Men are jerks.
Quick clarification: Not all men are jerks. A handful of the ones I work with sure set the bar at a new level. I’m not saying all the men I work with act in a chauvinistic, pig-like manner. That description doesn’t even cover half the crap that they pull.
The real sickening part? They think its funny, and they get away with it. When I call them out on their crap, I’m given a rather bold title. I’m pretty sure you can figure out what it is. It starts with a capital B and ends in -itch. They don’t call me this special name to my face, but I know they utter it to each other behind my back.
All because I refuse to put up their crap.
Let’s whisper about her. Not too loud so everyone can hear, but just enough so she hears and knows we’re talking about her. And while we’re whispering about her, make sure we’re making fun of her for something, like how she wants a Star Wars tattoo or how she’s clearly not intelligent enough to understand the edits made on a menu.
My favorite? When one of them constantly makes his statements sexual. Now, there’s an art to his tactics. He doesn’t come right out and say something nasty to you. But he’ll make a comment about how he likes my skirt, and maybe it should be a bit shorter. Here’s the kicker…he then gives you the smolder with his eyes, and his gives his most charming smile.
It might melt your heart the first couple of times you see it, but get to know him. He’s not worth it.
I especially like it when he openly gives you the up-down with his eyes, then gives you a look that says “oh yeah, I like what I see. You and me? In bed now.”
Although, at least when I get reaction out of him concerning my appearance, I know its him reacting genuinely. He may be driven by his testosterone-heavy body parts, but at least he’s honest.
Best part of the whole deal? At least one of them is going to read this very post. I’m sure I’ll receive a text, tweet, or hear another round of whispering because of it.
I don’t care, boys. You’re high school level antics annoy me more than anything else.
By the way, it’s slightly disgusting to know that when a girl applies here for a job, you check her out on Facebook and base whether you’d hire her or not based solely on her looks. Maybe that’s what you did when I applied to our place of work, but seriously?
How shallow can you be?
“You have my approval.” *PFT* Good heavens….
Yeah, I’m aware that things could be said about me concerning both of you. To that, I simply shrug my shoulders. Whatever. It’s all in the past, and I have moved on. If you haven’t, you probably should.
There’s a lot more I could say here, but I’m going to hold my tongue. God only knows the type of things you’ll pull at work to get back at me. This is the thing, we need to be able to at least be civil to each other at work. I might not be able to stand either of you being next to me, but I’m going to respect you…until you start acting like a dumb shit.
If anything else, I should thank you. I thank you for reinforcing my decision to be on my own for a while because I know there are way more scum bags out there than gentlemen. If I happen to catch one of their eyes, I’ll let him sweep me off my feet.
Until that happens, men should probably keep a distance.
“Oh, Christ. I couldn’t care less. I can’t say I’m overwhelmed with surprise. I’m eighty-eight years old and they can’t give the Nobel to someone’s who’s dead, so I think they were probably thinking they’d probably better give it to me now before I’ve popped off.”
Those are the words of Doris Lessing, who is the oldest writer to receive literature’s top prize. You know, the one called the Nobel.
I’ve taken on a new endeavor. A screenplay, and I’ve made huge progress on it. Add that on top of the novel I started back in my first year at the Academy. I’m determined to finish is before I walk across that graduation stage.
There’s just too much happening in my life artistically! It’s very exciting, and daunting at the same time, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Other than dealing with the boys when I got to work, my day has been sort of rough. The nastiest sore throat you could think of has taken over my healthy one. Talking hurts. Swallowing food or drink is near impossible. A coughing fit takes over my body every ten minutes or so. I keep drinking hot tea, but even that hasn’t offered much relief.
My dance showcases this week….why must this happen now.Why must this always happen?! It never fails. Some higher power insists on testing my dedication in performing the week of.If I’m not throwing up, losing weight, or beyond exhaustion…it’s a sore throat.
At least I’m only dancing, and not speaking through this performance.
This throat is killing me. Maybe I just need a shot of vodka to quiet it down for the night. If I can’t sleep tonight, I will cry and I already cried myself to sleep once this week. Really, I should never have to do that, but it happens.
How I’m still going today is a mystery. With my throat feeling like it’s on fire non-stop, and nearly passing out from dizziness in both tennis and dance class this afternoon, how am I still here at work, all cheery and laughing and able to hate on most of my male coworkers?
I was up and at the Academy by 7:00 am for a dance rehearsal.Yup…a dance rehearsal. Quite the superstar choreographer, if I do say so myself. For their dedication to the early hours, I rewarded my dancers with a smorgasbord of breakfast foods to get them going for the day.
Needless to say, I had to deal with a few surly attitudes, and with my throat acting up already at that point, I may have been the choreographer from hell this morning.
Eh. It’s a title I can live with.
I’m not too sure how I’m still going. The Force offers strength when you least expect it.
Or it’s because I’m a student of the Academy, and am used to never having a full night’s sleep.
Sleeping like a baby tonight, I will be.
Although, I do feel like a writer, sitting here with ambient noise in the background, a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea next to my laptop, and words just flowing out of my fingertips.
Stay healthy out there, my fellow Jedi. It’s a strange weather world out there, fooling us into thinking its warmer than it actually is. I’m falling for spring, and about to be dumped by snow fall.
May the Force be with you.