Dear Renters of Office Space Near Me,
How are you?
No, wait, don't answer that. I know exactly how you are (along with how many bowel movements you have, your favorite cheese, and the name of your grandfather's Proctologist), because you blab it in every open space near my office suite; the hallways, the bathrooms, the lobbies, the weight room... it's enough to make me want to pour Ex-Lax in your water cooler.
The last I checked, the following apply to you:
1. You have your own office.
2. You have access to cash with which to buy candy, and a bowl to put it in.
3. You have your own cell phone.
4. You have the ability to put your makeup on while parked as well as while driving.
I fail, then, to understand why you insist on plaguing me with your constant jibber-jabbering annoyances. There are over 100 different tenants in this office park; the least you can do is stick to some common courtesies.
However, since I am a conscientious Co-Inhabitant of Office Land, I have brainstormed a (brief) list of solutions.
1. Stop conducting business (or referencing your "biiiiidness") in the common areas of the office park.
(The lobby of our building, while generic and outdated, is a bright, open area where many of the tenants like to take their breaks, stretch their legs, and escape from office politics for a little while. Why, then, do you insist on conducting business calls in our Safe Place?! I have lost count of how many times I've been taking a breather or calming myself down over some new drama, when someone comes stomping in to the lobby, swearing on and on about the latest batch of financial reports.
This, Oh Ruiner of Times Enjoyable, is what my brain then runs through:
1. Oh JEEBUS, they're annoying.
2. Wait... did he just say "actuarial"?
3. Oh, shityshityshitshit, I haven't booked ____'s hotel room, and he's giving his presentation on Friday!
4. No! Friday is our executive meeting!! I haven't run financials or done the blanket approvals for AP/AR, and it's already 4:00!
5. WHY AM I NOT BACK AT MY DESK SLAVING AWAY?!?!
6. Ooh, a penny...!
This doesn't just extend to business calls - calls that you could be making IN YOUR OFFICE... the one you're paying RENT for - but to personal or side-business as well. For the 70th time, I do not want to buy Avon, host a Tupperwear party, join the La Leche League of Bellevue, co-sponsor your child's (likely crappy) soccer team, volunteer at Little People's Anonymous, or help you pick out scrapbook designs.)
2. Stop pretending to stop by to chat when your entire focus is on my candy dish.
(Don't make it dirty. Now... here's where you're really running into a problem: I'm a (part)Jewish girl, who happens to handle our organization's finances, and who also happens to have a 1.5 year old at home. Do you know what that means, Oh Eater of My Edible Excellencies? I can be the stingiest penny-counter you have ever met. Do you then think it wise to 'stop by for a quick chat' in order to consume handful after handful of the candy I just bought for our office and legitimate visitors? If so, keep eating... I've left a niiiice piece of strychnine in there for you.)
3. Instead of telling your coworker the details of last night's diarrhea marathon while walking down the hallway, up your text message allotment on your cell phone and take that route instead.
(Just this morning, I walked in to the Women's bathroom on the second floor of the 'B' building. Both stalls were occupied... but that didn't kill the conversation going on inside, nope. Two women were conducting verbal comparisons of the color of urine they had produced. Please, stop and contemplate what walking in on that conversation was like for me.
...
..
.
Just STOP IT!)
4. Repeat after me: "Drive... park... then apply mascara."
(Your boss would rather you show up alive and well (hooray, productivity!) than hobbling and bleeding (hooray, Krystal's temper!). I promise. You know what else I promise, Oh Swerver of the SUV? I promise that the next time I come grill-to-grill with your car in the parking lot because you didn't want to wait the 35 seconds it would take to park before applying your layers of makeup, I will not swerve out of your way. You'll get a to buy me a new car, and I'll never let you forget it. I mean, really... how good of a job are you going to do on your makeup if you're having the ever-so-inconvenient responsibility of operating a two-ton motor vehicle anyway? I'm just looking out for you.)
All-in-all, I'd say this was a very therapeutic letter. I was able to get things off my chest and, if you were to read this, you would (of course) take all of my suggestions to heart and magically transform yourself into the Considerate Examples of Professional Neighbors that I know you have inside of you.
In all honesty, this is one of the nicest places - location and building-wise - I've ever had the privilege to work out of... second only to the Port of Seattle (but, really, who can compete with a saltwater stream running the length of the ground floor... or being on a pier in Seattle, with a view of the Blue Angels as they fly by... or being only 5 minutes from Pike Place... or - ah! Ok. Sorry...). I guess what I'm trying to say is that everyone has contributed to making this a safe, well-maintained place to work, and that is something I seriously appreciate.
