11 posts tagged “work”
Today was sort of an epic fail.
I got a lot done. Organized a lot of shit. Emailed a few people who's names have been staring at me from the To-Do list on my white board. (If I owe you an email, I'm sorry. I'm rubbish. I'll get back to you soon!)
However, it's the things that went wrong or were difficult that stand out, and are - I believe - causing the right side of my head to feel like it's going to explode.
Back in September, when I was on holiday in California, I managed to do that thing when you run out of money, but don't know, so you keep spending money because you figure if you have no money in your bank account, your debit card will not work.
However, your bank loves this! Sure you can buy that sweater even though you've got -£190 in your account! It means they can charge you £35 per transaction you go over!!!
So, my bank charged me a shit load in over draft fees.
They told me the charges would come out of my account in "mid to late November".
When do you think the mother fuckers took out the money?
November 3rd.
Which sent me into the red AGAIN. Causing me over draft fees....AGAIN!
So, I rang the fuckers up today and LO AND BEHOLD they actually did some research and discovered they had a recorded telephone conversation with me, saying that they would take out the charges in "late November".
They're going to sort it out, but I nearly had a fucking heart attack because of it.
Add on top of that, our recent and sudden change with Iain's job...
Add on top of that our covertable car is LEAKING and causing WATER DAMAGE to our seats. (Mind you this car is only 2 years old.)
Add on top of that the business cards we ordered for one of our BitchBuzz writers ended up with a big fucking blue smear on it, and Iain had to wait on the phone with them for 35 minutes while they sorted it out. Who sends out TWO BOXES of nearly IDENTICAL business cards, ONE with a big fucking blue stain on it, and the other without, and thinks is OK!?
Just been an absolutely ridiculous day.
Such a whiny post. I apologize. But, here we are, day 10 of NaBloPoMo and I can't find anything witty or funny to say. Just a glimpse into the reality of my life of the moment...
I feel so emo.
Tomorrow morning the sun will come up at about 7:00am.
The alarm will go off.
We'll hit snooze.
It'll go off again.
Iain will get up. I'll hear the kettle go. The refrigerator will open, and once the milk poured, close again.
I'll hear a teaspoon dinging the inside of a teacup and then softly hit the counter top.
Footsteps down the hall.
The running of the bath, the swishing of bubbles.
And then more footsteps down the hall.
Except on this particular morning, there won't be any kisses goodbye.
Or me hollering: "Do you have your wallet? Keys? Oyster card?" down the stairs as I've done so many times since I moved here.
On this particular morning, we'll be sitting in the office together. Working on the same project...
It's going to be a little strange, and I know it's going to take us a while to truly get in a groove and figure out a good routine of doing things.
It's a new chapter. We have know idea how things are going to happen or what exactly is going to happen, but I know that it's something good.
This week has been a complete emotional whirlwind for many, many reasons.
One of those reasons that Iain was officially made redundant at his job today, and as of Monday will be at home all day with me.
Aside from the worries and concerns that you can probably all guess and would have if you had been made redundant - we're actually a bit excited about this.
Our plan has always been to work together from home. To run a business together. To work for ourselves.
And now, unexpectedly, those plans will be possible as of Monday.
Throw that in with Obama's presidency and a few other things and I can barely keep my head from exploding.
It's all just a little too much.
But we're positive. We're hopeful...we're just a bit shocked, still.
We've deicded that since neither one of us will be working in an office 9-5, we should start going to the gym at lunch time.
Iain: "We should really be going to the gym five days a week."
Me: "FIVE DAYS A WEEK? I can't do that."
Iain: "Yes you can, it's not that hard. You only have to do carbs every other day."
Me: "Carbs?"
Iain: "I mean cardio."
Me: "We can totally do carbs five days a week."
A lot of people wish to themselves that they didn't care what other people thought about them.
However, when it comes to most of the women I know, there seems to be the common mantra of, "I just need to not give a shit."
Whether it's "giving a shit" if a potential new boyfriend that's probably "just not that in to" us calls or not, or fretting endlessly about what our coworkers are saying behind our backs - we all tend to wish we just cared a little bit less about what's going on out there.
