No, not the peanut butter!

I am not at all a religious person, but I do feel strongly about the Golden Rule--treating others kindly, even when they are not so nice to me.

Besides that, I’m pretty laid-back and I don’t usually let other people’s attitudes bother me too much. Life’s just too short for drama.

But.

About seven weeks ago, my company hired a middle-aged guy who I will henceforth refer to as Skippy. I actually do refer to him as Skippy when talking about him with my other coworkers.

Skippy is educated—he’s got a business degree and a law degree—and appears to be likeable enough. He was hired to do some forensic accounting here, and other odd jobs. One other thing: turns out that he’s the nephew of one of our clients. ‘Nuff said, right?

At work, I attempt to be amiable and charming and helpful, especially with recently-hired coworkers, since it’s never fun being the new guy. But after only four or so days of working closely with Skippy, it became evident that my congeniality would be tested mightily.

He’s fucking annoying. Seriously, people. He’s not dumb, and he’s not mean. He just annoys the ever-loving shit out of me.

First of all, as we all do here, he has his own private office, waaaaaay on the other side of our suite from my office. Unless he needs to specifically see someone on my end of the office, there’s no real reason for him to even be over here. Yet, from Week One of his tenure here, he began making rounds of the suite.

That, in and of itself, wouldn’t be so bad. Yes, I understand that occasionally you do need to give your eyes a break from your computer monitor and to stretch your legs.

What pisses me off is that he actually stops in the doorway of my office and cranes his neck, as if trying to determine what exactly I’m up to. That’s just plain nosy, and I detest nosiness. And he does it EVERY DAY, multiple times a day.

After about a week of enduring these ad-hoc check-ins, during which I stared, unflinching, at my computer screen, I tersely inquired, “Can I help you?” while he stood in my office doorway.

He shrugged and said in his goofy way, “Just taking a little walk around. You know, you gotta break every once in a while from that desk!”

“I wish I had the time for that,” I replied in an icy tone. The implication, of course, was that I was swamped and that he should take a hike.

But that leads to another reason that he pisses me off…the guy doesn’t know how to take a hint!

No matter how furiously I begin typing when I see him approaching my office as though I am completely engrossed in composing an important email message, no matter how quickly I pick up the receiver of my telephone and conduct a completely one-sided conversation with the dial tone in the hopes that he will leave me the hell alone...HE JUST STANDS THERE. Dumbly.

It makes me look bad! His timing is so impeccable; my boss just happens to catch him lollygagging in or near my office on a regular basis, and I’m afraid she thinks that I’m encouraging this behavior.

Finally, he’s one of those people who think he’s just so cute and funny. And he’s neither. He is constantly impressed with himself. He tries to joke around with me but I just allow myself a tight smile, not wanting to egg him on any further.

The thing that bothers me is how bothered I am by his presence and how UNLIKE me that is. I strongly disliked this guy from nearly Day One, and I usually get along with everyone. There’s just something about him that makes me want to vault over my desk and lunge for his throat whenever he stops by my office. If he were coming to me for genuine work-related issues, I totally wouldn’t have a problem with him. But I’m just way too freaking busy here to socialize. And truthfully, I only socialize with those whom I actually enjoy spending time.

And then I feel a bit guilty, because it’s not like the guy’s a genuine jerk or a child molester or anything. He’s just annoying as hell. I kind of berate myself for not trying harder to be nice to him. Although I actually tried that approach early on and learned that it doesn’t satisfy his need for attention (or whatever it is he’s looking for); it simply encourages him to continue being obnoxious and to seek more attention. Frankly, whenever I try to be nice to him, a little part of me dies inside.

The only thing that makes me feel a little better about all of this is that I am not the only one here who cannot tolerate him. If I were the only one who felt this way, then I could admit that the problem was likely within me and really had nothing to do with him personally. One of those “point your finger and three fingers point back at you” deals. But pretty much everyone here thinks he’s overbearing and aggravating. I almost pity him.

