Because with old shit, you have to loosen it up before you can flush it down.
Yes LB, I mean you. It's not that I dislike you or that I have a grudge against you. In fact I think you're rather funny. To watch. You've had enough years amassing a fortune from your cushy civil service job. Your kids are all grown up and don't need your funding anymore. Your wife's been doing well too. You have lots of money - and now, you have no friends in the organisation. It's time you graciously stepped down, before you're forced to. Your salary is worth at least three times of mine. Imagine what we could do with three more of me and one less of you. Times are tough and we need to cut costs.
You are, to use a term frequently used in our line of work, "low-hanging fruit". It's very sad, but as of tomorrow, I shall have to stop sympathising with you. I mean, at the end of my legal obligations to the organisation, I may find that the best option is to stay put. And if I'm going to stay put then I need to make sure there's a clear path to the top.
With the pregnant lady out of the way and ZB lacking the ambition (but certainly not the skills) to make it any further, I'm afraid that, Chub, you're next. That will be a real shame because I really do like you, in that I enjoy very much your company and I frequently fantasise about us shagging in your office after everyone else has left (despite the fact that you're not what I would ordinarily consider attractive). But as with LB, you are yet another "low-hanging fruit" (I keep bloody telling you that you need to get in with the SMs, that if the beer is free and flows ice cold then there's no COST to it). And I need a clear path to the top.
This blog is getting a bit boring (or has gotten boring, whichever). Sorry about that; my life comprises work, my cat and the painting studio. Donations in the form of (hot) men are most welcome; then you can start reading about something more exciting!
...
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Monday, August 10, 2009
Sunday, August 02, 2009
My Life in a Serial Drama.
I suppose it was only a matter of time before one gets sucked into the morass of politics that characterises the middle-to-upper rungs of the career ladder in any organisation. The recent Friday drinks with my "godfather" have been sobering (that is, after the hangover subsided). I have an enemy. Ok, so I kinda suspected that already, I still remember how said enemy failed to realise that he hadn't successfully hung up on me before mouthing off about me. We all know that work's like that, you can't always get the job done right without stepping on some toes. But apparently there's a ... strategic undertone to this enmity. Which explains all the unsolicited, probing and free cigarette breaks. (Damn you nicotine!)
Godfather (as he will hereafter be known) says I should lie low and stay neutral. Because Enemy's part-time Godfather is my Lecherous Boss (as he will hereafter be known). According to Godfather, nobody in Senior Management has made any complaints about me, Lecherous Boss included. Apparently Lecherous Boss falls short in the integrity stakes and is known to unfairly criticize some of his staff in order to promote others - usually the "good soldiers" who deliver whatever Lecherous Boss wants, without cognisance of right or wrong (or even logic or reason, as experience has shown).
Fortunately for me (i) Lecherous Boss has ZERO allies amongst Senior Management since the change in Chief Executive, formerly his (only) patron; (ii) Enemy has ZERO fans amongst Senior Management since he's quite stupidly decided to suck on the one man with no allies; and (iii) the rest of Senior Management are decidedly in positive net favour of me.
The wildcard is the new Chief Executive. As one would expect. Prior to his departure, I had asked my former Director for "tips" to deal with the new Chief Executive. According to the former, they're pretty good friends. Also according to the former, once you're in the latter's bad books, you're pretty much screwed for the rest of your lifetime in that organisation. And it's difficult to "feel" where one's boundaries lie, because the new Chief is generally a very amiable and friendly guy, who only shows his displeasure after you've passed the tipping point.
According to Godfather, this assessment is pretty much spot on. And Lecherous Boss may have passed that tipping point. But it's unlikely he'd be let go off (is that grammatically correct?), because he's done well to make himself indispensable by means of information-hogging. Plus nobody's really made to leave the organisation unless they've well and truly fucked up.
Godfather says I should stay neutral, keep my opposing opinions to myself and pretty much wait until I'm assured of the next level in my career. And that I shouldn't trust anyone (I'm guessing anyone but Godfather). He's offered me a transfer to his division where I can wait things out and get promoted while the shit settles. I've declined it because as much as I think Godfather is the most sensible person in the entire organisation, I am also discouraged by the very operational and intellectually dormant career options under his watch - requiring skills so unique and essential that they have no market value outside of the organisation. Of course the way I explained it to him was that it would be irresponsible of me to ask for a transfer just one month into my new role, that I should give at least the usual two years first. But I think he understands.
Back to the first point - dealing with the Enemy. Keep your friends close, your enemies closer. I'll keep going for those cigarette breaks, make him think I'm on his side, reveal nothing except a complete lack of competition. I'm cultivating an ally of my own, same rank, same trajectory (same birthday). Endear myself to the right people, especially those who will take over the reins in the event that Lecherous Boss is made to lose control. Win the hearts and minds of everyone else, especially the younger ones, the ones I will depend on for ground work.
The difficult part is keeping opposing opinions to myself. Need to figure that one out.
I hate politics.
...
Godfather (as he will hereafter be known) says I should lie low and stay neutral. Because Enemy's part-time Godfather is my Lecherous Boss (as he will hereafter be known). According to Godfather, nobody in Senior Management has made any complaints about me, Lecherous Boss included. Apparently Lecherous Boss falls short in the integrity stakes and is known to unfairly criticize some of his staff in order to promote others - usually the "good soldiers" who deliver whatever Lecherous Boss wants, without cognisance of right or wrong (or even logic or reason, as experience has shown).
Fortunately for me (i) Lecherous Boss has ZERO allies amongst Senior Management since the change in Chief Executive, formerly his (only) patron; (ii) Enemy has ZERO fans amongst Senior Management since he's quite stupidly decided to suck on the one man with no allies; and (iii) the rest of Senior Management are decidedly in positive net favour of me.
The wildcard is the new Chief Executive. As one would expect. Prior to his departure, I had asked my former Director for "tips" to deal with the new Chief Executive. According to the former, they're pretty good friends. Also according to the former, once you're in the latter's bad books, you're pretty much screwed for the rest of your lifetime in that organisation. And it's difficult to "feel" where one's boundaries lie, because the new Chief is generally a very amiable and friendly guy, who only shows his displeasure after you've passed the tipping point.
