Smoking in the Boy’s Room

So, you want to move up in the world. You may think taking that class will boost your chances. Maybe, reading self help books is the way to go as it is more cost efficient than a class. Everyone wants to know they are a bad ass in multiple fonts. Some of the more cynical people out there say it is all in who you blow. 

And Blowing is right….Blowing the smoke out of your ass. Ok, that just got away from me….I actually meant smoking. Seems like, if you want to be heard, chances at acting, bitch about coworkers and be last one to buzz in your boss’ ear, the only place to be is outside smoking and not in the bedroom or on the desks as one thought before. Before you think, oooh I will start up tomorrow…calm down. Get ready to go out every 15 to 20 minutes for that same length of time. Shit is going down!!! It seems like quite the commitment. 

I personally never found those who would take the last thing they heard as gospel to be the most intelligent of individuals and well…I continue to be proven correct. The thing is that it becomes so painfully obvious that it hurts.

If you don’t believe me, here are some very distinct examples: 

Exhibit A: Paul Blart starts in on my files from day one. He is very bothered that he can tell who the oldest and youngest builders at the Lego Department. This bothers him frequently and he just won’t shut the fuck up about it. Every day, I hear different reasons why the builders would be upset by this file structure. RIGHT….cuz the builders have nothing better to do than survey our file system. On day 7 or 8 of his new obsession, I acknowledge that maybe filing by birthday may not be efficient but will tackle that issue when I find a solution. I left it there. But then Blart goes for a smoke with Fish. 

No sooner did they arrive, smelling of staleness, coffee and sweat, Fish announces his huge breakthrough that we wants us all to listen. He even says oh Gigi you may also want to hear this…. He has decided that the file system {that Blart NEVER has to touch as I am completely in charge of the whole thing} just won’t work and it has become a new priority to obviously change the files for the builders. I am so glad that I was included in that whole things since they are MY GODDAMN files and everything. I am the only one that touches the files or needs them or refers to them….so yeah….

I wish there was a way I could have linked those ten mere mentions of the filing system to see if Blart had anything to do with this “decision” the Fish made. If only there was a way but I can’t imagine. 

Exhibit B: Blart is flexing some muscles in regards to how much he knows about what I do. If I have been doing it for 10 years, he obviously has 15 under his belt. He tries to engage me in a discussion that frankly drains my tank of Fucks to Give. I just do a lot of uh huhs and smiling and nodding. He then spews some outlandish shit for internal procedures so that I will react. Again, my Fuck to give ratio is so low that I can’t possibly afford to expend any on this. He gives up and goes for a smoke with his pet Fish. 

When they return, Fish has proclaimed our new need for said outlandish procedures. The deadline is yesterday. Yet how can one deem these two incidents as a pattern. Can’t be!

Exhibit C: Fish is confused about policies. He asks me about it. I tell him the answer. Should be cut and dry and if anything, a five minute conversation. We should be so lucky. Insert smoke break and subsequent return here and all of a sudden Fish decides my expertise {at reading} should be substantiated by Blart and can he bring him in to the conversation to answer my question. What question I ask stupidly….Fish repeats his question from earlier. Um….how do you tell someone that they asked you the question and you answered it and the conversation is over? {like wtf are they smoking anyway?} Seems Fish gained new found knowledge in a cloud of smoke and decided he was imparting it to me. Of course, it isn’t even the right answer or what I said but I am pretty sure Blart wanted to be heard. #ventriloquist

Exhibit D: Blart and Fish are going for a smoke. Fish wants me to feel  included even if I don’t smoke and points out I am not invited because I don’t smoke. {Glad we got this out of the way Captain Obvious}. So for some reason, they start talking about smoking and I said I am not about to start so I can be part of the cool kids because to start smoking now would be stupid. They go and come back and it doesn’t take me long to see that, together, they have prepared an argument in favor of smoking that would make the District Attorney on Law and Order look unprepared.
Well holy shit, seems like I rest my case! 

The Reign of Terror

In the ideal world, society would not condone even the mildest of douchebaggary but I tend to live in the darkest corners where they go that extra mile to actually reward it. 