Lately, I definitely wish I didn't give a shit about stuff.
I wish I didn't give a shit what some of my contacts thought, and just said: "Listen, I really like you, but unless we decide when/if you're going to pay me, this really isn't going to work out."
I wish I could show up at 10:08 every morning with a piping hot soy-no-water-chai from Starbucks in my hands with my iPod blaring and float over to my desk like it ain't no thang and all the while laughing to myself because I know it's not like they can fire me (muahahahahah)...but I can't.
You'll find me at my desk no later than 9:15, and taking a 15 minute lunch to go get whatever I can find at Marks & Spencer that "isn't going to make me feel fat" and eat it hunched over my desk, feeling naughty as I read Fart Party for another 15 minutes.
I can't tell you how many times I've ignored a snide comment ("So do you have a plan? Do you know what you're going to do now that you don't have a job? Or are you just going to wing it?") because I don't know what will happen if I were to make it very clear that I DO in fact GIVE A SHIT.
Actually, I take that back. I pretty much do know what will happen if I voice my said giving of the shits: nothing.
Well, they will probably be caught off guard, think to themselves what a bitch I am, and move on. Or they won't even notice. Or they'll think I'm right.
...Or, they will freak out. Or, they'll Twitter about what a nasty bitch I am and then tell everyone on Facebook and then they'll Google Bomb me and make it so that when you Google my name you'll find some horribly set up web page that says, "...IS A FUCKING BITCH-HEADED TWAT WHO GIVES A SHIT!!!" written using the spray paint function on MS Paint and then EVERYONE WILL KNOW WHAT A HORRIBLE STUPID PERSON I AM AND NO ONE WILL EVER HIRE ME OR LOVE ME AND I'LL END UP HOMELESS AND ALONE (AND PROBABLY WITH A DISEASE).
I suppose the lesson in all of this is that I need to realize my worst fear is not going to happen simply by stifling my ridiculous need to go above and beyond and to hand out free sexual favors to prove that I'm nice and reliable...because sometimes "nice
and reliable" means "pushover" and that's something I'm really not prepared to be. (Anymore.)
So. I think tomorrow I'll start not giving a shit by writing some rather awkward emails, and by not smiling and saying thank you when someone offers to shove their foot up my ass for free.
And on that note, I really need to get to bed so I can get up early and catch the 8:19 train so I can get into work a half hour before I need to for reasons I don't understand...
Maybe I'll start this whole "not giving a shit" thing on Monday. (I'll be 23 that day. And officially unemployed. That seems like a good time to start.)
Last night I went to another one of those Inspiring Women In Business talks. The last one I went to was pretty good, so I thought I'd shell out the £25 to see the next one.
That was my first mistake.
My second mistake was showing up.
The third was not bringing my hip flask to spike all of the fucking free Vitamin Water (complete with colorful neon straws) they were giving us. You know how women are about their water!
So. We have a bunch of women sitting in a room, who are all there to listen to three women talk about personal branding and entrepreneurship, and who are all silently psyching themselves up to network and frantically scanning the list of attendees to see if there's anyone even worth talking to.
The first speaker goes by. She had presence, charisma, and stretched out, pixelized photos in her Power Point presentation. Aside from the latter she was fantastic.
The next speaker...I don't even know what happened. I couldn't understand a damn word she said, she droned on and on and on, and I still don't know what the hell her business is or why she was supposed to be inspiring.
The third speaker was interesting, but half way through some jackass behind me had a "question". The presenter of the evening asked her to stand up and ask her question and from behind me this grating, overly loud voice says,
"HELLO. My name is BLAH BLAH and I'm a freelance designer and I have been trying to get in contact with you company FOR YEARS and now that I FINALLY have you in the same room as me I just want to let you know that I have some GREAT IDEAS for you that I think you will REALLY LIKE and I WOULD LOVE TO SIT DOWN TO TALK WITH YOU."