According to Godfather, this assessment is pretty much spot on. And Lecherous Boss may have passed that tipping point. But it's unlikely he'd be let go off (is that grammatically correct?), because he's done well to make himself indispensable by means of information-hogging. Plus nobody's really made to leave the organisation unless they've well and truly fucked up.
Godfather says I should stay neutral, keep my opposing opinions to myself and pretty much wait until I'm assured of the next level in my career. And that I shouldn't trust anyone (I'm guessing anyone but Godfather). He's offered me a transfer to his division where I can wait things out and get promoted while the shit settles. I've declined it because as much as I think Godfather is the most sensible person in the entire organisation, I am also discouraged by the very operational and intellectually dormant career options under his watch - requiring skills so unique and essential that they have no market value outside of the organisation. Of course the way I explained it to him was that it would be irresponsible of me to ask for a transfer just one month into my new role, that I should give at least the usual two years first. But I think he understands.
Back to the first point - dealing with the Enemy. Keep your friends close, your enemies closer. I'll keep going for those cigarette breaks, make him think I'm on his side, reveal nothing except a complete lack of competition. I'm cultivating an ally of my own, same rank, same trajectory (same birthday). Endear myself to the right people, especially those who will take over the reins in the event that Lecherous Boss is made to lose control. Win the hearts and minds of everyone else, especially the younger ones, the ones I will depend on for ground work.
The difficult part is keeping opposing opinions to myself. Need to figure that one out.
I hate politics.
...
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
I'm just too good at what I do.
AAANND to show just how much I deserved that "A" grade and "supremely versatile" comment on my mid-year performance review; today, my impromptu gig taking real reporters' questions on a crisis situation during a mock press conference, was described as "outstanding", "excellent" and "are you sure you haven't had media training before?".
I still look terrible on TV though.
...
I still look terrible on TV though.
...
Saturday, July 04, 2009
London.
Just spent the past five days in a series of full-day meetings and receptions in London, completely tired out but ridiculously happy just for the opportunity to return HOME for that small while. Because it was very much like that; by the second day it felt as if I had just come back from a tour of duty in the Pore when in reality it was very much the opposite. I suppose the sun helped.
The London post has been given to a much more experienced dude who left the organisation to pursue his Masters. If all goes well for him, it means the next time the post is up for grabs again is for the term starting 2014. That's a REALLY long way from now. But perhaps by then I'll look old enough to be taken seriously.
I have to do something about these cheeks. You'd probably have realised how much I LOATHE having my photo or video taken; in 2-D, my fivehead goes Total Klingon, my flat eyes and puffy lids become reminiscent of a floater's, my jawline screams out its Chinese-peasant heritage and overdeveloped triangularsis muscles dramatically display a look of permanent disapproval.
So when my face is being projected on giant screens at an international diplomatic meeting, it's just not pretty. It is in fact rather horrifying. Fortunately most delegates are busily taking notes or cooking up interventions to notice. But it must come as a bit of a shock to those who glance up every now and then.
In 3-D, the same features that give evoke images of a clay model in its very initial stages, give me a rather... cherubic appearance. Few people looking at my naked face alone would hazard to guess that I was a day over twenty. The acne scars don't help. It's rather disadvantageous being female and looking like a fresh graduate in an industry that's mostly male and aging. I'd never get treated seriously.
I did make an appointment with the plastic clinic, but decided to cancel it in a moment of guilt over the potential cost. I'd better make that appointment again if I want results by November.
Not seeking opinion here, just needed to commit myself to it.
...
The London post has been given to a much more experienced dude who left the organisation to pursue his Masters. If all goes well for him, it means the next time the post is up for grabs again is for the term starting 2014. That's a REALLY long way from now. But perhaps by then I'll look old enough to be taken seriously.
I have to do something about these cheeks. You'd probably have realised how much I LOATHE having my photo or video taken; in 2-D, my fivehead goes Total Klingon, my flat eyes and puffy lids become reminiscent of a floater's, my jawline screams out its Chinese-peasant heritage and overdeveloped triangularsis muscles dramatically display a look of permanent disapproval.
So when my face is being projected on giant screens at an international diplomatic meeting, it's just not pretty. It is in fact rather horrifying. Fortunately most delegates are busily taking notes or cooking up interventions to notice. But it must come as a bit of a shock to those who glance up every now and then.
In 3-D, the same features that give evoke images of a clay model in its very initial stages, give me a rather... cherubic appearance. Few people looking at my naked face alone would hazard to guess that I was a day over twenty. The acne scars don't help. It's rather disadvantageous being female and looking like a fresh graduate in an industry that's mostly male and aging. I'd never get treated seriously.
I did make an appointment with the plastic clinic, but decided to cancel it in a moment of guilt over the potential cost. I'd better make that appointment again if I want results by November.
Not seeking opinion here, just needed to commit myself to it.
...
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Ode to my soon-to-be EX-colleagues.
(because there's just FIVE working days to go, and I've completely given up trying to upload my holiday pics onto this blog and shall seriously consider putting them on facebook instead.)
========
TERESA.
I'd like to start this post on a pleasant note, and so I must begin with Teresa. An absolutely lovely lady, Teresa is every office worker's dream. She single-handedly maintains an archive of files that goes way back to when font wasn't an option, yet manages to get everything done well before you need it (including scanning and faxing receipts for deposits made to lodgings in various underdeveloped countries where I just happen to be on vacation).
Teresa is also a very uniquely staunch Buddhist who goes on pilgrimages to holy sites in northern India at least once every year, where she donates generously to local communities and spends much time in deep meditation. The most memorable lessons from her are likely that death is inevitable and there's no point worrying if the building starts to sway because you either live, or you die. So just stay happy and keep that smile on your face. And that all the pharmacies very quickly run out N95 face masks so you must constantly check if they've brought in new stock and if they have you must buy lots of it because otherwise you will catch the swine flu.