{Flashback. Siceley 1947 Picture it…JK really just a month or so ago and not overseas either} Blart had already racked up the complaints by the junior staff and some IT consultants like he was collecting air miles. He had singlehandedly been responsible for one of the Juniors threatening to quit their contract. I talked her down, and urged her to talk to Fish and Big Fish. That was um….a bit of a trainwreck. 

This is when the waves of sympathy for Paul would wash over us the first time, getting the sand in all the cracks and making you wish you had saran wrapped your sandwich…because the tidal wave was looming right there. Maybe it was his delivery when he called them stupid, hmmm maybe it was because he felt like the odd man out when he started yelling at me for taking a call on speakerphone.{For the record, I would never subject anyone to my father’s phone calls. Nobody is emotionally prepared for that….trying to be fair I assured Blart that my dad was a loud talker because he was still quite sure that cell phones were fancy tin cans connected to intersecting strings around the city so naturally he had to shout to make himself heard over competing conversations taking place across town.} That should have ended the discussion, we could have had a laugh. NOPE. 

Well Fish and Big Fish decided that after Paul picked fights with everyone, he would be the PERFECT candidate to take over for Fish’s holiday. Apparently I would take over the next holiday. As I was already trying to jump ship, I had other opportunities where acting would have been a bonus for me. I approached Fish and Big Fish with my proposal of switching me and Blart around so that I could gain experience managing a team. They very supportively offered the best solution EVER. They said, oh well its ok, because we will just tell them that you did. {OH PERFECT, well if you are going to lie for me, you are completely right, I dont even need to actually do it. This is GREAT!}. #doinitright

After fumbling to justify his decision about Blart over three times where I had to tell Fish that he needed to get over his decision because I had, the reign of terror was about to commence.  It started with a bang!

Day 1: Walked around peeing on everything in Fish’s absence {just figuratively I hope}. Gave super sound advice: if your pretty face doesn’t change their minds, just bend down and give them a view because that is how women make it in this business. {I assure you we aren’t actors on the set of Mad Men, this is real life in the year 2017}. Also, in the interest of bonding with her, told her about his rave experiences where he took X and always wondered why he didn’t get horny. I am wondering why he thought a 20 year old girl would want to hear about his 34 year old sad exeperiences where X didn’t even have the power to get him laid. 

Day 2: Insuinuated to the two juniors that were off somewhere having sex “exchanging oils” is what he actually said in a witty pun as they were fixing an oily machine.

Day 10: Lost his goddamn mind because I sat in Fish’s chair. Because it isn’t a throne, I didn’t think it was a big deal. His head almost popped off. There was mention of my lack of respect for my boss, that he had files on all of us…and well the list is just too crazy.

And so the two weeks went on, various arguements ensued between Blart and Big Fish (cuz she is a woman) and everything was taken in stride. When the junior officer asked to talk to Big Fish, she was pre-emptively so thankful {with hand on chest like a southern woman} she wasn’t trying to talk to her about Blart…because asking for help in regards to sexual harassment in the workplace, well  that shit is so tiresome. 

Apparently, their theories range from, well he is the odd man out {are we battling one social issue with another as a mode of defence? I think we are?},  so it would be taken as funny if they had said it….{I swear they read from the same “how not to manage” book plus it would still be sexual harassment} and when they talked to the junior officer and she said everything was alright, their relief was very transparent as they said Oh Phew, now we don’t even have to talk to him! 

I love when everything works out for the best.

The End of My Vocational Honeymoon

I moved to the Lego Department a few months back. That’s it. That was my vocational honeymoon. It is over now. I think I blinked. For these past few months, I wasn’t inspired to write. Sad in a way because it was a new goal and new coping mechanism. Great on the other hand because I didn’t need a coping mechanism. But I am back…and that is back to being sad. I missed you all {yes the seven of you} and hope you missed me too.

There is always one. You may start thinking I am the one. That is partly true. See, because I have such a goddamn problem seeing stupid shit and smelling bullshit and noticing how others don’t see, refuse to smell, or ignore the stupid shit, I always feel the need to show them that their eyesight {or auditory functions} may not be 20/20 and people seem to be sensitive af to hear that they can’t smell bullshit like I can. Everyone is living in a closet of denial so big it leads to fucking Narnia. 

