I have a customer who has been with me for many years, so many that I know when he will need a job done before he ever says anything. With this in mind, I drop him a line and say hey, will you be needing this soon? Of course he does, and the deadline is several weeks away, so there's plenty of time.
One week to deadline, I remind him to send me the materials to get his brochures drawn up. Of course of course, will get them off tomorrow.
One day to deadline, I am still tapping my fucking foot. Generally he gets me the shit for his fliers and brochures about 12 hours before they're due at the printer. This really pisses me off to no end.
Last month he waited until 2 hours before deadline to get me the materials, and 90 days after due date to get me payment.
Next deadline is the 19th. I'm tacking a fucking $75 emergency charge to this bill and by god I'm going to start adding late fees. I am tired of this shit. Why do I have to hold these bastards hands? They're adults for christs sake. Do they want me to come to their home and pat them on the back while they get their shit together? But don't you know he'd bitch a blue streak if I couldn't get this done by deadline. If it were not for the egotistical pride I have in being able to design this shit at the drop of a hat, I'd miss a deadline and then invite him to ream my ass for not getting his copy to print on time. He'd be missing a cheek after I got done with him.
I thought I quit babysitting when I was 12.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Needy clingy fucks are not Nice
I fucking hate guys who describe themselves as "Nice Guy". Whenever I see that, I know that what he really means is he is needy and clingy and will drive me up the fucking wall, and then when I finally try to peel him off my leg, he'll cry and say "girls only want ASSHOLES, not nice guys!"
I've got a clue by 4 for all the self professed Nice Guy™ types.
If you have to TELL me you're nice, you're not.
I don't want a nice guy dammit. I want a GOOD guy. I don't want the guy who is desperately seeking his soul mate, I want the one who is happy with his life and has his own interests, but would be interested in meeting someone fun to see what happens next. I want the guy who is supportive of my hobbies without trying to become fully involved, and who appreciates the fact that I don't want to be 100% involved in every little thing he does either.
Without fail, every Nice Guy™ I've gone out with has been a pain in the ass.
Nice Guy™ "Please come over tonight"
Star "I can't, I've got explosive diarrhea and can't stop puking"
Nice Guy™ "But I NEED you I want to BE with you PLEASE come!"
Star "Did you hear me? I'm spraying out both ends. I'm sick"
Nice Guy™ "Don't you want to be with me? I love you! Ok I'll come over"
Star "No I'm sick and I don't want company now and we just met 2 days ago anyway"
Nice Guy™ "But WHYYYYYY NOOOOOOT??"
Star "Fuck off"
for the record, I'm dating a Good Guy now, and he's fuckin awesome
I've got a clue by 4 for all the self professed Nice Guy™ types.
If you have to TELL me you're nice, you're not.
I don't want a nice guy dammit. I want a GOOD guy. I don't want the guy who is desperately seeking his soul mate, I want the one who is happy with his life and has his own interests, but would be interested in meeting someone fun to see what happens next. I want the guy who is supportive of my hobbies without trying to become fully involved, and who appreciates the fact that I don't want to be 100% involved in every little thing he does either.
Without fail, every Nice Guy™ I've gone out with has been a pain in the ass.
Nice Guy™ "Please come over tonight"
Star "I can't, I've got explosive diarrhea and can't stop puking"
Nice Guy™ "But I NEED you I want to BE with you PLEASE come!"
Star "Did you hear me? I'm spraying out both ends. I'm sick"
Nice Guy™ "Don't you want to be with me? I love you! Ok I'll come over"
Star "No I'm sick and I don't want company now and we just met 2 days ago anyway"
Nice Guy™ "But WHYYYYYY NOOOOOOT??"
Star "Fuck off"
for the record, I'm dating a Good Guy now, and he's fuckin awesome
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Snap your neck like a chicken I could
We relocated just in time for me to begin 6th grade in a very wealthy suburb and in a school filled with the spoilt spawn of the nuevo riche. To make matters worse, my parents did not believe in fashion, nor did they understand that appearance can make or break you in the social circles. I showed up to school dressed in my brother's handmedowns, during an era where if it weren't Polo, Klein, or Members Only, well you just weren't fit to live. The resident popular kids quickly made it their mission in life to teach me that particular rule of life. I'll spare you the boring details, but they could teach a trick or two to the military in terms of utterly destroying the enemy without laying a finger on them.
My mother always taught me to turn the other cheek when people were mean to me. I tried that for a few years but the truth is that children don't recognize forgiveness as anything more than a sign of weakness. Ignore the bully, and he'll start to smell the blood and circle in for the kill. My parents were useless. Mom insisted I was making it up, or overreacting. I couldn't expect any help from my dad. If he wasn't beating the shit out of me for some imagined infraction, he was nowhere to be found.
I spent much of my 7th grade year hiding in the bathroom hoping no one would find me, or else racing up and down the stairs to work up a sweat and appear flushed, so that I could convince the school nurse I was sick and get sent home. Every day it was more of the same, endless humiliation and abuse heaped on me from the popular girls. The boys were mean too but girls particularly revel in destroying those at the bottom. I couldn't do anything, say anything, wear anything, without them gleefully ripping it to pieces, reminding me at every opportunity that I was stupid, ugly, fat, worthless, and why didn't I just kill myself already? I'd be doing my parents a favor after all.
I still remember your names too bitches. Don't think you're off the hook yet.
In 8th grade, I decided this turning the other cheek thing was bullshit. I didn't see how detention or even suspension could be any worse than what these hags were putting me through. This realization came to me while standing in line waiting for the bell to let us out of class. I felt something hit me in the butt, and heard the girls behind me giggling. I tried to ignore it, but it happened several more times. They were literally kicking me in the ass. I was chewing my lip to hamburger trying to stay calm about it, but I knew that once I got out of that room, the tables were about to turn.