But most importantly, Theresa is my break from the insipidiocies of everyone else on the thirty-third floor. Her brilliant Buddhist barbs directed at the slow-moving slow-thinking despatch lady, cheerful Theravedic arguments with Other People Who Use Our Printers As If They Are Their Own, and distinctly non-spiritual non sequiturs about the surprising fashion-forwardness of the boring old director's wife or those really big heels on the short director's shoes (that's why he wears his pants so long); are often the highlight of a dreary office day.
Farewell Teresa, you will be missed. Over the next week I shall be forwarding to you over a year's worth of e-mails to be filed and about four boxes of papers to be shredded; so with any luck I shall be re-born as a paper clip.
========
NOSTRILS.
It is unfortunate that the dearth of good colleagues makes for such an early turn for the worse in this post.
The division I work in is a small one, comprising four Grunts (that includes me), a Deputy Director and a Director. That's right folks, this small six-man outfit monitors the sea transport policies of an entire country. Fortunately we have a six-HUNDRED strong organisation that we direct to execute said policies. In theory, that is: our relationship is much like that of a neutered indoor pekingese (that's us) and a virile fuck-off-sized dingo (that's them).
THE POINT IS, working in such a small team on such a huge portfolio means that constant interaction with at least one colleague is as inevitable as death (see "Teresa", above). Unfortunately that means staring into the world's most repulsive pair of flared nostrils, each and every work day for the past two years. Except when they are on vacation, which doesn't happen very often, and anyway the image of those quivering black funnels are seared in my mind. I may need therapy.
Nostrils is the only Grunt who was there when I joined the division, and who will remain there when I leave. He was the first colleague I met upon arriving on the thirty-third floor. I had thought him rather odd in appearance and manner, and then dreadfully boring as the day progressed. By the end of the week, I had complained to all my former colleagues that Nostrils had to be quite possibly the most mind-numbing person on the planet. Something karmic happened the following weekend that forced me to adopt a more positive attitude, and to give my new colleague a second chance.
And that's one reason why would never be Buddhist.
Reality isn't like facebook where a mere click of the mouse allows you to "un-friend" a person so you will no longer have to deal with that person entering your personal space. Make the mistake of being friendly with a colleague just once, and you're forced to be a friend forever (or at least until you no longer work together). It is my belief that this mistake had the unfortunate result of exposing me to the terrifying disorder that I've named "Complete Lack of Balls".
So you've probably already read enough of the other posts about my colleagues to have an idea of how whingey and annoying Nostrils can be. The following conversation, which took place recently, should help render that image more vividly:
~~~~~~~~
I am having a lovely lunch-time natter with Teresa, about her most recent pilgrimage to northern India, about how all the donations somehow seemed to make little difference to the lives of the local children (she suspects that a lot of it just being sat on by the temple monks), about how beautiful and happy the children are despite their dire poverty, and about how each one of these trips makes her feel more tranquil and satisfied. Nostrils goose marches over - knee problems? ill-fitting pants? cactus up his ass? - carrying a painfully designer cup of tea (white with i-have-no-balls-berry).
Nostrils: (simpering) Sorreee, it's not that I have no work to do, I just need a little di-VER-sion. What are you guys TALK-ing about?
Teresa: I was just telling [Earrci] about how some of the monks in northern idea are so good at meditation that they are able to levitate.
Nostrils: Oh Theresa, can you teach me how to meditate? (stares coyly into his tea)
Teresa: Why? You want to levitate too? (laughs) What's wrong? Too many worries?
Nostrils: I have a lot of thoughts on my mind (fade)... cannot clear my mind of all these thoughts.
Teresa: Do you believe in God? I have a friends who ask me to teach them to meditate, but I tell them, how can I teach you to meditate if you do not believe in God? How can you clear your mind of all thoughts if you cannot think of God? God is Pure, and when you meditate you must focus on something pure. If you do not believe in God you cannot meditate. If you are stupid you also cannot meditate.
Nostrils: (pouts to his tea)
Me: Why don't you pick up a hobby?
Teresa: He has a hobby, he exercises every morning.
Nostrils: (self-deprecating) That's not a HOB-by, that's just EX-ercise.
Me: (Wondering if this is an opportune moment to highlight the importance of having a shower after exercise. With hot water and soap. To remove all traces of dirt and sweat. Because dude, you are RIPE.) ... So, really, why not find a hobby? If you have one you can focus all your thoughts on that instead.
Nostrils: (mumble mumble) ... no time...
Me: What do you do on weekends?
Nostrils: Well the first thing I do when I wake up is to switch on the laptop to check my e-mail. It's a very bad habit actually.
Me: So don't switch it on, or better, don't bring your laptop home. Unless you really have to. It's not like there's stuff to rush every weekend, right?
Nostrils: No, but, well... (looks searchingly into teacup for answer)
Teresa: Hey, I heard that Yvonne is coming over to work here from July. Is it a secondment to replace you?
Me: No, there's someone else replacing me. I think Yvonne is leaving [that organisation] entirely in order to work here.
Nostrils: SHE'S LEAVING [THE ORGANISATION]??? "LEAVING" LEAVING? I WAS TOLD IT WAS ON SECONDMENT TERMS!
Me: (WHOA, never do that again dude. If your face does not do Life well, then it sure as hell won't do Surprise well. And don't flare those damn funnel things anymore! What's in the back of your head sure ain't any of my business! Sheesh... your face is truly fucked dude. Do you get collagen injections to your lips or something? 'Cause they look... fleshy. And maybe you might wanna tell the salonist to go easy on the brows, the perfectly manicured arches only draw attention to your beady little eyes. Beady beady beady...) ... Er, that's what I heard, but I guess I may be wrong... What's the matter even if she was "leaving" leaving anyway?
Nostrils: Nothing, it's just that what I heard was that it would be on secondment terms...
Me: (You LOSER. You coddle gossip like it's some sort of golden goose when really it means fuck-all to everyone else. If your grapevine is the only thing you can feel important about, then I strongly recommend suicide.) Ah look, lunch time is over. I have to go finish that report now.
Teresa: (laughing) Yes, I have to finish these files for the bosses.
~~~~~~~~
Yes. It will be a great pleasure never to have to work with Nostrils again.
========
PSORIASIS AND THE OTHERS.