There was a hum of laughter, and most of the women (including the presenter) broke into some sort of congratulatory applause and acted like this was an act of inspiring bravery. I, on the other hand, had my eyes closed and was doing breathing exercises because it was SO FUCKING AWKWARD.
The presenter smiled graciously and tried to tell us all, yet again, about a time when networking and bravery REALLY worked for her, but Miss Blah Blah in the back of the room wasn't done:
"And LADIES. If you're wondering where I got all this CONFIDENCE from, I'll tell ya. It's a book called THE SECRET, ladies, and it's in paperback and DVD. It is SO INSPIRING. IT CHANGED MY LIFE. YOU SHOULD GO OUT AND BUY IT."
More awkward cooing and uncomfortable applause.
Wow! I'm sorry...that was confidence? I thought it was tactless, awkward, rude, and inconsiderate jackassery. Maybe I'm confused.
Soon after the awkward Secret outburst, the third "inspiring" speaker was finished and we were encouraged to, "Get out there AND START NETWORKING!!!!!!"
And that, my friends, was the moment that I silently started screaming in my head.
Trust me, I like to network. I've met some really cool folks by networking. I get how important it is. I know. I KNOW.
However, I believe you have to have the right combination of things to create the right networking atmosphere.
You also need people in common fields. AND MAYBE BOOZE.
By this time none of us had had dinner and their idea of snacks were those quarter-sized mini sandwiches and odd shaped cheeses on sliced tomatoes. Fucking hell, people. A GIRL NEEDS TO EAT. It was almost 9 and the event started at 6:30. Hello. We're not ALL anorexic!
And also, I find that if you DON'T PUSH THE NETWORKING THING SO FUCKING HARD people will feel a lot more comfortable and natural when they do speak to someone.
It's like asking us to flirt on cue! I can't do that! And, to be honest, I'm pretty sure the idea of networking is that everybody is after something. It's a get and give situation. You're looking for clients, you're looking for a new job, you're looking for contacts that can increase your business and help you.
So when you tell us all to hop to and to get networking, it's just becomes so unnatural and feels really competitive...like a bunch of cats in heat wandering around scratching up against every thing in the room that moves.
I guess it pissed me off so much because every single fucking time I go to an event like this, especially when it's for women, I'm not only the youngest, but the only person in my field. Women In Business is such an odd term, if you think about it. Does that mean women who work? Women who start their own business? Women who are interested in business?
And why is it that I've been to TWO "INSPIRING WOMEN" events in one month? Can't they think of something else? Why do we always need to be inspired? I would much rather be fed and given free booze than given some lame *inspiring* speech. Talk to me straight. Tell me how you got to the position you're in. Give me a case study of yourself. Please don't feed me Eleanor Roosevelt quotes that I've already heard and posted on my Myspace page about 5 years ago.
There are shit loads of creative, YOUNG, smart ,savvy women out there who are in business and I'm sure they feel just like me at these events. Where are all the women in tech at these events I go to? Where are the writers? The artists? The photographers?
Why is always just the same women from banks and corporations and PR companies with the occasional bitchy fashion editor thrown in the mix?
I just want to go to an event, meet other creative working women, leave with a stack of business cards with at least 3 I actually will use and knowing that I met and talked to women who in the same sector as I am.
I've had enough of being let down and insulted by the snooty bankers and fake ass PR women that clearly are only talking to me for the sake of saying they met their business card distribution quota for the week.
Clearly, these situations will always arise. At certain events and certain venues they are inevitable. However, I am simply saying that I refuse to participate and act like a Networking Sheep at another one of these "INSPIRING" women's events. I'm not going to pretend to like Vitamin Water or force myself to talk to people that clearly have no idea what a blog is, just for the sake of throwing out a business card.
The one thing I did learn at that even was from the first speaker who said "networking isn't about handing out business cards...it's about having genuine conversations with people and putting the best version of yourself out there".
So. From now on, I am going to be smarter about networking decisions. I am not going to something just because I was invited. I am going to go to something because I think that there is something I can truly gain and walk away with.