So for now, I just try to ignore him and keep our interactions to a minimum. I’m sure he thinks I’m a total bitch, but I can live with that. Small price to pay for my sanity.

Labels: bitching, opinions, sheer idiocy, sheer insanity, work

After receiving an onslaught of sub-par resumes and cover letters for our administrative assistant job opening, I now know exactly how the judges of American Idol must feel during auditions. Today, I’m feeling a little more Simon Cowell-ish than I am den-mother Paula. These resumes have been absolutely dreadful.

I am a complete grammar/punctuation snob and I’m not afraid to admit it. Or shout it. Or bellow it from the mountaintops. And I am here to tell you that, sad but true, many people do judge you on your writing abilities, especially if that’s the only impression that is available to them.

Here are my basic suggestions on how to make a good first impression when sending correspondence to apply for a job:

-Use spell-check. This is a given. There’s just no excuse for sending professional correspondence without using it.

-Beyond spell-check, try to remember the difference between “it’s” and “its,” “there” and “their,” etc. If you don’t trust yourself to differentiate between these and similar homonyms, maybe you should ask someone who has more than a third-grade education to review your correspondence for you prior to sending it.

-Punctuation! I received an email this morning with a cover letter that read:

Hi My name is Illiterate Schmuck and I am interested in this position I am sending you my resume the best way to reach me is by cell phone 610-xxx-xxxx

Keep in mind that we posted an ad for an administrative assistant, and one of the main functions of the job is to send correspondence to our existing and prospective clients. Why would we want to entrust that task to someone who seems to have no idea when to use the most basic punctuation mark?!?!

-Lastly, what exactly does your email address tell the world about you? If it’s something like Hotmonkeylove69, thuglife4eva, or KKKnUSA, perhaps you should take a moment to create another free email account through Gmail, Yahoo! or Hotmail that is a little less...errr, loaded.

Speaking from personal experience, when I receive a resume from an email address of Windowlicker22470, it goes straight into my Trash folder. Don’t let this happen to your C.V. Instead, create a secondary email account that simply contains some combination of your initials and numbers, which you can use exclusively for professional correspondence.

How to improve your writing if you feel it’s lacking? Very simple!

1. Go to your local public library.
2. Find these two books: The Elements of Style by Strunk and White, and Eats, Shoots and Leaves by Lynn Truss.
3. Absorb the information from these books and start applying it to your daily correspondence.

You’re welcome!

Labels: bitching, books, education, opinions, sheer idiocy, technology, work

Our firm has begun a search for an administrative assistant, and I am the lucky soul who gets to screen the resumes that are emailed to us. I posted the job listing on Craigslist not even twenty-four hours ago, and already I’ve been cured of any latent desire I might have had for HR as a possible career option.

Do people actually think about what they’re saying before they send these emails?

Do they actually proofread what they've written and not just rely on spell-check to ensure their messages make sense?

My favorite response thus far came to me just before noon today. In the posting, I had clearly spelled out my full name, first and last, and my email address listed in the posting also contains my full last name. This latest reply chopped half of my last name right off in the salutation!

The kicker was that, in the cover message, this candidate bragged about her "close attention to detail.”

Delete.

Labels: bitching, sheer idiocy, technology, work

Just got back from the penultimate show of this Foo tour.

Unfortunately, I got COLD BUSTED at the door with my Nikon (man, is ANYTHING going my way lately???). So I had to turn around and take it back to the car. Damn.

The show was okay but I think they're just tired! Their last show is tomorrow night at the Meadowlands. Dave's voice is sounding worn down.

I do have a teensy bit of good news, though: in true stalker form, I sat outside the stage door of the venue this afternoon for almost three hours, waiting for the guys to come to soundcheck. The Huz was with me almost the entire time (thanks honey! You're the BEST!).