I've run out of steam now, plus at the end of the day my feelings towards the remaining colleagues are, on average, neutral. Psoriasis continues to repulse me with his physical form and gross ineptitude; but hey, if I had to deal with that many bodily problems I would probably also be completely incapable of getting anything done right. And I really have no issues with the Family Man anymore, now that things are winding down for me so it's no big deal to cover for him. As for the Deputy Director, it's hard to say anything about her since she's been away for the past three months. And as for the Director... well, nobody gets to choose her boss hey.
========
So long, y'all. To Teresa, I wish godspeed to nirvana. To Nostrils, I wish a pair of balls. To Psoriasis, I wish the doctors finally find a cure to your various ailments real soon, and that you use it. To Family Man, I wish your wife and kids well, and please, for the sake of the environment, stop at two. To Deputy Director, I wish I could say something meaningful but I just can't since I hardly know you. To Director, thanks for inadvertently letting me take leave off-record!
Ciao!
...
========
TERESA.
I'd like to start this post on a pleasant note, and so I must begin with Teresa. An absolutely lovely lady, Teresa is every office worker's dream. She single-handedly maintains an archive of files that goes way back to when font wasn't an option, yet manages to get everything done well before you need it (including scanning and faxing receipts for deposits made to lodgings in various underdeveloped countries where I just happen to be on vacation).
Teresa is also a very uniquely staunch Buddhist who goes on pilgrimages to holy sites in northern India at least once every year, where she donates generously to local communities and spends much time in deep meditation. The most memorable lessons from her are likely that death is inevitable and there's no point worrying if the building starts to sway because you either live, or you die. So just stay happy and keep that smile on your face. And that all the pharmacies very quickly run out N95 face masks so you must constantly check if they've brought in new stock and if they have you must buy lots of it because otherwise you will catch the swine flu.
But most importantly, Theresa is my break from the insipidiocies of everyone else on the thirty-third floor. Her brilliant Buddhist barbs directed at the slow-moving slow-thinking despatch lady, cheerful Theravedic arguments with Other People Who Use Our Printers As If They Are Their Own, and distinctly non-spiritual non sequiturs about the surprising fashion-forwardness of the boring old director's wife or those really big heels on the short director's shoes (that's why he wears his pants so long); are often the highlight of a dreary office day.
Farewell Teresa, you will be missed. Over the next week I shall be forwarding to you over a year's worth of e-mails to be filed and about four boxes of papers to be shredded; so with any luck I shall be re-born as a paper clip.
========
NOSTRILS.
It is unfortunate that the dearth of good colleagues makes for such an early turn for the worse in this post.
The division I work in is a small one, comprising four Grunts (that includes me), a Deputy Director and a Director. That's right folks, this small six-man outfit monitors the sea transport policies of an entire country. Fortunately we have a six-HUNDRED strong organisation that we direct to execute said policies. In theory, that is: our relationship is much like that of a neutered indoor pekingese (that's us) and a virile fuck-off-sized dingo (that's them).
THE POINT IS, working in such a small team on such a huge portfolio means that constant interaction with at least one colleague is as inevitable as death (see "Teresa", above). Unfortunately that means staring into the world's most repulsive pair of flared nostrils, each and every work day for the past two years. Except when they are on vacation, which doesn't happen very often, and anyway the image of those quivering black funnels are seared in my mind. I may need therapy.
Nostrils is the only Grunt who was there when I joined the division, and who will remain there when I leave. He was the first colleague I met upon arriving on the thirty-third floor. I had thought him rather odd in appearance and manner, and then dreadfully boring as the day progressed. By the end of the week, I had complained to all my former colleagues that Nostrils had to be quite possibly the most mind-numbing person on the planet. Something karmic happened the following weekend that forced me to adopt a more positive attitude, and to give my new colleague a second chance.
And that's one reason why would never be Buddhist.
Reality isn't like facebook where a mere click of the mouse allows you to "un-friend" a person so you will no longer have to deal with that person entering your personal space. Make the mistake of being friendly with a colleague just once, and you're forced to be a friend forever (or at least until you no longer work together). It is my belief that this mistake had the unfortunate result of exposing me to the terrifying disorder that I've named "Complete Lack of Balls".
So you've probably already read enough of the other posts about my colleagues to have an idea of how whingey and annoying Nostrils can be. The following conversation, which took place recently, should help render that image more vividly:
~~~~~~~~
I am having a lovely lunch-time natter with Teresa, about her most recent pilgrimage to northern India, about how all the donations somehow seemed to make little difference to the lives of the local children (she suspects that a lot of it just being sat on by the temple monks), about how beautiful and happy the children are despite their dire poverty, and about how each one of these trips makes her feel more tranquil and satisfied. Nostrils goose marches over - knee problems? ill-fitting pants? cactus up his ass? - carrying a painfully designer cup of tea (white with i-have-no-balls-berry).
Nostrils: (simpering) Sorreee, it's not that I have no work to do, I just need a little di-VER-sion. What are you guys TALK-ing about?
Teresa: I was just telling [Earrci] about how some of the monks in northern idea are so good at meditation that they are able to levitate.
Nostrils: Oh Theresa, can you teach me how to meditate? (stares coyly into his tea)
Teresa: Why? You want to levitate too? (laughs) What's wrong? Too many worries?
Nostrils: I have a lot of thoughts on my mind (fade)... cannot clear my mind of all these thoughts.
Teresa: Do you believe in God? I have a friends who ask me to teach them to meditate, but I tell them, how can I teach you to meditate if you do not believe in God? How can you clear your mind of all thoughts if you cannot think of God? God is Pure, and when you meditate you must focus on something pure. If you do not believe in God you cannot meditate. If you are stupid you also cannot meditate.
Nostrils: (pouts to his tea)
Me: Why don't you pick up a hobby?
Teresa: He has a hobby, he exercises every morning.
Nostrils: (self-deprecating) That's not a HOB-by, that's just EX-ercise.
Me: (Wondering if this is an opportune moment to highlight the importance of having a shower after exercise. With hot water and soap. To remove all traces of dirt and sweat. Because dude, you are RIPE.) ... So, really, why not find a hobby? If you have one you can focus all your thoughts on that instead.