And not just a free bag of things women like. You know...like, fruity lip gloss and tiny bottles of bath gel. UGH.
Hi folks.
I apologize for my once-a-week posting, but, there's a lot going on at the moment; most of which can't be talked about. A lot of it is because there is far too much cross-over between my "real life" and my "online life", and although the whole "neighborhood only", "friends only", "friends and family" settings on VOX are fantastic...if I feel like I need to constantly downgrade, upgrade and kick people out of my neighborhood just so I can have some expression and release...I can't really decide if it's worth all the effort or not.
There are all of 2-3 people that I can really talk openly and honestly with about all that's going on at the moment, and for that I'm grateful - but I truly do miss being fearlessly open online. Of course, I always had my boundaries (no personal family talk, no airing out my dirty, marital laundry online) but I've felt all muted and censored lately. There's nothing wrong with having to watch what I say, as I know I'm making the right decision, but I just being able to FUCKING TALK.
It's like, there's so many companies and organizations and bloggers and journalists that I just want to rage on about...but I'm in such a vulnerable position I can't really afford to piss anybody off.
Does that make me weak and subservient to The Networking Gods? Or just smart?
Does anybody else feel like the Internet is just claustrophobic lately? It just kills me that I used be in this fantastic little bubble where I could slag off some idiot journalist who did something shitty and laughable one minute, and now I do the same thing and realize that we have 8 "mutual friends" on Facebook and follow the same people on Twitter and have high music compatibility on LastFM. SERIOUSLY?
Am I losing my balls or and caring too much what others think? I wish I had the clarity to know for sure at the moment.
I have a feeling it's just this awkward transition period that I'm in the middle of. Or maybe it's that fucking Mercury Retrograde everyone on here is always banging on about. Can I blame it on Mercury? Is he retrograding at the moment? What does that even mean?
Thanks to everyone for their job suggestions and concern for my ability to afford food in the next few months. I really am okay, and I've accepted the fact that a Magical CEO is not going to email me and offer me the most fantastic blogging job of all time that allows me to work from home whenever I want, and get paid £500 a day AND get paid ON TIME!
The Universe is leaving me to figure this out myself. I'm up for the challenge, it's just just a shame my mojo is only running on half power at the moment.
Dear Internet/Silicon Valley/San Francisco,
Hi! It's me. Cate. CupCate. Of the London CupCates.
Here's the thing, homie...
I was made redundant at my job last week.
I'm there for another month, as I've agreed to do some very limited freelancing work on ye old Dollymix in June, and then after that, I'm broke, I mean, 100% open and available for new freelancing work.
Shit like this happens when you're freelance. The economy's bad at the moment (so I hear) and things are looking a little dull over here in the UK blogging industry. For example, please observe what happens when you Google "UK Blogging Jobs":
While there are no hard feelings and I understand that the company I worked for for the past year and a half "feel that we can no longer pay your incredibly inflated salary and support your extravagant lifestyle", it still sucks.
It sucks like...
...when you know you're in a relationship that is eventually going to end because either one of you doesn't want kids and/or you haven't had sex in 3.5 years and although you didn't want to marry the guy or even get a cat with him, when he looks at you over over half melted Jamba Juice, and says, "You know...I just don't think this is going to work. It's not you, it's me. It's been great, "
You're sort of relieved because you know how it's going to end, but then it just sort of pisses you off that HE BROKE UP WITH YOU and he gets to keep the apartment and YOU'RE THE ONE who has to start Googling BLOGGING JOBS and thinking about how you're going to be able to afford your next root canal...or something.
Does that make sense?
So, that's how I feel. I understand, I'm cool with it, I see how it's better for both of us in the end...but finding enough freelance work to float me for the next few months is my main concern at the moment.
Please, let me explain how.
See, while you're sleeping, I'M AWAKE. You're site will be guaranteed to have fresh content on it by the time you and all those returning visitors go back to your site first thing in the morning. PLUS, how IMPORTANT and SERIOUS will you look by having INTERNATIONAL CORESPONDENTS??
TRES. IT WILL LOOK TRES/MUCHO/A LOT IMPORTANT.
