wedding

Evaluate This!

If you're a slave to corporate America, you know that it's just about that time of year for reviews and (hopefully) raises.  While perusing the net this morning, I found this well-crafted letter that I'm sure many people would just LOVE to give to their bosses.  Enjoy! (This letter and other gems can be found here.

This Year I'm Mailing in My Performance Review, Literally

 

Dear Boss,

 

Every year we perform the same ritual of sitting down face-to-face and review my performance in the year gone by, pretending that you care about my personal development, me pretending that I give a shit about this company.  This year, I'm taking a different approach, which I have neatly outlined below to highlight the differences between this year and years passed.

 

      My Goals – Some years you tell me that while I met my personal goals, the organization did not, so unfortunately there will be no bonus.  Other years, you tell me that while I was eligible for a bonus, only a select few high performers will see a bonus and for this year anyway I'm not one of them.  Let's cut to the chase here.  I suck as an employee.  You know it, I know, and HR knows it.  If not for the litigious society that we live in today, you would have fired me long ago.  Luckily for me, I'm black, Jewish, a woman, and handicapped.  That's right, the perfect storm of equal opportunity and affirmative action.  So how about instead of apologizing to me for not giving me a bonus, I'll agree not to sue you and I'll be on my way?

 

      My Development – You usually spew some BS about learning other people's roles, or sitting with a senior manager to understand what their day is like.  Let me clue you in to something – I couldn't care less about my own job, much less someone else's, so save the manure for the pig farm.  Aside from that, I was diagnosed as being functionally retarded when I was 10, so forget about development and count your blessings that I'm potty trained.

 

      Teamwork – Every year you drone on about mission statements and how we all need to help each other out, because there is no "I" in the word "team".  Well guess what? There may not be an "I, but there is certainly an "M" and an "E".  And along those lines, my team can kiss my cellulite-filled handicapped ass.  In case you haven't noticed, work around here is passed around faster than an STD at a frat house.  Between you and me, I don't give two shits about how the work gets done, as long as it doesn't involve me.

 

      Other Crap – There is some other jargon that you use every year to justify screwing me, and to be quite frank I tend to zone you out during that portion of the review.  Instead, I wonder about things like if you take Viagra, if you know that your daughter is a slut, and what it would be like to get you in a head lock and give you nuggies.

 

In closing, I would like to reiterate that I do in fact hate my job, and my life for that matter, so going forward let's not put a silk hat on this pig of a job and pretend it's a beauty queen.  I hope the business tanks so that I can collect unemployment, and will continue to pray that you fall down a flight of stairs so that I can get some free cake at your get well party.

 

Warmest Regards,

          Milton Waddams

 

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QotD: Happy Voxiversary!

Today is Vox's first anniversary since the official launch.  What's the best experience you've had on Vox in the past year?

Tig

For the most part, I write here because I like to write and I need an outlet.  I didn't seriously think that anyone outside my neighborhood read this but either that isn't the case or I made it there through some of my neighbors.  In either case, you like me.  You really like me.

Give me a break, huh?  It's my first time. 😉

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I'm sorry, can I do what?

I'm all for the personal hygiene.  I'm a twice-a-day showerer, keep the hair clean, no boogs nose or eye kinda girl.  Now, not for my pleasure so much but for his, I keep a close shave if not an all off.  Well, I guess now that I think about it, it IS for my pleasure because less hair = more, uh, mouth fun.

On occasion, I've been known to get a wax.  Pros of waxing: hair doesn't grow back as fast, less ingrowns (you nasty little bastards), way smoother than a shave.  Cons of waxing: someone I don't know from Jack is up close and personal in my cooch.  That's my main reason for not going.  I think it's because I'm ultra-sensitive about my girl juices and their fragrance.  I think I smell me all the time.  Lovey and I will be sitting in the bedroom and I'll swear that I smell me but he swears that he can't and "his nose is built to sniff that out".  I'm probably crazy but I'm okay with it.

Somehow, there doesn't seem to be a universal naming convention for these processes.  You can say "I'd like a Brazilian wax" in three different places and come out with three different things.  This is not a good thing for we novices.  The last time I went in for a wax, which was quite possibly the last time I'm going in for a wax, I asked for what I thought I wanted.  Language barriers are always an issue here and I'm not gonna carry on a conversation with you while you're down there, nor am I going to try to decipher what you're saying to me.  Mistake.

Wax lady asked me if I wanted something and I didn't quite hear her so I mumbled yes.  I.  AM.  AN.  IDIOT.  We get through the front and because that wasn't enough, she told me to go ahead and flip over.  Apparently, I had agreed to have THE BUTT STRIP.

I don't have a problem with kink.  I'm all for a little slap and tickle.  But I wouldn't pay for it.  Yet somehow, I feel like there's a hidden camera and I'm being taped for BangBus or some other ridiculous and nasty hidden camera show.  Why?  Well, now I'm face down on the table and wax lady needs a hand.  I'm paying and I still have to help.  She needs me to spread my butt cheeks.  That's right.  Spread my butt cheeks.

And as I lay, splayed out on the table, ass in the air, cheeks spread from Cali to NY, wax lady proceeds to drown the starfish in HOT wax.  My ass is on fire and I'm contemplating ending it right there but then I realize that my butt would then be glued together.  Of course, that's not the worst of it because she still has to get rid of the wax.

Because I'm not humiliated enough, here comes the fun part.  With a pat and a rip, the starfish can once again breathe although it could be bruised but I can't tell since I just can't see back there, or at least not without a mirror.  I just want it to end, no pun intended.  When she's finally done, I slink out and pay.  I feel dirty and not just because I have baby powder from head to toe from a procedure that's way less than bellybutton to knee.  Seriously, I feel like I have starred in some nasty porn because I have paid a woman to pour hot wax on my asshole and then rip it off.  Never again!  There you go.  Don't get the butt strip.

Kisses!

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Nothingness

I've been wanting to post for a while, but I can't seem to find anything of interest to me, so I haven't been loading you down with it.  Things I've considered posting about:

  • The Ambien story (funny but a little personal)
  • The new crappy reality show "The Next Great American Band" – yeah, I actually watched that.  Waste of 2 hours.  12 bands out of all those that tried out and it should come down to Sixwire and some other random band but it'll probably end up being Dot Dot Dot or some other crap, just like American Idol.
  • Steelers loss in Denver. Pain.
  • Why can't I freelance for the local paper if this guy can?
  • Where the hell did all this drug-resistant staph come from all of a sudden?
  • Am I supposed to feel comfortable sending my daughter to school in a district where a teacher just went somewhat slightly ballistic and tried to force his way onto an Air Force base because he was attempting "suicide by cop"?
  • And speaking of said daughter, how do I get her to realize that while, yes, a C is an average grade, that it's not good enough? (Yeah, she said that. "A 'C' is an average grade.")
  • When I know that I hold the ingredients to the key to my exit from the corporate world that I so despise, why is it so difficult for me to get all the ingredients together into one functioning piece?
  • Am I really ready for NaNoWriMo?  (I'm MiamiShyner there too if you're interested in adding me as a writing buddy.)
  • Where is my direction?

Okay, enough.  I wasn't supposed to load you down with my crapola.  But I needed to get it out.  Thanks for listening/reading if you actually did.

I've been listo on the board for so long that my arm is tired.  Someone please say hep.

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