Nostrils: (mumble mumble) ... no time...
Me: What do you do on weekends?
Nostrils: Well the first thing I do when I wake up is to switch on the laptop to check my e-mail. It's a very bad habit actually.
Me: So don't switch it on, or better, don't bring your laptop home. Unless you really have to. It's not like there's stuff to rush every weekend, right?
Nostrils: No, but, well... (looks searchingly into teacup for answer)
Teresa: Hey, I heard that Yvonne is coming over to work here from July. Is it a secondment to replace you?
Me: No, there's someone else replacing me. I think Yvonne is leaving [that organisation] entirely in order to work here.
Nostrils: SHE'S LEAVING [THE ORGANISATION]??? "LEAVING" LEAVING? I WAS TOLD IT WAS ON SECONDMENT TERMS!
Me: (WHOA, never do that again dude. If your face does not do Life well, then it sure as hell won't do Surprise well. And don't flare those damn funnel things anymore! What's in the back of your head sure ain't any of my business! Sheesh... your face is truly fucked dude. Do you get collagen injections to your lips or something? 'Cause they look... fleshy. And maybe you might wanna tell the salonist to go easy on the brows, the perfectly manicured arches only draw attention to your beady little eyes. Beady beady beady...) ... Er, that's what I heard, but I guess I may be wrong... What's the matter even if she was "leaving" leaving anyway?
Nostrils: Nothing, it's just that what I heard was that it would be on secondment terms...
Me: (You LOSER. You coddle gossip like it's some sort of golden goose when really it means fuck-all to everyone else. If your grapevine is the only thing you can feel important about, then I strongly recommend suicide.) Ah look, lunch time is over. I have to go finish that report now.
Teresa: (laughing) Yes, I have to finish these files for the bosses.
~~~~~~~~
Yes. It will be a great pleasure never to have to work with Nostrils again.
========
PSORIASIS AND THE OTHERS.
I've run out of steam now, plus at the end of the day my feelings towards the remaining colleagues are, on average, neutral. Psoriasis continues to repulse me with his physical form and gross ineptitude; but hey, if I had to deal with that many bodily problems I would probably also be completely incapable of getting anything done right. And I really have no issues with the Family Man anymore, now that things are winding down for me so it's no big deal to cover for him. As for the Deputy Director, it's hard to say anything about her since she's been away for the past three months. And as for the Director... well, nobody gets to choose her boss hey.
========
So long, y'all. To Teresa, I wish godspeed to nirvana. To Nostrils, I wish a pair of balls. To Psoriasis, I wish the doctors finally find a cure to your various ailments real soon, and that you use it. To Family Man, I wish your wife and kids well, and please, for the sake of the environment, stop at two. To Deputy Director, I wish I could say something meaningful but I just can't since I hardly know you. To Director, thanks for inadvertently letting me take leave off-record!
Ciao!
...
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Psoriasis.
The next time I get asked why "women here prefer to date foreign men", all I have to do is gesture with one broad sweep of my arm towards my cowering colleagues and say "look - NO BALLS".
With regard to the average local men - "Sensitive" really means "unable to tolerate any sort of physical activity that may involve revealing a fitness level that is below average for fear of ridicule (thus perpetuating said reason for ridicule); unable to handle anything harder than a triple sec cocktail (and I mean just one triple sec cocktail); unable to tolerate the stress of having to tell the boss that he had made a minor error and instead getting you (i.e. me) to do it instead; and, probably, unable to get it up without the help of an iPhone (or whatever the latest gadget that fills the gap otherwise occupied by "character" is these days). "New Age" is just an excuse, and "Guy" is an all-out lie. Honestly, I probably have the biggest balls in this office.
...
With regard to the average local men - "Sensitive" really means "unable to tolerate any sort of physical activity that may involve revealing a fitness level that is below average for fear of ridicule (thus perpetuating said reason for ridicule); unable to handle anything harder than a triple sec cocktail (and I mean just one triple sec cocktail); unable to tolerate the stress of having to tell the boss that he had made a minor error and instead getting you (i.e. me) to do it instead; and, probably, unable to get it up without the help of an iPhone (or whatever the latest gadget that fills the gap otherwise occupied by "character" is these days). "New Age" is just an excuse, and "Guy" is an all-out lie. Honestly, I probably have the biggest balls in this office.
...
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
This office
is where the human spirit comes to DIE.
As the full effect of western wanker banker depravities creep its way to wreak havoc in the east, the number of resignations being tendered in these offices have continued as it did during the boom times. These guys haven't even secured a landing site for after. They're middle-income mere mortals who'd prefer to risk unemployment and impecuniosity than to continue shuffling about in the shit bogs that define my occupational existence. On average, it only takes three months for this place to KILL YOU.
On a separate matter, though I feel really bad complaining about this because maybe the cause is physiological as much as it is habitual, but what is up with my newest colleague who constantly sounds as if he's desperately trying to breathe through a wet piece of sack cloth??? I can usually recognise a colleague by the sound of his or her footsteps, but I know this particular dude is walking down my corridor because I can hear him attempting to inhale through the narrow cavity above his mucus-gorged mandible. (I've already learnt not to get any closer than four feet within distance of him to avoid motile flecks of spit that frequently accompany his speech.) I've been victim to an overactive sinus before and know what it's like to barely be able to breathe through my nose, so I can't fault him for that. But surely he can do something about the saliva situation???
Or does it have something to do with his (pitiably severe) psoriasis? I don't want to get started on that, only because I'm certain that that's something he can't control (although he could try to avoid scratching himself so vigorously in the vicinity of other people...). Fortunately (for me) he hasn't blown me away with a sterling character or fascinating personality, or else I'd have to fool myself into not noticing the repugnance that he provokes. I have at least the freedom to embrace the feeling of pure disgust for now, though I worry about how that feeling may eventually manifest itself.
...
As the full effect of western wanker banker depravities creep its way to wreak havoc in the east, the number of resignations being tendered in these offices have continued as it did during the boom times. These guys haven't even secured a landing site for after. They're middle-income mere mortals who'd prefer to risk unemployment and impecuniosity than to continue shuffling about in the shit bogs that define my occupational existence. On average, it only takes three months for this place to KILL YOU.
