Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
katharosblog.blogspot.com , internet
Dear Hiring Manager,
I'm replying to a job your company posted on kijiji.ca for an Executive Assistant (which I would be perfect for), but there's something I need to discuss with you first: honesty. See, here I am sending you all of my personal information right there at the top of the page being all completely transparent and you won't even tell me what company it is I'm applying to! What is this, the job opportunity Mystery Box? Did you ever consider that I might have a few requirements that YOUR company might have to meet? (Already you should have an innate desire to hire me because unlike most applicants, I have standards). Job interviews are like blind dates: neither of us really want to be there and chances are one or both of us is going to end up disappointed. So let's be up front with each other shall we? You meet my salary expectations, but to be quite honest I don't care how big your benefits package is...could we exchange that for coming in late occasionally? And while we're getting down to the nitty-gritty here, what's your policy on office supplies? Are you going to get all possessive on me when I sneak a few dozen packages of post-it notes home in my handbag? Speaking of post-it notes, how do you feel about lined post-it notes? Great innovation or creativity suppressant? I won't tell you which way I lean, but let me tell you I am passionate about the subject! And really, what else could you want in an executive assistant? I can clearly communicate better than you can company-who-won't-even-give-out-their-name-and-obviously-has-trust-issues and I have a slightly overzealous obsession with office supplies, can you say “hired”? Now before you show me to my desk, I have something I'd like to confess. I know you were trying to be all anonymous and everything, but I totally Googled your postal code and found out where you live and what it is you do. I'm not a stalker or anything, I just like to be well-informed. Which brings me to my next question, as a company solely devoted to promoting diversity how opposed are you to a few fairly inoffensive racial jokes now and again? I know it's not exactly “politically correct” but have you heard the one about the Mexican gardener?
Friday, April 24, 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
It amazes me how you can think that you know someone so utterly well that there is no chance that they could have slipped past the insanity detector and then one day.....
We are driving down a country road in that godforsaken car, headed once again to That Place We Go Every Freaking Weekend and I am trying to control my anger at his overly cautious driving. The road is currently at it's maximum of two lanes, about to narrow down to one just past the intersection we are approaching. We are in what I call the correct lane, the one that will not abruptly end. The light ahead of us turns red and the four cars in front of us come to a stop and as we approach he does something that I will never be able to reconcile with rationality: he switches lanes. He not only moves into the lane that will end 10 meters past the intersection, but he moves directly into position behind an 18 wheel diesel truck. Willingly. I almost don't want to ask, but I have to know why in God's name anyone would make such a ridiculous decision. Are we deliberately trying to make this car ride last LONGER? He has been impatiently sighing at the traffic for the last twenty minutes and he's suddenly decided to take the scenic route? Perhaps he's had an epiphany, maybe he's come to the sudden realization that life is so fleeting and our journey to THAT PLACE is a metaphorical representation of our life's path so we must enjoy the journey for as long as we possibly can. So I ask, waiting for his lips to form a response so profound that it will enrich my life just to have heard it spoken aloud. He turns to me and says with a conviction that could rival the pope's:
“Well, large trucks always start moving quicker, 'cause like they've got somewhere to be”.
And with those words my life is indeed forever changed. Everything I believed before that moment has been completely wiped away by one indisputable fact: He is completely insane.
I promised myself a long time ago, in the days of livejournal, that I would never use any form of open journal as my personal battleground.
No matter how anonymous you make something, all it takes is one person with a vendetta to expose everything.
However, sometimes my anger needs an outlet so I'm going to take a chance with this one.
I've been sending e-mails back and forth to my ex, mostly because it was a mutual break-up and I'd like to keep things friendly. But we've gotten stuck conversing on the reasons behind our mutual separation and it's now become a problem, and when I say “we”....I mean him. I won't get into the details, because the actual subjects are not the issue. This is:
I'm the kind of person that chooses my words carefully, if I use a particular word it's because it implies exactly the meaning I'm trying to get across. No more, no less. And I find that a lot of people get stuck using specific words, maybe because they like them, maybe because they aren't aware that it doesn't really mean what they think it does, but they throw them around without realizing the severity of what it is they're saying. In this instance, there's a specific word that I'm speaking of and of course, a certain person:
Irrationality. I'm not sure what Webster's has to say about its definition, but to me it implies a complete disconnect from reality and rational thought. If you're irrational, you're likely one boarding call away from the crazy train. It is a somewhat subjective term, as my rationality and your rationality may differ, but I'm talking about rationality in the more general sense. I am not, for the record, irrational. Never have been and likely never will be.