So, all I'm saying, San Francisco, is that you're very wealthy. You've got a lot of blogging jobs, but it would be better for you if you just shelled out the cash to pay some hot ass bloggers in sterling and let them telecommute from London Town.
Just think! I can get you all the latest news on what drugs Amy Winehouse did last night, who Russell Brand is boning this week, and what Heather Mills is lying about lately BEFORE all of your other US based bloggers. Time is on my side! You're 8 HOURS BEHIND ME. Do you know how many hits you could be getting in those 8 hours!?!?
TRES. YOU COULD BE GETTING TRES HITS.
I know I'm American and all, but all this means is that I know shit about TWO cultures! TWO! How many do you know about? It's probably like one and a half. I can talk about Richard Hammond and Miley Cyrus with equal ease. If you want me to be British, I can be British! I sleep with a British guy on a regular basis! I'll even lie and say I like Marmite. I'll throw in random 'u's in my spelling.
Liouke Thious
But in all seriousness, Silicon Valley...San Francisco...California...The United States of America....
We have some fine bloggers in the UK.
But!
There is only ONE in particular that has not only participated in a rather bland, awkward debate over WAGS live on Sky News, and managed to become a sex and relationships expert for Yahoo just months before they fired thousands of people, and (AND!) was misquoted in a grid about feminism in The Observer Woman, complete with an unflattering embarrassing photo.
Where the hell else are you going to find those kind of qualifications?
I may not be whorish enough, *ironic* enough, or have a strong enough love for cocaine to be a part of Gawker, or perhaps friendly and perky enough to be a part of Sugar....but god dammit, I am all for settling and deal with disappointment and low pay very well.
Please. CALL ME.
Cate
xx
PS. In all seriousness, if you have any blogging or freelance writing work done, please get in contact. PM me or my email is in the links on the side. Please? I'll send you a photo of my bra.
Iain: "Oh. Here's the thing...Bitch Face might be there."
Me: "I'm not going if that cunt's going to be there."
Iain: "Yeah. Good point."
Then the man on the escalator in front of me turns around and looks at me with the, "GOOD HEAVENS!" face people do when they're too polite to tell you that you have a dirty mouth and are going straight to h-e-double hockey sticks.
Iain and I snickered to ourselves and said our goodbyes.
Moments later I'm briskly walking up a set of stairs thinking to myself about all the emails that need to be written and how it was probably rude of me to say "cunt" in pubic before 10am (update: yes I'm aware it says "pubic" instead of "public". Precious little typo that's staying in.), and I trip UP the stairs, like all the cool people do. I tripped up, and had to do a sort of swinging manouver on the railing to prevent myself from eating it, of course, all the while yelling FUCKING HELL just in case no one heard me use the C bomb 10 seconds prior.
Right, I thought. I'm an adult I need to get my shit together and stop fucking yelling things like the F word and the C word out in front of the British people. Sure they use the F and the C words better than any other types of people I've met, but that's usually when they're drunk. And it's still only 9:06. They won't be drinking for at least 54 more minutes.
So, I get to work and we have a sweet little intern helping us out. Not sure how old he is, but I reckon he still had his soul.You know? He had that youthful, excited grin in his eyes that said, "Spreadsheets? I'd love to do those for you. I heart Excel!"
Somewhere between me calling Liz Jones a "complete fucking idiot" and asking something about why she hasn't "been assassinated yet" (I KID!) I remembered the little kiddo was in the corner, painting one of our fashion editors toenails and I figured I should probably keep my mouth shut...
So, when Kiddo decided to come over and talk the gal in the desk next to me (Hi Laura!) I realized what I had on screen.
BOOBS. I photoshopping up a collage of boob shaped products (as you do, at work), and therefore had a screen with a giant pair of boob cushions blown up so that they covered my entire monitor. I quickly minimized it, only to find another photo of boobs behind it...and behind that was my web browser, which apparently had 6 fucking tabs open, all with BOOBS BOOBS BOOBS.