On a separate matter, though I feel really bad complaining about this because maybe the cause is physiological as much as it is habitual, but what is up with my newest colleague who constantly sounds as if he's desperately trying to breathe through a wet piece of sack cloth??? I can usually recognise a colleague by the sound of his or her footsteps, but I know this particular dude is walking down my corridor because I can hear him attempting to inhale through the narrow cavity above his mucus-gorged mandible. (I've already learnt not to get any closer than four feet within distance of him to avoid motile flecks of spit that frequently accompany his speech.) I've been victim to an overactive sinus before and know what it's like to barely be able to breathe through my nose, so I can't fault him for that. But surely he can do something about the saliva situation???
Or does it have something to do with his (pitiably severe) psoriasis? I don't want to get started on that, only because I'm certain that that's something he can't control (although he could try to avoid scratching himself so vigorously in the vicinity of other people...). Fortunately (for me) he hasn't blown me away with a sterling character or fascinating personality, or else I'd have to fool myself into not noticing the repugnance that he provokes. I have at least the freedom to embrace the feeling of pure disgust for now, though I worry about how that feeling may eventually manifest itself.
...
Monday, October 06, 2008
Unplugged.
If you've known me for some time, then you'd probably be thinking that the title of this post refers to relief from constipation. It doesn't though - although I must admit that I would have used it if I were to bring this blog down a notch by posting something scatological; however, in this age of barstucks and dulcolax, I have yet to be pushed to that extreme.
"Freewriting" is what I'm trying to get into here. According to Wikipedia, it can help reverse writer's block. Other potential remedies include: taking a break (done that, minimal effect), brainstorming (was more of a passing shower than tropical cyclone), asemic writing (I've never been much of a doodler - OMG it's been such a long time since I've checked out doodie.com, I wonder if it even still exists! -) and "chunking" (sounds pornographic, didn't bother).
It helped somewhat over the weekend, but I'm still four pages short of a full speech. I'm really sick of writing speeches for politicians who get paid millions a year, while what I receive is something akin to their pocket change. So much effort, so little return. The most annoying bit is the delivery - it's never like how I imagined it while writing it. It's the system: competition in the public eye to vie for political positions is obsolete here, hence qualities like verve, charisma and elocutionary excellence are pish.
I'm fairly certain I ordered a cinnamon & raisin bagel with my mocha this morning. I'm quite enjoying this sesame one, but I kinda wish that the barstucks peeps wouldn't get my order wrong so often just because I'm nice and friendly to them. Blah blah blah. I think I'm warmed up enough now.
...
"Freewriting" is what I'm trying to get into here. According to Wikipedia, it can help reverse writer's block. Other potential remedies include: taking a break (done that, minimal effect), brainstorming (was more of a passing shower than tropical cyclone), asemic writing (I've never been much of a doodler - OMG it's been such a long time since I've checked out doodie.com, I wonder if it even still exists! -) and "chunking" (sounds pornographic, didn't bother).
It helped somewhat over the weekend, but I'm still four pages short of a full speech. I'm really sick of writing speeches for politicians who get paid millions a year, while what I receive is something akin to their pocket change. So much effort, so little return. The most annoying bit is the delivery - it's never like how I imagined it while writing it. It's the system: competition in the public eye to vie for political positions is obsolete here, hence qualities like verve, charisma and elocutionary excellence are pish.
I'm fairly certain I ordered a cinnamon & raisin bagel with my mocha this morning. I'm quite enjoying this sesame one, but I kinda wish that the barstucks peeps wouldn't get my order wrong so often just because I'm nice and friendly to them. Blah blah blah. I think I'm warmed up enough now.
...
Monday, September 29, 2008
If
I told you I'd prefer not to join you for lunch because I'm not hungry at all, and then proceed to get takeaway from the cafeteria, what do you think that means? If upon your return before lunch hour is over, you find that I had shut my usually open office door, how would you interpret that change? If I failed to acknowledge your presence in the clear floor-to-ceiling window pane next to my door, despite it obviously being in my field of vision; if I do not at all respond to your knocking, what, pray tell, would you take that to mean? If, after you decide to enter my office anyway, and to seat yourself without being invited to, and yet I continue to type away at my computer without looking up or giving so much as a grunt, WHAT DO YOU SUPPOSE THAT MEANS???
Those among you with at least weak grasp of thought and reason would realise that I do not - I repeat, DO NOT - want to be disturbed. But I must remind myself of the law of parsimony; that the explanation of any phenomenon should make as few assumptions as possible; that all else equal, the simplest solution is the best. I must cease to assume that intelligence exists amongst my colleagues. Until I accept and embrace this, I will have no peace.
Meanwhile, I'll just start being really bitchy about it.
...
Those among you with at least weak grasp of thought and reason would realise that I do not - I repeat, DO NOT - want to be disturbed. But I must remind myself of the law of parsimony; that the explanation of any phenomenon should make as few assumptions as possible; that all else equal, the simplest solution is the best. I must cease to assume that intelligence exists amongst my colleagues. Until I accept and embrace this, I will have no peace.
Meanwhile, I'll just start being really bitchy about it.
...
Friday, September 19, 2008
I have had it with
spreadsheets. And curiously invisible dodgy cells that become apparent only after the fact. And cashflows, cashflows, cashflows. And converting millions to thousands. And making illogical assumptions sound perfectly reasonable. And then trying to translate into numbers. And trying to figure out formulas. And forgetting to stretch formulas across the entire project horizon after figuring them out. And horizons that move. And switching between countless versions of the same spreadsheet. And projecting forty years into the future. And then doing it all over again, repeatedly, until I get the NPV that won't get my head rolling. And being extremely careless in the meantime because after a while 4s look like 9s and 7s like 2s and dots look like commas and the subtotal row looks like the total-total row and everything JUST BECOMES ONE BIG UGLY CELL.
Beertime.
...
Beertime.
...
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Timeliness.
Found this brilliant compilation of ridiculous office jargon on the Beeb:
"50 office-speak phrases you love to hate"
I'd add "blue sky R&D" (i.e. research with no positive market value in sight) and "domain mindshare" (a transmogrification of "info-sharing" that allows it to be used as a project objective, nebulous enough to contrive in case none of the project's quantitative targets are achieved).