I've read this e-mail, where I and my reasoning are repeatedly deemed “irrational”, quite a few times and I'm going to either delete it or frame it as one of the few examples of things that make me truly and genuinely angry. I've explained myself to death, I've simplified the concepts so that even the mentally retarded would catch my drift and this person just does NOT GET IT. Because they don't want to. That's the only conclusion I can come to. They have no desire to genuinely understand my perspective because then it might be ok to do things a little differently. It might reveal the fact that there is truly no one, absolutely correct way to do things. I think that's what they take comfort in, as long as they follow the rules there is no way things can go wrong, there's no way that THEY can be wrong.
I've always been one to just agree to disagree and accept that while we may differ in opinion both are equally as valid and there really is no right and wrong. I guess we all have to eat our own words at some point:
You. Are. Wrong.
And if I could, I'd make you eat all your words too, starting with “irrational”.
I kind of hope you choke on it.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Friday, April 3, 2009
While at first I found it slightly strange to carry on a conversation through the wall of a bathroom stall, I've been desensitized to the strangeness of it. However, I was recently subjected to a whole new level of bathroom conversation:
I was in a bathroom in a bar in Toronto, which of course was a little on the sketchy side, complete with black paint, the requisite graffiti and the minimum of two stalls. So as I'm in one of these stalls I hear laughter coming from the one next to me. Repeatedly. This person is not on a cell phone as far as I can tell so I'm thinking they've had too much to drink.Now, I can tell from the shoes that it's a middle-aged woman, because let's face it, middle-aged women all seem to shop at the same shoe store that specializes in neutral colored, comfortable and ergonomically correct footwear that almost always has some sort of leather braiding or weave pattern all over 'em. Now this woman just keeps laughing which puts her into either the REALLY WASTED before 9pm or the mentally unstable weirdo brigade. She exits first and my first inclination is to just barricade myself in there until she leaves, but hey who wants to miss out on seeing the potentially insane? So I cautiously exit the stall to find a fake blonde, middle aged woman staring at me in the mirror with this huge smile on her face and you know what she says?
"I'm sorry, but you just have the most incredible bladder I've ever heard. I could just not believe it, like you just kept PEEING!!!!"
Now if that's not a compliment I'll remember until the day I die, I don't know what is.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
"Tripping was the main source of fall injuries from cats, which might be expected since felines often rub themselves affectionately against human legs."
"Dogs could startle people, cause their owners to chase them, or leave dog toys around that pose a tripping hazard."
This is my favorite quote...under "how to reduce pet-related accidents":
"Increasing recognition that pets and pet items can cause falls."
Seriously? You mean leaving stuff lying around on the floor can cause me to fall? And things that move could quite possibly get in my way if I'm not paying attention to where I'm going and cause me to become off balance? Well Jesus H. Christ why didn't someone warn me about this before?!
