mediocre.

So it's self-evaluation time here at work. 

I don't know how it goes at other worky places, but at my job it means HR sends out a form with categories such as "Team Work," "Communcation," and "Job Knowledge."  We then get to assign our awesomeness (or lack thereof) a numerical value from 1-5 in each category.  The final result is a (hopefully) double-digit number that is then submitted to your supervisor as proof of your job skillz.

This self-eval also happily coincides with annual review time, so you get to find out rather quickly just how differently your supervisor ranks your abilities.

Supervisor-Type Person:  Alycia, I noticed you gave yourself a "5" for 'Productivity & Initiative'.  Could you explain why you graded yourself so high?

Me:  Oh, well since I have put in more than my fair share of hours over the last year, I thought it appropriately reflected all the work I've been doing.  You sign my timesheets, so you must know that the last time I worked only 40 hours or only 5 days in a week was sometime in mid-2011.  I've also done a lot for the facility during the expansion, helping keep things organized and running smoothly, even though we all wanted to cry most of the time.  *uncomfortable laugh*

Supervisor-Type Person:  mmhmm.  mmhmm.  Well, I gave you a 2.  Would you like to know why?

Me:  Uh, erm, yes...?

Supervisor-Type Person:  I know you think you've been working a lot.  And you obviously think you've done a lot for the group.  But the fact of the matter is, you could do more.  Remember that day last month you left early?  Well, that shouldn't be happening...

Me: grandmother died...

Supervisor-Type Person:  ...especially when we're so busy.  Take a look at Jen - she worked 96 hours last week plus took data home to review.

Me:  But she collapsed from exhaustion and ended up in the hospital.

Supervisor-Type Person:  Excellent dedication.  SHE deserves a 5 for 'Productivity & Initiative.' 

Me:  -_-

When my self-eval was all said and done, I had given myself an overall score of 27, which basically meant I gave myself '3's on almost all of the categories.  I'm not one to toot my own horn, ya know? 

After I submitted it though, I got to thinking (dangerous).  To toot my own horn for just a sec, I am one of the hardest working people person in my group.  My general lack of sanity/free time is an excellent indicator of this fact.  So that being said, if the hardest working individual in the group is giving herself THREEs, then how are the ahem, slackers, in my group scoring themselves? 

I admit, perhaps I should have given myself higher marks, but when it comes right down to it, all the crazy/horrible/stressful hours and work I put in are my job, so is extra recognition really warranted for only really doing what is necessary?

Saturday, March 17, 2012

Oh Write, I Have a Blog (pun intended)


I love it, I hate it, it makes me twitch.  Mostly, other people's improper use of the English language makes me writhe in agony.  I admit, I make my own mistakes when it comes to what's correct and what isn't, but seriously people, WHAT THE HELL.

Maybe it's my private school background that left me with the ability to discern the differences between to/too/two, their/they're/there, its/it's, and your/you're.  Or maybe, just maybe, the rules aren't that effing difficult, and anyone with half a brain has learned said differences before the age of 12.

The whole shorthand texting thing also puts a real thorn in my side.  Honestly, how difficult is it to type out whole words?  I don't know about all of y'all, but trying to read some of those damned shorthand texts takes a friggin long time.  Takes more thought to type that way too, if you ask me...

There's no real point to this post.  I just needed to rant for a moment.  

The end.

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

Bitch, Step Away From The Orange Juice

So as I mentioned in my previous post, I am currently being victimized by illness-making-beasties.  In short, I hate my life right now.  I was already sick three weeks ago, this mothafuckin cold snuck up on me like a goddamned ninja, and I have to sing my face off in front of my friends and family on Sunday.  Therefore, I am less than pleased with my current health situation.

Anywhoo, I stopped by Stop & Shop on my way home from work today to pick up some delicious, illness-making-beastie-defeating orange juice since I have succeeded in downing two gallons over the past three days.  

Don't judge me, I just really like orange juice.

As I'm standing in the juice section, perusing expiration dates and whatnot, this lady to my left all of a sudden asks me, "Do you watch Dr. Oz??"


Lady:  Oh, well I was watching it the other day and he was talking about how almost all orange juice is imported.

Me:  Oh, uhmm...

Lady:  Hardly any of it comes from the US.  Only Florida's Natural comes from the states.

Me:  *snot-sneeze-wheeze-cough*

Crazy Lady:  Did you know that?!?!  Can you believe that?!?! I will ONLY buy Florida's Natural from now on, you couldn't PAY me to buy JUICE that is IMPORTED.

Me:  aye juss wan by joos caus ib sik

Psycho Juice Lady:  Did you say something?  I just can't BELIEVE that different countries COMBINE their JUICE into this IMPERSONATION OF ORANGE JUICE.


I grabbed a gallon of Simply Orange and ran away.

Psycho Bitch Juice Lady obviously doesn't read my blog.  Otherwise, she'd know how many of my Things-I-Don't-Wanna-Hear-About-Whilst-Sick Rules she just violated.

Sunday, March 4, 2012

Bring Me Chicken Noodle Soup, Then GTFO

I am a miserable human being when sick.  Definitely not one of those people who gets all nice and docile so all you want to do is take care of him/her.  My normally bitchy attitude gets a lovely boost when I'm "under the weather,"* so people generally want to take care of me the same way you want to take care of a porcupiney-skunky-rabid-bit-of-roadkill.  