"50 office-speak phrases you love to hate"
I'd add "blue sky R&D" (i.e. research with no positive market value in sight) and "domain mindshare" (a transmogrification of "info-sharing" that allows it to be used as a project objective, nebulous enough to contrive in case none of the project's quantitative targets are achieved).
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Monday, May 05, 2008
-
I just felt that it was necessary to provide an excerpt from the most recent piece of tautological donkey shit an official document submitted by my former (but still very much nonsense) boss:
"...to increase our competitiveness vis-à-vis our competitors, it is critical that we broaden the breadth and deepen the depth of our services."
BRAVO!!! This woman has just claimed the position of being The Most Wasteful Waste of Space in this Spaciousness!!!
"...to increase our competitiveness vis-à-vis our competitors, it is critical that we broaden the breadth and deepen the depth of our services."
BRAVO!!! This woman has just claimed the position of being The Most Wasteful Waste of Space in this Spaciousness!!!
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
*gasp*
When I was about 6 years old, my parents packed the family and a couple of cousins off to a resort for a fun weekend. I'd just learnt to swim then and was terribly excited by the pool. My parents told me to stay in the shallow regions and left me in the care of my brother and cousin, who promptly swam off to a deeper part of the pool where the older kids were. Of course, as an impressionable little sister I swam off after them. I got tired and couldn't quite make it to the edge of the pool, and started to panic when I realised that the water was deeper than I was tall. Gesturing frantically didn't seem to attract my brother's attention, and the next thing I knew I was out of the pool sitting next to my mom listening to my dad yelling angrily at my brother.
Now, bone dry and 100m over sea level, I feel the same sense of panic and breathlessness from almost two decades ago. I'm not sure how I am going to meet all my deadlines in the next few weeks/months/years, but I do know that this time round my dad won't be able to pull me out of the water.
Back to work.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Whodathunkit!
So perhaps I've misrepresented the men of S________ in the past. There are among them individuals who are above and beyond what is average by any standards, and some of them are in fact remarkably ... erm ... eligible.
And such is the case with a particular colleague of mine. I first met him about five years ago, while we were both studying in L_____. At that point I was dating someone else, but a friend did comment that my future colleague was rather Hot and that it would be amusing if we were to end up dating each other back in S________. It was at the time a little glimmer of hope that returning to S________ wouldn't be akin to entering a world absolutely void of Worthy Men.
The "Man" part of my brain was preoccupied with someone else in the first 1.5 years that I returned, and the thought of taking a dip in unexplored waters never crossed my mind. [Ok, that's a lie. But it's more dramatic this way.] But now that this part of my brain has been cleansed, my attention has been rather taken by this colleague.
He would be, in every respect, a Perfect Boyfriend. He's got everything a girl would want from one. Aside from being a really nice guy, he's intelligent, funny, open-minded and genuinely confident in a very charming, understated way. He possesses the rare qualities of having an expansive view of the world and a magnanimous approach to people. On top of that, he has the highly attractive physical characteristics of a lean, muscular, well-proportioned body, a great tan, fine cheekbones and an excellent jaw. He smells kinda nice too.
I've had to work pretty closely with him and it now seems that we may have, well, started to flirt with each other. As I have mentioned before, I am largely unschooled in the art of flirting in a work environment. However, although I appreciate that he would be considered good-looking, I am just not physically attracted to him. I do wish I were because it really is the only thing holding me back from giving it a proper go.
Sigh. Perhaps Bazza is right. Maybe over time I will become physically attracted to him.
In the meantime, I have someone with whom there is mutual appreciation (though not of the physical kind), who responds to all my e-mails and text messages, and who treats me with the chivalry of a true gentleman. And honestly that's a million light years more than what I've had in my recent past.
========
That post took really long to write up because I've been checking out '80s and early '90s rock videos on YouTube. The Meatloaf ones are among the best, second only to my beloved Axl Rose. And Jon Bon Jovi (of course not forgetting the smokin' hot Tico Torres). So I guess that makes it third. Oh My God I am ADDICTED. Did you know that Meatloaf did a cover of Celine Dion's "It's all Coming Back to me Now"? I actually love it!
[It's so easy to admit embarrassing things like that when you're hiding behind a pseudonym...]
Saturday, September 08, 2007
Post-Event.
And so the work week is over. The Big Event me and my team of 5 overworked/underpaid colleagues went smoothly and ended a resounding success. Some have called it a historical landmark, but really, the subject matter was so esoteric that you'd never have realised it. For a week I have virtually run my feet raw pulling things together (while inflicting the full force of my inner control freak/bitch on people who don't matter anyway - but damn it was fun). My head has grown so big from people telling me what a good job I've done, I fear I may lose my balance sitting down.
The experience had me immersed in the multi-layered world of diplomacy and embellished my ability to speak at length about everything without saying anything at all. I have gone a step further and learnt how to analyse these seemingly meaningless conversations to expose the hidden truths underneath - and I now know how to use this to my advantage. I have been admitted into that inner sanctum of rookies with whom Very Important People condescend to sharing casual jokes and personal stories.
I have (re)discovered that allhot men are at the very least open to opportunities to cheat on their wives/girlfriends.
I am also convinced that I need to find a Very Successful (Hot) Man to be my husband because spouses are a great conversation topic when you've run out of everything else. (And because I'm still shallow.)
The experience had me immersed in the multi-layered world of diplomacy and embellished my ability to speak at length about everything without saying anything at all. I have gone a step further and learnt how to analyse these seemingly meaningless conversations to expose the hidden truths underneath - and I now know how to use this to my advantage. I have been admitted into that inner sanctum of rookies with whom Very Important People condescend to sharing casual jokes and personal stories.
I have (re)discovered that all
I am also convinced that I need to find a Very Successful (Hot) Man to be my husband because spouses are a great conversation topic when you've run out of everything else. (And because I'm still shallow.)
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Strings and Lines.
This morning has been marked by a singular lack of motivation to work.