While I cannot believe that someone thought this was actually a worthwhile subject to write about for a NATIONAL NEWS OUTLET, it is even more mind boggling that someone first had to do an entire research study on this. AND SOMEONE GAVE THEM MONEY TO DO IT. In case you didn't catch it from the quotes, it was performed by none other than the U.S. Center for Disease Control and Prevention. Stories like these just enforce my long-standing opinion that the world is becoming increasingly populated by paranoid cookie-cutter compliant idiots whom are all completely and utterly insane.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
I want you to hold me like you never want to let me go, like I want to hold you. I remember when you said: “You complete me”. That was then, before you changed your mind. You don’t say anything like that anymore. You know now, that completing yourself with me would just add flaws to your perfection, a taint to your uncorrupted half. Then I was the optimal, now I am sub-prime. Why is it that I can see your flaws, not as mistakes on your character, but as imperfections that make you beautiful? Oh, I was beautiful to you in the beginning, but now I just don’t quite make the cut now do I? So patronizing. I have become a safeguard to a lonely death, an occasional display of amusement, but never your equal. I am fit only to provide entertainment when you desire laughter, food when you are hungry, counsel when you are divided, and, of course, sex when your appetite is whetted. Never is my mind as sound in rationale, my temperament as calm, my words as eloquent, my opinions as valid, or my desire as important as my obviously better half. When was it declared that I was the one who needed to catch up? Who made up the jury that found that it was me whom was lacking? Where was I? I thought we were in this together, I thought that was the point. Why ever pair us together, why ever even create the idea of together if we are to act according to our own priorities and whims? Two people can perform the same action together again and again and again, in perfect sync with each other but if they never understand the other then it as if their performing the action together was coincidental. It’s all happenstance. What if there had been someone else in my place, would they have done just as well if they met your basic requirements? Such carefully chosen expectations will only ensure that those particular expectations will be filled, what if there is more than just what you expect? Is the rest just superfluous? Believe me, I know where I sit in regards to these so-called “expectations” I believe at this moment I am a card carrying “just barely meets the minimum”. Although I could be wrong, I’m not sure as I wasn’t invited to my performance review either. There seems to be a lot I haven’t been invited to lately; family outings, weddings, movies with friends. There’s always the reasons, always the goddamned considerate, perfectly rational, fucking obvious reasons. I’m not invited to the family outing because it would be inconsiderate to expect me to take time off my precious, boring as fuck job. I’m of course always invited to the movies, it’s just one of those invitations that are never extended but anyone with a bit of sense would just know that they are of course invited. And I’m not invited to the wedding because they don’t know me, although I did think that when the marrying couple is a cousin that lives across the country this could be overlooked as really it’s just as much their fault for not coming to meet me. So conclusively, I am an idiot who loves my boring as fuck job and I just don’t know the right people. How charming. Oh, but let me tell you all those feelings of being left out go right out the window when I hear the “why didn’t you come?” after every event that I was supposedly previously engaged not to attend or supposedly not invited. Now what? Do I make you look like an idiot and tell them why I wasn’t there? Oh I’ve tried that: “Well I could have sworn you told me...” “If you weren’t so confusing...” “I thought your studies needed more attending to...”. So now I just keep my fucking mouth shut and let you follow whatever bullshit reasoning you want until you absolve whatever little doubt there could be in your mind that you could have done anything ANYTHING wrong. ANY-FUCKING-THING. It amazes me constantly how you can manipulate absolutely anything and everything to match perfectly with your ideal reality and I am the one who is ridiculous. I am the frustration of your life. I am a daily pain in the ass, needy, whining, estrogen fuelled ball of constant PMS who must always interrupt everything you love and hold dear: studying, watering plants, organizing old fiscal reports, and of course fantasy hockey teams. Hey, why don’t you love and hold me dear once in a fucking while? Because it doesn’t fit into your schedule. And that is why not a single little bit of any of my ranting or raving holds any importance or consequence, I just don’t fit. I do not go according to plan, I will not go according to plan, because the plan does not include me. I was added in sometime after it was already drawn up, reviewed, dated and signed. I am an addendum, an unforeseen clause that makes the whole thing null and void. I am something that inevitably will need to be crossed out and stricken from the record. It hurts. Not being crossed off, that I can take, it’s the cold, methodical way that you will do it that will really kill me. Like the writing on the contract, there is no depth to anything that you feel for me, no discernable texture or dimension. I can’t understand such an intangible emotion. You shouldn’t be able to put it down on paper or form it into a concise idea. It shouldn’t make sense. All I wanted was someone to understand the joke with me, to know my subtleties and challenge my beliefs. I want someone who knows my flaws, but can also accept my greatness.
I need someone
that there’s a voice
inside my head,
that sometimes says:
Just die already.