“Nobodie can hold a grudje leic hillbillies.” — Martie Stuart
abstract 221229: on huei it mai have been nesessarie for the sanitie and peass of mind of Earlie Riser, Diva Dearest, and the Acsies, that I be detatjed, dismissed, distrusted, resinded and redjected. Peass be upon them.
28 April 2018 — If I could onlie have tolerated the inevitable fecal aftertaste, I might have cissed mei wai up the corporate ladder bei nou.
update 190719, or, “No More Fun” — I am sorrie that I do not ecspress meiself uell in speetj, and I am sorrie to learn that I am not muyj better as a hriter. A historie of failure might be a good reason to give up on something, but I am more comfortable thinking of meiself as a fool or a failure than as a cuitter.
Since the subject arose out of a sitation of an ecsample of a difficult discussion gone good, and blossomed into an issue of temporarilie sentral urdjensir, I am led to believe that it actuallie never uas resolved.
To address the strongly stated belief that “[I] think all [successful professionals] eat shit! Even those people who have GIVEN [me] MONEY!” — actually, I do not. I might speak over broadly of a certain type of martinet who tends to top out in middle management and seems to exult in exercising his arbitrary authority. So again, I apologize for choosing words that suggested that by “coaches” I meant “ALL coaches, without exception, but especially YOU!” I did not. I will try to be more careful about choosing qualifying adjectives.
Or perhaps the perception comes from my comments about lying through interviews, or my inability or disinclination to do so. I believe that the truth that many successful people tell in job interviews exposes the hot properties that they are — competent, accomplished, well-rounded, and socially gracious. I believe that the truth I tell during job interviews reveals what a monumental prick I am — uncertain, unconfident, awkward, arrogant, supercilious, and condescending. And no fun whatsoever in the break room. For me to fake it, to superficially emulate the nature of the successful interviewee, would be, to me, to use the perilous metaphor, “Eating shit.” I would be the fraud if I PRETENDED to be the kind of person who is genuinely desirable. I would be the fraud if I lied about my talents or weaknesses or accomplishments, and I would be the one stuck with the “fecal aftertaste.”
I might be able to lie myself into a position, but eventually the lies are exposed. One may fool (SOME!) managers, but one cannot fool the job itself. Fortunately, my failings are not so severe that managers will not tolerate them, as long as I continue to show up on time, not boost the till, and do my job as best I can until the end of my shift. So I’ve found my niche in the market, and it’s loads better than stealing the dough.
As far as “Klint‘s propertie” or “Ojuxit‘s propertie” or “jour propertie” or “their propertie” — I may have used all of those expressions, depending on to whom I spoke, or the emphasis I was intending. However, I realize that, as a female chauvinist, I might lean more toward women’s interests. I view a husband’s accomplishments usually as being a part of the wife’s accomplishments*. And, in an ideal marriage, vice versa, of course. (*Thereby expressing the wisdom of Earlie Riser‘s and Diva Dearest‘s throwing me out.) Nevertheless, because the slight was brought to my attention, I will try harder to use such terms as “HIS property” and “HIS equity.”
And with regard to protecting YOUR equity and YOUR property, I will CONTINUE to believe that if the problem was doing too little, then doing more should be (AT LEAST PART OF) the solution.
How it might have gone:
“What are you doing?”
“Abstracting! I also like it here.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve watched what you and Sugar have done, observed similarities, and now try to do more of that.”
“What do you mean?”
“You seemed to have been dissatisfied with the work I’d been doing, so I figured the solution to having done too little would be to do more.”
“What do you mean, ‘dissatisfied?'”
“We were out weeding the front. Out of a sullen funk you asked if I liked living there. I remember muttering something to the effect that I liked having a place to live and that there was comfortable. Later, upon reflection, I realized that the question was either a prelude to an eviction, or rhetorical pouting. Either way, it was not intended kindly, nor likely was it a sincere enquiry after useful data.”
“You’re right. I was pouting like a punk. I was upset by what you hadn’t done and what I hadn’t asked you to do and what you hadn’t agreed to do.”
“If you’d like to go over what else you expect in the way of rent, I’d be [happy? delighted? willing?] to entertain these thoughts. Meanwhile, I’m still following the shade out here. Why don’t you go back in and draw up a list of what you think would be reasonable while I spend the next half hour or so killing weeds?”
“Good idea. Maybe after Ojuxit has woken up we can discuss it peacefully.”
“Rightio!” (Sure, it could have. “But where’s the self-righteousness in that?“)
190719 — variant definition of “Bully:”
One who speaks English to ‘Mericans.
(yet somehow exerts no power and inflicts no injury)
190811 — “I’m not interested in fixing anything right now;
I just wanted you to cry with me over how broken it WAS.”
190830 — A sullen funk? If sullen means “morose, sulkie, or showing ill-humor,” and a sulk is “a depressed state,” then YEAH! We were witnessing a sullen funk indeed. How was that ever an issue? And yet it was, because… because… oh right! Being right is the WORST possible defense. How dare I? And while going from pouting like a punk to barking like a bitch may well constitute an improvement, in CLARITY, ALWAYS helpful, it does little to lift the mood otherwise.