I frantically minimized each one, knowing that Kiddo probably thought I was the editor of a porn site by now, and then realized that it didn't really matter that my monitor had plushie tits all over it, because I had a vagina with a pirate hat sitting on my desk the entire time.
I think it's safe to say that I'm not ready for kids yet.
Thankfully, earlier this weekend I was smart enough to add:
But, this little hour or so of sweet, sweet intoxication has left me with time to think, and worry....
Can cats get STDs?
Our whore male cat Orion escaped the other night to go on a Sex Tour of the neighborhood. Now, I've only ever had dogs, and it's been a bit of an adjustment, but the fact that our cat left the confines of our home and his safety and a fresh bowl of BRAND! NEW! CAT FOOD! to jump through my brother-in-law's window just to go screw and hump a bunch of nasty stray cats for 9 hours, pissed me off.
He finally showed up at about 5am, and was quite pleased with himself.
I imagine if he were able to talk and smoke he'd be puffing a cigar while giving us a run down of how he be "hitting the walls" and "working the middle" of every single freaking cat on the block.
I'm just grossed out. He's even neutered! He has no balls! How did that even work?
I've been calling him "Herpe" and "The Whore" ever since
...I guess I just never though one of my pets would turn into a GV.
Vox! There you are!
This is me, posting for the sake of letting everyone know that I haven't committed homicide, genocide, or any of the other scarier 'cide's ...
I've been playing grown-up and going into a real live office every morning, and sitting at a real live desk, and printing documents and highlighting things on Post-Its and sticking them on my monitor so I seem like I'm important and have things I need to remember.
I also do this thing where I'll let out an exaggerated sigh, pound down on the ENTER key multiple times, and mumble a few, "Oh for fuck sake"s under my breath so I sound like I have real adult office-y type problems that I need to be frustrated about.
....And then I take a 2 hour lunch break and come back stinking of Pub.
In all seriousness, I actually have been quite busy drinking
lately. So busy, in fact, that I feel guilty and lay awake at night
thinking of all incredibly small number of times I've clicked the "View
Entire Neighborhood" link or responded to emails, and start to panic
when I think of the fact that I haven't written anything on here in a
couple of weeks. I do! I really do! And then I have horrific nightmares
where Vox runs off with some other chick with a clever little
pastry-esque inspired name, like Little Debbie or PanCate and they make
hot, sweaty, wireless, blog-writing love to each other.
Then, to make matters worse, Vox then marks PanCate as [This is good], and then totally removes me from their neighborhood...which then forces me to sign up with Xanga or Blogger and well...I wake up screaming and Iain has to go find me my Vox Tshirt to hold for the rest of the night, just so I can sleep...
Really, I'm not deserting you, my love. You are my little slice of online heaven! My pink, swirly cupcake of Internet fun! Heck, I would even go as far as to say that you, Vox, are my Absolut Raspberry Dream of the Blogging Kingdom.
Yes. It is true!
We have so much to discuss! We do!
We'll talk! We'll do lunch! I'll pencil you in!
...And if I had a Blackberry I would do some fancy manoeuvre to program our rendezvous in, so that it would remind me that we need to have a chat, and alert me to stop dramatically pressing ENTER, and plastering my desk with Post-Its that say things like "Call Rowlings back about Potter book" and come meet you straight away!
Until then, I'll leave you with a fine piece of pastry plush.
My Drug Cute Dealer, the fabulous Maz, was kind enough to send me a few of the cutest plush goodies I've ever seen in my entire life.
Maz! I heart you, and if I could make an entire room made of Maz goodies (including plush sheets and wallpaper) I totally would.
And so, Vox. I booked us an appointment in my imaginary Blackberry, for one of our regular, long-winded chats.
....Oh and if you suddenly see that PanCate girl blogging around, she'll never be as good to you as I am.
(I hear she only drinks Zima, religiously posts bulletins on Myspace, and doesn't even vote. Is she really the kind of psedo-pastry-drunk-chick you want to have as a 'neighbour, additionally listed as a friend'?...I think not, Vox. I think not!)