Side note - what the hell does "under the weather" actually mean?!  If I can blow snot rockets, hack up green phlegm, and sound like an 85-year old chain-smoking James Earl Jones when under the weather, then what super powers do I get for being "on top of the weather"??  Dumb-ass figure of speech.

In an effort to save humanity from my bitchitude, I have compiled a list of things I don't want to hear when I'm feeling less than stellar.  This list actually coincides with things I don't give a shit about first thing in the morning:

1.  Anything about your (adorable) pet.  No, crazy cat lady, I know this is hard for you to understand, but I DON'T want to hear about the 57 cats you have at home.  

2.  Anything about your pet's bowel movements.  To be honest, I NEVER want to hear about your pet's bowel movements.  I'm not a vet yet.  I don't give a shit (pun intended).

3.  Anything about the news and/or current events.  I barely give a crap about the world's goings on to begin with, much less when my brain is fogged up with illness-making-beasties.

4.  Your life If you think that now's a good time to tell me your life story for the 9482753895th time, and ask my advice on whatever issue you're currently dealing with, you are sorely mistaken.

5.  Your love life.  Different than #4.  I want to hear about your love life even LESS than I want to hear about your other goings-on, particularly if your significant other did something lovey-dovey-cutsie-wootsie for your anniversary.  I'm single.  Fuck off.  (exception - if this lovey-dovey-cutsie-wootsie activity failed miserably and ended in hilarity, I'm all ears)

6.   Details about your new craft project.

7.   How busy you've been lately and omygawd-i-wish-there-were-more-than-24hrs-in-a-day.  If there were more than 24 hours in a day, I'd be sick even longer than I'm going to be already.  This is unacceptable.  So are your opinions on the matter.  I reiterate my comment from #5: Fuck off.

8.  How sick YOU were last week and blah-blah-blahI know you were ill - I saw you every day at work.  You're probably the one who got ME sick.  At the current moment, I hate you with every fiber of my being.

9.  How swell your tropical vacation was.  For the love of everything in the world, stop showing me pictures.  My eyes are all goopy and crusty with god-knows-what, I'm sneezing all over your photos, and blowing snot rockets into my rapidly depleting box of tissues.  How is this enjoyable for you?!

10.   Celebrity gossipNope, just don't care.  At all.  Ever.  

Basically, it's just better to leave me alone.  It's safer for everyone that way.  I might offend your delicate sensibilities by saying something that I'll maybe regret later.

Since I'm such a nice person, I'll give you some free advice:  I have very clear facial expressions - if you're talking at to me and I am giving you a look that says "eat shit and die," I advise you to cease and desist the current "conversation" and GTFO.

But bring me some chicken noodle soup first, please.  I'm sick.

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Chickens Function Better With Their Heads Attached

Today was one of those days.

You know what I'm talking about...the kind of day that results in you wanting to do nothing but curl up in the fetal position in a corner under some kind of shrubbery, using the leaves of said shrubbery to dry your never-ending snot-tears.

I work in pharmaceutical research, so my job is stressful with a capital everything.  We recently tripled our lab capacity, which subsequently tripled our workload.  It would make sense to hire more staff to properly accommodate this increase, right?

Me:  Hey, supervisor person, when are we getting some more people?  We're kinda busy and all...some more people would be uhh...good and stuff.

Supervisor Person:  Yeah, about that.  We were thinking we'd wait to hire additional people until you'd all had nervous breakdowns, were sobbing uncontrollably on the toilet, and were drooling on yourselves in the corner.  

Me:  Oh...ok.  Sounds good.  I'm going to go sob uncontrollably on the toilet now.

Supervisor Person:  Keep up the good work. 

Running around like a chicken with its head cut off sadly appeals to my crazy-escaped-from-a-mental-institution personality.  However, even I have to put my foot down once in awhile.  I am fortunate enough to be paid hourly, so at least I get paid for all the overtime I accrue.  

Sleeping is fun, though.  So is showering on a daily basis.  And eating dinner.

Our short-staffed-ness, combined with a heinously busy day, compounded by the busiest week/month ever, plus the fact that I have to go BACK to work at 9pm tonight all blended together to make me want to assume the aforementioned fetal position.  

I couldn't find any plant life in the office to curl up under, though.

I Am Awesome. And I have an award to prove it.

So I've been at this blogging thing for about a week now, and I have already achieved international fame some stuff.  Among said stuff is a super-awesome-fantastic thingy called the Liebster Blog Award!  

Melissa at Preposterous Pace was kind enough to bestow this honor upon my humble blog, for which I shall be forever grateful.  

According to the Liebster Blog rules, I am now supposed to give this award to five other deserving bloggers who have fewer than 200 followers.  However, since I kinda suck as a blog-stalker (relax, I'm working on it) I just don't know who give this phenoms award to.  

SO, in an effort to aid me in my blog-stalking habits, I'd love anyone reading this to recommend some blogs to follow.  Specifically anything that makes you pee/giggle/snort/die/laugh-so-hard-you-vomit/shift-uncomfortably-in-your-chair/etc.

Help a fellow blogger out, people.