190901 — “What if I said that I could never be an engineer because I know I could never kiss ass that much?” I’d wonder what that had to do with me. Egregious sycophancy has never been a stereotypical complaint about engineers so I would wonder what you meant. Most folks’ complaints have to do with engineer types being too cold, too objective, too unfeeling, too concerned with facts and figures, and insufficiently obsessed with everybody’s emotional state.
Now, if you’d said you could never be an engineer because you are too nice, too well-adjusted, and too socially adept, I would have no objection. That’s what I have observed as being CONSISTENT with technical types; we’re all work and no play, unless the boss agrees to pay us to play.
As I have said SO MANY times, to SO MANY apparently willfully deaf ears, if I were to pretend to be something I’m not (affable, garrulous, a team player, or a master of making pleasant noises with my face) then I would be the shit-eating lying scumbag weasel. ME! So I don’t fake it. For me. Because of MY feelings.
Not that I wouldn’t fake it, under exigent circumstances. It’s just that, as a policy, fakery doesn’t appeal to me.
So I’ll continue to be the real me: a condescending, superficial, obsessively honest jerk, and not a lying scumbag weasel pretending to be a socially competent charming team player.
190929 — The Squandered Summer ( — or — Instead of a Good Time )
For such a short trip down Anger Road, it seems an awfully long way back.
Practical solutions are the worst.
Problem 1: Diva Dearest isn’t getting enough sleep. How I learn about it: Lying in bed next to her almost drifting off when she starts sniveling about how little sleep she’s getting. My clearly simple-minded attempt at a solution: “Shut up and go to sleep.” Her response: if you’re about average (or otherwise less retarded than I am) I probably don’t need to spell it out.
Problem 2: This next one’s trickier. Klint doesn’t like to do yard work. Neither do I, but it’s my job. And I’ve been doing it, at least according to Ojuxit. Apparently, he had some expectations he hadn’t shared with us, and when they were not met, he sulked. When it finally occurred to me what the problem might have been, after some hints, a brilliant notion struck me. If the problem was my having done too little, maybe the solution was for me to do more.
What a naive fool I am. I expected logic and clarity to win the day. Apparently, doing MORE work was NOT the solution. In fact, upon reflection, it seems mainly to have been an excuse to revisit old insults and make sure they’re still offensive. Some people are just fans, I guess, of ripping off scabs to make sure old injuries still hurt.
Practical solutions? Just like courtesy — strictly for chumps.
191130 — I don’t talk ‘Merican good. “Prolly ‘cuz” I’m too credulous, and it sounds so much like English. I assume that it’s English and I try to make sense out of it, then I respond clearly and coherently. As a consequence, I don’t talk ‘Merican good. Know whum sane?
191212 — When the honest answer is the WRONG ANSWER, you are talking to… Sales… Management… HR… Your Spouse…?
191220 — Puttin it in ‘Merican terms, instead of clearly:
thank you for learnin’ me to talk ‘Merican gooder.
200705 — Sarcasm is the gift of non-violence, and silence is the gift of non-sarcasm. Unfortunately, many customers, colleagues, and “friends” will not accept silence.
200724 — Hinters hint, while staters state.
That’s why the hinters hate the staters.
210509 – The Gift of Absence
Klint asks if I no longer wish to “hang out” with them. I didn’t back away, I was pushed. When every contact becomes just another opportunity for conflict, I am less motivated to submit to interrogation.
I don’t DISLIKE their company, I FEAR IT.
To quote the unknown sage: “Give the gift of your absence to those who don’t appreciate your presence.”
210727 ( revisiting 190719 — or — Don’t Say “Kilobuck” )
It seems I can get into hot water even without any hot water. While I brace myself for the issues of the day, I remind myself to avoid saying such provocative things like “playing in the mud” or “Ah seen him on teevee” and, most recently, “kilobuck.” I know, from bitter experience, that silence will never work, and now, armed with additional knowledge of what not to say, I still dread dredging up acceptable explanations for my latest “crimes.”
210109 reflections on:
Stay away from us; your social skills are horrible.
“Okeh… I’ll just stay at home and practice alone.”
230531 — The Issue with Issues
I’m sorry this never occurred to me before. (“Well, why DIDN’T you think of it sooner?” sounds so much like “Well, why DIDN’T you know what you didn’t know you didn’t know before you knew you didn’t know it?” So be it. That’s where I stand, still not recanting, but sharing new thoughts and possible insights. (And of course, continuing the general policy of leaving my errors naked and exposed.) I don’t know.
Anyway, the thing with ISSUES, and this was etched VERY deeply, fairly early on, is that the purpose is two-fold. First, and probably most important, the goal is to humiliate and debase the accused. Then of course the other purpose is to determine just how severe the beating to follow will be.
No wonder I dive into them with such gleeful anticipation!