I don’t know why I keep pointing it all out. It is WAY bigger than me. So my new colleagues are mostly men this time. I thought this would be better but apparently when there is a bestie/ bff situation, it doesn’t matter the genitalia. If the thunder buddies weren’t so fucking misogynistic mansplaining mofos, I would be looking for their vaginas. 

I work with Paul Blart, Mall Cop. Not Kevin James {that may be ok} but the Paul Blart persona …and still waiting for the happy ending where he floats away on his douche canoe. I am willing to buy the canoe. I am currently shopping Amazon, Kijijii and Etsy for lowest prices. 

Paul Blart {for the sake of the blog, that is his name from herein} is continuously being protected through complaints, arguments with colleagues/bosses {just the female ones} and sexual harassment while being excused as “we think he may have asperger’s.”Nope just a dickhead. Or “it is just his delivery” Nope, still just a dickhead. 
Apparently he is afraid of me. I don’t actually know why because I haven’t lived out my fantasy of smashing him with a chair, stabbing his eye out with a letter opener or anything. At some point, he became afraid of me but we will cover that next week. I just wanted to let you know what you are in for. You should thank me, because I was never warned!

When I first met Paul, he seemed nice enough but hey the first day isn’t the day the demons come out to play. Took the guy at least a week before he let his crazy out. We started at the Lego Department the same day. It took me zero minutes to figure out him and Fish’s bromance. Fish {as in Goldfish} is a nice guy deep down but so easily influenced by the last voice he heard. I am never that voice because I don’t smoke so those 10 times they go out for their 20 minute smoke breaks can cover alot of ground and wipe out all semblance of transparency for the non smokers. 

So our first day, Blart blurted out something that silenced the lunch table for a good thirty seconds and subsequently dispersed the patrons {who never ate together again btw}. When asked what his hours were going to be, he said 8 to 4:30. When everyone looked around puzzled because normally it is 8 to 4, he said “well I am the only one that seems to admit I take an hour lunch”. CRICKETS. 

See you next week in my saga…if the first day is any indication,  Paul Blart will be plentiful in fodder from here on. I am taking one for the team {NOT FUCKING ENTERTAINING FOR ME IN THE LEAST} but it is better to laugh than cry and I am here for y’all. 

Fucking Bye Felicia!!

You don’t even know how much I wanted to be able to write this post while I was in the thick of it. And yet, you may wonder why it took so damn long to say it!  Well, it goes like this….when you have finally escaped, you start to breathe normally again and all the coping mechanisms you needed to get through the tough times fall by the way side. You start skipping to places as a means of transportation because you are so fucking elated. 

Then you continue to work in other sections of the government and no matter the department, and it doesn’t take you long to become newly disenfranchised yet again. 

I so wish I could get Morgan Freeman to tell you this story…his voice could have made this out to be more interesting. 

It happened while I was on holiday, I checked my Facebook and saw that Felicia left work! Like left and wasn’t coming back. As in I was the only one still there and while on holiday, in the middle of the ocean, she was the only one there and she fucking left anyway. I couldn’t fucking believe it. I was so pissed!!! It took away so much from me that I wasn’t there to see her off. 

I was looking forward to that day so much. I knew that not only would this rob me of what I deserved but I knew it would rob my six or seven readers of a good goddamn story about how we got in a fight, how I yelled at her for 20 consecutive minutes in one breath, how I beat the shit out of her and exposed her for who she was. I got robbed. And so did you. 

She left rather unceremoniously {like nobody brought her out to lunch as is customary}, while I wasn’t there to see her off. When I got back from vacation, it was the busiest week at the Department of Basket Weaving I ever had because I was leaving for the Lego Department. 
I still hate the shit out of her for depriving me. Like I didn’t deserve something….an iced latte to her face….fuck I would take whatever I could get. I went along my merry way content in knowing I was free from her but still harbouring some seething resentment. Now all those possible scenarios had to take place in the theatre of my mind. 

Until it happened. Guys….it was a beautiful moment in history. Karma actually came through for me. Little ole me. I didn’t think Karma knew my name but that goddess came through for me like nobody else has before or since. It took four months but it happened and that is what is important here.