Now, stop cat-calling to all the construction men outside. You're making it increasingly difficult for me to lure one back to my office.
See you in the bathroom,
Krystal
Showing posts with label text. Show all posts
Showing posts with label text. Show all posts
Friday, July 2, 2010
Friday, June 11, 2010
Teenagers of Little Sense (Pt. 1)
Dear Teenagers of the 21st Century,
OMG, wtf is wrng wit u?
Whether it is your obvious lack of clothing practicality, your blatant disregard for personal hygiene, or your selfishly manic desire for the newest and best of everything you can get your hands on, I'm just plain tired of you whippersnappers and your idiocy.
The last I checked, the following apply to you:
1. "Eighteen" is still a "teen"
2. Chat-speak is not a language offered in school
3. Respecting your elders = getting to live
4. Hormones are a part of life... not the POINT of it.
I fail, then, to understand why you are so extremely annoying. Here, I'll put it to you in the form of an "if/then" SAT question: "If THE WORLD IS DOING YOU A FAVOR BY LETTING YOU CONTINUE TO EXIST, then the following must also be true: A) YOU SHOULD PROBABLY KISS THE GROUND THE ADULTS WALK ON, B) YOU SHOULD STOP DRESSING LIKE A HOBO, C) YOU SHOULD THINK ABOUT SOMEONE WHO ISN'T YOU, or D) All of the above."
Guess which is the correct answer.
However, since I, too, was once an Annoying Mass of Adolescent Angst (hard to believe, I know), I have brainstormed a (brief) list of solutions.
1. Until you are able to support yourself fully, just admit that you need your parents or other adults in your lives.
(Forgive me for failing to notice the cruel torture of having a place to live, free of charge. How could I have overlooked the depravity of having clothes provided to you, also free, and in the correct size and gender class. And, oh, let me not forget the food; how dare your parents or caregivers provide you with all of the meals, snacks, in-betweens-ies, and drinks that your exponentially morphing bodies need to survive and thrive. Seriously, GET A HOLD OF YOURSELVES! Ignoring the fact that it isn't cool to bitch and complain about how horrible your parents are (because, really, what does that accomplish?), it's just plain stupid. Do you honestly want them to never feed, clothe, or house you again?)
2. Unless your goal is to work at McDonald's when you're 40, stop incorporating chat-speak into your daily vocabulary.
(Dear, Sweet, Youth of America... you are quickly becoming the most unintelligent generation to ever gangsta-walk on this earth. It's one thing to send your friends a quick 'OMG', 'LOL', 'u r gr8' - filled text message in between class, but it becomes another thing entirely when I hear chat-speak come flying out of your mouth in an actual conversation. With a human. In the real world. I know we've all been taught that "it's what's on the inside that counts", but when the words you're using sound like a stroke victim attempting to spell their name, well, no one is going to care about what's on the inside. You may think you have a winning personality and enough charm/luck/money/intelligence to get you far in life, but the second a potential boss hears you bust out with "I saved the company over $3.2 million by catching a sales mistake last year and, OMG, let me tell you, Mr. Douchehammer, I was ROTFLOL," you're outta there.)
3. If you swear, glare, or "holla" at me on the bus one more time, I will drop you.
(I use profanity on a near regular basis, I admit it. The leg-up I have on you, however, comes from using it either accidentally/unconsciously (aka - spontaneously), or using it to emphasize a point I am trying to make. When you start dropping f-bombs like the conversation is an Iraqi war zone, you sound... well, like a teenager. And teenagers can sound preeeetty stupid. You do the math. Oh, and what's with the glaring, Oh Sulky of the Attitude Clan? When my only possible offense is breathing, I don't see how that earns you doing your best Mr. T impression at me from across the bus/room/store/city. Finally, I am way too old for your pimply, pubescent ass. If you really want a chick who digs much younger men, look up "Letourneau" in the phone book. Otherwise, show some respect.)
