natanp_net: Why do you sometimes use an asterisk when you curse and other times don’t?
I have no idea. When I started this blog I wanted to be family friendly, considering my main intention was to promote my books and my future literary fame. But I guess I just got carried away. I didn’t even realize I was inconsistent until you asked that. I checked my post from yesterday and was like whoops, I’ll have to reregister as ‘unsuitable for work’ on stumbleupon.
fyremuncher: Do you think marajuanna should be legal?
I think I do. I don’t know that I understand much about the danger of black market weed, though. In a conversation yesterday, Rich (read: devil’s advocate) said weed could be sprayed with something dangerous or not be weed at all. I can’t imagine why anyone would go through the trouble–it makes sense to cut cocaine or something to beef up quantity, but marijuana? There doesn’t seem to be much of a point. But maybe some people do, and for that reason sure, I think it should be legal. I’m not sure if it’s a ‘gateway’ drug. I think that some people tend to peer over the cliff’s edge more than others, so they’ll do worse stuff anyway. Do I think it would be nice to go to a coffee shop and light up a joint with some friends? No. Because if I get high I want to be on my own couch with a bucket of french fries and seven diet cokes.
Ashley from Warren, NY: Will you go to prom with me?
Yes. But you have to pay for the plane ticket and I will be wearing flip flops.
blackbee164: I want to be an artist, but my dad thinks it’s ridiculous. Do you write fultime?
I really wish I did. But no matter what job I have I’m writing in my head full-time, so I guess that’s something.
My parents are super supportive, but they’ve had a hard time with me. I SUCK at working.
Let me clarify: I’m good at the job. Except for my last stint at a hotel, I’ve rocked most every position I’ve had. I learn quickly, I’m not scared to get my hands dirty, and I’m excellent with customized customer service. I treat every interaction like it’s the only one happening, and I’m more than happy to stand on my head to make things work. My problem is with management.
From the bottom of my heart, I don’t mean to battle authority. I approach every probationary 90 days with a shit-eating grin and surety that this will be the beginning of a meaningful career. I do what I’m told and I genuinely like it. But…
…I’m very incapable of dealing with managerial bullshit. Meetings, training manuals, employee appreciation… uuuuuuggggghhhh I’m going to vomit just writing about it. I can’t swallow taking three hours away from production to discuss something that could’ve been communicated in an email. Or needing ten signatures to fix a problem I can fix myself. That, and having a fatal allergy to punctuality, puts a cavernous dent in my highway to professional success.
I’d love to be a briefcase-toting career woman. Nothing would make my father happier, him being a mogul of the hotel industry and maker of somethings out of nothings. Since the beginning of time he’s instructed me to ‘play the game’. He’s completely right, I’m just completely bad at it.
When my last company was taken over by a soul-sucking cretin who’s only purpose was to restock the roster with lower-paid employees, I couldn’t shut the f*ck up. All I had to do was smile, nod, agree to ‘ping’ a supervisor when I needed to use the restroom, and accept my 40% paycut like a slippery d*** up the a**, but I lost it. I challenged it with thinly veiled accusations, lit a retaliatory fire under my coworkers, then got the hell out of dodge. Should I have waited until I’d found another job? Of course. But when I’m done, I’m done, and nobody gives a shit anyway.
Whenever I meet a customer service rep that has evident pride in his company, I compliment both him and his manager out the wazoo. Because I haven’t found a manager yet that really gets the client. Just my dad.
Speaking of him, here’s an excerpt from his last email to me:
Fantasy and reality are opposing forces, but imagination and reality are not in opposition: Imagination goes toward reality, shapes and evokes it.
So I don’t look good in a skirt suit. But I did inherit his funky gene.