 Felicia called ME to complain to ME that she got a succeeded minus on her performance management agreement. Angels sung to me in that moment. I closed my eyes for fear I would see the light at the end of the tunnel cuz this couldn’t be real. Glorious angels. 

I was going to leave it at that but apparently my brain wants more. The bitch who gave me succeeded minus two years running felt that this circumstance were completely different enough to complain TO ME that she got a succeeded minus???!!! What the actual fuck??? She is clearly the most delusional narcissist in the world. So after all the wtf’s I threw around to everyone who would listen…..all that came to my mind was HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!!!

I guess that is the revenge I was unknowingly waiting for to be able to share the story with you. 
NARRATOR {Or Morgan Freeman…same thing} And Gigi finally got the recognition she deserved. She got a succeeded. No more, no less. Just recognition that she did her job well. No trophy needed. 

I’m baaaaaaaccckkk!

Hey all my seven or so readers! I am sorry I have been away so long. I actually moved from the Department of Basket weaving to the Lego Department. Therefore, I have not been as inspired to write as a mode of therapy. Good for me I guess right? Till today.

I promise I will give you the low down on saying Bye Felicia and vent about how I am not even close to where I am supposed to be but instead in an environment where I can be passive about my career track going off the rails.

Today, I am home from the Lego Department because a dear friend from the Department of Arts and Craft Supplies has ended his life. I am shocked but not entirely surprised and that breaks my heart. I have only made brief references to the Department of Arts and Crafts Supplies because it was such a soul sucking place to work that I found it too hard to put a funny twist to anything. It is rather more like a place that, once you escape, you feel survivors guilt. I had barely escaped myself  but today I have survivor`s guilt.

Let`s get this straight about mental illness…it is never just one thing…but that one last piece could be what topples their skyscraper of their tolerance and they don’t know how to even start to rebuild their foundation.

A few weeks ago, someone from the Lego Department that I had only met once committed suicide and I felt terrible for his family and friends. I didn’t know him but I empathized with his squad…and he himself who maybe didn’t realize he had a squad.

Last night, right before bed, I saw that a friend of mine had faded to black and I knew there would be no sleeps that night….Fit-bit said I slept for five hours but 67 minutes awake within that. I believe that. He didn’t survive the Department of Arts and Crafts Supplies.

This `kid`referred to me as his work mom. I was always looking out for him and sharing my snacks. LOL I guess that qualifies 😉 A friend called me this morning asking how I was and said she thought of me right away and I asked why in complete confusion. He was very well liked, I am not the only one crying in sorrow. She reminded me that I tried to help him, that I found him a referral for a psychologist and hooked him up with some help at work and had reached out to her for help on his behalf. Last night I was feeling so guilty for not helping enough. How could I forget that? I guess I blocked out those years, even though the effects of that workplace are instilled in me still to this day like a victim of domestic abuse.

He was fun, funny, smart, a general good guy….who finished last in that dog eat dog environment. Without a vindictive or manipulative bone in his body, he wasn’t made for Survivor Island. That is what it was like there. That place is likely responsible for over 20 legit cases of PTSD. True Story.

I have a few good memories that are swimming in my head right now, regular timmie runs, lunches and Festivus. And those were just the good times that we forced in when we could. I would just like to share one memory that stands out the most…. we were tasked to decorate our cubes for Xmas so our psycho in charge could look good that she allotted time for cheer. Forced cheer doesn’t sound as loud or jovial.

We all brought decorations from home and decorated. He didn’t bring any. As his work mom, I encouraged him to borrow some of mine so he wouldn’t get in shit.  He said he was on his way to pick up his decorations right now.  I watched him in curiosity as I kept decorating, and he came back with a sign that said Festivus. He taped it to the coat tree. I laughed so hard.

Fast forward to when we were told to take the decorations down (dismount was to be done on your own time as this would not affect the psycho’s performance bonus at all) and coworkers were saying he had to take his decoration down…he said oh but I don’t….Festivus is for the Rest of Us. I snickered in my cube as the others were confused and backed away. He was our George I guess….except funnier.