4. Keep. It. In. Your. Pants.
(Ignoring the fact that the Centers for Disease Control (CDC) reports that 19 million new STD infections occur every year... and nearly 50 percent of these new cases happen to young people between the ages of 15 and 24... and not only that, but the American Social Health Association (ASHA) reports that half of all new HIV infections occur in teenagers... well, no, wait; you can't ignore that. STOP GETTIN' FREAKY! It's, well, freaking us out. I won't be like some of your parents and tell you that sex is a dirty, gross thing that married couples "have to do", because that would promote its own set of problems, but what I will tell you is this: you only have so much time to be the age you're at right now. Why rush it?)
All-in-all, I'd say this was a very therapeutic letter. I was able to get things off my chest and, if you were to read this, you would (of course) take all of my suggestions to heart and magically transform yourself into the Upright, Non-Delinquent Youth of America that I know you have inside of you.
In all seriousness, you have so much potential. I am in awe of the talents that so many of you possess already at such a young age, and can't wait to see what kind of influence your voice has in the future.
Just... pull your pants up, okay? I don't want to see your boxers.
Get off my lawn,
Krystal
OMG, wtf is wrng wit u?
Whether it is your obvious lack of clothing practicality, your blatant disregard for personal hygiene, or your selfishly manic desire for the newest and best of everything you can get your hands on, I'm just plain tired of you whippersnappers and your idiocy.
The last I checked, the following apply to you:
1. "Eighteen" is still a "teen"
2. Chat-speak is not a language offered in school
3. Respecting your elders = getting to live
4. Hormones are a part of life... not the POINT of it.
I fail, then, to understand why you are so extremely annoying. Here, I'll put it to you in the form of an "if/then" SAT question: "If THE WORLD IS DOING YOU A FAVOR BY LETTING YOU CONTINUE TO EXIST, then the following must also be true: A) YOU SHOULD PROBABLY KISS THE GROUND THE ADULTS WALK ON, B) YOU SHOULD STOP DRESSING LIKE A HOBO, C) YOU SHOULD THINK ABOUT SOMEONE WHO ISN'T YOU, or D) All of the above."
Guess which is the correct answer.
However, since I, too, was once an Annoying Mass of Adolescent Angst (hard to believe, I know), I have brainstormed a (brief) list of solutions.
1. Until you are able to support yourself fully, just admit that you need your parents or other adults in your lives.
(Forgive me for failing to notice the cruel torture of having a place to live, free of charge. How could I have overlooked the depravity of having clothes provided to you, also free, and in the correct size and gender class. And, oh, let me not forget the food; how dare your parents or caregivers provide you with all of the meals, snacks, in-betweens-ies, and drinks that your exponentially morphing bodies need to survive and thrive. Seriously, GET A HOLD OF YOURSELVES! Ignoring the fact that it isn't cool to bitch and complain about how horrible your parents are (because, really, what does that accomplish?), it's just plain stupid. Do you honestly want them to never feed, clothe, or house you again?)
2. Unless your goal is to work at McDonald's when you're 40, stop incorporating chat-speak into your daily vocabulary.
(Dear, Sweet, Youth of America... you are quickly becoming the most unintelligent generation to ever gangsta-walk on this earth. It's one thing to send your friends a quick 'OMG', 'LOL', 'u r gr8' - filled text message in between class, but it becomes another thing entirely when I hear chat-speak come flying out of your mouth in an actual conversation. With a human. In the real world. I know we've all been taught that "it's what's on the inside that counts", but when the words you're using sound like a stroke victim attempting to spell their name, well, no one is going to care about what's on the inside. You may think you have a winning personality and enough charm/luck/money/intelligence to get you far in life, but the second a potential boss hears you bust out with "I saved the company over $3.2 million by catching a sales mistake last year and, OMG, let me tell you, Mr. Douchehammer, I was ROTFLOL," you're outta there.)
3. If you swear, glare, or "holla" at me on the bus one more time, I will drop you.
(I use profanity on a near regular basis, I admit it. The leg-up I have on you, however, comes from using it either accidentally/unconsciously (aka - spontaneously), or using it to emphasize a point I am trying to make. When you start dropping f-bombs like the conversation is an Iraqi war zone, you sound... well, like a teenager. And teenagers can sound preeeetty stupid. You do the math. Oh, and what's with the glaring, Oh Sulky of the Attitude Clan? When my only possible offense is breathing, I don't see how that earns you doing your best Mr. T impression at me from across the bus/room/store/city. Finally, I am way too old for your pimply, pubescent ass. If you really want a chick who digs much younger men, look up "Letourneau" in the phone book. Otherwise, show some respect.)