At around 3:30 p.m., two tricked-out tour buses pull up right next to us. Dave and Chris pop out of the first one and go straight into the arena. Didn't even look in our direction--and there were only about seven fans standing around outside.

Nate, Pat Smear, Rami Jaffee, and Taylor hopped out of the second bus. I yelled hello to each of them, and they posed for a picture for me! Taylor was especially nice.

I also got a picture of me and Sean Cox, their guitar tech. Very cool guy!

Here's the sucky part: later in the afternoon, I accidentally deleted the GREAT picture of Pat and Rami. I am so pissed at myself!

I still have a nice shot of Taylor smiling for the camera, and two shots of Mr. Grumpy--er, Grohl--making a beeline for the stage door.

I'll post the shots in the next day or two when I get home. My inlaws claim to have high-speed internet here, but I suspect otherwise. Plus, their mouse is pretty much shot and that is seriously aggravating me now. I can't work under these conditions! /diva rant

Labels: bad news, concerts, family, Foo Fighters, good news, marriage, music, pictures, sheer idiocy, sheer insanity, travel

Hibiscus on my deck.

Sigh...back to work in eight hours.

Oh yeah. I nearly broke my hand this afternoon. As it is, I bruised it very badly, which I think is sometimes worse than a fracture. Some of the skin on the top of my hand completely peeled away, too. Gross!

The cause of it is so stupid that I don't even want to mention it, but let's just say it involved a very sweaty and devious Huz chasing me around the house, in his underwear.

Good times.

Labels: bad news, health, marriage, Philly burbs, pictures, sheer idiocy

I hate the Philadelphia airport.

Whatever happened to the glamour and romance of air travel in Philadelphia? It seems like every other airport I’ve been in (including Newark!) is a cleaner, more efficient place. Our airport reminds me of a third-world Greyhound bus terminal. The facilities are always crowded and filthy, the dining options are less than appetizing, and the employees are surly and incompetent.

Let me give you my latest example of the Philadelphia TSA employees’ incompetence. We arrived at PHL on Thursday morning to fly to Fort Myers. The security lines weren’t actually too long, which pleasantly surprised me. As we approached the x-ray machine, I removed my shoes, sunglasses, and hoodie, took my laptop out of my backpack, and placed everything in the gray bins to be scanned.

As soon as I stepped through the metal detector (which I passed though with no problem), one of the TSA employees who obviously suffered from a Napoleon complex asked me to step away from the line.

I glanced over at The Huz and rolled my eyes.

Little Napoleon said he needed to “test” my shoes.

I shrugged. Testing for what, I have no idea. Anthrax? Gunpowder? Who knows?

Then he asked me if there were any sharp objects in my purse.

“No,” I replied. “Go ahead and look.”

He started rifling through my purse and, seconds later, confiscated my Chapstick (which is a solid, not a liquid).

I wanted to ask what the problem was with having Chapstick in my purse, but I knew that if I opened my mouth, my problem with authority would’ve become immediately evident and things would’ve gone south from there. So I remained silent.

Then he took my $20 freaking MAC Viva Glam V Lipglass from me! I have gone through countless security lines in airports across the country, including PHL, and never once have gotten any problems with lipgloss!

This is just how my luck works, people. My most expensive (and favorite) lipgloss gets taken from me. But it gets better.

Little Napoleon gave me the option of returning to the end of the line and going through security again, this time putting the Chapstick and lipgloss in a clear ziplock baggie for scanning. I looked back at the line, which had grown exponentially longer than before, and I declined.

Fuming, I put my shoes back on, shoved my laptop into my backpack, put my hoodie back on, and headed with The Huz for our gate.

We stopped in the restrooms on the way to the gate, and it was then that I realized that Little Napoleon and his idiotic TSA cohorts had failed to identify and confiscate an enormous box of matches in the front pouch of my backpack. Obviously I couldn’t be trusted with expensive cosmetics, but a potential source of fire? No problem!