My apologies for the low level of sarcasm for humor. I am just not feeling it today.

I wonder how many public servants commit suicide in a year. I wonder why nobody noticed. Can we just not be dicks to others? I feel like that could be everyone’s contribution in the meantime.

RIP dude. You are missed.

If I don’t want you, nobody will!

It is kind of like If I can’t have you, nobody else will….except more manipulative and fucking weird. We were the perfect team. We covered for each other without expecting anything back or shoving it in their face. We truly took pride in our work and we operated a well oiled machine for 3 years. The only one that wasn’t impressed with her lot was Felicia. 

Then we all went our own way, one after the other and nothing has been the same since. We all had to escape. Felicia. Linette was the first that had to go. Felicia must have been practicing for a role as Dementor because she was sucking the soul out of her on a daily basis and before she gave her the kiss, I decided she had to go. She was a childless mother hen. She made me soup when I was sick…ask yourself this: how many coworkers have made you soup? It’s kind of a big deal. 

Felicia was the only demented supervisor I knew that didn’t want a great team that got along…she insisted on back stabbing, evil, manipulative treatment to be accepted in her group. It was Mean Girls 2.0.  The beauty was she couldn’t break us. We showed no fear. 

Once Felicia decided you didn’t serve her purpose or didn’t fit in her scheming….you were replaceable and toute de suite too! She didn’t miss a day of torture till you left either. She made you wanna run out of there like the place was on fire. She messed with her pay {not obvious where she could get caught and held accountable…but rather in a way that made you doubt your own motives instead of hers}, she ignored her, she yelled at her and she made fun of her. And that was all in one day. But then there was like 60 more days of that shit for sensitive Linette. 

My under cover letter and resume writing worked and soon Linette was leaving. Felicia wasted no time in telling her how excited she was that she was leaving….{you know happy for you kinda way!}  All of a sudden, Felicia started talking to Linette again. She didn’t plan a going away party for her as is customary….we did. Felicia was a no show. 
When Linette arrived at her new department holding all her future promise in her arms like a pie {she made me a lot of food}, she was getting the silent treatment. She didn’t get it, and neither did I. She was a lady close to retirement age who just wanted to work without the bullshit.

While Felicia showed how happy she was with Linette again, she was simultaneously prepping Linette’s  unwelcome wagon backstage. It took about a week or two where she was miserable yet again and this time in an unfamiliar place without soup. The curse must have been lifted because all of a sudden, they decided to talk to Linette and enjoy her desserts {damn them}. Turns out Felicia thought she would warn them of the merchandise they were getting. They thankfully broke away from the herd to see the stories didn’t jive {plus it is hard to think anything bad about someone while eating their food}.  

Imagine their surprise when Linette showed so much capability, integrity and work ethic. Turns out she wasn’t “a retarded manipulative moron” {that’s an oxyMORON}.

She got to say Bye Felicia and she lived happily ever after! 

Paruresis Paralysis

Paruresis is the fear of urinating in public bathrooms. I understand that this is an odd start but the whole story is odd. I am going on the assumption that my bosses all have this affliction….otherwise the word to describe them would be much harsher.

I am an adult…you may have noticed from my vocabulary {or not ;-p} and I have mastered the tell tale signs of when I have to stop everything I am doing to go to the bathroom. I do have bathrooms issues {in that I go often and I am not always my most productive after I have had dairy} however, I do know when to head over to the nearest facility. {I’m a BIG GIRL now!!}. 

There are times at work that my biological breaks have caused others great distress. You can see it on their face and hear it in the voice as it is getting higher pitched when they ask where I am and why I am not at my desk. IT is SHEER panic I tell you. I can hear it as I strain to hurry up. Have you tried to push out poop when it isn’t ready, you have had an iced capp too many AND haven’t pooped already in two days? It is like dragging your toddler out of the house with one shoe on and trailing them behind you because they won’t walk and you have to catch the bus and for a second you have to contemplate whether you should leave them. The bathroom equivalent is that you stand up to fool yourself into being done but you know you aren’t…..that’s when you decide not to ditch. It translates to the impossible. 