4. Keep. It. In. Your. Pants.
(Ignoring the fact that the Centers for Disease Control (CDC) reports that 19 million new STD infections occur every year... and nearly 50 percent of these new cases happen to young people between the ages of 15 and 24... and not only that, but the American Social Health Association (ASHA) reports that half of all new HIV infections occur in teenagers... well, no, wait; you can't ignore that. STOP GETTIN' FREAKY! It's, well, freaking us out. I won't be like some of your parents and tell you that sex is a dirty, gross thing that married couples "have to do", because that would promote its own set of problems, but what I will tell you is this: you only have so much time to be the age you're at right now. Why rush it?)
All-in-all, I'd say this was a very therapeutic letter. I was able to get things off my chest and, if you were to read this, you would (of course) take all of my suggestions to heart and magically transform yourself into the Upright, Non-Delinquent Youth of America that I know you have inside of you.
In all seriousness, you have so much potential. I am in awe of the talents that so many of you possess already at such a young age, and can't wait to see what kind of influence your voice has in the future.
Just... pull your pants up, okay? I don't want to see your boxers.
Get off my lawn,
Krystal
Friday, April 9, 2010
Evils of the Interwebs
Dear Social Networking Sites and Various Applications,
You have hooked me. You have hooked me, and I didn't even know I was being hooked. Now, unfortunately, I feel rather 'hooker'-ish, as I have so many johns, er, sites to keep track of, update, post on, and respond to a the beep of the pager, er, message notification. When did our relationship become so very, very complicated? What used to be a mutual understanding now seems like a one-sided arrangement and, believe me, E-PhoneChatFaceBlogGoogleE-list, it is time for some relationship counseling.
The last I checked, the following apply to you:
1. You exist for enjoyment.
2. Networking is encouraged.
3. Apps are for fun.
I fail, then, to understand why the I feel the vein on the left side of my temple start to spasm every time a new alert lands in my Inbox. Why are you intimidating me??
However, since I am a committed partner, I have brainstormed a (brief) list of solutions.
1. Stop stressing me out.
(Sure, I am - supposedly - in control of what content I see... how often I see it... yada yada yada. But that's like telling a fat kid that they're in control of what the put in their mouth; true, but ultimately inconvenient. I am a card-carrying member of the "microwave generation" who expects things to happen now, now, now, and who also likes to cram as much into that little microwave as possible. By having the ability to update a status from my iPhone on not one but three apps, receive e-mail notifications every time a "friend" posts/likes/unlikes/updates/pees, and sending me automated reminders when I haven't fed my pet dragon for over 90 days (I'm so sorry, Kindling... Mommy still loves you), I'm starting to feel smothered. This co-dependency thing has got to stop.)
2. Enable a 'beer goggles' feature.
(Nothing says "I'm professional, trust me with your business" like a 2:00 a.m. picture post of you throwing back your seventh shot of tequila, wearing that dress you always say makes you look like a hooker. Sure, there are different sites for professional networking vs. social networking... but when you've linked the two sites to automatically update each other...? Doesn't help. Since I want us to foster a healthy, balanced relationship, Oh Social Networking Sites and Various Applications, I am asking you to meet me half-way here; come up with some kind of feature that will block me from posting something insanely stupid and/or incriminating at oh-dark-thirty or after x-amount of adult beverages.)
3. Chill. The hell. Out.
(Vampire Wars... FarmVille... Mob Wars... Music Pet... Happy Island... Bejeweled... My Five... enough already! To each their own, yes, but you're creating some insanely scary Super Gamers who plague my Inbox with their impassioned messages of clan battles, "he-said/she-said" drama, and ramblings about their numerous hemorrhoids. Don't need it. I play Vampire Wars on occasion (OMG - Add me to your clan!!!! Assassin "(HW) Tempia" Level 64 Noble Vampire!!!!!), when I need a break from dealing with real people, or when I feel like breaking real people... not as a substitute for real life. Why would you allow such people to bond with you, E-PhoneChatFaceBlogGoogleE-list? It's like you have sprung from our bed of normalcy into their dungeon of depravity... and I just don't know what that means for us. Can our relationship recover? Should it recover? I don't know. I. Just. Don't. Know.)
All-in-all, I'd say this was a very therapeutic letter. I was able to get things off my chest and, if you were to read this, you would (of course) take all of my suggestions to heart and magically transform yourself into the Not So All-Encompassing Time Wasting Distraction from Heaven that I know you have inside of you.