Dipshits.

Labels: bitching, Illadelph, opinions, sheer idiocy, travel

It’s a damn good thing that I don’t carry a gun while I’m in the car. You guys would wind up hearing or reading about me on the news, mowing down a bunch of incompetent drivers.

I find it very easy to slip into “road-rage” mode. It’s something I have to consciously work at preventing most of the time when I drive, which is a shame, because I love to drive—even when I have no particular destination. I’ve always loved the feeling of freedom I get while zipping down the road with my music blasting in my ears.

But there are SO MANY bad drivers out there with me. Women in huge-ass SUVs and have absolutely no idea to maneuver them--sorry, ladies, but it's true.

People who talk incessantly on their cellphones or Bluetooths while they’re driving.

People who don’t use turn signals (oh, that’s right—I’m clairvoyant!).

Perhaps the most teeth-grindingly irritating people I encounter regularly on the roads are the sheep drivers. That term (coined by me at this very moment!) refers to people who just drive blindly, following everyone else without thinking or questioning, and who lack any sort of common sense.

There were a bunch of them on the road just this morning, in fact. Today, the weather in the Philly area is pretty crappy; we’ve gotten battered for the past twenty-four hours first by snow, then freezing rain, then rain. The temperatures have been low, so all of the precipitation has frozen on the streets. Consequently, most schools in my area were closed for the day. If you were to turn on the TV or radio even for a minute this morning, every local media outlet trumpeted the school closings.

But the flashing yellow school-zone lights outside the schools were running anyway, since they are on a timer during the morning rush-hour.

For my non-American readers, those flashing lights mean that drivers must slow their speed to 15 mph in a designated area along a road in front of a school. There’s also usually an adult who volunteers as a crossing-guard in the general vicinity, giving all drivers the old stink-eye if they don’t comply with the speed limit. Some of the crossing guards even hold a pad of paper and pen to take down the license plate numbers of those drivers who fail to slow down.

Anyway, the whole school-zone speed limit thing is a totally pointless law in my mind, since most children in the suburbs take buses to school and are dropped off right at the doors of the building. It’s not like there are ever any children frolicking about on the sidewalk next to the road. When I drive past those schools in the morning, I never even lay eyes on a single child! But I digress…that’s another rant of mine for another post.

On my daily commute, I have to (unfortunately) pass through three different school zones. And every single person in front of me this morning, WITHOUT FAIL, slowed down to 15 mph through all three zones, despite the fact that all three schools were clearly closed—no signs of human activity in any of the darkened buildings, not a single vehicle in any of the parking lots. But the yellow lights were a-flashin’, so. They. Must. Obey.

Sheep, I’m telling ya! No common sense or critical thinking skills whatsoever.

Damn, that pisses me off.

Labels: bitching, opinions, Philly burbs, sheer idiocy, winter

Am I the only person around here who is endlessly amused by video footage of people falling down?

Comic gold!

Labels: funny stuff, sheer idiocy, technology

So we're going up to New York for Christmas, as we do every other year, to visit The Huz's family. His aunt usually hosts a party on Christmas Eve.

The Huz has just informed me that this year, she requested that everyone bring a useless gag gift for some kind of silly Pollyanna. Something that's laying around the house, something that we don't want.

Am I alone in thinking that these types of things are a complete waste?

Or do you believe that one person's trash is truly another person's treasure?

In previous years, she did a real Pollyanna in which each person brought a brand-new gift under $20. I don't know why we're not doing that again this year.

I'm a little irritated now. As a rule, gag gifts annoy me. I think they're tacky.

Labels: bitching, family, holidays, opinions, sheer idiocy

On a shallow (VERY shallow) note:

Britney Spears' kid sister and Nickelodeon actress Jamie Lynn Spears is pregnant.

She's 16 years old.

Well done.

Labels: bad news, celebrities, sheer idiocy