It doesn’t matter who is on the other side of that door when you can’t poop. It doesn’t matter that they had an appointment with you five minutes ago and the whole department of Basket Weaving is on high alert…you can’t leave the toilet. You are fully in. The fact that your director calls your supervisor at home because they can’t reach you and you have an appointment but you left all your mobile devices on the desk {which I have been told was against the rules but who the hell am I going to answer while on the toilet? NOBODY because I am sure that NOBODY wants me to answer and hear the indistinguishable echo that can only happen in the bathroom}; does not have any “bearing” on you tucking everything back in and getting out. 

I know that paruresis is the fear of urinating but I wasn’t about to tell them what I was doing simply to find them a better neurosis with a fancier name. 
I continued on my day {because going to the bathroom is not nearly as frightening to me as it is to them} and took my appointment, and was at my desk to have my manager come and ask me the same question repeatedly but funny enough not the one that she should have asked….the question that would have yielded the result to end the entire debate. WHERE WERE YOU? Those three words would have, in my mind, ended whatever debate the three of them were having but instead, they assumed the lady was angry, left and came back {I wouldn’t have know that right??} and if she was going to complain and that my supervisor wasn’t allowed to work from home anymore. HAHAHA apparently she couldn’t control her staff when she worked from home. It was mayhem….not the kind of mayhem I like to ensue but enough that restrictions got tighter. 

Days fell away and eventually it was another colleague that had to go. {smh did she not learn from the chaos I had created by”going”.} Sure enough, she also wasn’t a big fan of bringing her devices to the bathroom. I am glad I am not alone in that….or the next call to Statefarm may get awkward. So, she went to the bathroom but not the one in our immediate area. Why….well because sitting 10 feet away you can hear everything that happens in there. Don’t blame her…that wasn’t my preferred stall. {Another particularity about me is I choose my stall pretty early on in the relationship with any work place}. So panic stricken; my manager asked me where Molly was. Her face was indescrible but let me try: Harry Potter’s face when the dementors come for him, oooh or his cousin Dudley’s face after that same attack. {Yeah, I think that description did my manager justice}. Not to make fun, but she looked fearful….not even a slight exaggeration. 

And of course, me being so helpful….I told her that Molly was in the bathroom. She raced the ten steps and TRIED THE BATHROOM DOOR!!! OH YES she did!!!! But it was open, which meant Molly wasn’t in there!!! When she turned with a look of deceipt on her face, I quickly qualified my answer by saying “no, the one out of the unit”. Sure enough, Molly turned the corner back into the unit and all was well again. Our manager was still red in the face and out of breath. 
See folks, it must be a VERY GRAVE case of paruresis that makes our entire management team fear for us down to their core to react like that everytime nature calls one of their employees.If it isn’t that……

It’s not you, it’s me.

It’s that time of year again. This time of year gives me major anxiety. It hasn’t always….but the last two years have depleted me. You know when you are going about your days, stuck in a rut but really it is still comfortable, familiar, comforting routine and you are ok with how things are progressing. You are ok; only because you have no idea the other person is looking around, not happy with your input into the relationship but hasn’t told you shit so you could change it. You’re all merry go rounds, cotton candy and concerts in a warm sepia glow while they are all black and white. 

It goes something like this. 

Felicia: Gigi, you have to know that things haven’t been going well. 

Gigi: uhhh what?   {as flashbacks come through your head of full happy days, sure some where chaotic but nothing you couldn’t handle}

Felicia: Well I don’t think you are putting your all into this. You haven’t been in a while. Actually it is obvious you don’t want to be here and frankly I wish you weren’t either. I could replace you anytime you know, so if you want to look elsewhere, that would be ok. 

Gigi: Uhhh what? I thought everything was good. I thought I was doing well. I didn’t know anyone was unhappy with me. {keep in mind, it wasn’t a walk in the park for me either. Most times I wanted to take a long walk off a short pier}. I really don’t understand what is happening. 

Felicia: You don’t exhibit any of the behavior you should be at your level. 

{Oh did you think Felicia was dumping me here…..nope. This is my Performance Management Appraisal….this is how it goes…for me}. Let’s continue, shall we?

Gigi: What behavior should I be displaying? 