I have nothing 'meaningful' to say this time. There's no point; social networking sites aren't meant to be meaningful, and those who believe otherwise are likely a little off. Yes, I'm being extremely judgemental when I say this, but I get to say it because I know the difference between a Friend Request and a real, human friend. Instead of relying on automated update messages, beeps, and other alerts, I know how to pick up the phone and send someone a good, old fashioned text message (telling them, in 50 characters or less, how much I love, appreciate, and want to see them).
OMG... I wonder how many views this is going to get...
*Poke* (your turn),
Krystal
You have hooked me. You have hooked me, and I didn't even know I was being hooked. Now, unfortunately, I feel rather 'hooker'-ish, as I have so many johns, er, sites to keep track of, update, post on, and respond to a the beep of the pager, er, message notification. When did our relationship become so very, very complicated? What used to be a mutual understanding now seems like a one-sided arrangement and, believe me, E-PhoneChatFaceBlogGoogleE-list, it is time for some relationship counseling.
The last I checked, the following apply to you:
1. You exist for enjoyment.
2. Networking is encouraged.
3. Apps are for fun.
I fail, then, to understand why the I feel the vein on the left side of my temple start to spasm every time a new alert lands in my Inbox. Why are you intimidating me??
However, since I am a committed partner, I have brainstormed a (brief) list of solutions.1. Stop stressing me out.
(Sure, I am - supposedly - in control of what content I see... how often I see it... yada yada yada. But that's like telling a fat kid that they're in control of what the put in their mouth; true, but ultimately inconvenient. I am a card-carrying member of the "microwave generation" who expects things to happen now, now, now, and who also likes to cram as much into that little microwave as possible. By having the ability to update a status from my iPhone on not one but three apps, receive e-mail notifications every time a "friend" posts/likes/unlikes/updates/pees, and sending me automated reminders when I haven't fed my pet dragon for over 90 days (I'm so sorry, Kindling... Mommy still loves you), I'm starting to feel smothered. This co-dependency thing has got to stop.)
2. Enable a 'beer goggles' feature.
(Nothing says "I'm professional, trust me with your business" like a 2:00 a.m. picture post of you throwing back your seventh shot of tequila, wearing that dress you always say makes you look like a hooker. Sure, there are different sites for professional networking vs. social networking... but when you've linked the two sites to automatically update each other...? Doesn't help. Since I want us to foster a healthy, balanced relationship, Oh Social Networking Sites and Various Applications, I am asking you to meet me half-way here; come up with some kind of feature that will block me from posting something insanely stupid and/or incriminating at oh-dark-thirty or after x-amount of adult beverages.)
3. Chill. The hell. Out.
(Vampire Wars... FarmVille... Mob Wars... Music Pet... Happy Island... Bejeweled... My Five... enough already! To each their own, yes, but you're creating some insanely scary Super Gamers who plague my Inbox with their impassioned messages of clan battles, "he-said/she-said" drama, and ramblings about their numerous hemorrhoids. Don't need it. I play Vampire Wars on occasion (OMG - Add me to your clan!!!! Assassin "(HW) Tempia" Level 64 Noble Vampire!!!!!), when I need a break from dealing with real people, or when I feel like breaking real people... not as a substitute for real life. Why would you allow such people to bond with you, E-PhoneChatFaceBlogGoogleE-list? It's like you have sprung from our bed of normalcy into their dungeon of depravity... and I just don't know what that means for us. Can our relationship recover? Should it recover? I don't know. I. Just. Don't. Know.)
All-in-all, I'd say this was a very therapeutic letter. I was able to get things off my chest and, if you were to read this, you would (of course) take all of my suggestions to heart and magically transform yourself into the Not So All-Encompassing Time Wasting Distraction from Heaven that I know you have inside of you.
I have nothing 'meaningful' to say this time. There's no point; social networking sites aren't meant to be meaningful, and those who believe otherwise are likely a little off. Yes, I'm being extremely judgemental when I say this, but I get to say it because I know the difference between a Friend Request and a real, human friend. Instead of relying on automated update messages, beeps, and other alerts, I know how to pick up the phone and send someone a good, old fashioned text message (telling them, in 50 characters or less, how much I love, appreciate, and want to see them).
OMG... I wonder how many views this is going to get...
*Poke* (your turn),
Krystal
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