This downward spiral into a state of indolence may have been sparked off by a particularly annoying argument I had with the Director yesterday. The argument was about how long we would require a harpist to play at an upcoming Big Dinner. I don't get his obsession with harpists and I honestly don't think guests who've just spent a whole day at a meeting pretending to be interested in international policies would give two shits about whether or not a harpist plays 3 sets of 45 min instead of 2 sets of 30 min when they're at a dinner with good (free) food and better (FREE) booze. What I do know is that (1) the harpist is a human being and not a robot, and (2) we can't squeeze two harpists into our budget. And seriously, in the Grand Scheme of Things this really isn't an issue to harp on. (Ha ha, I can't believe I cracked that one, but I just couldn't help it.)
...
I have recently begun noticing that there are actually Hot Men working in this building, spotting three (the third may have just been here for a meeting but I can continue to hope) in the past few weeks. I'm positive I've seen the first two before, I just never really noticed them. And by noticed I mean regard-with-appreciation-and-feeling-the-sudden-desire-to-make-babies. And I do also believe that I have been noticed in return. I have been informed that this (being noticed in return) is likely to be because I am now completely free of Men-related emotional baggage. Did I look so weighed-down previously? Perhaps I did, I do feel a lot "lighter" these days (but that could also be because I really like my new job - harpist-issues aside).
Anyway, the point is, what do I do now? How do I act on this sudden revelation that Hot Men exist in the same building where I spend most of my waking hours? (I have my own room in the office dammit and it needs to be "broken in"!) When noticed, do I continue to stare in appreciation or do I coyly (or perhaps smugly...?) look away? Do I even smile, and what kind of smile should it be? Having only played the Game in bars where everybody's drunk and doesn't care about "protocol", I find myself completely at a loss of knowing the Rules in a work environment.
========
Ok. Back to work.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Slave to the Pituitary Gland.
For every population operating regularly within a contained environment, there exists a Critical Mass of women which, when achieved, will drastically and dramatically change the dynamics of that environment. In the division that I work in (Population: 16), the Critical Mass is THIRTEEN. How unfortunate it is that the sixth prime number, which suffers the ignominies of being forever linked to misfortune and hockey masks, must also bear the blame for Things Falling Apart.
Now I know a lot of about putting too many women in the same place for long periods of time. I attended a girls-only school from the ages of 13 to 16 - those crucial years when girls begin to experiment with Bitchiness and Backstabbing, and then lived in a women-only dormitory from the ages of 20 to 22 - when women decide whether to make them Life Choices. So I've had my fair share of fangs, claws and fluctuating oestrogen levels.
Now I know a lot of about putting too many women in the same place for long periods of time. I attended a girls-only school from the ages of 13 to 16 - those crucial years when girls begin to experiment with Bitchiness and Backstabbing, and then lived in a women-only dormitory from the ages of 20 to 22 - when women decide whether to make them Life Choices. So I've had my fair share of fangs, claws and fluctuating oestrogen levels.
*****
When I first started drafting this post I didn't really know where it would go. I still don't. I'm publishing it anyway as a pre-emptive prologue to a hypothetical future work incident involving women fighting.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Clot.
So I have been sat here since noon (it is now 19:27), slowly bulldozing my way through the CFA Ethical and Professional Standards. I am only at page 41 of Volume 1, which is, at approximately 600 pages long, the thinnest of four volumes that I must digest before I sit for the first CFA exam. In June. 2007. 3rd of.
FUCK.
Right. Something must be done about this. I need a PLAN. The first part of the PLAN is to stop staying late at work, especially since I'm staying late to do non-value-added work for my halfwit Nonsense Boss. The second part of the plan is to eat lunch in every day. Which is pretty sad since lunchtime is the only social life I have these days. The third part of the plan is to stop sleeping. Or at least stick to about an average of 4 hours/night.
(Those of you pointing out that I am blogging despite my obvious lack of time to complete other more important matters, can sit and swivel. I need to talk about this, okay? SO THERE.)
If all goes well, I would have passed my CFA1 with a brilliant score, AND obtained my driver's license by the end of June (which would be too cool as I only started lessons like yesterday). And then the JLPT3 and Mt Everest base camp trek in 2H07, and maybe on 31 Dec 07 I won't feel like I've wasted a whole year (which is exactly how I felt on 31 Dec 06).
And, hopefully, by putting this out in the public domain, I am COMMITTING myself to getting all of these done. Cos if I don't, you can point at me and laugh.
*****
I fucking hate the HR department. How long do they need to sort out the paperwork for my new position? I want OUT and I want it PRONTO. Do they WANT to see me bite the Nonsense Boss's head off? Because I CAN DO IT. It's small, it's empty, and it's attached to the body by a very thin piece of neck. And guess who has six years of job security with the organisation - ME. So ain't nothin stoppin me from doin it 'cept the ZEN within me. And it is FAST RUNNING OUT.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Haiku Monday.
Last Monday that is. I thought it would be a good idea to redirect my "stress energies" to the writing of Haikus. It worked - for one day at least.
As follows, me in blue and my colleague in yellow:
I feel the need to
Express my work feelings through
Power of Haikus
please blow me away
with your talent in rhyming
so what's the story?
Use double spacing
Caps for start of sentences
More pleasing to eyes
when people get old
they need to pick on small things
to feel big again
Some people possess
High standards for aesthetics
Not that you would know
I thought you referred
To the quirks of our bosses
But I see it's you
Some people must learn
The Law of Diminishing
Marginal Returns
Choking. Water. Me.
I must be getting older.
Laws have no meaning.
I feel no sense of
Purpose working here. I feel
Inconsequential
Patience reaps rewards
It will get better with time
Meanwhile there's ice-cream
Patience reaps wrinkles
Cellulite and atrophy
Of muscle and mind.
This could get lengthy
Perhaps it's time for a change
What would you suggest?
Don't know. I think that
Haikus use more brains than work
Makes time pass quickly
I just need more grease.
Cocktail prawn rolls lacked lustre.
And now they're finished.
Everything went pretty much downhill from there, with talk about guavas and gout and German people. Of course this was all pre-Big Job Announcement, these days I don't need Haikus to feel happy.
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