Felicia: For instance….you go on the internet during work hours….therefore you are not using The Department of Basket Weaving’s assets responsibly. 

Gigi: Just so we are clear…..all those times, you sent me links of funny memes, houses you wanted to buy and other shit you liked….you were on the net but when I clicked on the stupid link, I wasnt’t using  assets responsibly?  
Felicia: I really wish you wouldn’t take it like that. 

Gigi: {How the fuck am I supposed to take it? Was I not being set up to fail right there?} 

Felicia: Also, you are behind in your work. {oh you mean all that backlog I kept telling you about that your lazy ass wouldn’t help us with} Sorry….we are going to have to give you another succeeded minus. 

Yes folks….another. Two years running. Just to break it down for you, succeeded minus is a step away from “this moron can’t do shit for herself….you may have to follow her to the bathroom so she doesn’t decorate the walls”. I didn’t get told that I was skating on such thin ice. There wasn’t even a danger sign. For a whole year, I was walking around, minding my own business and thinking I was handling my shit. Had I known I was fucked either way….I would have seriously done it up!!!! I mean come on….gonna get blamed for it…may as well have the fun. I seriously got cheated. 

I have really good feelings about this year. Then again….I am always the last to know.
The lesson today is…report card time is NEVER over!!!!! Except this time, the person evaluating you isn’t always the smarter one! {Pretty sure that makes it worse} 

He’s just not that into me.

I have alot of different coping mechanisms in my mental health tool box. I have to or I wouldn’t have made it this far. It is hard work to get to work with enough stamina to argue with the micro managing Mussolini and the average moron in public when you are so exhausted from arguing with your brain for twenty minutes in the morning. I tend to lose my edge when I used all my best one-liners on myself!

I have been told many times from my doctors that I am very high functioning bipolar. Yeah, ok….if high functioning means being in a different mood every four hours, when every slight against you feels like an attack that warrants the troops be called  [in my mind only….gawd…pay attention], crying all the way to work….ok not lately…but it has happened or forgetting my password within ten minutes every goddamn day….then call me Einstein. 

I do think that having my current psychiatrist is definitely a tool in the mental tool box. I have the fortune to be very self aware and can calm myself down through self talk [between the one liners and the self talk…I am quite parched] and that helps. I honed this skill with this doctor specifically. My last one used to yell at me that I was going to lose my job every time I went…..yo um….not helpful jackass {but he was a pharmaceutical genius!}
I have been seeing him for awhile now. He makes me feel validated for the most part [which is impressive since my appointment happens to fall in PMS week]. He listens, he laughs [with me!] he questions, he directs and he gives me something to think about. 

Imagine my surprise when at my last appointment, he tried to dump me! 

He doesn’t think I need him anymore [what’s with men needing to feel needed] and I instantly felt panic. WTF! He can’t dump me! I do need him! He thinks I am so high functioning that I don’t need to go anymore, I think I am high functioning because I go. Is it the chicken or the egg? 

I should have seen the signs….it went from monthly “dates” to every 3 months. He was trying to ween me!! I don’t bloody think so buddy! I mean who else is solid enough that they won’t call the cops when you continually fantasize about beating someone with a chair. [You know, I often wonder about the integrity of the chair and if it will perform and how much damage I would do to the offending party and then I start analyzing the cost to benefit ratio. But then I saw my dream come to life!!! Ok, it was an episode of Scandal. And it was glorious!} There are obvious signs of fear followed closely by flight when you try to bring up chair beatings in casual conversation. 

So, thanks to him….this blog was born. See; he keeps giving and giving. I need to get it out somehow or someone will get a chair to the face. I won’t say who [because it is an extensive list] but there are top contenders. 

All that to say, I convinced him to hold on for awhile longer. I need to get some training wheels on this tool box!  

[Sorry, this blog wasn’t funny. It was kind of devestating  to find out he just isn’t into me, thanks for asking] 

One of these things isn’t like the others.

I did go in front of the Grand Firing Squad today. Well one of them. One is still to come. It was a colossal fail. So big in fact that I wouldn’t have given me the job. 

