Asshole of the Day

PR Professors

Chosen by Buhster again...

Why didn't you warn us? Where were the big red flags? Why didn't you tell us it'd be like...this? Sure, we knew our jobs wouldn't be easy and that every career comes with its ups and its downs. But does every job come with this amount of ass-kissing? With this amount of ball-less-ness of our superiors? With this amount of churn and burn with no regard to logic or good strategy?

Miss Misc and I are currently in a career crisis. So please...tell us...does anybody out there actually like their job? Does anybody out there actually believe in what they're doing and believe that it truly makes a difference? People always say that your job shouldn't be everything, but the fact remains that we spend the vast majority of our time each week at work. So what do you do when you realize the career you've chosen for yourself...the one you've spent thousands upon thousands of dollars getting a degree for...is pure crap?

Miscellaneousness abounds. And it just landed on my head and took a big shit.

Asshole of the Day as Chosen by Buhster...

The Middleman

Sadly, I am the asshole of the day. I just spent the last three days serving as the middleman in between my boss and this vendor that she doesn't want to deal with herself. So I had the displeasure of having her tell me to tell him things that she wanted in her contract only to have him tell me to relay to her an issue with the contract and to ask her more questions that I couldn't answer myself...at which point, my boss got very angry and told me to tell him that she said she feels like he's trying to bully us into signing a contract a month earlier.

The worst part about it is that the reason I'm obliging is because I'm too tired to fight anymore. And that makes me the asshole of the day.

Self-Inflicted Miscellaneousness

This weekend I had a temporary lapse of sanity. Friday night I was attempting to maintain my mysteriousness with trainer boy (based on the advice of Coco and Buhster) and I succeeded, until he dropped me off and mentioned that there was parking in front of my building. This is it I thought, reel him in. So I offer another meal, he accepts and 2hrs later he's passed out on my couch while I finish watching Transformers. I am quite pleased with myself.

Fast forward to Saturday morning when he's waking up in my bed (sigh, nothing happened, I swear). Fast forward to Saturday night when he's knocking on my door at 2am...keep pressing that button and it's 10am Sunday morning and I'm rubbing on his Money Over Bitches tattoo and convincing him that we don't know each other well enough to have sex.

I know I know, I said I wanted to hit that and have him retake my virginity, but if you know me at all, you know I talk a lot of shit. As I watched him scarf down 5 whole wheat pancakes like he hadn't eaten in days, I wondered, "how in the hell did I get myself into this situation?"

This my friends, is a classic case of self-inflicted miscellaneousness. This all could have been avoided very easily if I'd kept my mouth shut and hormones in check. I thought I could outsmart miscellaneousness, but that is just about impossible. I guess that makes me a miscellaneour for causing my own drama.

So today I found myself on the way to the gym, coming up with strategery for how I was going to act like I didn't know what my trainer's boxers looked like. And not to mention that extreme paranoia that comes when you did something your ass didnt have no business doing and you think everyone is watching you. Sigh, where's my miscellaneousness shield when I need it?

Can Someone Please Tell Me What Color My Fucking Parachute Is?

I need to know what the meaning of life is before I fucking off myself. It was seriously one of those days, where you first get mad at your situation, then you break into hysterical laughter, then you get kind of sad and shit, all within the course of 3.5 minutes. I hate my job. I think I've been able to establish this, but today was a whole new level of bullshit:

1. I received an email forward from one of my 15 bosses from our client. There was a small edit to one of our documents...a very small edit. In fact, the edit was to please remove a misplaced period.
So let me get this fucking straight: you need us to remove a period. You typed a 50 word e-mail to describe the location of the period, instead of pressing the delete button. Sigh, okay, the client is always right. But what's my fucking boss' excuse for replying to the client and forwarding a note to me to make the change. That just amounted to 3 fucking e-mails to remove a period.

2. I received an email forward from Pseudo Boss asking me to find out the location and time of a meeting for our client. Seems normal, until you take into account the following facts:
-As an underling, I have no client contact and therefore no contacts to ask these questions
- The fucking meeting in question is at the client's company...in San Francisco. So she probably has to walk down the hall and isn't sure where to go. This is the equivalent of walking into McDonald's and asking them to call Burger King to price out a Whopper. You want me to find out what's going on at your company instead of you, gee using your own admin or e-mailing one of your colleagues, or maybe fucking asking one of them while you're both in the kitchen heating up streudel.

I need to know the fucking color of my parachute and I need to know NOW.

Chili: The way into a man's pants and other weekend highlights

Before ya'll get all excited, no, I did not get some this weekend. However, I did discover that no man can turn down a bowl of homemade chili. I was able to successfully coerce my non-beef, non-pork, non-white sugar, non-white flour eating personal trainer over to my place for a bowl of chili, some cornbread and some sweet tea. Thus breaking just about every one of his dietary rules.

Regretfully, he was a total gentleman and it was a totally innocent evening. I sent him home with lunch in my good Tupperware and hopefully a good impression. Friends, when the spandex didn't work, I had to break out the big guns. Anyways, allow me to leave you with other tales from my oh-so interesting life:

Cream in my coffee: I do declare that I was flirting with a white guy at the grocery store this weekend...and it wasn't so bad. I've obviously been hanging around Ms. Coco too much. He's actually kind of a cutie, has a body (he goes to my gym) and apparently likes to chat up girls in the dairy aisle.

Ready...set...hike hike: On the #6 bus when I look over and see a cute little old man in his Bears jersey carrying a football. It was all good until he started to run plays...alone...on Michigan Ave. He even ran up to the bus and I seriously think he was about to throw the ball through the window.

Entrepreneurship at its best: Still on the #6 bus, when I look over and see a man selling food out of a box. Ummm, a homeless man, selling expired, unwrapped, lightly used food, out of a box. I wonder if he had any takers. Hey, you can't blame him for getting his hustle on.

100-60=40: Goddammit, despite all my hard work I once again wound up getting chased down the street by an old man. There's something about me in a sweat suit with no make-up that really riles the fellas up. So this guy, who I had a 1 minute conversation with on the bus last week, spotted me and chased me down the street until I decided to stop and hear him out. He proceeded to give me the digits, then asked me how old I was. When I told him he seemed relieved since I apparently look a lot younger. Ummm, if that's the case, shouldn't you have asked me before you gave me your number? If I was 16 instead of 26 would you have taken pause? For some reason I doubt it. He then proceeded to have me guess his age and was proud to announce he was 40. SIGH. Asshole. But I may get a free lunch out of him, just for the fun of it.

So what did you do this weekend?

Asshole of the Day

Sneak-a-peek guy

I'm serious about my health, I try to hit the gym five times a week. I've even hired a personal trainer (who has the body of a god and who I'd love to take my virginity...er, reborn virginity, but that is another post.) Anyways, it can be quite hard to work out when you feel eyes boring through your shirt, down your sports bra and up your shorts. It got so bad tonight that my trainer laid a towel across my butt during one of the exercises and was like "damn girl, these guys in here are trying to sneak a peek."


Fellas, thanks for trying to give me a gynecological exam from 10 feet away, that's very nice of you to think about my cervical health. But I'd appreciate it if you'd keep your eyes straight forward and concentrate on your form...and not mine.

Dude, this ain't no fucking .25 peep show. Avert the eyes asshole.