I wasn't really a fat kid but I was bigger than the other girls. I rode my bike all the time and my thighs were muscled up pretty heavy. At 5'2" and 125 I could bench 100 pounds easily. Basically I was the Fresian in a stable full of Arabians. I'd long suspected I could take them all out with one punch but until that point hadn't had the guts to find out. As the bell rang, I sucked up my balls and got ready to find out.
As soon as I cleared the corner, I spun around and reached out for the first throat I could catch. It belonged to Amy, a stick thin cheerleader who, although far from the ringleader, was certainly high up in the ranks. With one hand I picked her up by her neck and slammed her into the lockers, and then held her there, studying her terrified face coldly. Options ran through my mind as the other girls started squealing and a crowd began to gather. I knew I could beat the shit out of her easily. I wondered how cute a broken nose would go with her pom poms. As I relished these visions, a darker truth sunk in. No matter how badly I beat the little bitch, no one would say, oh she had it coming. No, they'd all turn on me as some psychotic bitch. The school would point it's accusing finger at me, as if I had attacked unprovoked. No one would believe that pretty, popular Amy had done anything to deserve the pitch I was about to swing. My parents would tell me I overreacted, that 3 years of torment did not justify my shaking the little bitch like a rag doll. They'd have me sent to a psychiatric ward and medicated, claiming I was a "problem child".
I leaned in close to Amy's face, listening to the gasps as she tried to breathe through my squeezing hand, her feet still dangling off the ground. Softly, so no one else could hear, I whispered in her ear "I could snap your neck like a chicken you hateful bitch. Think about that next time you think about making fun of me." Then I dropped her to the ground and walked away.
Amy never made fun of me again. When her friends would start up their shit, she would back away. I always assumed she told them what I said, because if I made a move towards them, they would always reconsider and head off in another direction.
That taught me a valuable lesson. Predators don't care if you forgive them, or show them kindness. Either grow a spine or go home. Word spread fast that Star wasn't going to tolerate shit any longer, and the girls went off to find weaker targets for their constant bullying. When I moved up to 9th grade and a different school, the abuse was pretty much over.
My mother always taught me to turn the other cheek when people were mean to me. I tried that for a few years but the truth is that children don't recognize forgiveness as anything more than a sign of weakness. Ignore the bully, and he'll start to smell the blood and circle in for the kill. My parents were useless. Mom insisted I was making it up, or overreacting. I couldn't expect any help from my dad. If he wasn't beating the shit out of me for some imagined infraction, he was nowhere to be found.
I spent much of my 7th grade year hiding in the bathroom hoping no one would find me, or else racing up and down the stairs to work up a sweat and appear flushed, so that I could convince the school nurse I was sick and get sent home. Every day it was more of the same, endless humiliation and abuse heaped on me from the popular girls. The boys were mean too but girls particularly revel in destroying those at the bottom. I couldn't do anything, say anything, wear anything, without them gleefully ripping it to pieces, reminding me at every opportunity that I was stupid, ugly, fat, worthless, and why didn't I just kill myself already? I'd be doing my parents a favor after all.
I still remember your names too bitches. Don't think you're off the hook yet.
In 8th grade, I decided this turning the other cheek thing was bullshit. I didn't see how detention or even suspension could be any worse than what these hags were putting me through. This realization came to me while standing in line waiting for the bell to let us out of class. I felt something hit me in the butt, and heard the girls behind me giggling. I tried to ignore it, but it happened several more times. They were literally kicking me in the ass. I was chewing my lip to hamburger trying to stay calm about it, but I knew that once I got out of that room, the tables were about to turn.
I wasn't really a fat kid but I was bigger than the other girls. I rode my bike all the time and my thighs were muscled up pretty heavy. At 5'2" and 125 I could bench 100 pounds easily. Basically I was the Fresian in a stable full of Arabians. I'd long suspected I could take them all out with one punch but until that point hadn't had the guts to find out. As the bell rang, I sucked up my balls and got ready to find out.
As soon as I cleared the corner, I spun around and reached out for the first throat I could catch. It belonged to Amy, a stick thin cheerleader who, although far from the ringleader, was certainly high up in the ranks. With one hand I picked her up by her neck and slammed her into the lockers, and then held her there, studying her terrified face coldly. Options ran through my mind as the other girls started squealing and a crowd began to gather. I knew I could beat the shit out of her easily. I wondered how cute a broken nose would go with her pom poms. As I relished these visions, a darker truth sunk in. No matter how badly I beat the little bitch, no one would say, oh she had it coming. No, they'd all turn on me as some psychotic bitch. The school would point it's accusing finger at me, as if I had attacked unprovoked. No one would believe that pretty, popular Amy had done anything to deserve the pitch I was about to swing. My parents would tell me I overreacted, that 3 years of torment did not justify my shaking the little bitch like a rag doll. They'd have me sent to a psychiatric ward and medicated, claiming I was a "problem child".
I leaned in close to Amy's face, listening to the gasps as she tried to breathe through my squeezing hand, her feet still dangling off the ground. Softly, so no one else could hear, I whispered in her ear "I could snap your neck like a chicken you hateful bitch. Think about that next time you think about making fun of me." Then I dropped her to the ground and walked away.
Amy never made fun of me again. When her friends would start up their shit, she would back away. I always assumed she told them what I said, because if I made a move towards them, they would always reconsider and head off in another direction.
That taught me a valuable lesson. Predators don't care if you forgive them, or show them kindness. Either grow a spine or go home. Word spread fast that Star wasn't going to tolerate shit any longer, and the girls went off to find weaker targets for their constant bullying. When I moved up to 9th grade and a different school, the abuse was pretty much over.
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