So the comedy of errors began when I made my hubby woke me up to take a shower {it was a decent attempt}.  Who am I kidding? I am a strict night time shower person for obvious reasons {in case they aren’t as blaringly obvious as I thought…it is because I put a higher rank on sleeping than personal hygeine…thanks for making me spell that out}. Now I am wearing a power suit while feeling icky on the inside. 

I am prepared. I always think I am prepared. I am as ready as I will ever be. Except that I am not. I never really am. The older you get, the harder it is to study just fyi. I am surprisingly pretty good with the exams. This was not an exam….I had to actually talk to people. Um no thanks…should have sat this one out. 

I get there, uber early because that never helps anyway and I find out that this place is ultra paranoid. It is the Department of Craft Ideas. They will not let you have your phone or camera or anything because they think you will take pics and upload them to Pinterest and now everyone is doing it before they show them how. Can’t have that. I was proud that I left my phone back at work and listened to the rules so carefully. Except I forgot about my  electronic security blanket; my e-reader. DAMMIT. Now I have to entrust them to lock it up for me. Do they not know I can’t take pics with a Kobo?  Of course, I don’t trust them and I long for the connection to three hundred books locked five feet away from me that I grip the key in my hand….my diplomas in the other. 

Someone comes to get me and goes to shake my hand because the poor fool has no idea how awkward I am…having just met me. I can’t stab him with the key in my hand so I attempt to transfer it over to the other hand while he is extending his….hitting my folder and making it tumble to the ground. Now I am frazzled. I should have just got my book back and left, no harm done. 

But I continued on this farce that I was going to do well because I was prepared. HAHAHA. So he sets me up in a room to prepare for the interview with questions. Despite his suggestion of sitting in one seat, I sit in the one across…and stare at him questioningly when he asks if I don’t want to sit in the chair he seems to clearly have an odd attachment to. Seems that some of the answers were on promotional posters on the wall BEHIND me….well they wouldn’t have helped me in my future downfall anyway because that was the one true answer I had. My mind blanked for the rest.  
An hour and 10 questions later, I was led into the room with the GFS. They each seemed nice and open…till I opened my mouth and all the wrong answers came shooting out without control. There was no room for the words I needed to say or the ones that they wanted to hear so I apparently just shoved the words anywhere.  I was a paraphrasing pidgeon when they were expecting a parrot that would repeat those goddamn key words. 

Omg!!! I just made a sickening parallel; in this equation….I am George W. Bush in a world of Barack Obamas. NO! Don’t even say what you are thinking…I am purposefully being irrelvant in my comparisons! I told you, I am normally intelligent. {We are giving G.W.B the benefit of the doubt in these trying times}. 

See the thing is…I freeze. My anxiety gets the best of me and my stomach churns and spews out all these thoughts that are in all the wrong order {this is my lack of oral communication they keep referring to}. Thought I am fairly intelligent,  I don’t think like other people. I expect better tricks from my dogs than my brain can do. This is probably the biggest way the cognitive byproducts of my mental illness gets in my way at work. It is like a boulder I can’t move. There are four people in the room who are speaking in perfect sentences….and then there  is me. One of these isn’t like the others. I can’t seem to get ahead because I can’t convince anyone that I can do anything….much less speak. I need a risk taker!!! 

There are people who can walk in and command the room doing a mic drop before they leave. They have no problems anticipating what is expected and do it without a hitch. My mind is like the biggest pile of laundry you have ever seen and there are all the colors in that one pile, and you have to go sort through this pile for that one shirt that isn’t that dirty anyway {before you think I don’t wash myself or my clothes…this is just a good analogy and nothing else…my hubby is very on top of the laundry business in my house}. There is no rhyme or reason to anything up there and once I need my shirt out of the pile….the matching pants is a whole other issue. I can’t find those now….I may find them later when I don’t need them….but now I have already jumbled up my message and nothing makes sense. 
Needless to say, I just blurt out whatever else will end this interview faster and I am pretty sure I audibly said “thank god” when they said it was the last question…I got escorted back to the comfort of my book but not without asking awkward questions on the way out like “how do you listen to music in this place without your phones”. I finished my day at Tim Horton’s where I ended up throwing change at the barista and ran out with my iced capp. That was my mic drop.